Heroes: The Plague (Peter/Claire)
Title: The Plague
Author: Jane
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Character death, angst.
Ships: Peter/Claire (as uncle/neice), Molly/Micah (because they are too cute), Peter/Niki (friendship)
Summary: Ten years after season one. AU with Milo's character in the Fergie video crossed-over. There is a new kind of virus going around, but it only attacks the 'special gene,' so normal people aren't effected, but it's claimed the lives of several Heroes. Will Peter be one of the causalities before Mohinder can find the cure? Meanwhile, Claire tries to keep Peter comfortable in what might be his final days.
Word Count: 2,594 so far.
Spoilers: Up to 'How to Stop an Exploding Man'
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story is written for fun during the hiatus. No copyright infringement. Blah, blah, bladdy, blah, blah.
Author's Note: Prompt from literarylemming. Gaps are a change in viewpoint, ~*~ means a time elapse.
I read and appreciate all comments.
Original base manip made by literarylemming.
Chapter One
All of his closest friends and family members were dying around him. He may have been indestructible, but he felt as though he brought death with him everywhere he went. First his father committed suicide when he found out that his sons were going to stab in the back. Then he brother died six or seven months later, which he blamed himself for everyday. Then six years later, his mother died of cancer. Now, he was kneeling infront of the casket of one of his best friends, D. L. Hawkins, bidding D. L. his final goodbyes.
"I'll miss you, buddy," Peter whispered to the body of his dead friend.
He stood and walked out of the chapel to the downstairs break room, where there were coffee and danishes. Upon entering, he heard a couple conversations going on. Niki was standing in the corner with her mother-in-law, arguing about something.
"I know we've never really gotten along," Niki said, "but for D.L.'s sake, can we please not argue today?"
"Niki, if you just listen to me for one minute..."
"I don't want to listen to you right now. I know he was you're son, but he was my husband."
Sitting at a table on side was Micah and Molly. Molly was comforting Micah during his time of turmoil.
"The worst part's over," she whispered, placing her left hand on his, exposing a decent sized diamond on her ring finger.
I wonder which is worse, Peter accidentally read from her mind. Of all the powers he's acquired over the years, mind reading was the one he could never control, even after he learned how to control his radioactivity, which not even Ted Sprague learned to do. Having your parents suddenly murdered in front of you, giving you the shock of your life or watching your dad die over a course of several weeks, knowing that there is nothing you can do, yet giving you time to prepare for it.
"What comes next, Molly?" Micah asked.
"Healing. It may take a long time, but the pain does go away."
Peter begged to differ. But then again Micah wasn't responsible for his father's, nor was Molly responsible for her parents' deaths. But Peter knew that he and Nathan were to blame for their dad's death as was he to blame for Nathan's. He killed two people in his family and the pain never went away.
Peter walked over to the table with the coffee pots only to discovery that--
"They're empty," he murmured to himself.
"You can finish mine," Niki offered, holding her cup out to Peter.
"You sure?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, it's fine. I'm done."
"Thanks," Peter said as he graciously took the cup from her and drank down the rest of its contents.
"So," he muttered. "How are you holding up?"
"It's hard," Niki responded. "I mean, we've been married for so long, but at least he's no longer suffering. It's mostly Micah that I'm worried about. He's taking it the hardest."
"I'll bet. It's hard for a young man to lose his father."
"He really wanted D. L. to be there at the wedding."
Peter looked up and there, standing in the doorway to the break room was the one person he hadn't seen in years and missed so much.
"Claire," he gasped, shocked to see her.
Saying nothing, she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
Claire hadn't seen Peter in years. She lost count after four. After that night in New York City, he changed. He was no longer the empathic hero. He was a depressed pessimist. Though she couldn't exactly blame him. She tried to think of herself in Peter's place. If she had no choice but to let her brother, Lyle, die she too would lose everything that she once was, even if it was for the greater good.
She missed Peter greatly, but after that day when she tried to talk him out of the depression and he snapped at her, telling her to leave, she obliged and had no intentions of ever returning. But she still had dreams of that mysterious stranger who saved her life that night at the Homecoming game who just turned out to be her uncle.
After getting a call from Niki saying that D. L. had passed, she decided to make an appearance, hoping to bump into Peter.
She searched the parking lot, the chapel, finally moving downstairs. She peeked through the door and there, standing by table of coffee and food was the one person she wanted to see. She took a minute to notice how much he's changed. The hair that was once neck length was pulled to the back of his head in a tight ponytail. The face that was once handsomely kempt was now hidden behind at least a week's worth of stubble. And protruding above the collar of his dress shirt, were several tattoos that she couldn't quite make out the designs of. One thing was for sure: this was not the Peter Petrelli she met ten years ago in Odessa, Texas. But it was still Peter and he was her uncle, afterall. She had to at least try to make things right between them. Hoping that he missed her half as much as she missed him, she walked up to the man she once knew. Not knowing what to say, she merely extended her arms to see if he would walk into them.
He did.
~*~
Peter and Claire have really started connecting again. Being around her has made him happy again. It's the first time he's been happy in such a long time. Eight years to be exact. It was eight years since they last spoke. And everyday for the past eight years, he regretted the time he told Claire to get out of his life. He should have appreciated her while she was there. And he especially should not have snapped at her the way he did.
But he just wanted to push that out of his mind and focus on the now.
Now.
He and Claire sat in the living room of the Petrelli Mansion, which he inherited when his mother died, drinking sodas and talking about what had happened in their lives since they last saw each other.
"I was a cop for awhile," Claire informed. "It was great. I didn't have to worry about dying on the job, but it was a little hard to keep it from my partner when I was shot in front of him, coughed the bullet up, and then continued to chase the bad guy."
They shared a laugh.
"So why aren't you a cop anymore?" Peter asked.
Claire sighed.
"Worst night of my life. Once again, my partner and I were chasing a convict down the street. We threatened to shoot, but it was noon on the Saturday afternoon. There were a lot of people around, so we tried calling for backup to clear out the streets. Then I shot at him but this twelve-year-old girl got caught in the crossfire."
"Oh my god."
"Yeah. She died on the way to the hospital. So I got an honorable discharge. But I still had a passion for helping people, and I wanted to make up for my horrible, horrible mistake, so I started going to med school. Right now, I'm an intern at a hospital in Los Angeles."
"How do you like that?"
"It's great. And it hit me how lucky I am to have this power. I have seen some seriously nasty things. Last month, there was this patient with a nasty airborne virus and I was the only one who get close enough to give him the antidote."
"Wow," Peter gasped.
"I'm also a Cheerleading coach on the side."
"Now that I can see."
Claire laughed.
"So where are you staying?" Peter asked.
"Oh, this fleabag motel down on fifth street," Claire responded.
"That's a nasty one."
Claire nodded in agreement.
"Well, you're not staying there any more."
"I'm not?"
"No, you can stay here while you're in town."
"You sure? I don't want to impose on anything."
"What would you be imposing on? I'm in the mansion all by myself. I want you to stay, Claire."
"Okay. I'll stay here. Thanks, Peter."
They shared a smile. A sincerely happy smile. The last time they saw each other this happy was probably when Claire pulled the piece of glass from Peter's head. Peter wanted to be happy; he wanted Claire to be happy; he wanted to happy together.
~*~
"How much longer can you stay?" Peter asked Claire later that night.
"I have to head back by the weekend," Claire answered.
She didn't want to leave, but she had to get back to her life in California. She had a major exam on Monday, which was worth 60% of her final grade. If she passed, she'd get her medical degree and officially be a doctor.
"Too bad," Peter said. "It's been great having you around again."
"We can still keep in touch and visit each other."
"It won't the same."
"Well, I suppose--"
But Claire was interrupted when Peter went into a fit of coughing.
"Are you okay?" Claire asked.
"I'll be fine. I'm just feeling a little flu-ish."
"How does that work?" Claire asked, confused. "I mean, we're both immune to any and all physical impurities. Including illnesses."
He was hot. The air conditioner was on, but it still felt like he was baking in his own skin. The sweat and the cough. He remembered feeling like this before. The night he passed out and became comatose for two weeks.
You absorbed too many powers, he remembered Claude saying, your body doesn't know what to do with them.
He had total control over his powers (except the mind reading), but it was a hell of a lot more control he had over his powers then. So it couldn't have been that. It had to have been something else.
Or maybe his body really was simply fighting off the flu.
But Christ Almighty, the heat. He grabbed the bottom on his shirt and lifted it over his head before dropping it to the floor.
Claire looked with curiosity at his chest, neck, and arms.
"What do all your tattoos mean?" she asked.
"Lots of things," Peter answered. "All telling one long story."
"Tell me," Claire persuaded.
"Do you have four years? It's that long. It started here--" he gestured to the praying hands on his neck, "--and ended here," he pointed at a banner that said 'Stacy' underneath a cross.
The story flashed through his mind. He'll never forget it and as heartbreaking and tragic it was behind his tattoos, he never wanted to forget it. Deep within the heartache were some very beautiful moments.
Just then his thoughts were interrupted by another fit of coughs.
"Peter, are you okay?" Claire asked, his face flooded with concern, but Peter couldn't respond.
He felt a wad of phlegm build up in his throat. He hacked and hacked again. Finally, he spat the phlegm out into his palms. Then took a deep breath, thankful that his throat was finally empty. He looked down into his hands and saw the thick goop of phlegm mixed with a thin layer of blood. Then he realized what was wrong with him.
"I have the same thing D. L. had," he gasped.
Chapter Two
Claire helped Peter upstairs to his bedroom. She did everything she could think of to get his temperature down: she turned the air conditioner up all the way along with a fan blowing directly at him, and she brought him a picture of ice water. Unable to think of anything else, she ran for the phone.
Peter tried to breathe through the pain. It felt like his brain was on fire and his head was going to explode.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep through it, but the hot throbbing in his head was too distracting. He couldn't focus on anything else.
From the next room, he could hear Claire on the phone with somebody. He just wanted to muffle it out and get some sleep, but curiosity got the best of him.
"Molly, hi. It's Claire. Is Mohinder there? Thanks. . . . Mohinder! Peter's got the virus. The one D. L. had. . . . What do you mean 'calm down?' I can't! My uncle is in the other room dying! . . . Uhm, he’s got a fever, coughing bloody phlegm, and that's about it for now. I told him it could be anything, but he insists that it's D. L.'s virus. . . . Oh my God, are you serious?! And Molly and Micah, are they...? . . . Oh good. Thank God. But what should I do for now? . . . Okay. Call me as soon as you find something."
With a click of the receiver, he heard Claire walk back to his room.
“I was on the phone with Mohinder. He said that all I can do for now is keep you comfortable while he continues to find the cure.”
Peter nodded. It hurt to talk.
“Do you a thermometer?”
Peter shook his head.
“Of course not,” Claire mumbled. “Why would you? You haven’t needed one in over a decade.”
This meant she had to guess Peter’s temperature by merely feeling his face. Being a med student, she’s learned how to tell the difference in a single degree by mere touch.
She placed both hands on his forehead and moved down to his cheeks. The fever was at 104-at least. She had to cool him down. Quickly.
His head throbbed at the slightest movements of his body. While he was walking toward the bathroom, leaning on Claire for leverage, another stabbing pain zapped through his head with each step. The bathroom seemed to be a mile away from his bedroom.
The next thing he felt was the shock of ice water consuming him. A violent shiver tingled its way up his back as goosebumps cased his body. He tried to lift himself out of the tub, but Claire pushed against his shoulders to keep him in.
“Let me out,” Peter groaned in a raspy voice.
“I can’t,” Claire protested. “We have to get your fever down anyway that we can. You know as well as I do that it exceeds 105, you’ll die, and right now, it’s at 104. I hate to say this, Peter, but you are on the brink of death.”
Peter exhaled, trying to absorb this new information, while at the same time, trying to get his mind off the ice water.
“But I promise,” Claire continued, “I’m going to make sure that won’t happen.”
Author: Jane
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Character death, angst.
Ships: Peter/Claire (as uncle/neice), Molly/Micah (because they are too cute), Peter/Niki (friendship)
Summary: Ten years after season one. AU with Milo's character in the Fergie video crossed-over. There is a new kind of virus going around, but it only attacks the 'special gene,' so normal people aren't effected, but it's claimed the lives of several Heroes. Will Peter be one of the causalities before Mohinder can find the cure? Meanwhile, Claire tries to keep Peter comfortable in what might be his final days.
Word Count: 2,594 so far.
Spoilers: Up to 'How to Stop an Exploding Man'
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story is written for fun during the hiatus. No copyright infringement. Blah, blah, bladdy, blah, blah.
Author's Note: Prompt from literarylemming. Gaps are a change in viewpoint, ~*~ means a time elapse.
I read and appreciate all comments.
Original base manip made by literarylemming.
Chapter One
All of his closest friends and family members were dying around him. He may have been indestructible, but he felt as though he brought death with him everywhere he went. First his father committed suicide when he found out that his sons were going to stab in the back. Then he brother died six or seven months later, which he blamed himself for everyday. Then six years later, his mother died of cancer. Now, he was kneeling infront of the casket of one of his best friends, D. L. Hawkins, bidding D. L. his final goodbyes.
"I'll miss you, buddy," Peter whispered to the body of his dead friend.
He stood and walked out of the chapel to the downstairs break room, where there were coffee and danishes. Upon entering, he heard a couple conversations going on. Niki was standing in the corner with her mother-in-law, arguing about something.
"I know we've never really gotten along," Niki said, "but for D.L.'s sake, can we please not argue today?"
"Niki, if you just listen to me for one minute..."
"I don't want to listen to you right now. I know he was you're son, but he was my husband."
Sitting at a table on side was Micah and Molly. Molly was comforting Micah during his time of turmoil.
"The worst part's over," she whispered, placing her left hand on his, exposing a decent sized diamond on her ring finger.
I wonder which is worse, Peter accidentally read from her mind. Of all the powers he's acquired over the years, mind reading was the one he could never control, even after he learned how to control his radioactivity, which not even Ted Sprague learned to do. Having your parents suddenly murdered in front of you, giving you the shock of your life or watching your dad die over a course of several weeks, knowing that there is nothing you can do, yet giving you time to prepare for it.
"What comes next, Molly?" Micah asked.
"Healing. It may take a long time, but the pain does go away."
Peter begged to differ. But then again Micah wasn't responsible for his father's, nor was Molly responsible for her parents' deaths. But Peter knew that he and Nathan were to blame for their dad's death as was he to blame for Nathan's. He killed two people in his family and the pain never went away.
Peter walked over to the table with the coffee pots only to discovery that--
"They're empty," he murmured to himself.
"You can finish mine," Niki offered, holding her cup out to Peter.
"You sure?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, it's fine. I'm done."
"Thanks," Peter said as he graciously took the cup from her and drank down the rest of its contents.
"So," he muttered. "How are you holding up?"
"It's hard," Niki responded. "I mean, we've been married for so long, but at least he's no longer suffering. It's mostly Micah that I'm worried about. He's taking it the hardest."
"I'll bet. It's hard for a young man to lose his father."
"He really wanted D. L. to be there at the wedding."
Peter looked up and there, standing in the doorway to the break room was the one person he hadn't seen in years and missed so much.
"Claire," he gasped, shocked to see her.
Saying nothing, she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
Claire hadn't seen Peter in years. She lost count after four. After that night in New York City, he changed. He was no longer the empathic hero. He was a depressed pessimist. Though she couldn't exactly blame him. She tried to think of herself in Peter's place. If she had no choice but to let her brother, Lyle, die she too would lose everything that she once was, even if it was for the greater good.
She missed Peter greatly, but after that day when she tried to talk him out of the depression and he snapped at her, telling her to leave, she obliged and had no intentions of ever returning. But she still had dreams of that mysterious stranger who saved her life that night at the Homecoming game who just turned out to be her uncle.
After getting a call from Niki saying that D. L. had passed, she decided to make an appearance, hoping to bump into Peter.
She searched the parking lot, the chapel, finally moving downstairs. She peeked through the door and there, standing by table of coffee and food was the one person she wanted to see. She took a minute to notice how much he's changed. The hair that was once neck length was pulled to the back of his head in a tight ponytail. The face that was once handsomely kempt was now hidden behind at least a week's worth of stubble. And protruding above the collar of his dress shirt, were several tattoos that she couldn't quite make out the designs of. One thing was for sure: this was not the Peter Petrelli she met ten years ago in Odessa, Texas. But it was still Peter and he was her uncle, afterall. She had to at least try to make things right between them. Hoping that he missed her half as much as she missed him, she walked up to the man she once knew. Not knowing what to say, she merely extended her arms to see if he would walk into them.
He did.
~*~
Peter and Claire have really started connecting again. Being around her has made him happy again. It's the first time he's been happy in such a long time. Eight years to be exact. It was eight years since they last spoke. And everyday for the past eight years, he regretted the time he told Claire to get out of his life. He should have appreciated her while she was there. And he especially should not have snapped at her the way he did.
But he just wanted to push that out of his mind and focus on the now.
Now.
He and Claire sat in the living room of the Petrelli Mansion, which he inherited when his mother died, drinking sodas and talking about what had happened in their lives since they last saw each other.
"I was a cop for awhile," Claire informed. "It was great. I didn't have to worry about dying on the job, but it was a little hard to keep it from my partner when I was shot in front of him, coughed the bullet up, and then continued to chase the bad guy."
They shared a laugh.
"So why aren't you a cop anymore?" Peter asked.
Claire sighed.
"Worst night of my life. Once again, my partner and I were chasing a convict down the street. We threatened to shoot, but it was noon on the Saturday afternoon. There were a lot of people around, so we tried calling for backup to clear out the streets. Then I shot at him but this twelve-year-old girl got caught in the crossfire."
"Oh my god."
"Yeah. She died on the way to the hospital. So I got an honorable discharge. But I still had a passion for helping people, and I wanted to make up for my horrible, horrible mistake, so I started going to med school. Right now, I'm an intern at a hospital in Los Angeles."
"How do you like that?"
"It's great. And it hit me how lucky I am to have this power. I have seen some seriously nasty things. Last month, there was this patient with a nasty airborne virus and I was the only one who get close enough to give him the antidote."
"Wow," Peter gasped.
"I'm also a Cheerleading coach on the side."
"Now that I can see."
Claire laughed.
"So where are you staying?" Peter asked.
"Oh, this fleabag motel down on fifth street," Claire responded.
"That's a nasty one."
Claire nodded in agreement.
"Well, you're not staying there any more."
"I'm not?"
"No, you can stay here while you're in town."
"You sure? I don't want to impose on anything."
"What would you be imposing on? I'm in the mansion all by myself. I want you to stay, Claire."
"Okay. I'll stay here. Thanks, Peter."
They shared a smile. A sincerely happy smile. The last time they saw each other this happy was probably when Claire pulled the piece of glass from Peter's head. Peter wanted to be happy; he wanted Claire to be happy; he wanted to happy together.
~*~
"How much longer can you stay?" Peter asked Claire later that night.
"I have to head back by the weekend," Claire answered.
She didn't want to leave, but she had to get back to her life in California. She had a major exam on Monday, which was worth 60% of her final grade. If she passed, she'd get her medical degree and officially be a doctor.
"Too bad," Peter said. "It's been great having you around again."
"We can still keep in touch and visit each other."
"It won't the same."
"Well, I suppose--"
But Claire was interrupted when Peter went into a fit of coughing.
"Are you okay?" Claire asked.
"I'll be fine. I'm just feeling a little flu-ish."
"How does that work?" Claire asked, confused. "I mean, we're both immune to any and all physical impurities. Including illnesses."
He was hot. The air conditioner was on, but it still felt like he was baking in his own skin. The sweat and the cough. He remembered feeling like this before. The night he passed out and became comatose for two weeks.
You absorbed too many powers, he remembered Claude saying, your body doesn't know what to do with them.
He had total control over his powers (except the mind reading), but it was a hell of a lot more control he had over his powers then. So it couldn't have been that. It had to have been something else.
Or maybe his body really was simply fighting off the flu.
But Christ Almighty, the heat. He grabbed the bottom on his shirt and lifted it over his head before dropping it to the floor.
Claire looked with curiosity at his chest, neck, and arms.
"What do all your tattoos mean?" she asked.
"Lots of things," Peter answered. "All telling one long story."
"Tell me," Claire persuaded.
"Do you have four years? It's that long. It started here--" he gestured to the praying hands on his neck, "--and ended here," he pointed at a banner that said 'Stacy' underneath a cross.
The story flashed through his mind. He'll never forget it and as heartbreaking and tragic it was behind his tattoos, he never wanted to forget it. Deep within the heartache were some very beautiful moments.
Just then his thoughts were interrupted by another fit of coughs.
"Peter, are you okay?" Claire asked, his face flooded with concern, but Peter couldn't respond.
He felt a wad of phlegm build up in his throat. He hacked and hacked again. Finally, he spat the phlegm out into his palms. Then took a deep breath, thankful that his throat was finally empty. He looked down into his hands and saw the thick goop of phlegm mixed with a thin layer of blood. Then he realized what was wrong with him.
"I have the same thing D. L. had," he gasped.
Chapter Two
Claire helped Peter upstairs to his bedroom. She did everything she could think of to get his temperature down: she turned the air conditioner up all the way along with a fan blowing directly at him, and she brought him a picture of ice water. Unable to think of anything else, she ran for the phone.
Peter tried to breathe through the pain. It felt like his brain was on fire and his head was going to explode.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep through it, but the hot throbbing in his head was too distracting. He couldn't focus on anything else.
From the next room, he could hear Claire on the phone with somebody. He just wanted to muffle it out and get some sleep, but curiosity got the best of him.
"Molly, hi. It's Claire. Is Mohinder there? Thanks. . . . Mohinder! Peter's got the virus. The one D. L. had. . . . What do you mean 'calm down?' I can't! My uncle is in the other room dying! . . . Uhm, he’s got a fever, coughing bloody phlegm, and that's about it for now. I told him it could be anything, but he insists that it's D. L.'s virus. . . . Oh my God, are you serious?! And Molly and Micah, are they...? . . . Oh good. Thank God. But what should I do for now? . . . Okay. Call me as soon as you find something."
With a click of the receiver, he heard Claire walk back to his room.
“I was on the phone with Mohinder. He said that all I can do for now is keep you comfortable while he continues to find the cure.”
Peter nodded. It hurt to talk.
“Do you a thermometer?”
Peter shook his head.
“Of course not,” Claire mumbled. “Why would you? You haven’t needed one in over a decade.”
This meant she had to guess Peter’s temperature by merely feeling his face. Being a med student, she’s learned how to tell the difference in a single degree by mere touch.
She placed both hands on his forehead and moved down to his cheeks. The fever was at 104-at least. She had to cool him down. Quickly.
His head throbbed at the slightest movements of his body. While he was walking toward the bathroom, leaning on Claire for leverage, another stabbing pain zapped through his head with each step. The bathroom seemed to be a mile away from his bedroom.
The next thing he felt was the shock of ice water consuming him. A violent shiver tingled its way up his back as goosebumps cased his body. He tried to lift himself out of the tub, but Claire pushed against his shoulders to keep him in.
“Let me out,” Peter groaned in a raspy voice.
“I can’t,” Claire protested. “We have to get your fever down anyway that we can. You know as well as I do that it exceeds 105, you’ll die, and right now, it’s at 104. I hate to say this, Peter, but you are on the brink of death.”
Peter exhaled, trying to absorb this new information, while at the same time, trying to get his mind off the ice water.
“But I promise,” Claire continued, “I’m going to make sure that won’t happen.”