2008-09-05: Pinky Promise

Starring:

Claire_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: A reunion between niece and uncle ends in a promise.

Date It Happened: September 5, 2008

Pinky Promise


Queens: Outside Bennet House

School starts soon, and until then… Here, she i— Okay, fine. Even if school was in session, she'd be here. There is no going away this year, no living in a dorm with kids her own age, no wild excuses to party. But… there are worse things, one could suppose.

It's a beautiful night on the far edge of summer, the sky filled with only the occasional cloud but a desperately beautiful spray of stars and a brightly shining, filling moon. Claire Bennet sits on the front porch now, flexing her toes and then tapping them against pavement. Her knees pressed together — left bare by her denim carpenter shorts — and her arms folded over those knees, she currently is sucking on a popsicle.

Oh, cherry popsicles! Is there no melancholy that you cannot soothe?

It is a beautiful night. And it's a sight that one person hasn't seen in a while. The teleportation had been off. Peter might have been able to figure out where she might be, but sometimes his abilities don't work how he wants… The hospital bed which had been his home for the past week had been abandoned without so much as a word, just a note writen on a piece of paper snatched from afar to let the man know he would be back, and he was fine. Not missing, just getting some fresh air.

Then to his apartment for an important set of things, namely clothes that fit. A shirt, some loose jeans, clothes that make him grimace just putting them on. The bandages are left on, including the ones covering half of his face, but the only thing keeping the pain down is sheer willpower— and the occassional tweaking of his biochemistry. It doesn't work in full, it fades off more than he'd like, but it's better than a shot of morphine. He needs a clear head.

But instead he ended up in pain again. Two abilities at once is too much for him. The pain came back. Which would be why he's limping quite a bit as he makes his way down the sidewalk, physical form familiar, but with bandages… he doesn't quite look like the mummy, but he doesn't look normal either. And he's moving up the driveway toward the front porch where she taps toes against the pavement.

Blue eyes closed, the girl with the blonde ponytail isn't quite paying attention. Ears plugged with the melody-delivering system of an iPod's buds, she doesn't hear the sound of footsteps. It isn't until Peter is about ten feet away that she that she opens her eyes just long enough to catch the sight of his shadow — stretched long by the angle from the streetlight. It's enough to draw startled eyes upwards. And then she catches sight of Peter. Not that she immediately recognizes him as such.

There's a gasp as she pushes herself to her full height, the popsicle dropping to her feet. And then her lips part to scream. She only gets a hiccup out, however, before she stops herself short. And blinks. Hard. Then her eyes narrow and her head cranes forward. "P… Peter?"

And the popsicle is just the most recent of victims in this tragedy that is Peter's life these days. Even if he's wincing with every step closer, he looks down at the cherry popsicle with his one visible eye, then back up at her, "Yeah— yeah, it's me. Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." What's visible under the wounds looks like a lesser version of what she'd seen on Nathan's face over a year ago, when he'd been burnt near a crisp. It's not near as harsh, a different kind of burning. "I got into a little trouble a few weeks ago." He reaches up to touch as his bandages, hesitating in his trek towards the porch.

In fact he seems to have come to a stop. "Sorry, I'm not sure if I'm even— if I should even be here." The eye slides to the house behind her, perhaps waiting for Noah to appear out of the door and point a gun at him. "Mom let me out, and then— I got hurt. It's kind of a long story. Are you okay? I know it's been a while since we saw each other."

"What the hell happened to you?" Peter's question seems to fall to the floor, and then Claire takes a few hesitant steps forward. Her voice is a loud whisper, perhaps for the very same reason that her uncle's single eye looks cautiously around them. "And… And…" Her forehead crinkles, pale skin furrowing in concern. In confusion. Another two steps forward as she leans forward. "And why aren't you… Why are you still hurt?"

"My father stole most of my abilities— before I got locked up in Level Five," Peter explains in a pained voice, raspy, keeping glancing up at the building. "I didn't get to see you before— I was drugged in Level Five, so I guess being drugged meant I didn't get your ability back," he continues, then glances down at the distance remaining between them. "I'd hoped that by meeting up with you in person it would heal, like— like it should have." There's a frown, before he takes a few steps closer as well, limping. It hurts, but he manages them— they're less painful by the moment, actually.

"I think… I think you're close enough," he says, reaching to touch the bandage on his face, pushing it up a bit. Even in the darkness, the knitting together of unhealed tissue can be seen, there's still a groan of pain, a tightening of his jaw, but… he's healing. And fairly quickly too.

"Yeah, Grandpa was a real standup guy," Claire offers with a sneer, her arms crossing under her breasts after a quick tug on her yellow tanktop. She rocks up on her Adidas tennis shoes, chewing on her lower lip as she watches Peter as he starts to heal. "How… How did he take your… Er, do that? He… He didn't take mine. Does it not work like yours?"

"Yeah…" Peter says in quiet pained tones, troubled, but that could be because he's feeling everything knit back into the right place. In case it hadn't worked— in case he found Noah instead, he didn't take the bandages off first, so they're starting to feel unnecessary, bulky. "I don't know why he didn't just take yours— I think he was trying to take all of mine," he says, reaching to push the bandage off. There's some divits, indentations, scarring visible on his face. Perhaps part of it had healed too much to be healed by regen. It isn't really noticable in the dark, but it might remind a bit much of his… future self. "I stopped him before he finished, but I know he'd gotten a lot of my abilities."

"Oh." Claire considers the weight of that and is suddenly at a very large loss for anything to say. A hand reaches up to hook onto the back of her neck and rub at it absently, her creamy skin slightly damp with sweat. "You've been gone for a while," she manages after a long, awkward moment. "There was this woman who did some freaky dream talking thing. I… I wanted to help. But I couldn't figure out how to—" She stops short, breaking off the train of exuses abruptly as she looks into both of Peter's eyes once that bit of bandaging is gone. What shse says next needs two eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I wasn't around to help during the whole thing either," Peter says with a grimace, pulling at the bandages until they're at least off of his face. The ones under his shirt have to remain on for the moment. He'll just have to take those off later. He gathers up what he managed to remove, with some signs of blood pinkining it. Never a lot, probably just there when he moved too much. "You don't have to apologize— I spent most of the crisis locked up in Level Five or in a coma in. I'm sorry I wasn't here for it either. I got out of Level Five and not long after dad attacked me and…" he shakes his head. "It's over now, though. You don't have to apologize."

"It's never really over, Peter," Claire offers sullenly. "Okay, so Grandpa goes on vacation to wherever this week. Next thing you know, it's something else." Her good twists awkwardly, grinding against the pavement. "But… But I'm glad I could, at least, help now."

Her eyes then drift to the small patch of sidewalk that separates her from her uncle. It's practically a chasm. There's a sharp sniff, and then a low murmur escapes her lips soon after."Have… Have you seen Nathan?"

With some distance still between them, Peter takes another step forward, looking as if he may intend to reach out and touch her, but the question about Nathan makes him stop, his hands even dropping back to his sides, full of bandages. "No— I haven't seen him since before I got locked up," he says quietly, looking down to what's left of that chasm between them. It's smaller now, but seems somehow even deeper. "I didn't— I can't seem to find him. I don't know, maybe he's too far away, maybe… I don't know. I know he disappeared and it was something that— that the other me did…"

Claire nods. It's a slow movement, each centimeter of it thought out. Then she swallows hard. What do you say to that? I mean, really. What do you say?

The best thing that she can find in her eighteen-year-old wisdom to not say anything at all.

Instead, her azure gaze remains focused on the sidewalk. Someone shouldn't ever hope that their father never comes back. No one should ever hope that. And here she is, hoping it so fervently and desperately, as though his being away would mean that he is suffering like she suffered.

"I… I'm glad you're okay, Peter."

"Yeah…" Peter says, taking a big step forward and suddenly pulling arms around her. A few moments ago he couldn't dream of hugging anyone without quite a bit of pain, but he doesn't feel the physical pain of before. There's a heaviness in his chest. While she may wish Nathan away for a long time, to suffer, he wants his brother back. Not the man who stood in his place and tried to murder him, but his brother.

"So what are you planning on doing? You must be getting ready to start college now, right?"

Claire is at once comforted and uncomfortable in her uncle's embrace. It's an act of willpower to stay there, to let someone touch her. It's something that she's been resistant to in recent months, to the chagrin of her mother who has only grown more desperate to smother her in motherly love, but for Peter she perseveres.

Eventually, the rigidity in her body fades as she settles her head more fully against his chest. "Yeah," she murmurs against the folds of his shirt, eyes squeezing shut as her arms finally reach around his waist to return the embrace. "I'll be going to NYU this week. Most fun a girl can have without leaving home."

Though the tension may have caused him to pull back, once it loosens, Peter's eyes close and he holds on even tighter. It's been a while since he had a chance to hug someone in his own family— or anyone at all. Between spending so much time in Level Five, to being in a coma… Hair falls into his face, and then he loosens his grip a little, allowing her the slip-out option. "Try to actually have fun. If your father doesn't chase off all the people you could possibly have fun with." It's said jokingly, but once again he opens his eyes to glance up at the house. "Claire… If you need anything… I'll try harder to be here for you this time. I know I've… been gone a lot lately. I even missed your birthday."

Claire takes the opportunity to slip out of the hug, promptly balling her hands into nervous little fists and shoving them into her pockets. "It's okay," she excuses with a half-hearted laugh and a shrug of toned shoulders. "There were extenuating circumstances." Rolling up onto the balls of her feet, she tries to cover deep-rooted discomfort with good old fashioned denial and levity. "You'll just have to make it up me." Another shrug, and then the smile fades into something a little more melancholy. "It was a pretty crappy year for scheduling for me, too."

"I can teleport. No planes, no passports, I could take you to any country of your wishes for a couple hours and have you back before your dad even notices you left the country— not like you have to worry about catching a foreign disease." Peter says, grinning a little as he pulls back to touch the same shoulders she'd just shrugged at him. In some ways it's wishful thinking. A lot could happen between now and April, just looking at how much happened between April and now… "I'll try to stay in this timeline for a while."

"That'd be good," Claire encourages, sculpted blonde eyebrows pricking upwards as she turns her face to look at her uncle more fully. "Makes it hard to go to Aruba with you if you're playing in the future."

"I'll try to avoid playing in the future so that I can take you gift shopping in Aruba," Peter says with a hint of a smile trying to be born out of the grin from a moment before. Hand stay on her, until they finally slide off, lingering on her shoulders. "I hope the next year is better for you." Could it really get much worse than it already had been? Maybe they'd better not push their luck on thinking about that too much. "Do you need anything right now? Another— popsicle?"

Claire's declaration is simple as she shakes her head, blonde tresses set to dancing against her shoulders — and Peter's hands — with the motion. Not a glance is cast back to the popsicle left melting on the porch or the iPod left just near it. "I got the best thing I could ask for. I got a visit from you, and I know that… That you're okay." An uneven, unsure, but still genuine smile pulls her lips upwards. "Despite everything."

There's a long pause, as if those simple words take him by more suprise than anything else she could have possibly say. Peter hesitates a moment before, once again, he's stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her. "I'm glad I could find you," he says quietly, whispered, voice even pointed. He could find her, when he couldn't find others that mean a lot to him. "And I'm okay because of you— I'd probably have needed a few more weeks in a hospital bed if it weren't for you." Her and his ability combined, but there's not much he can really thank his own ability for these days. "Thank you," he adds, to emphasize this gratitude. The hands loosen, so she can pull away yet again.

"Don't mention it," Claire says with a hollow chuckle. This time she doesn't fight the hug, allowing herself to be pulled once more into the embrace. "That's what I'm good for, right?" Baaaack out of that hug as she pokes fun at herself. "'sides. If you can't share you freak skills with your family, who can you share them with, right?"

"You're good for more than that," Peter says with a grunt, pushing at her shoulder. "You know you were the only one who actually visited me while I was in Level Five. Physically. The only one who wasn't one of the Company, at least. That meant something too." Even then, he does take a few steps back from the hug. "I won't let that happen again, even if I have to make about ten dozen deals with your dad to get him to trust me." Especially after what his brother did to her…

"Careful." Claire's warning is met as she gently rolls backwards with the push, only to roll straight again. Her smile becomes more amused, and she briefly bites on her lower lips as her sapphire irises glitter with amusement in the light from the street lamps. "Might hold you to that."

"In this case, I think you should. Getting locked up in a cell for months twice…" Peter shakes his head, perhaps mildly disappointed with himself, or the people who'd locked him up in the first place. Either way he appears to be determined. "I'll let you hold me to it. I won't get locked up again."

To that, Claire holds out one of her hands. It's balled into a fist, every finger except her pinky. That one's held out in a hook. Her eyes look to Peter, her smile mischievious. "Pinky swear."

There's a pause, before Peter shoves bandages into his coat pocket so that he has both hands free, then steps slightly forward, so he can hook his own pinky into hers. "Why not— this isn't one of those things where you'll cut my pinky off if I fail, right? Cause even if it'll grown back, that'll hurt."

"Don't be such a baby," Claire teases, clamping down on Peter's pinky with her own. Her smile only grows. "You don't wanna get shown up by a girl, do you?"

"Well we can't have that," Peter says, tightening his pinky right back, before giving his hand a slight bob and loosening it. "Don't you get locked up by anyone either, okay?"

"I'll do my best." It's a promise that Claire makes with the same sobering, lingering thought: If someone wanted to… What difference would her preference make? It's a thought that she tries to push out of her mind as quickly as it comes, finally loosing her uncle's finger from her kung fu pinky grip. "Be careful, Peter."

"You too, Claire," Peter says, taking his hand back, even offering that slight smile again. It's lopsided, but at least it's there. More than the man who'd worn a much deeper scar across his face. Small dents aside, there's not near the level of scarring as he'd had in the far future, but it might give an answer on how he could have gotten such a wound in the first place. Maybe. "Have fun in your classes, too," he adds, before eyes slide shut. Moments later, he'll vanish.

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