Still furious, but reigning it in (for now), Claude rolled his eyes and hopped up onto a windowsill. "You're over thinking it again. Trying to match up the little numbers all in a row. That's why you blew up, that's why you keep failing."
Jamming his hands in his pockets, Claude glowered at him. "You aren't a man of logic, Peter. That's not how you'll get anywhere. You think with your bloody heart instead, which gets you into a hell of a lot of shit, but it'll get you out again if you can figure out how to use it. Don't try to quantify things or your pretty little head will explode, along with the rest of you." Full of too much nervous energy, Claude hopped up again and started to pace.
"But it's hard, is it?" he asked in a mockingly high and pitiful voice. "Oh, no, Peter Petrelli is having to work at something. Not coming easy to him." He stopped and jabbed a finger at Peter. "Stop making excuses. All you do, all day long, is bitch and moan about how you try, how you're dangerous, how everyone and everything is better off without you, and it's pathetic. Just covering up for the fact that you're lazy and you're scared. Well the first you have to get over, and friend? Everyone is the latter. Everyone. All the bloody time, and if they tell you different, they're a liar as well. So get over yourself and man up to who you are. All of it."
Standing in front of Peter, feet apart, arms crossed, Claude met his eyes. "Now, think. You don't need a name. You don't need anything more than one second of contact. That's all you'll ever need. Think back, find something. An emotion. A smell. A feeling. A face. Anything. Hold that one little thing hard, in your memory. You got it?"
"I'd like to see you try to do this, if it's so goddamn easy," Peter muttered venomously - not intending to start a fight, but it made him feel a little better anyway.
Nonetheless, he took to heart what Claude said, and tried to match up something with the telepathy. He could remember the cop's face - right after Claire's homecoming, at the police station. Could remember his voice, his thoughts, his clear dedication to finding who had killed the other cheerleader. Hopefully that would be enough.
With a sigh, Peter let go of that ability, rubbing his forehead as the background mutters of nearby people faded. He wasn't sure if he liked that one. Some people thought so differently than they acted, and it was never a good surprise.
"Fine, I got it," Peter spoke up eventually, stubborn and a little ticked off. How did ranting about he stupid he was help? Claude seemed to love to do it anyway. At least this was better than being thrown off buildings. "What next? Gonna make me pull out an ability that I used on the 10th of October? Or maybe something I picked up from someone wearing a blue shirt? I'm sure that'll help heaps."
Suddenly moving forward with a grace that seemed almost out of place on a man his age and size, Claude lifted Peter up by the neck and slammed him into the wall. "Listen here, Petrelli," he hissed, anger clearly reflected on his face. "You're a whiny little shadow of a man and it's no one's fault but your own. I am trying to help you, against my better judgment, and you're nothing but a pain in my ass. So shut up and work, or else tell me you're done trying and I can remove the threat right here and now." His fingers tightened slightly on Peter's throat as he stared the other man down.
Why did Claude seem to like shoving him against walls so much? Peter was going to figure this out, as soon as Claude let him go and Peter actually got his breath back. For now, all he could was trying to separate Claude's hands from his neck, and it wasn't working that well.
"Sylar tried that last week, it didn't stick," Peter forced out, laughing breathlessly. Why was Claude still trying to help him if he hated him so much? That was a question that was going to drive Peter positively insane.
Rolling his eyes, Claude leaned in further. "Answer the question. Or is the decision too hard? I'm not going to waste my time if you'll just lie down and give up at the next opportunity. You have to have a reason. Have to want to be better, to control it, to live your life. But all I've seen is you wandering around, moaning and groaning and wishing you were different. Well thin soup's you supper, mate, and there's only two choices. You can be who you are and like it. Or you can die. Your call, right now, but you go no further without deciding."
Scratch that earlier thought, it wasn't just Claude who liked shoving him into walls. The thought of Sylar had Peter's anger flaring, and with a telekinetic shove he sent Claude stumbling a few steps back. Regaining his footing, Peter gulped in air as deeply as he could. You never really missed air until you didn't have it.
"I don't want this power!" He shouted angrily, suddenly furious at Claude for trying to make him choose. "I'm never going to be strong enough to control it, everybody knows that!" Abruptly, his shouting tapered off as his anger burned out, and Peter tiredly leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed. "I just want to it go away, but it won't, and I can't die. Sometimes I just wish there was a cure."
Staring at Peter for a second, Claude jerked around and walked away. Out into the main room, rippling into invisible as he went. There was a shout from Rachel and a crash and suddenly Claude was shoving her back in the room, knife to her throat. Rachel's nostrils were flared and her eyes wide, looking furious. But Claude was gripping her by her hair, her head wrenched back and knife pricking her skin.
"Fine," he said, jaw set, eyes hard. "Don't want it, don't use it. But let's ask for an opinion from the audience." Turning his head, he addressed Rachel. "Do you think the poodle is strong enough to save you? If you just stood here, didn't lift a finger, do you think he could save your life?"
Rachel's eyes didn't leave Peter. Suddenly she went calm. Still. "Of course, you smelly bastard. What the hell are you talking about?"
Claude grinned, pressing the knife in closer. "See, there, Peter. Not everyone thinks you're a weakling. In fact, I'm betting it's just you. All your life, you tell yourself that you're not as good as big brother or dad or whoever you look up to on the playground. You're not supposed to be invincible, Peter. Get it through your head. The fact that this," he jerked Rachel's head back harder and she let out a hiss of pain at the pull, "bothers you? This isn't a weakness. This is your strength. You can't hate who you are anymore Peter. That is how people are going to die. Your girlfriend, here, doesn't hate herself. That's why she's able to do the things she does. Because she doesn't see her powers as something separate, something to be overcome or to ignored."
"You have a point, here, Captain Hobo, or are you just ranting to hear yourself talk?" Rachel spat, rolling her eyes when he tugged at her hair.
"She thinks you're strong enough," Claude told Peter. "I think she's lying. Want to find out who's right?" His eyes turned to the knife and he grinned.
He really should have guessed that was going to happen. What good was painting the future if he couldn't anticipate more serious things like this?
The sight of Rachel with a knife to her neck, fighting with Claude, Claude telling him that people would die if he was weak - all of it was... confusing. It made him angry and terrified and hopeful all the same time, and Peter was already trying to figure out how to get Rachel free before Claude finished talking.
Claude wouldn't kill Rachel just to make a point... would he?
It was tempting to just pretend that he didn't care. Claude wouldn't kill Rachel, he wasn't that cold-hearted, and maybe he'd leave if he thought Peter was a lost cause. But Peter really wasn't sure if he wanted that. He veered wildly between wanting control and not wanting this at all. Either that, it was better to have Claude around.
The knife was too close to Rachel's skin for most options he could think of. But fine, if Claude wanted retaliation, he'd get it. "PUT THE KNIFE DOWN AND LET RACHEL GO," Peter snapped, clinging to the memory of Susan to bring out the rather handy Voice.
Nerveless hands suddenly dropped the knife and Claude stepped back, eyes going wide. The second Rachel was free she turned around and slugged him across the jaw and Claude went down.
"You want to hold a knife to my neck for him," she shouted, pointing at Peter, "fine! But you freaking tell me before you do it, you son of a bitch!"
Claude struggled to sit up, looking anything but worried. In fact, he was laughing. "Oh, well done! Which one of your sorry sack acquaintances had that little gift? Dead useful, that, and you pulled it right out."
Rachel raised a shaky hand to her neck, feeling the prick point, wiping away a smear of blood. She glanced over at Peter, almost as if she was going to go to him, but hesitated.
"You see, mate, if you didn't want these little powers of yours, you wouldn't use them. You would have come after me on your own. Or stood on the sidelines and wrung your hands and hoped the pretty little witch could get out of it by herself. But you didn't. You acted." Claude stood up, grinning like a maniac. "You're not as lost a cause as you think, Petrelli."
He wasn't a lost cause? Despite his earlier crankiness, Peter began to look hopeful again. If Claude said that he wasn't useless, then it must be true, right?
"A woman I met when I came here. Susan," Peter answered, wondering why Claude was laughing. He tended to look happy at really inappropriate moments, especially right before throwing Peter off a building. It might not be a good sign. "She had that, and a couple other things, too."
At least Rachel didn't seem to be hurt, apart from a pinprick. Goddamn Claude, dragging her in just to make a point.
"One more and then I'm done, I swear." Peter leaned back against the wall, trying not to appear as tired as he felt. All this rapid-fire use of different powers wore him out way too fast.
"You'll be done when I say you're done. Can't just leave off because you're tired - do you reckon the people you're up against will hold off just because little Peter needs his nap time?"
He regarded Peter for a moment, before nodding. "Right. You're going to do the big finale one, now. Let's see you burn."
Peter stared. And then stared some more, his left eye twitching. Claude couldn't seriously expect him to willingly fire that particular power up. Not after he'd nearly blown up New York.
"Go to hell," Peter replied furiously, turning and abruptly storming out of the training room. He wanted to learn better control, but he wasn't unleashing that anywhere near people.
"You," Claude barked at Rachel, "start doing that voodoo you do so well. We'll be back."
Jaw set, Rachel nonetheless grabbed a piece of chalk and started drawing out a large circle. She saw where Claude was going with this. Didn't mean she liked how he was treating Peter. Or her, for that matter. Peter was damn lucky she liked him.
Claude darted in front of Peter, stopping him by putting one hand against the boy's chest. "Gladly," he answered. "But first you're going to start getting ahold of some of the things floating about in your head. This is the one you're losing sleep over, yeah? What'd you think, we were just going to ignore it? Trust me Peter, I've no desire to get your soupy bits all over my sweater. Just do as I'm telling you."
Shoving Claude's hand away, Peter glowered at the other man, wanting nothing more than to just get out of here - away from people that wanted him to willingly blow up again. To hell with that.
"No." Stubbornness was coming out in full force. "You want me to bring out the one thing want to avoid, you can go find somebody else to train. Someone that wants to blow up the entire castle and its population. Get out of my way."
"Peter." It was Rachel, looking out from the training room. She was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, eyes confident. "I've got this one. You're not blowing up anyone but yourself. Trust me." She glowered at Claude. "I think I see what Crazy McAssface is doing. Though he could use a breath mint and a lesson in manners, he may be on to something."
Claude, who hadn't moved from his spot, grinned. "See! Even the scrawny redhead agrees with me. Listen, friend, the sooner you figure out that all your powers are equal, the sooner you can stop playing the boy who went boom. Do you think I want to be blown up? If I've got anything, Peter, it's a healthy sense of self-preservation. Your girlfriend's got what we need to play it safe. Just stop acting like a whiny four year old sent to bed without supper and let's finish."
"You're both nuts," Peter scowled. "I've been doing fine at keeping it down anyway, I don't need help on this one." Which was a huge, lie, really.
Even if they said it was okay, Peter wasn't going to believe a word of it unless they actually gave him some details, or proved it. Or evacuated the entire tent village.
Jamming his hands in his pockets, Claude glowered at him. "You aren't a man of logic, Peter. That's not how you'll get anywhere. You think with your bloody heart instead, which gets you into a hell of a lot of shit, but it'll get you out again if you can figure out how to use it. Don't try to quantify things or your pretty little head will explode, along with the rest of you." Full of too much nervous energy, Claude hopped up again and started to pace.
"But it's hard, is it?" he asked in a mockingly high and pitiful voice. "Oh, no, Peter Petrelli is having to work at something. Not coming easy to him." He stopped and jabbed a finger at Peter. "Stop making excuses. All you do, all day long, is bitch and moan about how you try, how you're dangerous, how everyone and everything is better off without you, and it's pathetic. Just covering up for the fact that you're lazy and you're scared. Well the first you have to get over, and friend? Everyone is the latter. Everyone. All the bloody time, and if they tell you different, they're a liar as well. So get over yourself and man up to who you are. All of it."
Standing in front of Peter, feet apart, arms crossed, Claude met his eyes. "Now, think. You don't need a name. You don't need anything more than one second of contact. That's all you'll ever need. Think back, find something. An emotion. A smell. A feeling. A face. Anything. Hold that one little thing hard, in your memory. You got it?"
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Nonetheless, he took to heart what Claude said, and tried to match up something with the telepathy. He could remember the cop's face - right after Claire's homecoming, at the police station. Could remember his voice, his thoughts, his clear dedication to finding who had killed the other cheerleader. Hopefully that would be enough.
With a sigh, Peter let go of that ability, rubbing his forehead as the background mutters of nearby people faded. He wasn't sure if he liked that one. Some people thought so differently than they acted, and it was never a good surprise.
"Fine, I got it," Peter spoke up eventually, stubborn and a little ticked off. How did ranting about he stupid he was help? Claude seemed to love to do it anyway. At least this was better than being thrown off buildings. "What next? Gonna make me pull out an ability that I used on the 10th of October? Or maybe something I picked up from someone wearing a blue shirt? I'm sure that'll help heaps."
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"Sylar tried that last week, it didn't stick," Peter forced out, laughing breathlessly. Why was Claude still trying to help him if he hated him so much? That was a question that was going to drive Peter positively insane.
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"I don't want this power!" He shouted angrily, suddenly furious at Claude for trying to make him choose. "I'm never going to be strong enough to control it, everybody knows that!" Abruptly, his shouting tapered off as his anger burned out, and Peter tiredly leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed. "I just want to it go away, but it won't, and I can't die. Sometimes I just wish there was a cure."
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"Fine," he said, jaw set, eyes hard. "Don't want it, don't use it. But let's ask for an opinion from the audience." Turning his head, he addressed Rachel. "Do you think the poodle is strong enough to save you? If you just stood here, didn't lift a finger, do you think he could save your life?"
Rachel's eyes didn't leave Peter. Suddenly she went calm. Still. "Of course, you smelly bastard. What the hell are you talking about?"
Claude grinned, pressing the knife in closer. "See, there, Peter. Not everyone thinks you're a weakling. In fact, I'm betting it's just you. All your life, you tell yourself that you're not as good as big brother or dad or whoever you look up to on the playground. You're not supposed to be invincible, Peter. Get it through your head. The fact that this," he jerked Rachel's head back harder and she let out a hiss of pain at the pull, "bothers you? This isn't a weakness. This is your strength. You can't hate who you are anymore Peter. That is how people are going to die. Your girlfriend, here, doesn't hate herself. That's why she's able to do the things she does. Because she doesn't see her powers as something separate, something to be overcome or to ignored."
"You have a point, here, Captain Hobo, or are you just ranting to hear yourself talk?" Rachel spat, rolling her eyes when he tugged at her hair.
"She thinks you're strong enough," Claude told Peter. "I think she's lying. Want to find out who's right?" His eyes turned to the knife and he grinned.
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The sight of Rachel with a knife to her neck, fighting with Claude, Claude telling him that people would die if he was weak - all of it was... confusing. It made him angry and terrified and hopeful all the same time, and Peter was already trying to figure out how to get Rachel free before Claude finished talking.
Claude wouldn't kill Rachel just to make a point... would he?
It was tempting to just pretend that he didn't care. Claude wouldn't kill Rachel, he wasn't that cold-hearted, and maybe he'd leave if he thought Peter was a lost cause. But Peter really wasn't sure if he wanted that. He veered wildly between wanting control and not wanting this at all. Either that, it was better to have Claude around.
The knife was too close to Rachel's skin for most options he could think of. But fine, if Claude wanted retaliation, he'd get it. "PUT THE KNIFE DOWN AND LET RACHEL GO," Peter snapped, clinging to the memory of Susan to bring out the rather handy Voice.
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"You want to hold a knife to my neck for him," she shouted, pointing at Peter, "fine! But you freaking tell me before you do it, you son of a bitch!"
Claude struggled to sit up, looking anything but worried. In fact, he was laughing. "Oh, well done! Which one of your sorry sack acquaintances had that little gift? Dead useful, that, and you pulled it right out."
Rachel raised a shaky hand to her neck, feeling the prick point, wiping away a smear of blood. She glanced over at Peter, almost as if she was going to go to him, but hesitated.
"You see, mate, if you didn't want these little powers of yours, you wouldn't use them. You would have come after me on your own. Or stood on the sidelines and wrung your hands and hoped the pretty little witch could get out of it by herself. But you didn't. You acted." Claude stood up, grinning like a maniac. "You're not as lost a cause as you think, Petrelli."
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"A woman I met when I came here. Susan," Peter answered, wondering why Claude was laughing. He tended to look happy at really inappropriate moments, especially right before throwing Peter off a building. It might not be a good sign. "She had that, and a couple other things, too."
At least Rachel didn't seem to be hurt, apart from a pinprick. Goddamn Claude, dragging her in just to make a point.
"One more and then I'm done, I swear." Peter leaned back against the wall, trying not to appear as tired as he felt. All this rapid-fire use of different powers wore him out way too fast.
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He regarded Peter for a moment, before nodding. "Right. You're going to do the big finale one, now. Let's see you burn."
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"Go to hell," Peter replied furiously, turning and abruptly storming out of the training room. He wanted to learn better control, but he wasn't unleashing that anywhere near people.
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Jaw set, Rachel nonetheless grabbed a piece of chalk and started drawing out a large circle. She saw where Claude was going with this. Didn't mean she liked how he was treating Peter. Or her, for that matter. Peter was damn lucky she liked him.
Claude darted in front of Peter, stopping him by putting one hand against the boy's chest. "Gladly," he answered. "But first you're going to start getting ahold of some of the things floating about in your head. This is the one you're losing sleep over, yeah? What'd you think, we were just going to ignore it? Trust me Peter, I've no desire to get your soupy bits all over my sweater. Just do as I'm telling you."
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"No." Stubbornness was coming out in full force. "You want me to bring out the one thing want to avoid, you can go find somebody else to train. Someone that wants to blow up the entire castle and its population. Get out of my way."
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Claude, who hadn't moved from his spot, grinned. "See! Even the scrawny redhead agrees with me. Listen, friend, the sooner you figure out that all your powers are equal, the sooner you can stop playing the boy who went boom. Do you think I want to be blown up? If I've got anything, Peter, it's a healthy sense of self-preservation. Your girlfriend's got what we need to play it safe. Just stop acting like a whiny four year old sent to bed without supper and let's finish."
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"You're both nuts," Peter scowled. "I've been doing fine at keeping it down anyway, I don't need help on this one." Which was a huge, lie, really.
Even if they said it was okay, Peter wasn't going to believe a word of it unless they actually gave him some details, or proved it. Or evacuated the entire tent village.
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