9

Brave New World

"Claire, do you have any idea at all what would happen if you just walked in there and showed people that you can heal others as well?"

Noah had caught up with them at the train station, after Claire had insisted on leaving a message for her father where they were going, and why. She had found it very slightly ironic that he had tried to call her on her phone when he had found the message. She hadn't answered it.

"I don't care, Dad. I'm going to New York City, and the only way you can stop me is by locking me up." She resisted the urge to stick out her chin defiantly at these words, looking at him levelly instead.

Zach, who had been trying to unobtrusively vanish into the wall he'd been leaning against, disengaged himself from it and spoke up for the first time since Noah's arrival. "Mr Bennet, the guy could be dying."

These words stopped Noah short more effectively than anything else had, and Zach found the confidence to go on, "I guess we can agree that you both don't want that. So maybe you can work from there."

Claire cast him a grateful look for finding the common denominator in this, and said to her father, "If there was any alternative, I'd be all ears. But right now, all I want to do is to get to Peter as quickly as I can. It's going to take long enough as it is."

Noah's mouth was a thin line as he shook his head. "How are you going to explain to a hospital full of people – who know Peter – how he miraculously returned from death's door? You being the girl who everyone with a TV saw fall from a Ferris wheel the week before without a scratch on her?"

She looked at him calmly. "To be honest, Dad – just like that. By telling the truth."

Noah shook his head. "You'd be lucky even to make it out of the hospital again without someone dissecting you to find out how that works."

"I'll probably find myself donating a lot of blood."

"Claire, I'm serious!"

"You think I'm not?"

Zach was edging closer to the wall again as he watched father and daughter staring at each other, neither blinking an eye.

Finally, Noah looked away, and with an abrupt movement, got out his phone.

"I'll see when the next flight to New York goes."

Wednesday was Hesam's day off, but he was back at Mercy Heights again early the next morning, even though he didn't have much of an idea of what the day would bring.

When he entered Peter's ICU room, he was slightly taken aback to find the sleeping form of Angela Petrelli leaning sideways in a chair by the bed. He noted that she managed to look dignified even in such a position.

She jerked awake as Hesam came in, orienting herself momentarily.

"I'm sorry," he said uneasily. "I didn't… mean to disturb."

She smoothed down the skirt of her suit and cast a glance over to Peter. Hesam noted he was off the mechanical ventilation once more.

"Don't worry," she said in an airy tone that didn't quite match the dark circles under her eyes. "It wasn't the best of places to fall asleep at any rate."

"How is he?" Hesam asked quietly.

"Breathing." She smoothed back a strand of dark hair behind her ear and then stood up. "Claire will be here around noon, she told me."

He nodded, deciding against asking again whether she knew what exactly Claire could do to help him when she got here. When he had come up the previous night to tell her about her granddaughter's phone call, he had got the impression that Claire's presence would make all the difference, though she hadn't disclosed why.

She seemed to consider for a moment, before turning towards him and holding out her hand. "Look after him for me, will you, Mr Malek?"

Hesitantly, Hesam took her hand, and shook it. "Of course, Mrs Petrelli."

She held the handshake for a moment, then added, "He's been very lucky to have you."

Hesam shook his head, waving off the praise. "He's been lucky to have any medical assistance near."

Her face twisted into a smile, clearly saying, that's what I said, nodded at him, and left.

Hesam was left in the ICU, looking at Peter's vital signs and wishing he had Angela Petrelli's faith in the future.

Peter awoke around half an hour later, or rather, Hesam became aware that he was awake half an hour later.

"Hey, buddy," Hesam said quietly, in an almost reproachful tone. "I thought I told you to hang in there."

"I didn'?" Peter's voice was almost inaudible, his eyes still closed.

"Not very convincingly." Hesam patted his hand. "Hey. Are you in pain?"

Peter weakly shook his head.

"Well, that's something. Emma told me they had some fine-tuning problems with the medication yesterday." When Peter didn't answer, he added, "And there's more good news. Your niece is on her way here."

Peter's eyes opened a fraction. "Claire?"

"Yeah." Hesam watched his face and saw relief there. "So – she can heal others as well? Not just herself?"

Peter gave a weak smile and closed his eyes again, and made no reply.

Hesam was itching to ask more questions, but realised that this was an even worse time than over restocking the paed box, or waiting to be dispatched for bullshit calls.

"It's OK," he told Peter. "Get some rest. I'll be back again later."

Peter didn't know how much time had passed since Hesam had left. He wasn't even sure how much time had passed since loading a cocaine-intoxicated man into 159 with Anne Kraszewski on Eldridge Street, which was the last thing he remembered with any clarity. It could have been anything between a few hours and a week or two. Everything that had happened immediately afterwards was a blur of frenzy and pain that Peter didn't even want to dwell on. It had been followed by a much darker and more confused blur of voices, more pain, if never as searing as it had been in the ambulance, the constant beeping of a heart monitor close to his ear, people trying to tell him something or just being there, to varying degrees; his mother, Emma, Hesam, doctors, nurses. Right now, he was only glad to be almost pain-free, and feeling pleasantly numb. The only thought he made himself hang on to was that of Claire, even though, after nodding off and waking up again a couple of times, he wasn't even sure anymore whether Hesam had truly been there to tell him Claire was on her way, or whether he'd just dreamt that. It didn't really feel like something that would happen in the real world, the longer he made himself think about it.

He woke to the sound of voices. It always took him a couple of minutes to concentrate on his surroundings enough to make sense of them, and when he did, he became aware that a nurse was there, talking to Hesam, then leaving again after changing his IV.

Then, the next voice he heard took him completely by surprise.

"Peter? Can you hear me?"

Peter opened his eyes with difficulty, and saw Claire bending over him, her face worried.

"'s good t' see you," he said, around a tongue which felt one or two sizes too large.

She gave him that sad little smile he'd seen on her face so often before. "Why is it that you can't stay in one piece for longer than two weeks at a stretch?"

He just returned the smile, feebly, and made no reply.

Claire took his hand. "At least you weren't trying to play the hero this time. Hesam told me."

He didn't answer, just held her hand, concentrating on the familiar sense of her power flowing over to him, but there was something that prevented him from accessing it. This, too, was something that he had felt several times before in his life, the effects of strong medication interfering with his abilities.

Exhausted, he shook his head. "Won't work," he whispered.

"Because of the meds," she guessed.

Peter nodded.

Hesam helplessly looked back and forth between them. "What now?" he asked.

"That benzo?" Peter murmured, with a look at Hesam.

Hesam took at look at the IV bag, and nodded. "Lorazepam."

"Which means?" Claire asked.

"Benzodiazepine," Hesam explained. "That's a strong sedative; it would take hours to even start leaving his system if we took him off it now. And even if nobody noticed it if we discontinued the IV drip, which is extremely unlikely – I'm not sure he could take that."

Peter felt queasy at the thought alone.

"So, plan B," Claire said quietly, and turned to Hesam again. "We need a syringe."

Hesam raised his eyebrows. "What for?" he asked.

"My blood. It can heal him. All we need is a syringe. That shouldn't be hard around here, right?"

Hesam shook his head. "Now wait a minute, wait a minute. You want to inject him with your blood?"

Peter had to smile in spite of himself. "Hesam," he said. "Just stop being a medic for five minutes… and do what she says."

"You serious?" Hesam said, still incredulous.

Peter nodded.

"I can't believe I'm about to do this. How much do you need?"

"Just a syringeful," Claire answered.

Hesam cast Peter a helpless glance. Peter was still grinning weakly. "No vacutainers. 10 milligrams should do it."

Shaking his head, Hesam left to get a syringe.

Claire looked after him. "That was asking a lot of him, right?"

Peter gave another nod, closing his eyes again.

Hesam appeared again a few minutes later, with a monovette syringe he'd got from the supply room. His expression remained one of scepticism as he unwrapped it, and prepared to draw blood from Claire. Peter noted that she didn't try to dissuade Hesam from swabbing her arm with an alcohol prep before sticking her.

He looked at Peter for help again when he was done.

"Try the port on the cannula," Peter said, slightly raising his right hand, his voice exhausted. "That'll work fastest."

"Try?" Hesam asked, dubious.

"Do it."

Peter closed his eyes as Hesam pushed the contents of the syringe through the IV port in his hand. The effect was not as instantaneous as Claire's ability itself, as healing had to work its way to where it was needed more slowly, but after half a minute, Peter could feel the dull throbbing in his stomach starting to subside, along with the burning in his shoulder, and at the same time, he felt his head clearing noticeably as the medication started to wear off more rapidly. There was a twinge in his chest as a rib or two knitted as if they'd been broken during CPR, and Peter remembered Emma telling him he had coded before arriving at the hospital.

He remained lying there for half a minute longer before he trusted himself to sit up. He heard Hesam gasping – and couldn't fault him; there couldn't have been any other dramatically visible signs that Claire's blood had worked. He pulled off the oxygen mask and froze momentarily at a sensation of rather intense discomfort in his abdomen; he hadn't known until now that he'd had a kidney removed, but he'd sure as hell just regrown one.

"I'm OK," he told Hesam when the moment had passed, pulling out the IV in his left arm, then the second cannula in his right hand. Hesam stared as both puncture marks vanished immediately.

"I'll be damned," he whispered. He threw Claire a look that was halfway between awe and fear.

"I'm sorry," Peter said, and meant it. "I should have found a less unsettling way to break it to you." He reached over to switch off the alarm on the monitor before removing the ECG leads, so he wouldn't bring in the Mercy Heights code team, suspecting a cardiac arrest because of the sudden absence of heart sounds.

"I… take it this wasn't new to you either," Hesam guessed.

"No," Peter said simply.

"So how the hell are you going to explain this?" Hesam asked, gesturing around himself, looking from Peter to Claire. Both of them exchanged glances.

"I'll think of something." Peter looked down at the hospital johnny he was wearing. "I wish I had some clothes here."

Claire pointed over to an empty chair by the far wall, where Peter spotted a stack of dark clothes. "I picked some up at your mother's. She told me you'd probably need them."

Peter shook his head with a chuckle, but didn't explain to Hesam this time. "Where's your dad?"

"I got him to wait downstairs. And that was not as easy as it sounds."

"I can imagine." Peter turned to Hesam, but he was looking back through the Plexiglas window.

"Seems that explanation will have to take place right now," the Iranian remarked, and Peter followed his glance, a queasy feeling in his gut as he saw Dr Byrd, accompanied by a nurse, coming along the ICU corridor.

Seemingly, they hadn't even been on their way to him, but Peter saw Jake, the nurse, look through the window, shout something, and seconds later, he was in the room, followed by a mystified-looking Dr Byrd.

"Mr Petrelli?" Jake stared at him, at the black monitor, then at Claire and Hesam.

"It's OK," Peter said, as Dr Byrd stood as stunned as Jake. "I'm all right."

"What happened here?" Dr Byrd demanded.

Jake's eyes were fixed on Claire. "I've seen you on TV," he suddenly said. "You're the girl—"

Claire cast Peter a glance, and he gave her a minute shake of the head.

"It was me. Claire's not the only one. I can heal, too." He reached up to his shoulder, removing the dressing on the wound there. Both the doctor and the nurse stared at the completely clean, smooth skin where the gunshot wound had been. "Look, I'll explain more fully in a couple of minutes. Just let me change first."

"It's true, Doctor," Hesam said. "I've seen it."

They finally managed to convince Dr Byrd that Peter was indeed fine, but not until Jake had recovered enough to take Peter's pulse, and, perplexed, announced that it was completely normal.

Dr Byrd nodded slowly. "I'll trust you not to jump out of a window."

Peter refrained from answering, Not this time, and just nodded. The doctor hesitated for another moment, before he left, with the nurse in tow.

"I'll just wait outside while you change, too." Claire turned to go. She hesitated. "Thanks, Peter. You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," Peter replied. She smiled at him, and left the room.

Hesam, too, turned to go after her, but then stopped in the doorway. "You sure you're OK? You've still been out cold for two days."

Peter nodded at him. "I'm good."

Hesam looked him over, his expression making it clear that he was still having trouble believing what he had just seen. "This is just so surreal."

"I know." Peter hesitated, then he said, "Hey, man – thanks."

"For what? Giving you the most unorthodox blood transfusion in medical history?"

"No," Peter said. "For getting me out of there. It can't have been easy."

Hesam was silent for a moment. "No," he agreed. "It wasn't. And I don't ever want to do that again. It's always harder if the guy on the stretcher is not just an address assigned to you by dispatch."

"Yeah, well." Peter hesitated. There was something else he was far more worried about than he should have been. "Like you putting me on Lactated Ringer's."

Hesam's face was sympathetic. "Come on, man – you're not seriously worried about that, are you?"

"I didn't wet myself though, right?"

"Dude, you puked all over me, and worry about the side effects of Ringer's?"

"Just tell me the worst thing I did was puke on you."

"Actually," Hesam said, his voice now very serious, "the very worst thing you did was coding on me."

"Thank you," Claire said again later that day. She and Peter were sitting on the hospital rooftop, at Peter's suggestion. It was getting dark already, and the city below lit up with a myriad of lights.

Peter smiled, and nodded.

The rest of the afternoon had passed with hundreds of examinations, questions and answers, and Peter had answered most of them as truthfully as he could, only becoming evasive when he would have had to expose the abilities of others, for whom he didn't want to speak.

"So what will happen next?" she asked, looking down at the blinking serpents of cars and cabs winding their way through the streets below.

Peter looked at her, smiling. "You scared?" he asked.

"Just a little." She looked at him. "Aren't you?"

He turned again to look at the brightly lit city. "It's a brave new world," he said.