Safe - Chapter 7
Characters: Ensemble
Rating: PG; the usual peril.
Word count: 1,200ish
Spoilers: AU, but let's say through 1.17 ("Company Man").
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the words.
A/N: Inspired by the
heroes_flashfic Somewhen Over The Rainbow challenge. ( Previous chapters).
By the time they get to Bennetti's house and have been introduced to his family, it's starting to hurt just to put weight on the leg, and Peter feels sick even touching the skin around it. Infection, he supposes. Sandrine cleans the wound, puts on bandages and some lotion that smells sharply of seaweed. He thanks her, and she smiles at him as though she does this all the time.
Then she bullies them into staying for supper; Peter is a little surprised by how meekly Claude accepts the invitation.
"Where will you go?" Bennetti is looking at Claude over the tops of his spectacles. Flickers a glance towards Peter. Subtle, and Peter just barely catches it. He sees Claude nod quickly in return. Peter isn't sure what it means, but doesn't want to ask. He feels a little intimidated by Bennetti. The man has barely exchanged a dozen words with Claude over dinner, and yet Peter senses that there's an entire conversation going on, pitched at a level he can't hear.
"We'll get out of the city tonight. Head for England, perhaps."
"Peter's leg needs time to heal. The wound's infected." Bennetti has a slow, deliberate way of saying things that speaks to Peter of quiet authority and measured decisions. Not for the first time, he wonders what the man does for a living.
Claude raises his eyebrows. Peter recognises the signs; Claude is squaring up for an argument. He's not used to people standing up to Claude; actually, he's a little impressed. He hopes Claude won't be too rude to Bennetti, but before anything further can be said, they are interrupted by Clara.
"Uncle Claude! You can't leave! You only just arrived."
"Hush, child," but Sandrine puts a hand on Clara's to soften the admonition.
"But I want him to stay!"
Claude smiles at Clara, bleakly.
*
Supper over, Claude nods to Peter, stands. "We need to be going now." The briefest of wistful glances at Clara, and a grateful nod towards Sandrine. Time to leave.
"No, Claude." and this time Bennetti's tones are firmer, sharper. "It's not safe out there tonight. There's a curfew."
Claude frowns, dismissively. "Curfew's not for us - we won't be seen."
"Leaving now would be a mistake," says Bennetti, carefully. Again, that sense that there is more here than is being spoken, but Peter can't quite grasp it and isn't sure enough of himself to ask. Maybe he'll ask Claude later, when they're alone.
Claude looks at Peter for a long moment. Considering, and Peter knows he's weighing up their chances. He feels foolish for having been bitten, wonders if this delay is going to cost them. Endanger Claude, and -Should have run faster. Stupid.
Claude nods reluctant assent, and Clara squeals and claps her hands.
Sandrine looks at her husband. "Should I-?"
Bennetti nods, and Sandrine disappears upstairs.
*
Later, after Clara has been ordered - with many protestations - to bed, Sandrine shows them upstairs and into a large room - their bedroom, Peter guesses, seeing fading photographs of Clara in dark wooden frames above the dresser. Shutters are closed across the windows now that it is dark outside, and there is a bookcase in the corner. But the bookcase has been shifted, and behind it is a door.
Sandrine opens the door, leads them through. It's a small, narrow room, with a bed, a table and two chairs barely crammed in together. A small chest of drawers protrudes slightly from under the table.
There are no windows.
She smiles at them apologetically. "It's not very big, I'm afraid. But it can't be seen from the street."
Claude nods, gravely. "It's just the one night." Quiet gratitude, but a stiff note there too. Wary, Peter thinks suddenly.
Sandrine has a sweet smile, he decides. "You stay for as long as you need to, my dears." And she bids them goodnight, closing the door behind her.
He hears the bookcase scraping into place behind the door.
*
"Why didn't you ever mention Noah? Or Clara, or Sandrine?" Peter's voice is high, injured, and he won't stop fidgeting, picking wax off the candle as it dribbles down, solidifies; the only source of light in this little space.
Claude watches him, somewhat guardedly. "Haven't see him - them - for a long time. An' keep your voice down." Late now, and sound carries in these old houses.
"But how could you just - why didn't you tell me any of this?" It's a whisper, but Peter feels close to hysteria. Claude doesn't have family, he remembers learning; Claude doesn't have anyone but him.
Claude frowns at him. "Settle down." He pulls Peter across to curl beside him on the bed. "Just listen, alright?" Waits for Peter to stop fidgeting and nod.
And Claude tells him, then, where he and Bennetti used to work. In Germany, at the University of Frankfurt. Government-sponsored research, though Claude isn't very specific. How they fled from there when it started to become apparent that what Herr Hitler really wanted was to eradicate all trace of genetic impurity from the population. Which meant people like Claude. People like Clara, not then yet past her eighth birthday.
"We thought Amsterdam would be far enough away."
A tide of fear and hatred, Claude and Bennetti swept before it, and others like them; struggling to protect what was theirs. Chilling thought, that Claude might never have reached safety. Never met him. Never-
He can't think it. Daren't. "Which of them- or both-?"
A shake of the head. "She's not theirs. They adopted her as a baby. Evidently," and Claude sounds almost bitter, "they haven't told her that yet."
Well, that explains the conversation earlier. But-
"Why didn't you visit them? Why didn't we visit them? You didn't even tell me about them!" A volatile mixture of hurt and anger, burning low and liquid in his throat, threatening to erupt again.
Claude's mouth twists, an awkward shape beneath the beard. "It wasn't safe," he says, finally.
"But they're family, Claude!"
Bleak eyes meet his, and Peter thinks that he might understand. Family is too important to risk. He knows this better than most.
*
"Come to bed." Blue eyes a deep grey, now, by candlelight. Compelling.
Long arms take him then, wrap around him. A brush of beard against his shoulder, and Claude's chest is warm against his back. It's the safest place he knows; he's enveloped, protected. Loved.
But protection is not enough, not tonight. He doesn't know if they can ever go back to their apartment - the place that he and Claude have called home for nearly three years. And he still smarts from things newly discovered, things that Claude never trusted him with. Frankfurt. Bennetti. Clara. Sandrine.
Claude is soon asleep, but Peter is left awake, mind whirling. Why didn't you tell me?
He snuffed the candle out, and now the room is entirely dark. It smells different from their apartment; emptier, somehow. He wonders how many others the Bennettis have sheltered here, wonders where they all are now. England? He doesn't know.
Eventually, he falls asleep.
( Next chapter)
x-posted to
heroes_fic and
peterandclaude
Rating: PG; the usual peril.
Word count: 1,200ish
Spoilers: AU, but let's say through 1.17 ("Company Man").
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the words.
A/N: Inspired by the
heroes_flashfic Somewhen Over The Rainbow challenge. ( Previous chapters).
By the time they get to Bennetti's house and have been introduced to his family, it's starting to hurt just to put weight on the leg, and Peter feels sick even touching the skin around it. Infection, he supposes. Sandrine cleans the wound, puts on bandages and some lotion that smells sharply of seaweed. He thanks her, and she smiles at him as though she does this all the time.
Then she bullies them into staying for supper; Peter is a little surprised by how meekly Claude accepts the invitation.
"Where will you go?" Bennetti is looking at Claude over the tops of his spectacles. Flickers a glance towards Peter. Subtle, and Peter just barely catches it. He sees Claude nod quickly in return. Peter isn't sure what it means, but doesn't want to ask. He feels a little intimidated by Bennetti. The man has barely exchanged a dozen words with Claude over dinner, and yet Peter senses that there's an entire conversation going on, pitched at a level he can't hear.
"We'll get out of the city tonight. Head for England, perhaps."
"Peter's leg needs time to heal. The wound's infected." Bennetti has a slow, deliberate way of saying things that speaks to Peter of quiet authority and measured decisions. Not for the first time, he wonders what the man does for a living.
Claude raises his eyebrows. Peter recognises the signs; Claude is squaring up for an argument. He's not used to people standing up to Claude; actually, he's a little impressed. He hopes Claude won't be too rude to Bennetti, but before anything further can be said, they are interrupted by Clara.
"Uncle Claude! You can't leave! You only just arrived."
"Hush, child," but Sandrine puts a hand on Clara's to soften the admonition.
"But I want him to stay!"
Claude smiles at Clara, bleakly.
*
Supper over, Claude nods to Peter, stands. "We need to be going now." The briefest of wistful glances at Clara, and a grateful nod towards Sandrine. Time to leave.
"No, Claude." and this time Bennetti's tones are firmer, sharper. "It's not safe out there tonight. There's a curfew."
Claude frowns, dismissively. "Curfew's not for us - we won't be seen."
"Leaving now would be a mistake," says Bennetti, carefully. Again, that sense that there is more here than is being spoken, but Peter can't quite grasp it and isn't sure enough of himself to ask. Maybe he'll ask Claude later, when they're alone.
Claude looks at Peter for a long moment. Considering, and Peter knows he's weighing up their chances. He feels foolish for having been bitten, wonders if this delay is going to cost them. Endanger Claude, and -Should have run faster. Stupid.
Claude nods reluctant assent, and Clara squeals and claps her hands.
Sandrine looks at her husband. "Should I-?"
Bennetti nods, and Sandrine disappears upstairs.
*
Later, after Clara has been ordered - with many protestations - to bed, Sandrine shows them upstairs and into a large room - their bedroom, Peter guesses, seeing fading photographs of Clara in dark wooden frames above the dresser. Shutters are closed across the windows now that it is dark outside, and there is a bookcase in the corner. But the bookcase has been shifted, and behind it is a door.
Sandrine opens the door, leads them through. It's a small, narrow room, with a bed, a table and two chairs barely crammed in together. A small chest of drawers protrudes slightly from under the table.
There are no windows.
She smiles at them apologetically. "It's not very big, I'm afraid. But it can't be seen from the street."
Claude nods, gravely. "It's just the one night." Quiet gratitude, but a stiff note there too. Wary, Peter thinks suddenly.
Sandrine has a sweet smile, he decides. "You stay for as long as you need to, my dears." And she bids them goodnight, closing the door behind her.
He hears the bookcase scraping into place behind the door.
*
"Why didn't you ever mention Noah? Or Clara, or Sandrine?" Peter's voice is high, injured, and he won't stop fidgeting, picking wax off the candle as it dribbles down, solidifies; the only source of light in this little space.
Claude watches him, somewhat guardedly. "Haven't see him - them - for a long time. An' keep your voice down." Late now, and sound carries in these old houses.
"But how could you just - why didn't you tell me any of this?" It's a whisper, but Peter feels close to hysteria. Claude doesn't have family, he remembers learning; Claude doesn't have anyone but him.
Claude frowns at him. "Settle down." He pulls Peter across to curl beside him on the bed. "Just listen, alright?" Waits for Peter to stop fidgeting and nod.
And Claude tells him, then, where he and Bennetti used to work. In Germany, at the University of Frankfurt. Government-sponsored research, though Claude isn't very specific. How they fled from there when it started to become apparent that what Herr Hitler really wanted was to eradicate all trace of genetic impurity from the population. Which meant people like Claude. People like Clara, not then yet past her eighth birthday.
"We thought Amsterdam would be far enough away."
A tide of fear and hatred, Claude and Bennetti swept before it, and others like them; struggling to protect what was theirs. Chilling thought, that Claude might never have reached safety. Never met him. Never-
He can't think it. Daren't. "Which of them- or both-?"
A shake of the head. "She's not theirs. They adopted her as a baby. Evidently," and Claude sounds almost bitter, "they haven't told her that yet."
Well, that explains the conversation earlier. But-
"Why didn't you visit them? Why didn't we visit them? You didn't even tell me about them!" A volatile mixture of hurt and anger, burning low and liquid in his throat, threatening to erupt again.
Claude's mouth twists, an awkward shape beneath the beard. "It wasn't safe," he says, finally.
"But they're family, Claude!"
Bleak eyes meet his, and Peter thinks that he might understand. Family is too important to risk. He knows this better than most.
*
"Come to bed." Blue eyes a deep grey, now, by candlelight. Compelling.
Long arms take him then, wrap around him. A brush of beard against his shoulder, and Claude's chest is warm against his back. It's the safest place he knows; he's enveloped, protected. Loved.
But protection is not enough, not tonight. He doesn't know if they can ever go back to their apartment - the place that he and Claude have called home for nearly three years. And he still smarts from things newly discovered, things that Claude never trusted him with. Frankfurt. Bennetti. Clara. Sandrine.
Claude is soon asleep, but Peter is left awake, mind whirling. Why didn't you tell me?
He snuffed the candle out, and now the room is entirely dark. It smells different from their apartment; emptier, somehow. He wonders how many others the Bennettis have sheltered here, wonders where they all are now. England? He doesn't know.
Eventually, he falls asleep.
( Next chapter)
x-posted to
heroes_fic and
peterandclaude