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
( ... )
"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
( ... )
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
( ... )
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
( ... )
"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
( ... )
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
( ... )
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."
"A lifetime of practice, huh? I didn't know you'd been living on the streets since birth," Peter replied mildly, sure that 'a lifetime' was an exaggeration. If it wasn't, he was going to feel pretty bad.
Despite his words, Peter still alternated between looking at his food and looking at Claude in concern. He couldn't help it, Claude was someone that mattered to him, and therefore someone he worried over. If he felt Claude needed sweaters, he probably would try to knit.
Wait, what. "Death threats?" Peter raised his eyebrows at Rachel. "Why did you have death threats? Do you still have death threats?"
"Oh, growing a backbone, this one," Claude smirked, pausing in his non-stop eating. "No, math wiz, not since birth. But I have been able to wipe my ass without help for quite some time now, so I'll thank you to stop giving me those cow eyes of yours so I can eat in peace
( ... )
He didn't have cow eyes, did he? Peter almost wanted to go look into a mirror and check. "I'm just concerned, there's no need to insult me," he muttered, stabbing his fork into his pasta.
And he supposed the death threats were understandable, in Rachel's line of work. That they were 'mostly' back where she came from made Peter frown, but he didn't pursue it - she looked unhappy enough even talking about it. Great, he was stuck a table with two decidely unwilling to be emotional people. Not that he didn't appreciate it when Rachel reached out, but seriously, all of this non-emotional lack of contact was going to drive him insane.
"Thanks," Peter mumbled, grabbing some bread and dropping it on to his plate. He could probably eat enough for four - must have been all that energy he'd burnt during the work out.
"Don't need to," Claude agreed. "'S more of a stress reliever, really."
Oh, crap, now everyone was being all pissy. And after Peter and I had been doing so well. I was blaming it on Claude. Stupid human.
Nudging Peter's leg with my foot I shot him a quick smile, mentally searching for a topic. Something that had nothing to do with death threats or cows - which for me was actually way harder than it sounded.
Fork frozen halfway to his mouth, Peter raised an eyebrow and stared at Rachel. "You can? ...Huh," Peter said, clearly baffled, mostly from the complete randomness of the topic change.
Turning into an animal would be quite handy, he assumed. Maybe something awesome, like a crocodile. Or a lion. Or a T-Rex. Temporarily drawn off into dream land about which animal would be cool to turn into, Peter stared down at his pasta, frowning in thought.
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 ( ... )
Reply
Reply
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 ( ... )
Reply
"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."
Reply
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 ( ... )
Reply
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 ( ... )
Reply
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."
Reply
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 ( ... )
Reply
Reply
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!
Reply
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."
Reply
Despite his words, Peter still alternated between looking at his food and looking at Claude in concern. He couldn't help it, Claude was someone that mattered to him, and therefore someone he worried over. If he felt Claude needed sweaters, he probably would try to knit.
Wait, what. "Death threats?" Peter raised his eyebrows at Rachel. "Why did you have death threats? Do you still have death threats?"
Reply
Reply
And he supposed the death threats were understandable, in Rachel's line of work. That they were 'mostly' back where she came from made Peter frown, but he didn't pursue it - she looked unhappy enough even talking about it. Great, he was stuck a table with two decidely unwilling to be emotional people. Not that he didn't appreciate it when Rachel reached out, but seriously, all of this non-emotional lack of contact was going to drive him insane.
"Thanks," Peter mumbled, grabbing some bread and dropping it on to his plate. He could probably eat enough for four - must have been all that energy he'd burnt during the work out.
Reply
Oh, crap, now everyone was being all pissy. And after Peter and I had been doing so well. I was blaming it on Claude. Stupid human.
Nudging Peter's leg with my foot I shot him a quick smile, mentally searching for a topic. Something that had nothing to do with death threats or cows - which for me was actually way harder than it sounded.
"Did I ever tell you I can turn into a mink?"
I was so the queen of random.
Reply
Fork frozen halfway to his mouth, Peter raised an eyebrow and stared at Rachel. "You can? ...Huh," Peter said, clearly baffled, mostly from the complete randomness of the topic change.
Turning into an animal would be quite handy, he assumed. Maybe something awesome, like a crocodile. Or a lion. Or a T-Rex. Temporarily drawn off into dream land about which animal would be cool to turn into, Peter stared down at his pasta, frowning in thought.
Reply
Leave a comment