Chapter Twelve
She's not at surprised to wake in yet another dream. Calmness and serenity washes over her; it's like coming home after a long, wretched absence thirsting for that final piece of home.
Smiles when she feels Peter behind her, hands lingering around her waist before withdrawing respectfully. "You're not surprised, are you?"
"How can I be?" She's only smirking, not giggling which is what she really wants to do, but she can't bring herself to break the crystalline silence.
The dreamscape's so beautiful this time; shafts of pearly moonlight washes over a sandy, grainy beach. It's inky midnight but not at all dark or frightening; the only feeling Claire has is being safe and warm. She knows it's probably Peter that's having this effect on her but doesn't dwell too much on it; loves the coolness of the breeze as it laps over golden hued skin; she's a girl of sunlight but doesn't mind the dark now that she's not alone.
He nips her shoulder playfully, trails feather light fingers over arms that end up tickling her. "I'm glad you're here."
"So am I."
"You always save me."
"I always will."
It's something that's been said before, but bears repeating and it's not something that can be said too often if she's honest with herself.
"We need to find a way to save him." He's quietly determined, yet lost.
"I know." She breathes into cool night air, stares in wonder at the vastness of the ocean in front of her. It's so empty and blank she wonders why it's not scaring her but comes to the same conclusion she did a moment ago; it's because Peter's here and when her hero's with her everything's always going to be all right.
She turns and the wind whips her hair, teases them into golden tendrils that spiral into the night. Catches an odd glint in Peter's eyes as his gaze lingers on that golden trail before it returns, as sedate as before, onto her. "I just need to know how."
"We'll find a way." She's about to say something else, about where there's a will there's a way and he's a hero who'll find a way to save his brother because it's what he does, he saves people. But suddenly there's a flicker, an intrusive shadow coagulating into solid form.
It's an older gentleman with smiling, kindly eyes, eyes that pierce her soul and looks straight into Peter; recognises him as a saviour of the world. Recognises what Claire sees and for that, she thinks she knows him although she's never met him before.
Peter's a bundle of surprise but confirms her suspicions. "Charles?" He whispers, halts in mid-breath.
Warm brown eyes crinkle and there's a deep, booming laugh. It reminds her of Santa Claus, or how she imagined Santa Claus to laugh when he stumbles upon milk and cookies by the hearth. "Glad to know you haven't quite forgotten about me yet." There's a shift and then those eyes focus on her, polished obsidian in the dark. "And you must be the cheerleader. You're just as I dreamed you'd be."
How does anyone respond to such an opening? She can't, just stammers about only being a girl and Peter's niece and Nathan's daughter. He cuts her off, not unkindly, takes her hand into one of his worn brown ones. "You're much more than that Claire. You'll find out in time."
Again with the stammering. "Oh … oh?"
He nods, and now thoughtfulness tempers kindness. Unwittingly she and Peter get drawn to the older man's side, who's oddly fashioned a table and chair out of thin air as well as some tea and biscuits and the whole scene is eerily surreal and quite out of the ordinary, to say the least. "Sit and have some tea."
Even for one of Peter's dreams, the turn of events is truly bizarre. Claire cocks an eyebrow at Peter, who shrugs slightly before sitting down. She's in his dream so takes his lead, sits daintily like her mom taught her to with visitors and reaches automatically for the delicate cup brimming with hot tea. "Charles, what's … what're you doing here?"
It's the old man's turn to cock an eyebrow, though he's smiling gently at their confusion. "What do you think Peter? I'm here to deliver a message."
Something like anger flares, takes over his face just for a second. But Claire catches it, and she doesn't doubt Charles did too. "Like last time? I can save the world with love?"
"You did save the world with love. Saved New York at least. It's a start." Reaches out with a plate of biscuits and pastries, arranged perfectly in symmetry on fine china, obtrusively opulent against the natural beauty around her.
"I got my brother killed, that's what I did!" This time anger doesn't just flare, it explodes and for a second she thinks she actually sees sparks shooting from hands that'd been so gentle just a moment ago. Corrects herself because she knows she saw flames; he's entirely capable of actually exploding with Ted's power. "He's dying because of me!"
There's just enough anguish to make her jump, but before she can reach across to steady him Charles is there. "He's not going to die." His message is delivered ever so calmly, as if it's a fact and not a wish, the past instead of hesitant future.
It takes the wind out of Peter's anger though, spectacularly so. It's enough to deflate him entirely and he sinks back into the chair, limply. "He's not?"
"Not if you and Claire can help it."
There's a long, stretched moment of stunned silence while Peter glances over to Claire who stares back with doe eyed wonder back; then they both gaze in questioning, accusing hope at the old man with the serene aura watching them.
She's the first to find her voice and it's small and frail in the thin air. "And – how? How're we going to save Nathan?"
Charles places his cup down slowly, almost reverently. "As I said to Peter before. With love."
"Love?" Claire wants to throw something at the kindly old man sitting so serenely in the middle of the beach. Water and sand stretch as far as the eye can see, but he's sitting for all the world like he's dining with royalty. His chocolate brown eyes are so deep and filled with uncharted knowledge they almost make her believe that is the answer, that love's enough to save Nathan.
But then she remembers – realises really – that it makes no sense. None of what he says makes sense and it makes her so angry her stomach starts clenching. This isn't a riddle or a game, it's two brothers' lives with hers mixed into the bargain. "That doesn't make any sense at all."
"It will, when the time comes."
Peter starts reddening at the older man's words again, expression a tornado crescendoing into momentum. "You told me that before. It didn't do any good. I exploded. God, I exploded and killed my brother!"
"He's not dead yet." Charles replies with infuriating calmness.
Claire's tempted to give him a good hard slap but he's kind of old and wise and as it is, it's Peter's dream and nothing can be accomplished with violence. Not really anyway and so she simmers down, satisfies herself by glaring at Charles. "It doesn't make any sense." She's repeating herself but can't say it any clearer than that.
And Peter agrees, because they both wait for his answer; one that never comes because the next moment the old man's standing. Despite his age or rather the appearance of it his movements are quick and steady and before she knows it he's already strolling away, footsteps fading in the sand before either her or Peter have the presence of mind to give chase.
"Wait. Charles wait." It's Peter who ups and follows him; it's now two sets of footprints melting into nothingness in front of her. "That can't be the answer. It can't be!"
He doesn't reply; just continues strolling along the beach, farther and farther. Claire looks down and only just realises Peter's hands are in one of hers but the realisation's rushed when he starts tugging her along the beach, desperate to follow Charles.
Realises then what Peter needs. "I need to –"
"Go." She urges; lets go of his hand at the same instant. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but his gaze says it all. She doesn't need to hear it and so she turns around and starts walking away, trusts he'll come back to her when he's ready.
She starts back to consciousness, blinks in the pre-dawn light. All the dreaming she's been doing is fine and exhilarating and all but it's making her so tired; it's like she hasn't had any sleep at all since it happened and her entire body screams with fatigue. She shudders, is about to turn over onto her stomach but then realises where she is and more importantly, who she's with.
Her entire body tingles and she knows why. She's curled neatly into Peter, nestled securely within the crook of his chest and body and in any other circumstance it'd be spooning but it's super icky to think of spooning and uncle in the same thought so she drops it pretty darn quickly. Rationalises how the night was chilly and they needed each other, needed the comfort to brace themselves for Nathan's decline. Needed to know they weren't alone in all of this, and even though Claire has her dad she knows Peter thinks he doesn't have anyone, and that's not true because he has her.
He has her, and love is the answer. She doesn't know what it means and frankly, it's probably going to be Peter who figures it out. Hopes he'll be able to wrangle a few more pieces of the complex puzzle from Charles before he disappears back into the night.
She's about to close her eyes but then there's a slight creak; harsh light streams into the room as the door opens. Her bangs are swept across her face, cloaking her eyes but she can still see clearly through them; sees enough to watch as her dad makes his way into the room; stops and stares.
Stares at something – she can't quite see clearly enough – but does it long and hard and from her angle she thinks he's staring at her, but can't be sure. Peter's arm tenses, fingers grasping and finding hers and she feigns sleep, feigns it because she doesn't want to officially wake up and leave the serenity that soothes every crevice of loneliness within her. Feels slightly guilty for deceiving her dad this much but shuts her eyes and shifts against Peter.
Even in the dim light she sees her dad frowning, taking a last lingering look at them before quietly closing the door.