2007-11-18: Saviors


Claire_icon.gif Noah_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: Though they failed to stop the killer, Peter managed to save Claire. But she'd rather take measures to save herself, whether anyone else likes it or not.

Date It Happened: November 18th, 2007


Bennet House

There's still pieces of siding falling off the house where Peter got slammed into the building multiple times with TK. Blood stains his shirt and pants— one leg of his jeans shattered with frost that bit at his skin, but did little damage that hasn't healed away already. Sliding into invisibility, he scans the area again. No sign of Sylar.

When he pops back into visibility, he takes in a quick breath and turns around and runs to the door, pulling it open and closing it again— and running upstairs, past the dog and to his niece's room, where water still sprays. "Claire?" he calls out, worried sound in his voice.

Frantically, Mr. Muggles is skittering after Peter, still barking hysterically. HEY. HEY. WHAT'S GOING ON? DID I SCARE THAT GUY OFF?

In the mess that is her bedroom, the bloody blonde is still crumpled on the ground where she fell earlier in a softly curled heap with her yellow hood resting in a roll atop the back of her neck. She's face down in a pool of blood, so much blood that it has thoroughly soaked the carpet and rests slick atop the places unable to absorb any more. Unmoving. Not breathing. The frigid New York wind cuts through the broken window in her room, sending her curtains dancing on the breeze.

"Claire!" Peter calls out in a suddenly terrified voice, at the sight of blood that hadn't been there when he last saw her— not in that quantity. The dog isn't even glanced at, despite the fact he could follow inside, get damp and paws bloody, because he's moving too quickly to his niece's side and trying to lift her up, to see why she's still bleeding. There's panic visible in his eyes, his damp hands are shaking as the water sprays on him.

Was he too late?

When Peter hauls up Claire's form, it's entirely limp and her head lolls easily to the side with the effort. Blue eyes eventually are revealed under that mop of golden hair to be staring forward, lifeless and dull.

Her skull is indeed half sheered and it oozes blood down half of her face and mats her hair to that side. However, the larger problem for the Magic Regenerating Girl seems to be that a full length mirror fell off of the wall and broke, shattering and leaving a large shard propped up on a pair of fuzzy slippers that had been on the floor.

The perfect angle to slice cleanly in through her esophagus and up… God only knows how deeply it's pushed inside.

Shaky breaths escape as he looks at her lifeless form, shaking his head in denial. The last time he saw his girlfriend, she said she'd lost her abilities— but this young woman, his niece, didn't look sick. Surely she still…

Peter's eyes fall on the shard from the mirror and realization sinks in. A year and a dozen odd days ago— she'd pulled a piece of glass from the back of his skull to bring him back from the dead. Supporting her head with one hand, he reaches with the other to pull it out, wincing at the tearing of that it causes. As a nurse, he would know removing a piece of glass lodged in the neck would be a bad idea, assuming the person had still been alive and breathing. This one's already dead.

Water from the pipes plasters black hair onto his forehead, not quite reaching his eyebrows still as worried eyes watch, hoping that this works.

Nothing happens immediately with the shard, three inches wide at the base and a good six inches long, is extracted. For agonizing moments, there's just more oozing blood on Claire's part. But then… Then it starts. The gash in her pale, slender neck stops dripping and starts sealing. Her smooth forehead undergoes much the same process. Then those blue eyes, pale and unresponsive, change hue as the irises and pupils flare and then begin to contract again as they should.

And then, at last, there's a sharp gasp as Claire's entire body jerks forward to hunch over as it begins coughing, choking on its first attempts to breathe again.

Those moments are agonizing. Peter can barely even breathe while he waits, eyes settling on the wound, not caring that more blood gets on his already ruined shirt and pants. Though she won't hear it, there's a relieved exhale when the healing begins, repairing skin and torn muscles, bringing life back into her eyes. The large shard is dropped onto damp carpet.

The attempts to breathe again might even me made more difficult by his arms suddenly going around her and pulling her into a hug. "You're okay— you're okay. I got here in time, Claire… you're okay." It might take effort to get him to let go of her, though, and the shaking in his shoulders has little to do with the cold from outside, even with the water dripping off of him making it even colder.

The contorted expression on her face as she coughs seems to shift as her airpipe finishes repairing itself, switching from confusion and disorientation to horror and fear. Coughing shifts to sobbing as Peter holds her, and Claire just clings to his arm about her, knees pulling up towards her belly. Water, flooding the house no doubt, washes some of the blood out of her hair, and starts streaking it down her face in diluted streams. "Peter," she starts, but she finds herself unable to finish. Too busy crying and clinging.

He saved her. Again. But she can't seem to stop crying.

The crying and clinging isn't discouraged at all. Peter closes his eyes and holds onto her, the shaking not subsiding for a moment, but finding some support. "It's okay," he adds on, trying to sound reassuring. "You're okay." He could repeat this for a few hours, and it does go on for a while as the water soaks into their clothes and the cold would start to get to them— even him. He has a resistance to cold now, thanks to a kid he met recently with a similar ability to the one Sylar has.

Unfortunately it does sink in that… they should go. "We should get out of here. We'll call your parents, let them know you're okay." He has to lift his head up and look at the pipes he damaged. There's a pause and he adds, "And I should turn off the water before we go. We can go to my apartment or a hotel."

Claire nods and starts trying to pull herself back to her feet. Now that her body's finished correcting the myriad of things wrong with it, now there's only her nerves to make the prospect difficult. Raw nerves are sending her entire body into shivers and spasms, and that's not helped by the spent gone that she sees sitting in the middle of her bedroom floor. That bit of deadly metal, however, is not even addressed.

Instead, she just looks to her uncle, brow furrowed. "I… I need to change." Because she's not exactly Miss Subtle Traveler right now. Then again, neither is he.

"We'll go to my apartment. We can teleport right there," Peter decides, realizing how they'd look walking up to a hotel in the city, giving a hint how he'd been able to arrive so quickly. The gun is glanced at, but he doesn't say a word on it yet, either. Instead he starts to stand up, unwrapping his arms from around her, and moving to grab his phone on the floor— it's damp, but luckily not soaked yet. Turning it off, he puts it in his pocket. He'll let it dry out for a bit before trying to use it. "But you should grab some clothes and put them in a bag." A glance is given toward the door. "And maybe grab your dog too." Since— leaving the dog here might be a bad idea, he doesn't know.

"Okay." No argument. No fight. Claire is perfectly willing, for now, to just do what she's told. Giving the gun a wide berth, she crosses the room to her dresser, pulling out a pair of jeans and then a thick cream cable knit sweater. There's a navy blue and white gym bag there, and the items — along with more girly underpinnings — are thrown inside. "Can you get my black boots out of the closet, please?"

Last, but not least, there is the matter of the dog, still barking at the door and unwilling to step into the disaster area that the Bennet girl's room has become. So it is that the ex-cheerleader walks to him instead with her gym bag tossed over her shoulder. "Shh, Mr. Muggles. C'mere." Scooping him up, he seems content now and quiets down. With little thought to the matter, the blonde takes a page from Sandra's book and sets the dog inside her gym bag, only to zip him up inside.

While she packs, Peter could run downstairs to turn the water off— but he doesn't. Likely, he doesn't wish to leave her alone, just in case. Turning, he squints at the damaged pipes and then makes a decision. He lifts a hand, and makes a pinching motion— the metal in the pipe bends and contorts— until the water stops spraying anymore. That worked. He looks back at his niece, having heard the mention of boots and nods, "Yeah, just a minute. At least we won't have to turn the water off now," he hopes. There's still a leak, a dripping, but that won't flood the whole house.

Sloshing through water and blood on the carpet, he grabs the boots and brings them over to her, following her on the trip to retrieve Mr. Muggles, and shove him in her bag.

Once everything is in place, he puts his hand on her shoulder. "Ready?"

With an affirmative, he closes his eyes— there's a pop as the room drastically changes to something much drier and much warmer. His apartment. Right inside the open double doors leading between bedroom and living area.

Peter's Apartment

Drawing in a deep breath, Claire takes hold of her boots and then holds on tight to her dog-filled bag as Peter rests his hand on her shoulder. She closes her eyes and waits. Her eyes reopen once the temperature has changed, and she looks around with nervous blue eyes for a moment before glancing back and offering a weak smile and quiet bit of admiration. "You have the coolest tricks."

Something about the mention of his 'tricks' makes Peter's eyes drop away. "I'm just glad I had enough to save you," he says softly, releasing her shoulders and glancing over her, then looking around the room. "You can use let Mr. Muggles out and go use the shower first. I'll try to get ahold of your father." The one that isn't sick. The one with a gun and a Company behind him. There's a pause and he looks back at her now, a hint of caution in the set of his jaw, "You tried to shoot him, didn't you?"

Claire's already setting herself to extricating Mr. Muggles from her gym bag, cooing and offering little bits of encouragement. She's only just wrapped her little hands around the dogs littler rib cage when Peter asks his last question. Her eyes go up to look at him, all scraps of amusement and barely beginning relief gone as she stares at her uncle for a moment, an unfamiliar expression lingering about her eyes. "It doesn't matter," she finally decides to say, frowning and going back to pulling the pomeranian out of the gym bag. She then stoops to set him on the floor and lingers there to offer him attention.

"No, it does matter, Claire," Peter says, looking back at her and the dog at her side. He slips toward the bathroom, not to shower, since he offered it to her first, but to get a towel. The shows that are wet, bloody and damp are left on the floor where they are, less stains to clean up that way. "There's— you're not a killer," he says, looking at her. "And you shouldn't have to be one. Neither of us are, really— I'm not saying you were wrong to protect yourself, you did the right thing there. But you should have called for help… If he hadn't wanted to taunt me— if I hadn't managed to find you in time…"

"There wasn't time, Peter," Claire offers as her defense, forehead crinkling as a betrayal of her frustration. "What am I supposed to do? Every time I get into trouble, I call someone else? I ask them to put themselves at risk instead? Ask them to kill people for me?" Her eyes flit around, looking everywhere but his face as she tries to figure out how to word it. "Besides, at least if I had managed to kill him, it would have been over. But I can't even do that right." Her eyes narrow, anger becoming increasingly apparent. "Maybe that's why I died in the future. Because I was waiting on someone to come to the rescue and someone never came."

"I don't know that you died, Claire," Peter says, not returning the anger, but definitely tense. "Sylar could have gotten regeneration elsewhere— there's at least one other running around, and who knows if there's more than that. There probably are, abilities aren't as unique as people might think they are." He's met people with the same abilities, and him and Sylar are closer in power than he'd like to admit. "Maybe your father got you out of the country before things got bad." This doesn't answer most of her argument, though, so he shakes his head. "We'll find a way for you to contact me more quickly if this happens again— and Sylar…" he trails off, frustration turning into confusion.

Pushing herself to her feet as Mr. Muggles runs away in a random direction at the sound of yelling, Claire turns to face her rescuer more fully. "So what, Peter? So you can kill him? How is that possibly any better? I mean, I really am so grateful that you came today. You saved my life. But I don't want to do that to you." Her uncle is her hero. He's everything she wants to be. And she is not going to make him betray everything that he believes for some ideal of her innocence. Claire will not. It's a bitter cycle, this desperate need to protect, but she's not ready to give up her part in repeating it. "I'm… I'm not a little kid."

"I didn't kill him, Claire," Peter says, shaking his head a little. "And I don't know if I could now. He…" He trails off, shaking his head, as if this is something he has no idea how to explain. What he'd seen in the man's head— heard— felt from him. And what he'd said. Asked of him. "Maybe you're right and you do need to learn how to defend yourself, but you can do that without turning yourself into something like that. I went to the future— I saw what killing did to some of the people I care about." Elena, specifically. "And it isn't something I'd wish on anyone."

There's a pause, and he reaches to pull his phone out. "I better call your father before he gets home and worries about you. Go shower."

The way he says 'go shower', it essentially translates into some equivalent of 'go to your room, I'm done talking about this'. Everything in Claire twists, and for a moment her face is contorted into pure, barely restrained adolescent fury. At her sides, her hands curl into angry little fists, but in the end, the teenager relents. "Fine," she blurts back, exhaling in the same breath. And with that, she picks up her gym bag from the floor takes her bloody white socks off, and heads off towards the bathroom. They are so not done talking about this, she silently resolves.

Oh… teenagers. Peter actually understands why she's responding like that, but… he shakes his head anyway and turns to move toward the kitchen. Only one bathroom, so washing off in the kitchen while he tries to call her dad is the most he can do. Dialing a number for her father.

Claire, not quite having spent her fury, just slams the bathroom door. SO THERE. The last word is HERS.

"I am aware of the situation. Keep those brothers apart, it's clear their abilities are connected somehow. If you need to talk about this more, discuss the matter with Mr Bishop. I'm sure he'd be interested to know about this."

Hanging up the phone with a simple press of the 'end call', Noah continues on his drive home. While Noah is sure his 'evil' boss would NOT want to have to deal with the details, Noah isn't in a good mood tonight. There is talk of changes in the higher ups and he has no idea what this means for his deal with the Company or even his standing at all. Will Noah be forced to take extreme measures once more to protect what is dear to him? He hopes not.

Moving through the traffic of the Big Apple in his car, he notices a call. The Sprint phone is picked up. Pete's name appears at the contact. Taking a deep sigh, Mr. Bennet picks up the phone. "Mr. Petrelli… What can I do for you this evening?"

So much is always going on in the Big Apple, that it doesn't surprise Peter when the man answers the phone and sounds like he's on the road. "Mr. Bennet— I was just as your house. Sylar was there. Claire's fine, and we're back at my apartment now." Get the important stuff out first, since… "Sylar got away, and I'm honestly not sure how— but I can explain that when you get over here— though you may need to sends some people over to your house and call your wife and son and make sure they don't get scared when they get home."

The home. Which has a broken window, a slightly flooded upstairs bedroom, with a pool of blood on the floor and much of the siding of the house looking as if a wrecking ball was slammed into it a few times.

Oh yeah, and the dog is missing. He's sitting in the kitchen next to Peter looking around for the food.

There is exactly TEN seconds of silence on Peter's end of the line. "Is my daughter able to talk right now?" comes the first question of the night, a hint of tension coming out from Bennet's usual calm demeanor.

"She just went to take a shower," Peter says, but he moves past the dog, and toward the bathroom, knocking on the door. "Claire? Your dad would like to talk to you." She slammed the door on him not too long ago, but he hasn't heard the water start yet.

There's a lot of silence coming from the bathroom. Possibly because Claire is sitting on top of the toilet lid with her face in her hands. As Peter knocks on the door, she frantically wipes at her eyes and wipes those hands down again on her unfortunate pants. She sniffs and then looks towards the door, voice husky. "Tell him I'll talk to him when he comes to get me."

There's a sigh from Peter's end of the phone, the other side of the door, before he says, "Claire wants you to come get her." It's not what the man wanted. "She's okay— she's a little angry at me, but she's… she's alive."

Noah doesn't like the answer he gets, but he understands the possible reasons. For now, he accepts them. Cutting off some cars and risking serious road rage, the Company Man crosses over a few lanes almost getting hit a couple of times. He's not in the mood to go around a few blocks situate himself from the path home to the path to the street to Peter's place. "Is she alright?"

Claire got her jab back. She… feels strangely better. Goodness, it's good to be a girl sometimes. She's sighing and beginning to settle into her peaceful place, getting ready to get up to her shower. Now all that matters is that … her father doesn't find the gun. Blue eyes open in panic and suddenly the red-eyed girl is throwing open the door. She's had a sudden change of heart, it would seem. "I'll talk to him," she whispers, hopefully just loudly enough for Peter to hear. "But you have to get the gun out of my room. Please." Because Peter is amazingly AWESOME and can do that. And the last thing she needs is the whole house turning on her about her hiding a gun in her room. Her uncle's bad enough.

Peter's about to answer the question, probably with about the same thing he already said, when the door slams open. Things on his dresser tremor once again, and this time even the little tribal statue falls over, hitting the fishing picture with him and his brother when he was young. "Just a minute," he says, putting his hand over the receiver to help muffle it as she whispers. Eyebrows raise, and he nods, handing the phone over before he moves away, "He wants to know if you're alright," he adds to her, before he concentrates on an object on the floor, many miles away.

Claire breathes a huge sigh of relief as she takes the phone in hand, closing her eyes for a moment in gratitude and her entire body sloughing off visible tension. "Dad? I'm okay," she offers, a moderate truth. Her eyes, however, are locked on Peter, watching him very closely. Okay, she kept her part of the bargain, her eyebrows reiterate as they lift expectantly, time for Peter to keep his part.

A breath of relief is given, though it is short. It is too soon to ease himself now. "Are you free to talk? If you wanted to wait until I was there in person, that's fine." Noah pauses for a moment, wondering if he should ask about Mr. Muggles. He figures he'll just have to wait on that topic, despite knowing how important the matter would be to his wife.

The gun that sat on the floor all those miles away appears in his hand. It's still damp, it's still empty, but… it's no longer resting on her floor as evidence. Now only the bullet holes remain. Peter moves to put it into his dresser for now, before he looks back at Claire, trying to give her an encouraging look.

The blonde is content for now. Now she just has to make herself hurry through the shower so that she is sure to be back out of it well before her father arrives. "I… really want to take a shower. We can talk when you get here." When the Petrelli who actually bears the name turns, she locks her eyes on him. You can't tell him, her gaze seems to say, with the same strange and difficult to discern muddle of emotion. And then a hollow and patently false smile, shallow and small. "Love you, Dad." She waits for a response and then sticks out the phone at the end of an outstretched arm as she still stands in the doorway from the bathroom, smile fading from view once more.

There's a nod from the Petrelli and he takes the phone. He knows. It's their secret. Just like him being told about Evelyn was their secret. Peter moves away from the bedroom to give her some privacy, even closing the double doors. "You're on your way, right, Mr. Bennet?"

Be careful when dealing with secrets with Mr. Bennet. For if there is man that can crack them, it's him.

"I am. I'll be making a few calls, but then I'll be there in an hour or so. I have some loose ends that I need to type up." Like sending a couple of agents with the Haitian to check out the home. Not only can Haitian take out Sylar if needed, but if there is a man Noah can trust to protect his family at the moment, it's the (mostly) mute man of mystery. Then there is the calls to his wife to ensure that Lyle and her aren't going back to the house, but rather the hotel (despite her thoughts on it the FIRST time).

"Love you too, Clairebear." Noah's swift farewell is soon followed by Peter's words. "Is there anything I should know before I arrive in person? I suggest that if you are unsure, you let me know. This is NOT a matter I am going to be taking lighting concerning ALL parties involved."

Her part done, Claire gives a little wobbly swagger, turns, and just wanders back into the bathroom. She doesn't slam the door this time when she closes it behind her. The water turns on soon after.

Moving into the kitchen, Peter chooses to pull out a stool and sit down in there because he has less to clean in there— "Your dog is here too. He's looking at me like he's disappointed I have such a small house and no picture sof him on the wall," he says, looking down at the dog that's looking up at him. That's not what the man meant, though. "Sylar was cutting her head open," he explains softly. "He was killing her and he took the time to call me. I found where she was and I teleported in and fought him. I couldn't kill him, though." He trails off, looking quietly down at the dog.

"She was dead when I got upstairs— fell on a piece of glass from a broken mirror— but I removed it and she came back."

The answer is given as Noah grits his teeth slight for a moment before letting out a calming breath. It could have been worse. Despite his issues with the Petrelli Empath, he has saved his daughter yet again, being the hero that Noah often finds himself unable to be. "As usual, Sylar's hubris has gotten in his way. Thank God for that." Of course, speaking of issues, Noah is forced to address one right away. In a tone so devoid of emotion Peter might even wish for a hint of angry, Noah states the obvious. "You let him get away."

"I didn't let him get away," Peter says in a tense voice, sounding just a tad angry himself at this. "He — I was reading his mind and I suddenly got feedback— like I'd get from another telepath, and he vanished. I don't know where he went," he explains, shaking his head. "He didn't go invisible, it was like he teleported out." There's a pause, before he reiterates. "I don't know what happened. I ran upstairs to make sure Claire was still there and didn't take the time to try to track him."

"Of course" is the dry response. It is clear that whatever Peter's excuses are, Noah isn't one to take them. He doesn't dwell on this though, the Company Man having other matters to attend with. "I see. We'll talk about this more. I have a bad feeling that Sylar might not the be only issue we're contending with. Talk to you soon." After Peter gives his farewell, Noah hangs up. He'll hang up even if Peter tries to further the conversation too though. He's got some important calls to make after all.

"Yeah," Peter responds softly, "See you soon, Mr. Bennet." With that said, the other man hangs up first, before he puts the phone down on the counter. Cleaning up in the kitchen probably won't go quickly, so he pours some food into a bowl for the dog first. Snowy's food. Good thing he has a dog too, even if his dog is currently safe in the Petrelli mansion.

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