Chapter Fifteen

Peter finally manages to wrench her from Nathan. The pain still rockets through her veins at a million miles an hour; her breathing's ragged and her entire body's burns, so badly, like it's thrashing with fire.

Odd, because she hasn't felt real pain in a long time. She almost missed it before but not so much now, not when it's being returned to her a thousand fold.

But Peter's hands cup hers; they slowly cool red hot fire. Hazel eyes flash with worry and the burning's still so raw it's impossible to hide it from him. She can't hide the throbbing that's slowly creeping up her arms; can't hide her tears and when he lets her hands go only to wipe them from her face, his mixture of concern and blind fear enmeshes painfully with her own.

She's relieved she's not the only one frightened to death by what just happened. She's complained – a lot – about her ability, had always behaved like it was an unbearable millstone around her neck, but the truth is that it's taken her to places and people she's never dreamed of. It's allowed her to find and save Peter more than once, to help save New York when it counted and find her biological father. Never mind half the things might not have happened if she hadn't been a freak of gigantic proportions, but the one thing that's been constant throughout all the craziness has been her ability; something that's always been a part of her if she understood her dad correctly.

It's like she's watching as one of her limb's being slowly torn from her. They both stare at her hands, now raw and blistering and she can't refrain from gasping. He caresses her hands, examines them like they're the eighth wonder of the world, meets her eyes again and this time he doesn't hesitate.

He strides out of the room, pulling her along. When she cries out at the pressure being applied he loosens his grip ever so slightly but keeps a tight hand on her, pulls her at, if not quite a breakneck pace, it's enough to require a little more concentration than usual to follow.

"Where're we going?" She hates her voice; she's so scared, so weak, but Peter pretends not to notice.

"To find your dad." She doesn't have to question him further because they're of one mind. She has no idea what just happened in Nathan's room and neither does he; hopefully her dad can shed some light on it and more importantly, calm their mounting fears.

They find him a few rooms down; it's empty and still and the only people in it are her dad and Angela, conversing in hushed tones. When Peter strides in without a greeting both sets of brows arch in surprise but neither of them has any time to say anything because he drags, pulls, tugs her to their attention.

"Noah, take a look at this." Peter sweeps past his mother like she's invisible and even through a haze of receding pain, she sees the sting of her son's inattention flicker before Angela's mask reasserts itself. But by then Peter's shoved her blistered and burned hands under her dad's gaze, looking at him with inquiring eyes, all the while keeping his hands securely around her wrists.

Even now as her dad examines her hands in turn, they're healing. Slower than usual, but detectable nevertheless. The pain's receding more quickly; she's sure that pretty soon she'll forget what agony feels like again.

His eyes widen just as their's had done moments before, shoots apprehensively down to hers. "Tell me what happened."

"I'll show you." Peter's all grim and determined and the way he's taking this so seriously is weird and affectionate yet disconcerting at the same time. It's like her episode (for want of a better term) is providing a welcome distraction from Nathan's decline; another opportunity to prevent something bad happening to yet another member of a rapidly diminishing family.

They walk quickly back to Nathan's room, Peter and her dad matching strides as they pull her gently along, Angela trailing curiously behind. She feels like a freak show or worse, like she's done something wrong even though that's clearly not the case.

Nathan's breathing is steady when they arrive. Her dad gently takes her hand from Peter, switches on the fluorescent lights; his eyes widen at what he sees.

Claire looks between her still throbbing hands and Nathan's arm, the places where she'd grabbed onto in so much anger. Instead of livid welts and blisters from recovering burns, his skin's pristine, even smooth. Unblemished and hairless, like the day he was born, if she's capable of imagining Nathan as a baby.

"Dad?"

"I don't know." She's so used to him having all the answers she's momentarily cast adrift by his uncertainty. But then remembers he's human and has had more than his share of drama to deal with in the past few weeks so cuts him some slack and besides, it's not the end of the world. She has her two heroes and as long as they're on the case, so to speak, she trusts that everything's going to be fine.

Peter's more determined to get some answers though and doesn't pause for reflection or thought. Just races ahead and it's strangely endearing; reminds her of the night when they'd met and he'd rushed headlong into a fight with ultimate evil, not pausing to question his sanity.

"Is it Nathan? Did something happen to him when I exploded that's causing this?" He holds her hand up for emphasis.

"I don't know." Her dad sounds perplexed, worried and concerned as he gazes mutely at her hands. "You absorbed Ted Sprague's power." They continue to stare. "He … his power made him capable of emitting radiation."

"So you're saying when I exploded –" Peter looks horrified, doubles over like he's about to be sick. "Did radiation from me do something to him? Did I – "

Even Claire can see Peter's working up to yet another round of self-flagellation and so she's almost grateful when Angela steps in, her voice razor sharp. "Oh for god's sake Peter, calm down. Have you paused to think that perhaps the girl's powers are just developing? She's hardly past the age for it. Everyone seems bent on forgetting she's only a child."

"Hey, I'm right here."

Angela ignores her, shoots a dirty look to Peter and oddly, her dad. "You know what I think about dragging Claire into all this."

Her dad looks once at her, then back to Angela through gritted teeth. "I think it's safe to say we disagree on that score."

"What's she talking about?" Peter asks the same time she does, albeit with less of a quiver in her voice.

"Dad?"

He looks almost helplessly between them, then brushes aside Peter's question. Gingerly he places hands on her shoulders, bends down so they're at eye level. "Claire-bear, what did you feel when you grabbed Nathan?"

"Nothing …" Shakes her head, amends quickly. "Nothing at first. But then –" She describes everything, tells her dad and Angela haltingly of the pain. She's changed her mind and now doesn't ever want to remember what absolute agony feels like, because it's awful and horrific and a thousand other words that defy description.

And all the while Peter looks on, his heart in his eyes; except she can't decipher what's in those eyes so she looks away, confused.

"Have you heard of anything like this?" He directs his words not to her but Angela, who again seems to have retreated from their tight knit circle.

She's cagey, guarded; Claire hates her a little for it, maybe because she's the very antithesis of Peter who wears so much of his emotions like a badge of honour. "Yes." There's a dramatic pause, like she's divulging a carefully guarded secret. She can almost hear Angela's voice in the ether, knowledge is power. She knows it's from some movie she's forgotten the name of but the line suits her grandmother so well it may as well have been written specifically for her. "Linderman."

Even her dad looks confused. "Yes, Linderman." Angela sighs impatiently, absently begins twirling her pearl necklace. "He has – had I should say – the power of healing."

"Had?"

"Linderman's dead Peter. He died the night of the … explosion." The very word makes Peter grimace; even Angela senses this and hastily continues. "He had a power too. Healing. He could heal everything but himself."

"Are you suggesting evolution?"

A strange look transpires between her dad and Angela, and Angela ever so subtly nods. Claire doesn't know what the heck is going on but thinks she's instinctively stumbled onto the answer. "Does this mean I can heal people too? As well as myself?"

"Maybe." Her dad looks troubled. "But why did it hurt so much?"

No one gets a chance to answer because Claire just realises something; something wonderful but oh so frightening at the same time. She's too afraid she's going to back down so rushes on, asking no one in particular but ends up half addressing her dad and Peter. "I can save Nathan, can't I?"

She thought Peter would have been elated at this and he is, but he's also pensive, uncertain; most of all, torn. Her dad glances down at her; concern's lining his face. "I'm not sure."

"I am." It's clear what she has to do now, like sunshine breaking through clouds after an angry, simmering storm. Knows it in her heart and bones and other places that heal of their own accord even if the others won't, can't, accept.

She's indestructible, capable of spontaneous regeneration or whatever other fancy name it's called, but it's a part of her. It's a part of her that can save Nathan, and it's poetic because Nathan's a part of her, a part without which she wouldn't be alive. Wonders fleetingly whether this is coming full circle when it's really a part of her that she's saving?

"I'm not sure whether that's a good idea." She doesn't understand Peter; she honestly thought he'd be glad, overjoyed at finding a way to save his brother. Instead he's torn and his voice carries a warning, like he's kicking into hyper-protective mode and she doesn't know why he's behaving this way. It's odd considering it was only a few days ago she'd fished him out of the shower, shivering and naked and defeated by a fate he hadn't been able to escape.

Now they can escape it, save Nathan, return him to his family. Why isn't he embracing this more fully? "What do you mean? I can save Nathan. Isn't that good news?"

"Not when you're going to suffer. And if it's anything like it was before …" Claire becomes acutely aware of Angela and her dad staring intently at their exchange; her dad's eyes especially grating, like they're studying her and she hates being scrutinized for reasons she's not privy to.

But her attention's riveted on Peter; Claire plays her trump card, knows she's going to win this argument even though she still can't quite believe they're having an argument about something like this. Nathan's life is on the line and if she has to go through some pain to get him up and kicking for his brother – and his family – then she needs to try. "He's my father, your brother. How can I not save him?"

She just betrayed herself with those words; it must be evident to everyone including Peter how selfless she's not. She's only known Nathan for a couple of weeks at most and hasn't developed the soaring heights of love and affection she shares with her dad, but that's not the reason she wants to do this.

Peter's been her hero for what seems like an eternity and a half; saved her life and that's not a debt she can ever repay. Just like he can never repay his debt to her, they're two people bound together by mutual obligation, forever.

"Claire. Don't." She can hear the silent, not for me.

"It's not going to kill me. You don't have to worry about that." Angela looks perplexed and so does her dad; they're missing half the conversation. "I just … I need to do this. Do you understand?"

His eyes flare and burn bright, oh so bright and it's like she's basking in hazel sunlight. Claire can't express everything that's emanating from Peter so she doesn't, because she doesn't need to; it just is.

He understands, and knows and recognises why she has to do this. Understanding passes between them like an electric current, jolting but powerful, wonderfully powerful and it galvanises her for what's to come. "Show me." He reaches out, clasps her hand securely in his. "Show me how we do this."

Her dad tosses a questioning gaze at Peter who replies, crooked smile on display. "You think I'm going to let her do this alone?"