A Parody of Love (Part 5/5)
Title: A Parody of Love (5/5)
Rating: R to be perfectly safe.
Pairings: Plaude, and Petrellicest without the blood-relation. Stop looking at me like that! Nathan forced his way in with his icy glare and politician friends!
Word Count: 1, 259 I think.
Warnings: If you haven’t watched all of Season 1 of Heroes, you shouldn’t be here, you should be lying in wait for the DVDs!
Disclaimer: Uh … obviously I don’t own Heroes, because if I did, I’d have Plaude making out on screen instead of in slash fics or my twisted mind …
Recap If You’re Lazy And Won’t Follow My Lovely Links: Peter's a hooker. Claude's a customer. Love is all around you! Claude knows that Peter actually likes him, and Claude goes all sentimental around Peter. Oh yeah, and Claude has the power to go invisible … Peter has no superpowers. Nathan is an evil git who wants Peter to be his secret lover. Peter hates Nathan, but not as much as Claude does!
Summary: Nathan tries to strike a deal, Claude doesn’t accept and breaks out PsychoNine, it finally ends.
My Thoughts: Took a while, but here it is! It may be a bit rushed and odd, but I’m working on cleaning up a bit before school starts. (Am I a teacher or a student? The world will never know!) I’m kinda sad about ending a series that everyone’s really loved, and I hope this works out. The last bit has been written since the beginning - and I’ve been tempted to call it ‘Wouldn’t Dream …’ since I started - perhaps that would have been better than ‘A Parody of Love’ or maybe they’re equally good. (Oh yeah - Arthur Rosemond? Random!)
There’s a spring in Claude’s step that hasn’t been there since he was twenty years old. That’s the last time he can remember being truly happy.
What is it with this boy? he wonders to himself as he ducks down the alley that leads to the bar where Peter is.
These past few weeks of bliss have only been marred by the ominous hint of Nathan Petrelli. Sometimes there are bruises that Peter can’t hide, both on his skin and on his soul.
Claude racks his brain for an answer - some way to take Peter far, far away and live happily ever after … but a nagging voice tells him he should just be thankful for what he has right now. True love is hard enough to find; you shouldn’t overreach …don’t get greedy …
“Hey, you.”
Claude freezes. That voice …
The Congressman is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, suit impeccably clean. Claude’s been taking showers more often, but he can’t remember washing his coat since he stole it.
“What do ya want?” Claude snaps. There are certain people in the world who you despise not because of the way they dress or talk or act, but because there’s something chemical inside of you that is repulsed by the other individual. The Congressman is one of those people to Claude.
Nathan shrugs, smirking. “How much?”
Claude blinks. “What do ya mean?” though he knows where this is going.
Nathan rolls his eyes. “How much for you to never see Peter again? Five hundred thousand? Name your price.”
Claude snarls. “Ya could offer me all the money in the world and I wouldn’t take it. Ya can’t buy me off.”
Nathan sneers. “You say that now. Think about what I’m offering you … Claude,” Claude flinches as the man uses his name; Nathan pretends not to notice. “Fine, if you won’t take money, think about Peter’s future. He’s a prostitute. Someday he won’t be so pretty, and he’ll have no where to go. I can save him from that. I can give him anything and everything he wants. He won’t see reason when you’re holding him back.”
Claude raises his eyebrows. “Have ya ever wondered why Peter doesn’t go with you and stays with an old homeless man? Yer wife won’t let ya play rough, so ya take it out on someone ya gotta pay.”
Nathan scowls. “Don’t you dare …” he hisses. “Like you should talk … I bet for all your talk of love and romance you dream about fucking Peter until he screams. You secretly want to tie him up and keep him in the dark for weeks to break him. You fantasize about snapping him like a twig.” Nathan grins acidly. “I know - I think about it too. That’s what I’m going to do when he’s finally mine and there’s nothing a dirty, common, f -”
Claude punches him.
Something cracks - probably Nathan’s nose, though it could be his pride - and Claude ignores the stinging of his fist. That felt too good.
Nathan rises, anger burning his cold face. “You don’t know what you’ve done: I can have you arrested tomorrow!”
Claude laughs, taking pleasure in seeing Nathan’s face twist with more fury. “Ya don’t get it, do ya? I’m the bloody invisible man, I can go ’round the corner and disappear forever.”
Nathan smirks, the anger flees. “Wherever he is, I’ll find you nearby. You can’t live without him. And once I’ve gotten you out of the way, Peter’ll have no choice but to go with me.”
Claude hits him again, very hard. “Don’t say his name, you unworthy bastard,” he proceeds to hit Nathan more, because it felt so good the first two times.
Nathan won’t stop smirking. Even when he spits out a tooth, he won’t stop.
“No matter how many times you hit me, it won’t stop the inevitable. He’ll be mine, it’s just a matter of how long you can cling to him,” he straightens his jacket and stalks off down the alleyway.
Does the man never just stroll away? No, he’s gotta bloody stalk, like some pissed-off teenage girl. Claude shakes his head, staring down at his bloody hands.
Footsteps. Careful, almost silent footsteps. Claude recognizes those kinds of footsteps and blinks out of visibility, pressing himself into the wall.
A man - large and heavily muscled, dressed in a nondescript suit - carrying a police handgun. He glances from side to side.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are …” he rumbles.
Claude muffles an incredulous laugh - this is the best the Congressman can throw at him? - and softly edges along the wall towards the hit-man.
Three minutes later, he stashes the body in a nearby dumpster, tucking the gun into his pocket.
Try ta kill me, Congressman? Ya have no idea who yer dealin’ with …
~*~
“Evenin’ Mr. Petrelli,”
The Congressman turns a wonderful shade of white.
Claude smiles cheerily, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t like it when people try ta kill me. Get rather upset I do …” his smile broadens into something he guesses borders on psychotic as Nathan frantically presses a button under his desk. “I cut the wires, and the security cameras are all fried. Pretty lax security for someone with mob ties, Congressman.” Claude slowly saunters over; Nathan’s look of terror goes beyond description.
“Take him.” Nathan whispers. “I don’t care … take him … just don’t kill me!”
Claude sighs. “For someone who was so ready to kill me just ta get Peter all ta yerself, ya act like he’s some kind of toy. Play with him for a bit and give him up when a bigger bully shows up. But I’ve got news for ya,” Claude draws the gun, cocks it, and raises it to shoulder height, the smile fleeing his face. “Anyone who hurts Peter like that dies.”
~*~
(Two weeks later)
Claude finds it oddly comforting to unpack large cardboard boxes and arrange furniture in the comfortable apartment Peter purchased with the money Arthur Rosemond - a man he’s never heard of - sent him last week. It was enough to pay off the manager and set up a decent life. Peter’s going to college - for nursing - in the fall. He’s taken a job as a waiter in a mildly decent restaurant around the corner.
As Peter babbles on about this, Claude smiles: Nathan is dead; Peter is free; and he is content with that.
They’ve finished setting up the bed and all the boxes are unpacked.
“So … uh … take care of yerself, Peter,” Claude shuffles his feet and prepares to leave. Yer supposed ta be happy, ya bloody fool. The kid’s free, that bastard’s dead, ya should be smilin’ at least.
Claude attempts a smile: it doesn’t come out too well.
Peter stares at him. “First of all: what’s happening to you face? You look like you're having your heart cut out with a blunt spoon. Second: where exactly do you think you’re going?!”
Claude doesn’t dare to let himself hope. “I’m clearin’ out. Ya got yer whole life ahead of ya, ya don’t need some -” but he’s cut off by Peter rushing forward and throwing his arms around him.
“Don’t you dare leave, you crazy old man,” Peter whispers the threat into Claude’s ear, standing on his toes.
Claude sighs a sigh that eases his burdens off. Peter wants him: his world is finally at peace.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Peter,” he meets Peter’s upturned face in a kiss. “Wouldn’t dream of it …”