Peter had been having a great dream. After having saved the world one way or another, he'd been invited to appear on Oprah. He and Oprah had laughed about how crazy Tom Cruise was, jumping on the couch and all, and then they'd started discussing Peter's extended family. All of a sudden, Nathan, his mother, Heidi (who could walk!), Claire, and Nathan's kids had all walked out, faces glowing with smiles and love. Then they'd all sat down, with Oprah, and had ice cream and-
-There was cold water being sprayed on him.
Deeply unhappy at this turn of events, Peter grumbled lowly and cracked open an eye. Oh, he should have guessed. What else did Claude have to do once he'd been Sorted?
"I hate you," Peter groaned, rolling away from Rachel to curl into a ball on the other side of the bed, pulling the blankets over his head. Once he felt protected enough, he smiled stupidly to himself and tried to go back to dreaming about being on Oprah.
Rachel's reaction was remarkably similar. "Go Turn yourself," she muttered, cracking an eye to make sure it wasn't Al. Peter seemed to know him, and her brain was not supposed to be up that early. Burying her face under the blankets, her forehead resting against Peter's back, she attempted to go back to sleep.
Of course, since Claude was there, none of that was happening. "Come on, Petrelli, you said you wanted training. Lazy men don't save the world. Course, neither do you, so maybe you're on the right track." Yanking the blankets off with maniacal pleasure, he ignored Rachel's yelps and began spraying them again. "Let's go. Bring the girl, too. Maybe she can make coffee or bring us donuts."
Yanking the blanket off was just cruel. In strange and unusual ways.
Bereft of continued happy Oprah dreams, Peter frowned into his pillow. Not having a blanket didn't matter, he could just go back to sleep and ignore Claude, and- oh god, cold water! Scrambling to get away, Peter rolled off the bed and crouched low on the floor, trying to hide. That was not the most pleasant way to wake up.
After a moment, he cautiously rose up slightly, peeking over the edge of the bed and glaring balefully when he saw Claude was still there. Peter was going to have to apologize to Rachel; she really didn't need to meet Claude.
"What?" Peter asked groggily, thoroughly confused. "I thought you said you weren't going to help me anymore. What changed your mind?" Not that he wasn't glad that Claude had apparently changed his mind, but he would have at least liked a little warning first.
Claude smirked. Rachel had wound up off the bed on the other side and was pointing a little gun at him, glowering as she pushed her hair off of her face. "Going to argue with me?" he asked, taking a bite of the pastry and grinning wider at Rachel's indignant huff. "Or do you want me to help?"
Of course Claude was never going to tell Peter that the whole bloody reason he'd come to Scotland was to help if he could. No need to be that honest
( ... )
Hauling himself upright until he was standing, Peter stared longingly at the bed. It would be so easy to just fall on it and go back to sleep... well, if Claude wasn't here, that was. If Peter tried that now, Claude would probably do something horrible, like start whacking him with the closest object he could find.
He could have just said Claude to go away, but there were two things stopping him. One, Claude wouldn't go away just because Peter told him too. And two, he really did want Claude's help. And if it was being offered, then he couldn't turn it down.
And Rachel didn't have to make coffee for them, but Peter couldn't really pull together the brain power he needed to actually communicate that. He just made an irritated sound, tossed his wet t-shirt towards a corner of the room, and shuffled towards the bathroom.
The door was slammed quite firmly behind him. Hopefully Rachel and Claude didn't kill each other before he finished his shower.
It would probably be a close thing. By the time Peter came out of the shower, Claude was sporting a black eye and a grin, sitting at the kitchen table. Rachel, still in her pajamas, had a sleepily smug look on her face. She was just pouring a fresh pot of coffee into three mugs when Peter walked in.
Claude turned around, smirking. "Oh, the princess has decided to join us. Had to fix your hair first, did ya?"
Sliding Claude his coffee with a bit more force than was strictly necesscary, Rachel padded over in bare feet to hand Peter his mug, giving him a baffled look. "I don't care if your friends come over," she murmured, casting a look at Claude - who had his feet up on the table and was currently consuming another pastry, "but next time could they not spritz us out of bed?" Biting back a yawn, Rachel curled up in chair at the table, kicking one foot out to knock Claude's chair back and force the man to put his feet down in order to maintain his balance. Smiling serenely to herself (she didn't do mornings), Rachel pulled her
( ... )
The shower had done wonders in waking him up, though it hadn't exactly done wonders for Peter's mood. Especially since he'd heard some scuffling coming from Rachel and Claude, and... oh, for god's sake
( ... )
Glaring furiously at Claude for the little 'exploding man' crack, Peter had to admit that he was surprised that Rachel was getting them more coffee without punching Claude in the face again. That was an interesting development. Peter didn't even want to think about what he might have done to deserve the black eye.
For a moment, he had to collect his thoughts and try and remember exactly what Claude meant about the notecards. Oh, he'd made some metaphor about... cards in a shoebox, and something about plutonium. Claude really had the strangest metaphors sometimes.
"I... yeah, she knows what I can do," Peter replied quietly, darting a nervous glance at Rachel. She wouldn't be able to hear him, but having some kind of sound-muffling power would be really useful right now. "She doesn't know about the bomb thing, though, so shut up about that," he hissed
( ... )
"Oh, you care what she thinks, then?" Claude was watching him, brow furrowed slightly as he thought, studying Peter as if trying to pull some answer out. "Would you be with her if you weren't forced is the question
( ... )
Of course Peter cared what Rachel thought. He cared what everybody thought about him, really, but Rachel slightly more so. She'd been forced to live with him - if he hadn't cared about that, he wouldn't have told her about what he could do. And if that had been the case, Rachel would likely still be thinking that he had random attacks of anger and threw things across the room. It had been sharing what he could do that had brought them closer together.
"I'm not with her, we're just... friends," Peter explained, still keeping his voice down. That was kind of a confusing question, though. Claude was, it seemed, all about saying confusing things. "I don't know, I probably wouldn't have even met her if this random marriage thing hadn't happened
( ... )
Huffing out an impatient sigh, Claude leaned forward. "You're missing the point, Peter. I'm not asking about ifs and maybes. And I'm not asking if your brother has plans to move in with you and braid your hair at night. I'm asking if, given a choice, if you would stay here with your Rachel."
It was an important question - it would tell Claude just how closed off Peter had become. "And when you're with her, when you feel comfortable with her, do you find your powers easier or harder to use? Same with your brother - does being around him or spending time with him, does that help you at all?"
For a brief second, Peter tilted his head slightly, trying to imagine Nathan moving in and braiding his hair. ...That was a really weird image.
"What? No, I'd move out back to my own room," Peter answered, still confused as to why Claude was asking that. "And... yeah, it helps. Always helps when they're around, if I'm trying to use their ability. Maybe because it's there and I'm just reflecting off them instead of having to pull it out, I don't know."
This was beginning to make sense, actually. Claude's questions were piecing together facts in Peter's head; he knew he needed to absorb abilities from other people, but it looked like Claude was saying that he needed people to survive, to learn and stay stable. Weird, coming from the biggest misanthrope he knew
( ... )
"You're an idiot," Claude decreed. "First for thinking you can protect people by not being near them. And second because you think that being apart from them is any kind of help to you. Gotta wake up and start thinking, Peter, before you wind up going nuclear on us all
( ... )
"I don't... what?" Peter screwed up his face in confusion. His presence was not worth the risk of people dying, it never would be. Claude couldn't seriously think that. ...But, apparently, he did. And maybe Peter should take that into account, because Claude definitely seemed to know what he was talking about.
But the comment about how his power wasn't things he gained from other people... he really didn't get that. Sure, Peter had always been able to empathize with people, to communicate with them a little easier than most, but that wasn't a power, was it? He'd be nothing on his own if not for other peoples' abilities.
This was confusingSmiling gratefully at Rachel for the breakfast, Peter started picking at his bacon, a thoughtful crease in between his eyebrows. At her question, his expression became deeply apologetic. "Sorry, that's... Claude." Which explained it all, really, if you knew him. "Before here, I, ah - he was teaching me how to control everything," Peter waved a hand, obviously meaning his powers. "He's the one that
( ... )
Absorbing this, Rachel refilled both of their coffee mugs and then nodded. "All right." Leaning back, she took a sip of her coffee, hiding a yawn behind one hand. How did humans get up this early? It was insane.
"What was he saying to you?" she asked casually, green eyes going to him over the rim of the mug. "You looked...intense. And confused."
While the two lovebirds chatted, Claude was busily going through their things. Invisible, of course. Checking out the medicine cabinet and then their bedroom, he rifled through drawers carelessly. Just investigating.
Huh. Underwear drawer. Lucky man, Peter.
The amulets were confusing, so he pocketed a few for further examination. Rachel had spell books on her side of the bed. Interesting. He continued his tour of their room, one ear attuned to the gentle murmur of voices from the kitchen.
-There was cold water being sprayed on him.
Deeply unhappy at this turn of events, Peter grumbled lowly and cracked open an eye. Oh, he should have guessed. What else did Claude have to do once he'd been Sorted?
"I hate you," Peter groaned, rolling away from Rachel to curl into a ball on the other side of the bed, pulling the blankets over his head. Once he felt protected enough, he smiled stupidly to himself and tried to go back to dreaming about being on Oprah.
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Of course, since Claude was there, none of that was happening. "Come on, Petrelli, you said you wanted training. Lazy men don't save the world. Course, neither do you, so maybe you're on the right track." Yanking the blankets off with maniacal pleasure, he ignored Rachel's yelps and began spraying them again. "Let's go. Bring the girl, too. Maybe she can make coffee or bring us donuts."
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Bereft of continued happy Oprah dreams, Peter frowned into his pillow. Not having a blanket didn't matter, he could just go back to sleep and ignore Claude, and- oh god, cold water! Scrambling to get away, Peter rolled off the bed and crouched low on the floor, trying to hide. That was not the most pleasant way to wake up.
After a moment, he cautiously rose up slightly, peeking over the edge of the bed and glaring balefully when he saw Claude was still there. Peter was going to have to apologize to Rachel; she really didn't need to meet Claude.
"What?" Peter asked groggily, thoroughly confused. "I thought you said you weren't going to help me anymore. What changed your mind?" Not that he wasn't glad that Claude had apparently changed his mind, but he would have at least liked a little warning first.
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Of course Claude was never going to tell Peter that the whole bloody reason he'd come to Scotland was to help if he could. No need to be that honest ( ... )
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He could have just said Claude to go away, but there were two things stopping him. One, Claude wouldn't go away just because Peter told him too. And two, he really did want Claude's help. And if it was being offered, then he couldn't turn it down.
And Rachel didn't have to make coffee for them, but Peter couldn't really pull together the brain power he needed to actually communicate that. He just made an irritated sound, tossed his wet t-shirt towards a corner of the room, and shuffled towards the bathroom.
The door was slammed quite firmly behind him. Hopefully Rachel and Claude didn't kill each other before he finished his shower.
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Claude turned around, smirking. "Oh, the princess has decided to join us. Had to fix your hair first, did ya?"
Sliding Claude his coffee with a bit more force than was strictly necesscary, Rachel padded over in bare feet to hand Peter his mug, giving him a baffled look. "I don't care if your friends come over," she murmured, casting a look at Claude - who had his feet up on the table and was currently consuming another pastry, "but next time could they not spritz us out of bed?" Biting back a yawn, Rachel curled up in chair at the table, kicking one foot out to knock Claude's chair back and force the man to put his feet down in order to maintain his balance. Smiling serenely to herself (she didn't do mornings), Rachel pulled her ( ... )
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For a moment, he had to collect his thoughts and try and remember exactly what Claude meant about the notecards. Oh, he'd made some metaphor about... cards in a shoebox, and something about plutonium. Claude really had the strangest metaphors sometimes.
"I... yeah, she knows what I can do," Peter replied quietly, darting a nervous glance at Rachel. She wouldn't be able to hear him, but having some kind of sound-muffling power would be really useful right now. "She doesn't know about the bomb thing, though, so shut up about that," he hissed ( ... )
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"I'm not with her, we're just... friends," Peter explained, still keeping his voice down. That was kind of a confusing question, though. Claude was, it seemed, all about saying confusing things. "I don't know, I probably wouldn't have even met her if this random marriage thing hadn't happened ( ... )
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It was an important question - it would tell Claude just how closed off Peter had become. "And when you're with her, when you feel comfortable with her, do you find your powers easier or harder to use? Same with your brother - does being around him or spending time with him, does that help you at all?"
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"What? No, I'd move out back to my own room," Peter answered, still confused as to why Claude was asking that. "And... yeah, it helps. Always helps when they're around, if I'm trying to use their ability. Maybe because it's there and I'm just reflecting off them instead of having to pull it out, I don't know."
This was beginning to make sense, actually. Claude's questions were piecing together facts in Peter's head; he knew he needed to absorb abilities from other people, but it looked like Claude was saying that he needed people to survive, to learn and stay stable. Weird, coming from the biggest misanthrope he knew ( ... )
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But the comment about how his power wasn't things he gained from other people... he really didn't get that. Sure, Peter had always been able to empathize with people, to communicate with them a little easier than most, but that wasn't a power, was it? He'd be nothing on his own if not for other peoples' abilities.
This was confusingSmiling gratefully at Rachel for the breakfast, Peter started picking at his bacon, a thoughtful crease in between his eyebrows. At her question, his expression became deeply apologetic. "Sorry, that's... Claude." Which explained it all, really, if you knew him. "Before here, I, ah - he was teaching me how to control everything," Peter waved a hand, obviously meaning his powers. "He's the one that ( ... )
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"What was he saying to you?" she asked casually, green eyes going to him over the rim of the mug. "You looked...intense. And confused."
While the two lovebirds chatted, Claude was busily going through their things. Invisible, of course. Checking out the medicine cabinet and then their bedroom, he rifled through drawers carelessly. Just investigating.
Huh. Underwear drawer. Lucky man, Peter.
The amulets were confusing, so he pocketed a few for further examination. Rachel had spell books on her side of the bed. Interesting. He continued his tour of their room, one ear attuned to the gentle murmur of voices from the kitchen.
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