The Price of a Memory
Part 8/17

"All right, let's have it then," Claude said as he riffled through a wallet he'd just liberated from the back pocket of some tourist. A few credit cards…useless. School photos of no less than five children, all under the age of ten…sickening. A ticket for a play that was showing that night on Broadway…potentially interesting. He didn't relish the idea of scalping tickets, especially since he had to be visible to do it, but it had been a slow day. Even Peter was being more boring than usual.

"Have what?" the boy said, watching with an obviously pained conscience as Claude emptied the wallet of its contents and then threw what he didn't need over his shoulder as they walked.

Actually, Claude didn't know what it was he'd meant to say, only that he needed to do something to get Peter talking. A week had passed since their play at hypnosis in Suresh's flat and Claude couldn't help but notice that Peter had become somewhat withdrawn since then. Normally, Claude wasn't concerned about acting in deference to the feelings of others, but so far he had yet to touch the subject of what had really happened during that long couple of minutes where Peter had gone all unresponsive on them. Suresh had worried that Peter had had some sort of fit--that perhaps whatever had damaged his memory was now manifesting itself as some kind of seizure. Bizarre as the whole thing had been, it wasn't like Peter had started speaking in tongues, so Claude felt there was nothing to worry about on the score. But it was clear from how uncharacteristically tight-lipped Peter was now being about the subject that something had happened. If Claude had yet to find out what it was, it was only because he felt he couldn't afford to lose the boy's attention before they'd managed to make any meaningful progress on the subject of Peter's lost powers. Besides that, Claude knew Peter. The boy was utterly incapable of keeping secrets. It was only a matter of time before he started talking about it on his own.

For now, Claude was stuck voicing the first thing that came to mind.

"The age old question, friend," he said. "If you could have any super power, what would it be and why?" He remembered with some distaste that he'd found this particular inquiry in a book of conversation-starting questions he'd stolen off someone's table at a café once.

"Oh," Peter said, his brow furrowing. "I don't know. I guess I hadn't really thought about it."

"Everyone's thought about it," Claude said. "Me, I'm content with invisibility. But if you think about it, there's a world of possibilities out there."

"Like what?" Peter asked. "The only ones I know about are you and Nathan and Molly."

"Yeah, but your brother's power is just a big cliché. I mean, everyone wants to fly until they actually get up there and do it and then they find out it's all bugs in your teeth and burn marks on the bottoms of your feet," Claude said. "And let's face it, Molly's power sounds more like a plot device from some bad comic book than anything anyone would actually want to be able to do."

Peter smirked, which was better than the righteous indignation Claude had been expecting when he'd delivered the comment. The boy was strangely protective of both his brother and the little girl. Normally, he didn't tolerate it when Claude cast aspersions on their respective characters. Suresh was the same, at least as far as Molly went.

"So what else is there?" Peter asked.

Claude wracked his brain. "There's time travel," he said.

"That's not an ability," Peter argued. "That's…something you build a machine for."

"I'll have you know there are people in the world who have the ability to manipulate time and space," Claude replied, mock primly. Of course, the only person he knew who could do it was Peter himself but he must have gotten the ability from somewhere. "Also, there's super strength. The ability to manipulate technology…that is, talk to computers. Walking through walls. The ability to heal yourself from injuries. Seeing the future. Telekinesis. Reading minds. That sort of thing."

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. "And how do you know about all this again?" he asked.

In truth, Claude was working from a list Suresh had given him. He'd written down everything he could remember about the abilities he'd seen demonstrated by the people he'd met in Kirby Plaza that night Peter had nearly blown the city all to hell. Chances were that Peter had at least seen these people if only in passing and that their powers had been his at one point or another, if only briefly. It was easier to use this as a reference than anything he might have seen while working for that supposed paper company all those years ago.

"Your friend Suresh might have let something slip," he said. "People he knows about." He waved his hand vaguely. "So which one would it be? Which power would you pick?" He felt himself getting impatient now.

"A photographic memory would be nice," Peter said after some thought.

"That's hardly a special ability," Claude said.

"It is to me," Peter said. "Don't forget you're talking to the guy who needs a map and a picture of Spongebob Squarepants hanging on his apartment door just to figure out where he lives on a daily basis. A photographic memory sounds pretty nice to me."

"Hmm," was all Claude could think to say. "That picture is a travesty, by the way."

"You're the one who told Mohinder to put it there," Peter said, sounding not a little resentful.

"Maybe so but how was I to know he'd have her paint by numbers with some obnoxious cartoon character she got from a coloring book?" Claude said. "I thought sure he'd have her do a nice little family portrait. You know, 'Me and My Two Daddies.'"

Peter gave him what could only be described as a withering look. "For the last time, Mohinder and I aren't sleeping together," he said.

"Maybe not but it's not like you haven't thought about it," Claude said, the teasing words falling more heavily than he meant them to as Peter's cheeks reddened noticeably. "You might have done if little Molly wasn't in the way all the time. Listening through those thin walls. All the trauma she's been through, mustn't make things harder for her than they already are by adding to the confusion."

"Are you done yet?" Peter asked.

"I could go on for hours," Claude said, but really he couldn't. Thinking of Suresh and Peter together like that made his stomach roil. He didn't like to think why. "But I seem to recall I asked you a question about three blocks back now and I'm still waiting for an answer. Quit shuffling your feet already and pick something."

"I think I already did," Peter said.

"Photographic memory doesn't count," Claude said.

"Why the hell not?"

"Too common," Claude said. "Not part of the evolutionary process, just proof that the person who has it is either an extremely irritating liar or an extremely irritating freak."

Peter sighed and reached up as if to brush his hair out of his face, a ghost of a nervous habit as there was nothing there in the first place. Claude had noticed him doing this on more than occasion and thought it highly amusing if only because Peter sometimes poked himself in the eye while doing it.

"Maybe you want to be an empath," Claude said when another block had gone by and Peter still hadn't said anything. Time to roll the dice.

"An empath?" Peter repeated. "What's that?"

"Someone who can do a bit of everything," Claude said. "Sort of like a sponge. They acquire their powers by being exposed to other people with powers. Like you'd be able to turn invisible just from standing next to me."

Peter made a face. "That sounds dangerous," he said.

Claude felt the sudden urge to walk up to a wall and start banging his head against it.

"That's your brother talking," he said.

"What does my brother have to do with it?" Peter shot back.

"He's set a bad example," Claude said. "He's filled your head with all these beliefs that there's something dirty or wrong about having a special ability. Admit it--much as you like being Suresh's pretty little lab assistant, there's something in you that's afraid of what I can do and what Molly can do. Why are you like that? Because of him. Him and all those secrets he keeps."

"Yeah, because it isn't Molly getting sick every few weeks that could have made me think having an ability might be dangerous," Peter said. "Or that guy Sylar that was killing all those people so he could get their powers."

Claude's steps slowed. "How do you know about him?" he asked.

"Mohinder mentioned it when he told me about his father," Peter said, waving it off as if Sylar didn't concern him personally. As if he hadn't had a very public battle with the man in Kirby Plaza just a few months back. Which, as far as Peter knew, he hadn't. "Then there was the explosion."

Claude's mouth went dry. "Explosion?" he said.

"That one that went off over the city a few months ago," Peter said and again Claude was struck by the matter-of-fact way Peter could talk about these traumatic things he didn't even know had happened to him. "That was someone who lost control of their powers, right?"

"What makes you say so?" Claude asked carefully.

"The footage I've seen when they talk about it on the news. The bomb…it goes up, not down," Peter said. "Like it was trying to get away." He gave Claude a dry look. "Maybe I'm wrong but I don't think the point of a bomb is for it to get farther away from its target."

"Interesting theory," Claude said.

"Yeah, well, if it's true then that guy is probably dead. He's just lucky he didn't take half the city with him," Peter said. "So don't try to convince me that powers can't be dangerous. And quit pissing on my brother all the time. You don't even know him."

Those last words were familiar enough and Claude suddenly remembered that Peter had said them before. Their first day of training, they'd stood in front of rows and rows of Nathan Petrelli grinning down on them from those ubiquitous campaign posters and Peter had insisted to Claude like the tirelessly naïve child he had been that his brother was more than worthy of the hero worship lavished upon him. Peter's theory had stretched the limits of believability for Claude back then and that was based only on what he knew of people from wandering unseen in their homes. Needless to say, time had done nothing to improve his opinion of Peter's brother despite his supposedly noble act the night of the bomb. Maybe Nathan Petrelli had meant to sacrifice himself by saving his brother that night, but as far as Claude could tell it had been a damn close thing. Like maybe he'd had to think about it first.

After a while, Peter sighed, sounding almost sullen now. "Look, I'm just not special like that, okay?" he said. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I was."

"I'm sure you'd think of something," Claude said. "Helping little old ladies across the street. Rescuing kittens from trees. Right up your alley, that. We might even make you a nice cape and a mask or something."

Peter said nothing.

"Look, it's not that you're wrong," Claude went on. "I mean, it's not like there's a support group for people who suddenly wake up one day and find out they have a special ability. There are no books written that include advice on how powers like that should be used so that you don't harm yourself or other people in the process. It can be a dangerous thing. That much is true."

"But?" Peter prompted knowingly.

"But it was a hypothetical question," Claude said. "And you can't even bring yourself to answer it. At least not in a way that means anything. What does that tell you?"

"I just don't see the point of wondering," Peter said. "It's not like anyone has a choice. You've either got an ability or you don't." He lifted his shoulders. "I don't. End of story."

Claude didn't know what he'd been expecting when he'd asked the question in the first place. The Peter he'd known had always seemed enthusiastic enough about what he could do, even when he found out how dangerous it could be. It was entirely possible he'd anticipated that some scrap of that old excitement still existed in this new person, some trace of that childlike wonder. But this Peter had only known special abilities as dirty secrets that came with potentially troublesome health problems and a descent into moral ambiguity. Peter wasn't the type to start listing the pros and cons that came with each ability like some fan boy at a comic convention. His interest in the subject was purely impersonal and the thought of it being otherwise scared the hell out of him.

They arrived outside the familiar apartment building in a silence that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. Peter moved to go inside but Claude didn't follow.

"I'm stopping here," he said.

Peter turned back toward him. "You are?" he said.

"Yeah," Claude replied. "Got appointments to keep, you know. Very busy person, me." The truth was he'd been neglecting the pigeons lately. So much for free will when no one was around to let them out of their cages.

"Oh," Peter said.

"See you at the shop tomorrow like usual, yeah?" Claude said.

"No," Peter said. "Um, my brother's going to be in town this weekend. He wants to see me while he's here. Make sure I haven't forgotten about him since the last time I saw him."

Of all the people Peter could have forgotten, it was Claude's bitter belief that Nathan Petrelli was the one who had the least to worry about. If nothing else, Peter had memories of him from times that hadn't been wiped away by whatever it was had happened. It was only people like Claude and Suresh who got discarded into that particular rubbish bin.

"Sounds like a barrelful of monkeys," Claude said. "Sorry I'll have to miss it." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "Where was it you said you were meeting him again?"

TBC

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