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
( ... )
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."
Peter had almost gone to stop Rachel from doing anything, before remembering that he couldn't exit the circle. Claude's method was a bit brutal, but it worked, it kept Rachel safe - even if she'd probably have a hell of a bruise tomorrow.
He opened his mouth, trying to say 'Thanks' or 'I can't do it' or 'Sorry', or any other number of things that sprang to mind for him to say, but his voice wasn't working. Claude's words were getting lost in the pounding that was taking up his hearing, and the only thing Peter could really do was stare at him dumbly. He couldn't think. All he could do was feel the radiation moving through his veins and trying to overwhelm him, trying to explode.
Deja-vu.
It was all he could do to be grateful when he started to feel light-headed and started to list slightly to the side. Thank god, he was going to pass out and not explode. He wasn't strong enough to focus in the midst of all of this. Peter almost smiled as his vision began to darken; this was one sure way out of it.
When Peter came to, he'd find himself lying still within the chalk circle, head on Rachel's lap as she dabbed his face with a cool washcloth from a basin in which herbs seeped. Claude was pacing back and forth, occasionally checking on Peter with a low growl of concern before resuming his trek around the room.
"He's going to be fine," he announced to no one, hand scrubbing at his face.
"No thanks to you," Rachel shot back, worry evident in her voice. "Come on Pete," she continued more softly, brushing back his hair from his face. "Don't do this."
"What I did was necessary."
"What you did was cruel." Rachel sounded furious. She'd only been out for a second, waking up in time to see Peter pass out. Within seconds she'd broken the circle and started barking orders at Claude, which he followed with uncharacteristic meekness and a hell of a lot of muttering. The water was an essence that was useful for soothing and pain relief. Continuing to bathe Peter's face lightly, Rachel grew more worried by the second. "Who do you think
( ... )
When Peter woke up, it was with one firm belief; Passing out was getting to be really old.
"He is my best chance," Peter announced, squinting as he opened his eyes. Not much time had passed, probably, but the radioactive power always made him feel a little strange afterwards. He wondered if, when using it, his body had to be healing itself constantly. Peter hoped so, otherwise he was probably going to get cancer in the next few years, or some other radiation-induced deformity.
With a slightly loopy smile, he reached up and patted Rachel's cheek in thanks. Then, he pushed himself upwards until he was sitting, and looking up at Claude in worry and apology. "Sorry, I just... I guess I'm not good enough to get a hold of that one yet. I can't really think, I get too scared." Peter smiled slightly, self depreciative. "Even when I know everybody around me is safe. Kinda stupid, huh?"
When Peter sat up, started talking, obviously drained but not seriously harmed, both Rachel and Claude let out quiet sighs of relief. Claude immediately looked away, squinting out the window, hands in his pockets. He'd donned his jacket again and his shoulders had a peculiar hunch. Almost shame. He'd been wrong. Again. Once again he'd thought Peter could control his radioactive power, once again he'd been mistaken. At least this time Peter hadn't exploded. No one had to die for this error, and Peter wasn't injured. Claude was sure, though, that his luck couldn't possibly hold. He had to get Peter to control this or people would die. "Try again," he said, flatly, not looking. "No excuses, friend. Don't hear me whinging on about how hard it is to go invisible, do you?"
"You've got to be kidding." Rachel had laid her hand on Peter's shoulder, about to insist that he go rest on the couch while she made lunch. Now her eyes, sparking with ire, tracked to Claude. "He's had enough."
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
( ... )
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
( ... )
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.
( ... )
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
( ... )
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 ( ... )
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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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He opened his mouth, trying to say 'Thanks' or 'I can't do it' or 'Sorry', or any other number of things that sprang to mind for him to say, but his voice wasn't working. Claude's words were getting lost in the pounding that was taking up his hearing, and the only thing Peter could really do was stare at him dumbly. He couldn't think. All he could do was feel the radiation moving through his veins and trying to overwhelm him, trying to explode.
Deja-vu.
It was all he could do to be grateful when he started to feel light-headed and started to list slightly to the side. Thank god, he was going to pass out and not explode. He wasn't strong enough to focus in the midst of all of this. Peter almost smiled as his vision began to darken; this was one sure way out of it.
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"He's going to be fine," he announced to no one, hand scrubbing at his face.
"No thanks to you," Rachel shot back, worry evident in her voice. "Come on Pete," she continued more softly, brushing back his hair from his face. "Don't do this."
"What I did was necessary."
"What you did was cruel." Rachel sounded furious. She'd only been out for a second, waking up in time to see Peter pass out. Within seconds she'd broken the circle and started barking orders at Claude, which he followed with uncharacteristic meekness and a hell of a lot of muttering. The water was an essence that was useful for soothing and pain relief. Continuing to bathe Peter's face lightly, Rachel grew more worried by the second. "Who do you think ( ... )
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"He is my best chance," Peter announced, squinting as he opened his eyes. Not much time had passed, probably, but the radioactive power always made him feel a little strange afterwards. He wondered if, when using it, his body had to be healing itself constantly. Peter hoped so, otherwise he was probably going to get cancer in the next few years, or some other radiation-induced deformity.
With a slightly loopy smile, he reached up and patted Rachel's cheek in thanks. Then, he pushed himself upwards until he was sitting, and looking up at Claude in worry and apology. "Sorry, I just... I guess I'm not good enough to get a hold of that one yet. I can't really think, I get too scared." Peter smiled slightly, self depreciative. "Even when I know everybody around me is safe. Kinda stupid, huh?"
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"You've got to be kidding." Rachel had laid her hand on Peter's shoulder, about to insist that he go rest on the couch while she made lunch. Now her eyes, sparking with ire, tracked to Claude. "He's had enough."
"I'll say when he's had enough," Claude ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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. ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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