Silently watching and listening to the argument between Rachel and Claude, Peter simply watched as they both left for the kitchen. Rachel was right, he should eat to keep up his strength. Unfortunately, Claude was more right - he had to get a control over this before it killed people.
As soon as he had the room to himself, Peter settled himself into the middle of the chalk circle, kneeling, hands on his knees. Rachel had taught him how to set a circle, and although he'd never tried, it didn't sound too hard. Deepening his breaths, Peter closed his eyes and mentally reached out for the nearest ley-line. God, Rachel had never told him that it would feel like this, like unadulterated power filling his mind. Grimacing sharply, Peter struggled to follow through and loop it back, but as soon as he could feel the circle take shape on the chalk, everything righted itself and he breathed a sigh of relief.
That was probably the messiest circle-drawing anybody had ever done in history. But it had worked, and that was the only thing that mattered. It would contain everything that needed to be contained. God, that had been tiring. Peter had already felt fairly drained, and that had just topped it off. But he needed to control this.
Features setting in determination, Peter lifted his hands off his knees, watching them as he dug deep and retrieved memories of Ted. They were few and far between, but they were enough. It was so reactive, the way he barely had to think about it before the radiation started lighting up his hands again.
If there'd been some way for me to send Claude zapping to the ever after or falling out of an airplane or bound and gagged into a troll cave, I so would have done it. Whatever he could do for Peter be damned. He was rude and belligerent and had insulted me (and my clothes!) for the last time. He said something else and I was going to take him down.
Banging things around in the kitchen, I had pulled out a pot to boil water for pasta - lots of carbs would get Peter his strength back fast; that and some protein, so I was already planning on adding some chicken to the menu - when I felt a pull on my chi from someone tapping the ley line behind our tent. Now, normally when I'd had that feeling back home, it'd been a gentle tug. Not this time. This time it felt like someone was ripping at my insides; I braced myself against the counter and gasped. It was someone bullying power with none of the finesse of an actual ley line witch.
"Peter."
Turning, I ran back into the training room, finding him on his knees within a circle of his own construction, hands already beginning to glow. Turn it all to hell. I knelt down in front of him, my face a study in concern. Some pride, too - for a first timer, he'd set a fairly good circle. "And people say I'm stubborn," was all I said, though, my lips curving up into a crooked smile.
Instead of doing what my first instinct was and trying to force down his circle or shouting at him to stop killing himself for the affirmation of a cranky old man, I took one deep, slow breath. This wasn't about me overreacting because there was an emotion, there, in regards to Peter that I couldn't let myself acknowledge and I didn't want to think about. Peter needed to do this, even if I hated the methods.
"Come on, Petrelli." My smile was brief but confident and my eyes sought out his. "I know you can do this."
Unknown to me, Claude had followed me back in, guessing what my reaction had meant. Now he rippled back into my vision with a snort and an eyeroll, arms folded tightly across his chest. "Rather you know that he's safe behind his little glass wall and you can be as bloody love and sunshine all you want without risk." His eyes fixed on mine for a second, far too piercing. "But I'm guessing that's pretty typical, yeah? Keep everyone at just enough distance so that you can pretend fall in love and it never has to be too real? Sad little caricature of a girl, aren't you? And tell me, friend, does it keep you from getting hurt? Or are you just alone with the pain, too?"
Gaping, I stared at him, but he'd already dismissed me from his attention. Focused again on Peter, he was nodding his head as if to some unheard beat, his fingers tapping nervously. I choked down any response and returned my gaze to Peter. Oh, I was so going to kill that man later.
Wow, Claude should really lay off Rachel. He got that Claude liked to say that he knew all about the real sides of people, but was this really a good time? It was a little distracting.
Essentially, Peter figured, the problem came down to belief. He had no problem believing in his own powers, and no doubt when it came to the relative truth of the future Isaac had painted. He'd believed that he could save Claire, so he had. The downside was, he also believed that the radioactive power would overwhelm him and he'd explode. If he could just manage to flip that belief around...
Barely hearing what was going on outside the circle, Peter glared at his hands, willing the power to fade and vanish. He could do this. Rachel believed in him. Claude believed in him. All he needed was his own belief, and he'd be set.
Minutes ticked by, and Peter imagined the door shutting on his few memories of Ted. Slowly, gradually, the glow faded. Triumph and relief rushed through him, almost making him laugh with the giddiness of adrenaline. He'd done it. Once. And once wasn't enough.
He couldn't stop there, he was going to do it again and again until he either succeeded 100% of the time or passed out. And Peter wasn't just going to make it go away, he was going to be able to control it, own it.
The next time he tried, it manifested as an exploding ball just above his hands. That was surprising. But progress. And Peter wasn't leaving this circle until he felt he had enough control over this.
Eyes intent, Claude watched, silently, as Peter struggled with the power. And when Peter managed to force it back, he barked out a laugh. "What do you know? Poodle learned a few new tricks, after all. Just hold onto that, Peter, whatever you're doing. That's your meal ticket, right there."
Rachel grinned at the fireball. "Cool," she breathed, looking up at Peter. Obvious pride was in her face; she wouldn't normally be so open, but worry for Peter broke down some of her usual walls.
"More than cool," Claude amended, something in his shoulders loosening. "Control. That's what an exploding man looks like when he's not about to level New York."
Caught off guard, Peter glanced up at Rachel and Claude when they spoke. Were they proud of him? That was strange. Not many people had ever been proud of Peter, so it felt kind of nice. Encouraging, even.
The brief burst of radiation had felt, curiously enough, like releasing pressure. It tended to build and bubble up in times of stress, taking advantage of any cracks in control. Maybe those bursts were a good way to keep the pressure low.
"You don't have to watch," Peter commented to Claude and Rachel, rubbing at his forehead with a hand. He'd sleep for days after this little session. "Go read a book, watch paint dry. Seriously, I'm going to be here for a while."
Obviously Peter underestimated the depth of commitment both people in the room had to him. But instead of arguing, Claude and Rachel just exchanged a quick glance, then Rachel stood gracefully. "Just remember not to touch any part of your circle," she said quietly, one hand going to brush gently against it, and she smiled at the feel. "Otherwise it'll break."
Claude didn't move as she left, leaning back against the wall and half-watching Peter. For once he didn't offer advice or odd metaphors. It was Peter's power, now, probably for the first time. All Claude could do was watch.
Rachel returned, pulling her hair back as she walked in. She'd changed into workoutclothes, but was barefoot, ready to spar. Claude didn't even remove his jacket, though he grinned widely and shot Peter an amused look at Rachel's outfit. Lucky man.
Moving forward, they didn't even have to speak. Claude picked up a long pole from the corner and attacked Rachel without warning. She ducked under the blow, kick shooting out to unbalance him. Claude dodged and came after her with a fury.
It was like a dance, graceful and without hesitation. Both had obviously been trained and neither held back. Claude shimmered invisible only to reappear behind Rachel to take out her legs with the pole. Rachel rained swift blows down with vampire-taught precision.
And both of them kept Peter in the corner of their eyes at all times. The tension of waiting was nearly unbearable; so they sparred, releasing it, close at hand should Peter need them. And both of them pretended they weren't worried and didn't care, a careful charade they needed for themselves.
"Fine, don't leave when I tell you to," Peter muttered under his breath, taking a break to watch them spar out of the corner of his eye. He could help feeling slightly envious. Maybe, one day, he'd be good enough to be that confident. Not that Peter particularly wanted to learn how to fight for the sake of fighting, but being able to at least defend himself would be fairly useful.
It turned out that there wasn't much more he could do. He was already overly tired from the first part of Claude's training, and trying to focus and channel the radioactive power was fairly time consuming. A few more bursts of radiation, an hour later, and Peter couldn't work up the energy to do anything more today.
Peter smudged out of a portion of the chalk circle, breaking it - if he was going to set any more circles, he'd definitely have to practice doing so with more finesse. A quick glance at Rachel and Claude told him that they were still sparring, and he didn't want to interrupt. So he shuffled out into the kitchen, brushing back sweat-soaked hair with a grimace, and started rooting around in the cupboards for something he could eat.
I felt it when Peter broke the circle and I glanced away, receiving a stunning blow to my chest and another to my side for my trouble. Flat on my back on the mat, I blinked, staring up at Claude. "Thanks," I muttered, sarcastic, as I heaved myself up again. A sheen of sweat slicked my body and my hair was wild and frizzing out of its holder.
Claude, however, looked serene, though he was breathing heavily. He was sweaty, too; though he'd stripped down to a black v-neck t-shirt and it was apparent that his body was in prime condition. I mean, seriously. Damn. At least he showed signs of exertion. I didn't feel like such an out-of-shape slacker.
"You love him." It was a statement not a question and I froze at it, eyes wide and heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with our sparring. "Or," Claude amended, leaning on the pole and studying me, "you think you could, which for you is pretty much the same thing, yeah?" He didn't wait for my response - which was a good thing, because I was pretty much just going with the shocked staring angle.
"Give it up," he advised me, tossing the pole into a corner. "He's not the type of guy who falls for girls like you. And he doesn't need any more distractions. You'd drain him dry in a week, with your insecurities and neediness, and there'd be nothing left of him. Walk away, if you know what's good for anyone but yourself."
That said, he simply walked out into the kitchen, shouting at Peter, "Make me a sandwich, fire boy," before plopping down on the couch.
For a few long minutes I just stood in the middle of the training room. Shaking. Closing my eyes, I took a breath. He was wrong. Bastard had no idea. Not only did I not feel that way about Peter (did not, could not), but there was no reason why...
Okay, so he had one point. Guys like Peter... They were pretty much above me. In every way. Best I could hope for was a friendship; and I had that and I didn't want anything else and Claude could just shut his freaking mouth.
Heading out to the kitchen, I nudged Peter aside playfully, forcing a smile. "Go sit down. Chill out. Do anything but this," I commanded him. "I'll make you lunch."
When Claude started to bark another order, I pointed my spoon at him. "Shut up, old man, or I'll actually try next time, and then your ass is mine."
Pulling out a box of pasta and grabbing some chicken from the fridge, I shut off my brain and just concentrated on cooking. And not at all letting Claude's words chase around my mind. Pasta in the pot, chicken in a sautée pan, and Alfredo sauce opened, I then set about making some garlic bread. Anything and everything to keep myself from looking over at Peter, from seeing Claude's stupid face, from acknowledging that I was feeling anything at all except hunger.
Making a quiet sound of disappointment, Peter let himself be nudged out of the kitchen and obediently made his way over to the couch. Damn, Claude was on the couch. Wrinkling his nose slightly (not that Claude was unpleasant, really, but Peter wouldn't be surprised if he got smacked just for daring to sit next to him), Peter then shuffled over to the bed and sat on the edge.
"I could sleep for a week," he announced, tipping backwards and staring at the ceiling. He hoped, when he got better at controlling everything, that pulling out abilities one after the other wouldn't be so tiring.
But, despite being tired, Peter was also feeling way too energetic. In mind, at least. He was still fairly excited over the way he'd managed to manifest the radioactive power, and that was energizing in itself. So he hauled himself upwards again and wandered into the kitchen, looking over Rachel's shoulder at what she was cooking.
"Hey, thanks," he spoke up quietly. "For your support back in there, I mean. It really helped."
"That's because you have the mental control of a week-old kitten," Claude shouted to Peter, shooting me a smirk when I snorted softly.
Draining the pasta, I ignored Claude's humming as I shook the moisture from it and dumped it back in the pan. I felt rather than saw Peter come up behind me, and it was a struggle to not just lean back up against him. But Peter wasn't Nick, nor was he Kisten, and Claude, though a huge bastard with bastard creme filling, had been right about one thing. Guys like Peter were way out of my league.
So instead I just turned the pieces of chicken over and seasoned the Alfredo sauce. Glancing over at him, I was quiet for a second, not really sure how to respond to him.
"You were amazing," I told him truthfully, turning around and holding out a spoon with some of the sauce for him to taste. "Too much pepper?"
Something in me had closed off again. Especially since I knew, without even looking, that Claude was watching our every move. I kept a distance between myself and Peter, holding myself apart. God, I'd been such an idiot. Letting the fact that Peter was this incredible guy overshadow the fact that I wasn't good enough for that. I needed to get myself together or else I'd look like an even bigger fool.
"Shut up, I'm trying my best," Peter called over his shoulder, though he didn't sound nearly as defensive as he might have sounded earlier. He'd seen Claude looking worried and proud by turns, and Peter was so pleased with this revelation (he'd thought Claude didn't really care) that any insult from the man was just going to be met with a smile right now.
Taking the spoon from Rachel with a crooked grin, Peter put on a thoughtful expression as he licked the spoon clean. "It's great," he assured, throwing the spoon into the sink. "Just enough pepper, actually." Rachel really was a great cook, and Peter made a note to thank her for that more often.
Rachel's distance didn't escape him, though. Sometimes she had no reserves about physical proximity, but right now she was holding herself away. Peter didn't know why, exactly, but this had to be rectified. Stuff Claude and his assumptions, Peter liked giving out free physical affection. So he hovered behind Rachel again, sticking his hands into his pockets and plonking his chin onto her shoulder. "And I wasn't really." Amazing, that was. "I'm bettered by the people around me, in times like that."
Oh, crap. My heart rate had to have gone up by about a thousand beats a minute. Forcing my breathing to remain steady, I briefly closed my eyes, reveling in the feel of him right behind me, his breath tickling my hair. I almost relaxed back into him, stopping myself just in time.
Apparently this was 'Torture Rachel' time. Great. Checking the chicken, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.
"No," I disagreed. "You're just amazing." One corner of my mouth went up slightly and I darted a look over at Claude. The man was watching us out of half-closed eyes, lying back on the couch with his arms behind his head. "Besides, if that was true, I don't think I would have helped you." I returned my gaze to the chicken, salting it a little, more for something to do than out of any culinary need.
Oh, Turn Claude. I turned my head enough to give Peter a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'm really proud of you."
If Rachel was going disagree, then Peter was going to disagree right back.
Sometimes it was hard to believe that a woman like Rachel apparently thought so little of herself. Peter wanted to stand her in front of a mirror and list her good properties, over and over, until she actually believed it. He didn't immediately speak up, simply smiling softly at the kiss and watching Rachel cook.
"Back when I had just discovered that I could do stuff like flying, I didn't exactly have the right idea about it." Peter paused briefly to tuck his chin more securely on Rachel's shoulder, enjoying the warmth that came from being so close to another human being. "I didn't know I could hold on to the abilities - I thought I was only something when other special people were around." He did have a point here. "Honestly, even though I've learned, I think that's still the case," he grinned, giving Rachel a quick kiss on the cheek.
Before she had a chance to argue, Peter ducked out of the kitchen and headed off to find a change of clothes. Trained-in clothes were not exactly comfortable.
Swallowing hard, I tried to force my thoughts anyplace besides just following after Peter and...
Yes. No. Chicken needed to be taken out of the pan. That was a good distraction. Almost as good as burning my finger, to which I gave a small hiss of pain and immediately stuck it in my mouth. Claude started laughing, and I glared at him. Jerk.
Cutting up the chicken, dishing it up over the pasta and adding the sauce, I grabbed a tomato and some fresh basil from my windowsill and added them as garnish. Three plates were set on the table along with a pitcher of ice water and a plate of garlic bread. Claude grabbed a seat and shoveled a forkful in, grunting in thanks.
Okay, I could do this. There was no reason I needed to turn into a puddle of mush around Peter, and I was definitely strong enough to stop myself from being an idiot. Taking a seat, I crossed my legs and poured myself a glass of water, thankful for the liquid. Claude had given me quite a workout - first one I'd had since Ivy that had actually challenged me (and hadn't come from someone trying to take my head off).
Reappearing from changing, Peter practically threw himself into a chair, grinning at Rachel. "This looks good," he commented, eagerly picking up a fork and digging into the food. If Rachel kept up this caliber of cooking, Peter was going to have to reconsider his status as a good cook.
Shoveling food into his mouth, Peter glanced up at Claude, and absently wondered when the man had actually eaten decently. Living as Claude did probably didn't lend itself to eating hot meals, unless he wandered into restaurants and stole them.
"When was the last time you ate something decent and healthy?" Peter asked suddenly, eyeing Claude in concern. There were some serious physical drawbacks to not eating properly!
Rolling his eyes at Peter's concern, Claude ripped off a piece of his bread and used it to sop up some sauce. "Oh, mommy Peter's going to make sure the poor, helpless invisible man gets his veggies eaten, yeah? Going to follow me around and knit me a sweater, too?"
Claude ducked as Rachel flicked a piece of tomato at him, chewing his mouthful around a large grin. "Don't worry yourself, Petrelli, amazingly enough I can take care of myself just fine. Don't need you or your little girlfriend to make sure my belly's full or I've got a place to sleep. Whole lifetime of practice, and never once needed a keeper."
"Ivy and I had a deal," Rachel said abruptly, apparently sick of Claude's monologuing. "She'd go grocery shopping and I'd cook dinner." She paused, then grinned a little, fork halfway to her mouth. "Well, that had less to do with my cooking skills and more with the death threat that made it slightly difficult for me to leave the house. But still. Lots of experience in making meals. I like it. It's soothing."
As soon as he had the room to himself, Peter settled himself into the middle of the chalk circle, kneeling, hands on his knees. Rachel had taught him how to set a circle, and although he'd never tried, it didn't sound too hard. Deepening his breaths, Peter closed his eyes and mentally reached out for the nearest ley-line. God, Rachel had never told him that it would feel like this, like unadulterated power filling his mind. Grimacing sharply, Peter struggled to follow through and loop it back, but as soon as he could feel the circle take shape on the chalk, everything righted itself and he breathed a sigh of relief.
That was probably the messiest circle-drawing anybody had ever done in history. But it had worked, and that was the only thing that mattered. It would contain everything that needed to be contained. God, that had been tiring. Peter had already felt fairly drained, and that had just topped it off. But he needed to control this.
Features setting in determination, Peter lifted his hands off his knees, watching them as he dug deep and retrieved memories of Ted. They were few and far between, but they were enough. It was so reactive, the way he barely had to think about it before the radiation started lighting up his hands again.
Now, all he had to do was control it.
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Banging things around in the kitchen, I had pulled out a pot to boil water for pasta - lots of carbs would get Peter his strength back fast; that and some protein, so I was already planning on adding some chicken to the menu - when I felt a pull on my chi from someone tapping the ley line behind our tent. Now, normally when I'd had that feeling back home, it'd been a gentle tug. Not this time. This time it felt like someone was ripping at my insides; I braced myself against the counter and gasped. It was someone bullying power with none of the finesse of an actual ley line witch.
"Peter."
Turning, I ran back into the training room, finding him on his knees within a circle of his own construction, hands already beginning to glow. Turn it all to hell. I knelt down in front of him, my face a study in concern. Some pride, too - for a first timer, he'd set a fairly good circle. "And people say I'm stubborn," was all I said, though, my lips curving up into a crooked smile.
Instead of doing what my first instinct was and trying to force down his circle or shouting at him to stop killing himself for the affirmation of a cranky old man, I took one deep, slow breath. This wasn't about me overreacting because there was an emotion, there, in regards to Peter that I couldn't let myself acknowledge and I didn't want to think about. Peter needed to do this, even if I hated the methods.
"Come on, Petrelli." My smile was brief but confident and my eyes sought out his. "I know you can do this."
Unknown to me, Claude had followed me back in, guessing what my reaction had meant. Now he rippled back into my vision with a snort and an eyeroll, arms folded tightly across his chest. "Rather you know that he's safe behind his little glass wall and you can be as bloody love and sunshine all you want without risk." His eyes fixed on mine for a second, far too piercing. "But I'm guessing that's pretty typical, yeah? Keep everyone at just enough distance so that you can pretend fall in love and it never has to be too real? Sad little caricature of a girl, aren't you? And tell me, friend, does it keep you from getting hurt? Or are you just alone with the pain, too?"
Gaping, I stared at him, but he'd already dismissed me from his attention. Focused again on Peter, he was nodding his head as if to some unheard beat, his fingers tapping nervously. I choked down any response and returned my gaze to Peter. Oh, I was so going to kill that man later.
After Peter blew up.
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Essentially, Peter figured, the problem came down to belief. He had no problem believing in his own powers, and no doubt when it came to the relative truth of the future Isaac had painted. He'd believed that he could save Claire, so he had. The downside was, he also believed that the radioactive power would overwhelm him and he'd explode. If he could just manage to flip that belief around...
Barely hearing what was going on outside the circle, Peter glared at his hands, willing the power to fade and vanish. He could do this. Rachel believed in him. Claude believed in him. All he needed was his own belief, and he'd be set.
Minutes ticked by, and Peter imagined the door shutting on his few memories of Ted. Slowly, gradually, the glow faded. Triumph and relief rushed through him, almost making him laugh with the giddiness of adrenaline. He'd done it. Once. And once wasn't enough.
He couldn't stop there, he was going to do it again and again until he either succeeded 100% of the time or passed out. And Peter wasn't just going to make it go away, he was going to be able to control it, own it.
The next time he tried, it manifested as an exploding ball just above his hands. That was surprising. But progress. And Peter wasn't leaving this circle until he felt he had enough control over this.
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Rachel grinned at the fireball. "Cool," she breathed, looking up at Peter. Obvious pride was in her face; she wouldn't normally be so open, but worry for Peter broke down some of her usual walls.
"More than cool," Claude amended, something in his shoulders loosening. "Control. That's what an exploding man looks like when he's not about to level New York."
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The brief burst of radiation had felt, curiously enough, like releasing pressure. It tended to build and bubble up in times of stress, taking advantage of any cracks in control. Maybe those bursts were a good way to keep the pressure low.
"You don't have to watch," Peter commented to Claude and Rachel, rubbing at his forehead with a hand. He'd sleep for days after this little session. "Go read a book, watch paint dry. Seriously, I'm going to be here for a while."
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Claude didn't move as she left, leaning back against the wall and half-watching Peter. For once he didn't offer advice or odd metaphors. It was Peter's power, now, probably for the first time. All Claude could do was watch.
Rachel returned, pulling her hair back as she walked in. She'd changed into workout clothes, but was barefoot, ready to spar. Claude didn't even remove his jacket, though he grinned widely and shot Peter an amused look at Rachel's outfit. Lucky man.
Moving forward, they didn't even have to speak. Claude picked up a long pole from the corner and attacked Rachel without warning. She ducked under the blow, kick shooting out to unbalance him. Claude dodged and came after her with a fury.
It was like a dance, graceful and without hesitation. Both had obviously been trained and neither held back. Claude shimmered invisible only to reappear behind Rachel to take out her legs with the pole. Rachel rained swift blows down with vampire-taught precision.
And both of them kept Peter in the corner of their eyes at all times. The tension of waiting was nearly unbearable; so they sparred, releasing it, close at hand should Peter need them. And both of them pretended they weren't worried and didn't care, a careful charade they needed for themselves.
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It turned out that there wasn't much more he could do. He was already overly tired from the first part of Claude's training, and trying to focus and channel the radioactive power was fairly time consuming. A few more bursts of radiation, an hour later, and Peter couldn't work up the energy to do anything more today.
Peter smudged out of a portion of the chalk circle, breaking it - if he was going to set any more circles, he'd definitely have to practice doing so with more finesse. A quick glance at Rachel and Claude told him that they were still sparring, and he didn't want to interrupt. So he shuffled out into the kitchen, brushing back sweat-soaked hair with a grimace, and started rooting around in the cupboards for something he could eat.
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Claude, however, looked serene, though he was breathing heavily. He was sweaty, too; though he'd stripped down to a black v-neck t-shirt and it was apparent that his body was in prime condition. I mean, seriously. Damn. At least he showed signs of exertion. I didn't feel like such an out-of-shape slacker.
"You love him." It was a statement not a question and I froze at it, eyes wide and heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with our sparring. "Or," Claude amended, leaning on the pole and studying me, "you think you could, which for you is pretty much the same thing, yeah?" He didn't wait for my response - which was a good thing, because I was pretty much just going with the shocked staring angle.
"Give it up," he advised me, tossing the pole into a corner. "He's not the type of guy who falls for girls like you. And he doesn't need any more distractions. You'd drain him dry in a week, with your insecurities and neediness, and there'd be nothing left of him. Walk away, if you know what's good for anyone but yourself."
That said, he simply walked out into the kitchen, shouting at Peter, "Make me a sandwich, fire boy," before plopping down on the couch.
For a few long minutes I just stood in the middle of the training room. Shaking. Closing my eyes, I took a breath. He was wrong. Bastard had no idea. Not only did I not feel that way about Peter (did not, could not), but there was no reason why...
Okay, so he had one point. Guys like Peter... They were pretty much above me. In every way. Best I could hope for was a friendship; and I had that and I didn't want anything else and Claude could just shut his freaking mouth.
Heading out to the kitchen, I nudged Peter aside playfully, forcing a smile. "Go sit down. Chill out. Do anything but this," I commanded him. "I'll make you lunch."
When Claude started to bark another order, I pointed my spoon at him. "Shut up, old man, or I'll actually try next time, and then your ass is mine."
Pulling out a box of pasta and grabbing some chicken from the fridge, I shut off my brain and just concentrated on cooking. And not at all letting Claude's words chase around my mind. Pasta in the pot, chicken in a sautée pan, and Alfredo sauce opened, I then set about making some garlic bread. Anything and everything to keep myself from looking over at Peter, from seeing Claude's stupid face, from acknowledging that I was feeling anything at all except hunger.
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"I could sleep for a week," he announced, tipping backwards and staring at the ceiling. He hoped, when he got better at controlling everything, that pulling out abilities one after the other wouldn't be so tiring.
But, despite being tired, Peter was also feeling way too energetic. In mind, at least. He was still fairly excited over the way he'd managed to manifest the radioactive power, and that was energizing in itself. So he hauled himself upwards again and wandered into the kitchen, looking over Rachel's shoulder at what she was cooking.
"Hey, thanks," he spoke up quietly. "For your support back in there, I mean. It really helped."
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Draining the pasta, I ignored Claude's humming as I shook the moisture from it and dumped it back in the pan. I felt rather than saw Peter come up behind me, and it was a struggle to not just lean back up against him. But Peter wasn't Nick, nor was he Kisten, and Claude, though a huge bastard with bastard creme filling, had been right about one thing. Guys like Peter were way out of my league.
So instead I just turned the pieces of chicken over and seasoned the Alfredo sauce. Glancing over at him, I was quiet for a second, not really sure how to respond to him.
"You were amazing," I told him truthfully, turning around and holding out a spoon with some of the sauce for him to taste. "Too much pepper?"
Something in me had closed off again. Especially since I knew, without even looking, that Claude was watching our every move. I kept a distance between myself and Peter, holding myself apart. God, I'd been such an idiot. Letting the fact that Peter was this incredible guy overshadow the fact that I wasn't good enough for that. I needed to get myself together or else I'd look like an even bigger fool.
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Taking the spoon from Rachel with a crooked grin, Peter put on a thoughtful expression as he licked the spoon clean. "It's great," he assured, throwing the spoon into the sink. "Just enough pepper, actually." Rachel really was a great cook, and Peter made a note to thank her for that more often.
Rachel's distance didn't escape him, though. Sometimes she had no reserves about physical proximity, but right now she was holding herself away. Peter didn't know why, exactly, but this had to be rectified. Stuff Claude and his assumptions, Peter liked giving out free physical affection. So he hovered behind Rachel again, sticking his hands into his pockets and plonking his chin onto her shoulder. "And I wasn't really." Amazing, that was. "I'm bettered by the people around me, in times like that."
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Apparently this was 'Torture Rachel' time. Great. Checking the chicken, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.
"No," I disagreed. "You're just amazing." One corner of my mouth went up slightly and I darted a look over at Claude. The man was watching us out of half-closed eyes, lying back on the couch with his arms behind his head. "Besides, if that was true, I don't think I would have helped you." I returned my gaze to the chicken, salting it a little, more for something to do than out of any culinary need.
Oh, Turn Claude. I turned my head enough to give Peter a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'm really proud of you."
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Sometimes it was hard to believe that a woman like Rachel apparently thought so little of herself. Peter wanted to stand her in front of a mirror and list her good properties, over and over, until she actually believed it. He didn't immediately speak up, simply smiling softly at the kiss and watching Rachel cook.
"Back when I had just discovered that I could do stuff like flying, I didn't exactly have the right idea about it." Peter paused briefly to tuck his chin more securely on Rachel's shoulder, enjoying the warmth that came from being so close to another human being. "I didn't know I could hold on to the abilities - I thought I was only something when other special people were around." He did have a point here. "Honestly, even though I've learned, I think that's still the case," he grinned, giving Rachel a quick kiss on the cheek.
Before she had a chance to argue, Peter ducked out of the kitchen and headed off to find a change of clothes. Trained-in clothes were not exactly comfortable.
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Yes. No. Chicken needed to be taken out of the pan. That was a good distraction. Almost as good as burning my finger, to which I gave a small hiss of pain and immediately stuck it in my mouth. Claude started laughing, and I glared at him. Jerk.
Cutting up the chicken, dishing it up over the pasta and adding the sauce, I grabbed a tomato and some fresh basil from my windowsill and added them as garnish. Three plates were set on the table along with a pitcher of ice water and a plate of garlic bread. Claude grabbed a seat and shoveled a forkful in, grunting in thanks.
Okay, I could do this. There was no reason I needed to turn into a puddle of mush around Peter, and I was definitely strong enough to stop myself from being an idiot. Taking a seat, I crossed my legs and poured myself a glass of water, thankful for the liquid. Claude had given me quite a workout - first one I'd had since Ivy that had actually challenged me (and hadn't come from someone trying to take my head off).
Ah, awkward silences.
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Shoveling food into his mouth, Peter glanced up at Claude, and absently wondered when the man had actually eaten decently. Living as Claude did probably didn't lend itself to eating hot meals, unless he wandered into restaurants and stole them.
"When was the last time you ate something decent and healthy?" Peter asked suddenly, eyeing Claude in concern. There were some serious physical drawbacks to not eating properly!
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Claude ducked as Rachel flicked a piece of tomato at him, chewing his mouthful around a large grin. "Don't worry yourself, Petrelli, amazingly enough I can take care of myself just fine. Don't need you or your little girlfriend to make sure my belly's full or I've got a place to sleep. Whole lifetime of practice, and never once needed a keeper."
"Ivy and I had a deal," Rachel said abruptly, apparently sick of Claude's monologuing. "She'd go grocery shopping and I'd cook dinner." She paused, then grinned a little, fork halfway to her mouth. "Well, that had less to do with my cooking skills and more with the death threat that made it slightly difficult for me to leave the house. But still. Lots of experience in making meals. I like it. It's soothing."
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