"Oh, for the love of Jesus Christ and all his little children." Claude heaved out a huge sigh, actually having to walk away from Peter to calm himself down. Impossible. This was literally impossible. It was like beating a plastic spoon against the Hoover Dam and hoping to make a crack.
Returning to Peter, Claude rubbed his face with one hand and snorted a laugh. "Right. Okay. Let's start at the bloody beginning. Empaths don't just sympathize with people, Peter. They feel. They're psychically linked to the people around them. The more you care about a person, the closer you get to them, the more their moods affect you. Sure, you have your own feelings, too, but with someone as powerful as you, it all gets muddled up in your mind," he reached forward and tapped Peter's forehead sharply with one finger.
"You don't know how to control that. Takes time and effort and you've not put that in. But more importantly, you don't understand that. Listen, Peter, you keep thinking about your powers in terms of the individual things
( ... )
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
( ... )
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
( ... )
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
( ... )
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.
With a growl, Claude grabbed Peter by the shoulders and roughly yanked him back into the training room, despite Rachel's indignant 'Hey!', and thrust Peter into the middle of the chalk circle. "Use your brain, you poodle. Do you think I'd put myself in the way of your lackluster performance?"
He turned to Rachel, snapping, "Do it." She hesitated and he grabbed her arm, shaking her. "You want to help him? DO IT."
Looking furious, Rachel met Peter's eyes and sighed. Expression apologetic, she nonetheless set her circle, Claude jumping out of the way just in time. "Peter," she said plaintively. "Think about it. You're inside the circle. Sylar couldn't get to us when I had us in one. You won't be able to get out, no matter what. Just..." She glanced over at Claude and then back. "Look, I know you're going to be able to control it." She gave him a lopsided grin. "Besides, the sooner you do it, the sooner we can kick him out and go take a nap
( ... )
This wasn't happening. This seriously couldn't be happening. They were insane.
Peter had spent the better part of a few months trying to avoid blowing up, and okay, he was in a circle that would apparently let everybody else be safe and wouldn't let the radioactivity extend beyond it, but that wasn't the point. If he shoved it so far down that he forgot about it, it wouldn't resurface, it would stay dormant. Right?
But as soon as Peter started thinking about it, thinking about Ted and the panic of trying not to explode, it started happening anyway. Just like last time; the radiation moving like flash-fire heat through his veins, his hands lighting up from the inside. Oh god, it was happening again.
"Claude, please," Peter pleaded, staring down at his hands. Not again, not now. "I... I can't control this. Just let me out, put something through my brain, anything!"
Eyes going wide at Peter's pleas, Rachel moved forward to help. But she was jerked back by Claude's hand on her shoulder. His fingers pressed into her skin, biting painfully, holding her back. Jaw working furiously, she made a soft noise of frustration, watching Peter, hands curled into fists at her side.
"Calm down," Claude ordered sharply, but his voice had become oddly soothing. "Breathe, Peter. Don't worry about what's happening. Find the emotion. Figure out the link. Then make the button. It's all right there, right in front of you. You're not going to hurt anyone. You just need to concentrate. Focus. You're fine. You can do this, Petrelli. This isn't New York and you're not going to explode. Find the link."
That would fairly decent advice, if Peter wasn't a little more preoccupied with a certain something else.
"I can't, I can't think," he stammered, panicked. "It's a little hard when I'm about to explode!"
Technically, Peter knew he should be able to control this. It had happened four times; two he'd controlled it, one he'd passed out from, and one that he'd exploded. It wasn't terribly good odds, but if he'd done before, he had to be able to do it again. Right?
He glanced up at Claude and Rachel, initially scared for their safety before he remembered that the circle would protect them - and oh god, the radioactive power was spreading up his arms and taking over, glowing with a sickly light.
Do what Claude says. Calm down, and breathe. ...Well, at least he was calmer, now. The strange kind of calm that came with inevitability. Claude and Rachel were safe, it would be okay. "I can't do anything," Peter said slowly. Deja-vu. "Just don't come inside the circle until it's finished."
Claude was now holding Rachel bodily back. "Get off me," she snarled, pushing him away and heading for the circle. Claude and Peter both be damned, she was not letting him do this alone. What Rachel thought she was going to do was unclear. One second she was heading for the circle, determined, the next an invisible fist had struck her with scientific precision and she was sprawled on the floor, unconscious.
Not sparing her a glance, Claude flickered back to visibility. "You can do something. Stop just reacting - you're not a dog on a leash being led around. Don't behave like it. 'S not a runaway Roller Coaster, mate, and you're not strapped in and heading down the drop. Find the feeling. Make the trigger." Claude's voice became more urgent, compelling Peter. "FOCUS, Petrelli. Look at me."
Clear blue eyes met brown, steady and sure. "It's not stronger than you, friend, and you can do something. Breathe."
Returning to Peter, Claude rubbed his face with one hand and snorted a laugh. "Right. Okay. Let's start at the bloody beginning. Empaths don't just sympathize with people, Peter. They feel. They're psychically linked to the people around them. The more you care about a person, the closer you get to them, the more their moods affect you. Sure, you have your own feelings, too, but with someone as powerful as you, it all gets muddled up in your mind," he reached forward and tapped Peter's forehead sharply with one finger.
"You don't know how to control that. Takes time and effort and you've not put that in. But more importantly, you don't understand that. Listen, Peter, you keep thinking about your powers in terms of the individual things ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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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He turned to Rachel, snapping, "Do it." She hesitated and he grabbed her arm, shaking her. "You want to help him? DO IT."
Looking furious, Rachel met Peter's eyes and sighed. Expression apologetic, she nonetheless set her circle, Claude jumping out of the way just in time. "Peter," she said plaintively. "Think about it. You're inside the circle. Sylar couldn't get to us when I had us in one. You won't be able to get out, no matter what. Just..." She glanced over at Claude and then back. "Look, I know you're going to be able to control it." She gave him a lopsided grin. "Besides, the sooner you do it, the sooner we can kick him out and go take a nap ( ... )
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Peter had spent the better part of a few months trying to avoid blowing up, and okay, he was in a circle that would apparently let everybody else be safe and wouldn't let the radioactivity extend beyond it, but that wasn't the point. If he shoved it so far down that he forgot about it, it wouldn't resurface, it would stay dormant. Right?
But as soon as Peter started thinking about it, thinking about Ted and the panic of trying not to explode, it started happening anyway. Just like last time; the radiation moving like flash-fire heat through his veins, his hands lighting up from the inside. Oh god, it was happening again.
"Claude, please," Peter pleaded, staring down at his hands. Not again, not now. "I... I can't control this. Just let me out, put something through my brain, anything!"
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"Calm down," Claude ordered sharply, but his voice had become oddly soothing. "Breathe, Peter. Don't worry about what's happening. Find the emotion. Figure out the link. Then make the button. It's all right there, right in front of you. You're not going to hurt anyone. You just need to concentrate. Focus. You're fine. You can do this, Petrelli. This isn't New York and you're not going to explode. Find the link."
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"I can't, I can't think," he stammered, panicked. "It's a little hard when I'm about to explode!"
Technically, Peter knew he should be able to control this. It had happened four times; two he'd controlled it, one he'd passed out from, and one that he'd exploded. It wasn't terribly good odds, but if he'd done before, he had to be able to do it again. Right?
He glanced up at Claude and Rachel, initially scared for their safety before he remembered that the circle would protect them - and oh god, the radioactive power was spreading up his arms and taking over, glowing with a sickly light.
Do what Claude says. Calm down, and breathe. ...Well, at least he was calmer, now. The strange kind of calm that came with inevitability. Claude and Rachel were safe, it would be okay. "I can't do anything," Peter said slowly. Deja-vu. "Just don't come inside the circle until it's finished."
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Not sparing her a glance, Claude flickered back to visibility. "You can do something. Stop just reacting - you're not a dog on a leash being led around. Don't behave like it. 'S not a runaway Roller Coaster, mate, and you're not strapped in and heading down the drop. Find the feeling. Make the trigger." Claude's voice became more urgent, compelling Peter. "FOCUS, Petrelli. Look at me."
Clear blue eyes met brown, steady and sure. "It's not stronger than you, friend, and you can do something. Breathe."
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