Chapter Eleven
Claire's meltdown is an embarrassing episode she wants to forget pretty quickly and so she's grateful both her dad and Peter don't allude to it when she finally finds the courage to sidle quietly back into Nathan's room. Her shame faced smile is just on the wrong side of a grimace but the three men don't so much as twitch because the doctor's just started filling Peter and her dad in on Nathan's condition.
She tries to concentrate on the portly doctor's words but her mind's still racing at a hundred miles an hour. But she ends up processing most of the information anyway; things like his condition being serious but stable isn't so much a surprise as a confirmation of their intermediate fears. The real question taunting everyone is how he got to Birmingham from New York; it's is a mystery for which they have no answers.
Nathan's got third degree burns to over fifty percent of his body as well as traces of radiation burns, which puzzles the doctor. They have no nuclear facilities in Alabama of course but he surmises Nathan may have come into contact with radioactive material somehow, in enough quantities to cause some but not lasting damage; and that's where Claire stops processing information but knows her dad's likely all this in. He's nodding thoughtfully like they just hadn't followed a trail of broken dreams at the whim of a wayward daughter; he's so calm in the midst of all this craziness it almost makes her scream.
Peter looks increasingly stricken but luckily (is it really luck at this point?) the doctor doesn't seem to notice, his attention's trained squarely onto her dad. He's probably just grateful to finally have someone to explain all this madness to. If only he knows just how mad their lives are, and what kind of vortex he's inadvertently being dragged into.
"Do you know who this man is?" The doctor's understandably curious but she only half listens to her dad's reply.
Because she's busy watching in horrid fascination as Peter's face falls incrementally moment by moment, desperate hope thrashing in dying throes and it's so excruciating to witness it curdles her insides; feel like they're smouldering from the inside out. The worst thing for Claire – if there is a worst thing – is seeing him crumble oh so quietly, light dimming into darkness. No hysterics or histrionics and scarily for him, no emotion whatsoever at hearing the prognosis that in all likelihood Nathan will be dead within the week.
She can't help but gasp at the news delivered by the doctor standing in front of them with such kindly eyes; made so many thousand times worse when she involuntarily glimpses Peter's crestfallen face, defeat spreading like a virus. It freezes her blood; there's a lump in her throat that suffocates her and it's all she can do to bring her arms to her sides. She hugs herself because the world seems so empty and unjust and it's just so entirely wrong, that a good man who sacrificed himself to save. New York will die that heroe's death.
"I'm sorry. If you know where – or who – his family is, you should contact them. He … doesn't have long."
"We're his family." Her dad's heaping yet another lie on top of the countless ones he's already told since they stepped foot inside the hospital, velvet tongue smoothing the rocky road of reality. Even through unshed tears she shoots a sharp glance at him but his expression doesn't give anything away. It's like he's been prepared for the doctor's questions; Claire's sure of it the next moment when he continues effortlessly describing a fabricated reality where they're all one big, happy family. "We're his family. I'm … we're his brothers. This is my daughter."
She feels his strong hand on her shoulder, feels his strength; hopes Peter somehow feels it too. "We've just come from New York, we … our mother –" There's a sharp intake of breath that makes both Claire and her dad glance sharply at Peter, but by this time he's studiously ignoring them, crossing over to stare listlessly out of the window into inky jet darkness. "Our mother heard from someone about a man with radiation burns. We came to see … whether it was really him."
Claire can't bear to look the doctor in the face; even understanding why it's necessary to lie their way through this, she's surprised to find it's actually painful not being able to claim Nathan as her biological father. It's like her dad's her real dad but Nathan's a part of her too; he's also what ties her to Peter in the least important sense but it's still something she's loathe to discard.
The doctor looks on with eyes spilling with sympathy in the deadening silence; misinterprets it as a family filling to the brim with grief. When he quickly excuses himself to continue rounds no one but her dad bats an eye; Peter's too busy lost in his private hell and she's cast adrift by everything's that happened over the past week, drowning in a rip.
She'd been a cheerleader worrying about being popular, sneaking out to football games to claim her rightful crown at Homecoming. She's seen her hero explode, her dad take a bullet for her, her biological father make the ultimate sacrifice to spare his family the ultimate torment. How does this ending, or anything else make sense?
It doesn't; she's not surprised to feel hot, fresh tears sting her eyes as they flow down her face. It's like her entire world's made of sand and it's crumbling ever so gently right in front of her. Rescuing Peter wasn't an act of heroism or fate or destiny but merely saved him for a fresh torrent of grief – watching his brother take his last, painful breath.
She feels like retching and instinctively grabs the nearest thing to steady weak knees, but her dad anticipates her need. So when she reels physically from realisation of Nathan's fate he's there to catch her crumbling body, hold her tightly like he's sure he's never going to let her go.
She only relaxes for what seems like a split second, allowing her dad to shoulder her mounting burden, but it's enough time for her to discard another. Even with perfect hindsight she never manages to quite forgive herself this one moment of weakness.
As she turns to see how Peter's taking the news, she knows what he's about to do. She can't help him, not this time, can't help her hero as his soul's being shredded into infinite pieces. Claire watches helplessly as he flees and melts like mist in the morning sunlight, doesn't even have the presence of mind to call after him into empty, sterilised air.
She knows he's still in the hospital somewhere; knows Peter will die before abandoning Nathan again to whatever fate has in store for him. Knows he's around because she still feels him, but can't quite explain this to her dad as they walk back down to the ground floor for the second time in an aborted attempt to locate her missing uncle.
"Are you sure he's still here?" Her dad's understandably dubious, but he doesn't understand, doesn't understand her connection with Peter isn't about seeing and touching. She doesn't need to see him standing in front of her to know he's there, although at this point it'd be a nice change, if only to cure her anxiety for his welfare.
"I'm sure dad." She tries not to grit her teeth but knows her frustration's seeping out anyway. Knows Peter's disappearance isn't entirely her fault because he's a grown man and should be able to take care of himself, not run away like an immature brat.
It's only then she realises she's well and truly annoyed and mad – at him. For abandoning her to this mess, and why can't he just not use his powers at a time like this? She's sure invisibility is great and fun and probably the ultimate weapon in a game of hide and never seek, but why can't he not hide from them – from her – when he needs her the most?
She's not being reasonable so she forces herself to a stop. Takes a long, lingering breath, presses her back against the sickly peach walls but her knees crumble and she sinks down onto the floor in momentary defeat.
"Okay." Her dad continues to stare but then whips out his cell phone and dials. Claire watches in curiosity in the ensuing pause until she realises what he's about to and rejoices.
Her dad – her wonderful dad – appears to be the only rational person around; Claire once again exults he's with her in this quest. Without him they never would've found Nathan; without him, neither she nor Peter would be alive to face whatever they need to face in the coming hours.
She laps up her dad's side of the conversation with Mohinder, knows the long pause is to allow Molly to locate Peter. Claire marvels at her dad's resourcefulness and looks up at him in the harsh fluorescent light; knows then she'll admire him to her dying day.
When he hangs up she jumps up eagerly, purpose renewed and freshly alight. "He's on the roof."
As soon as the words tumble from his mouth Claire's flying to the lift, inadvertently elbows a woman and small boy out of the way in her haste. Apologises with an embarrassed smile once they're all inside but doesn't dwell on it because her only thought is to get to Peter, any way she can.
Her dad's hand quietly closes on her shoulder before he steps out at level 4. "I'm going to contact Mrs Petrelli. Let her know Nathan's still alive."
Claire has to squeeze her eyes shut briefly, to linger on the word 'still'. Nods though and knows how subtle her dad's being; it's not by accident but design he's allowing her to go to Peter on her own. In an odd way it somehow vindicates their connection – not just hers and Peters but her dad and hers too.
He nods as the door closes and she thinks – feels rather – how much her dad now trusts her to do the right thing, help save the world or a man's life; one just as important as the other.
Although it seems like she's been wandering around the hospital forever and a day it's still hours before dawn. When she's finally able to yank open the stubborn door at the top of the stairs leading to the roof it's still so cold and the wind so crisp she begins shuddering uncontrollably. Angela's coat isn't helping very much, the night chill's making her teeth chatter but she braves the vast emptiness anyway in search of her missing hero.
She has every confidence she's going to find him, she's done it before. Crossed half way across the country to discover he's not just her hero but her uncle; crossed time and space and everything in between to rescue him from the brink of death.
They have a connection; she knows she needs to use it. So she closes her eyes, tries to concentrate not on the wind tugging furiously at her hair or the crazy chattering of her teeth but on Peter's kind face, gentle soul, those eyes framed by bangs that look into hers and recognises how he knows her, knew her before they even met.
"Peter, I know you're there." It feels a little silly talking into empty air, but if he's invisible she can't see him anyway, so what's the point scanning the horizon? "Come on, you can't hide forever. Nathan needs you. I need you."
She has an awkward sense of déjà vu, recognises in the next instant how her words mimic those spoken in their last dream. There'd been wind and bitterness and a sense of defeat then too, and she'd talked him out of it.
This is a path they've tread before; likely will tread again. The universe's so random and crazy and mixed up sometimes it's hard to comprehend just how interwoven destinies can be. The way she's able to reach out and pick Peter up off the floor, literally or figuratively, the way he's able to draw her back from the brink of darkness, it's inexplicable and mystifying but seems so very, very right.
She tries again and again. She's patient, never lets tension creep into her voice, trusts that she's some sort of beacon to him in his time of darkness. "I'm here if you need me." And still there's silence, but it's discordant and aches with pain, a symphony of sorrow trailing in its wake. She feels it because he's near, somewhere, sorrow and grief rolling off in invisible waves. "Peter, please don't do this. Please don't hide from me."
Wind, bluff and blustering, is the only response she gets. She soon gets tired of repeating herself, tired not for her own sake but for his. Decides to take desperate action and this is something she knew she'd have to try sometime.
Without a moment's hesitation, she calmly walks over to the ledge. Doesn't bother looking over the side as a signal or anything that melodramatic. She does however open her arms wide just because she's about to experience the sensation of flying for the first time and wants to be Supergirl or Wonder Woman or whoever's capable of flying, she wants to be that girl, just for a moment –
– Before toppling over the edge into darkness.
It's not even a second later when strong arms close around her and she's sinking into Peter's chest with a breathless little hitch that's half triumphant and half exhilaration. It's a tactless ploy but she was getting cold, losing sensation in her fingertips and really, is it too much to ask him to show himself on a night like this? "Took you long enough."
He looks at her strangely, she feels solid muscles shifting as they bear the full force of her weight as he floats them higher and higher, until it seems they're closer to the moon than the ground. His eyes glint with tension and darkness and it's not quite menace nor anger but something else entirely, something so primal it sets his eyes on fire. "Don't ever try to do that again Claire."
She hears the remonstrance in his voice, deep and dark but she sticks her chin out in full imitation of the family stubbornness. "If you don't go disappearing on people who care about you, I wouldn't have to."
"I needed time alone."
"So did I before. But you came and got me anyway."
He must know she's got a point because he ignores perfectly good logic. "You were upset. How can I just let you go?"
His voice is almost petulant. She hears this, knows he's recovering from whatever irrationality that'd driven him to the roof. "Exactly." They're floating higher and higher in bursts now; each little jump to the next altitude makes her shiver more in excitement. Peter mistakes it for the cold, frowns at her through his bangs, wraps his arms tighter around her shoulders and thighs. Securing her more firmly to him and she resists the urge to nestle into his arms, curl up and go to sleep because his body's so warm and inviting, and safe.
"Cold?" Claire shakes her head mutely, unwilling to give him any reason to stop this endless flight. She's glad through all the craziness over the past weeks that she's found something that excites her again, giddy like the school girl she'd been.
But he's insisting, with all his patented Petrelli stubbornness. "You're cold."
"I'm not."
"Then why are you shivering?"
"I'm excited. It's –" Stops suddenly because she knows how young and naïve she'll sound but says it anyway because it's Peter and he knows her; she's got nothing to hide from him. "It's exciting. Flying." Adds a tad too breathlessly. "I love it."
"I had to think of Nathan. To fly." He murmurs into her hair and they're levelling out now, plateauing in the stillness. There's nothing but Peter's arms and empty air beneath her yet she feels safe, so safe from the realities of the world.
"Does he like it? Flying I mean."
He cocks his head, the way he always does when he's giving real thought to something and it's silly she notices even that much. "I think he does. He pretends it's a burden, but I think – I know – he loves it as much as I do."
She doesn't ask how he knows because – well, she already does because he does. "It's awesome. Really awesome." And even though Nathan's prognosis is so grave, she can't help but burst into a smile, sweetness and light mingling with innocence she hasn't quite yet lost.
The grin that breaks out onto dimmed features makes her heart sing; if she hadn't already been floating it would've made her do so. It's like he's walked through fire and hasn't been burned, not that much at least and relief washes over her to see the light back in his eyes. There's still grief and sorrow and trauma but they can deal with that, together.
"Thank you." He says softly; there's no mistaking what he's thanking her for. It's on the tip of her tongue to say it isn't necessary but it'd be mere formality; if it makes him feel better to thank her, she's fine with that. "We should go back down." There's regret in his voice which is strange but understandable because their flight is a welcome relief from a possible future without Nathan.
They return quickly to Nathan's room, finds it empty. Moonlight streams through tiny slits in the blinds and her biological dad looks so peaceful on the bed, it's easier now to believe he's not suffering any pain at the moment.
There's an empty bed in the room freshly made with hospital corners; she figures she might as well use it and so without another moment's thought hops onto it, kicks off her shoes. Her small feet dangle over the side; she looks up to find Peter staring slightly slack jawed, eyes locked in thought. They dart to Nathan's slumbering form, then to the uncomfortable wooden chair neatly placed beside him then back to her again.
She rolls her eyes for dramatic effect and shifts over, looks at him pointedly. "Come on Peter, don't be stupid. It's not like we're sharing for kicks." Rolls her eyes again at his gentlemanly hesitation, tosses a thin blanket that's more likely bed linen and ducks under the covers, arranges it neatly over her. "My dad's going to be back any minute, don't be so old. If you rather take the chair, be my guest."
She makes a show of turning her back on him, settles onto the bed then stills. There's a gentle creaking and it's like he's testing the comfort level of the awful chair next to Nathan's bed; either that or he's checking his brother for signs of life. Regardless a moment later there's another creak, a hasty few steps then she feels him sink into the bed next to her, careful still to keep his distance.
Even with carefully constructed air between them she's able to feel his warmth, warmth that seems to radiate off his body. She deliberately elbows him and finds his chest, smiles into the darkness at his indignant exclamation. "Watch it squirt."
"Not a squirt." Elbows him again just for the heck of it. "Male nurse."
He pokes her waist, making her jump because he's hit her tickle spot. "Oompa loompa."
"Old man."
Silence, but she can almost hear his smile. "Go to sleep."
So Claire closes her eyes, and sleeps.
Authors Note: Just a quick to say a huge thank you to the reviews and comments for this story so far. When I started the story it was really just a rambling reaction fic to the final scenes in How to Stop An Exploding Man, but thanks to everyone's encouragement it really has become more. So ... thanks!