Fandom: Heroes (6e 'verse)
Pairing: None. Peter & Claire star.
Disclaimer: Only the words are mine
Summary: Run out of puppies to save and people to murder?
Notes: Totally playing in sparky77 — 's sandbox; 6e and Rehabilitation are her original stories--you should read at least 6e to understand this one at all. Don't worry; this fic isn't going anywhere. Go! Read!
Done? Good. Much love to sparky77 — for her blessing, and kelly_girl — for the prodding and
Claire wakes to the now-familiar tapping on her apartment window. She rolls out of bed with a resigned sigh and opens it. "Hello, Peter."
He's floating in air, six stories above the ground, looking puzzled. "This place is a dump."
"Thanks," she says, with as much force behind the snark as she can manage, which is pretty impressive. "Gonna insult me any more or can I get sleep before class starts in the morning?"
Peter rolls his eyes. "What happened to that house I bought for you to live in?"
Claire sighs. Peter is as stubborn as she is--in other words, a Petrelli. "I gave it to a homeless family. They needed it more." She doesn't mention that the whole deal creeped her out. Somehow Peter had managed to set things up to pay for everything the Bennetts could possibly want or need--with no way for them to refuse. That never stopped Claire from trying, though. But generally that meant more visits from her wayward, psychotic uncle.
Peter nods seriously. "Well. That's good then. You want something, what, a bit smaller? Closer to campus?"
Claire turns away before she hurls herself bodily at him. The whole situation is fucked up and just gets more frustrating. "I'll just give it away again, you know that."
That just causes Peter to laugh in his somewhat maniacal way. "Well, then, eventually everyone in Houston will have houses. That won't be so bad."
She turns to the window. "Are you going to float there all night or come in?" It's two in the morning and Claire's not up to verbally sparring with a flying crazy man.
"Thought I'd be polite and wait for an invitation this time." Peter smiles gently as he folds himself through the window. Claire wonders if she could find a place with smaller windows, then catches the glint in Peter's eyes that means he heard her thought.
"Don't do that." Claire turns to go to the tiny kitchen, wishing, yet again, that she wore more than boxers and a tshirt to bed.
Peter follows, naturally. "Can't help it. And I can't sleep if I'm wearing too many clothes, either." He opens up cabinets, drawers, even the oven, and frowns at her as he stands up. "You shouldn't keep your cereal boxes in here. Fire hazard."
Claire ignores him as much as she can and pours herself a glass of milk. "Is there any particular reason you're darkening my windowsill this evening? Run out of puppies to save and people to murder?"
Peter frowns. "That's really not fair, Claire. We're fixing things."
She turns and looks him as directly in the eyes as she can manage. "By killing people."
"They're bad people."
"By your standards. Which might be a little bit insane." Claire's not really afraid Peter will hurt her, but there's a dangerous glint in his eyes that makes her tense in anticipation of something violent, but he subsides and runs his finger down the spine of her schoolbooks, pausing at the bottom.
"'Ethics in Practice'?" Peter laughs at that. "Nathan asked about you today."
Claire narrows her face in a frown. "That's nice."
Peter shrugs. "He's your father, Claire. Of course he worries. And judging by these books, you're following in his footsteps. Pre-law, I take it?" He grins at her her shock. "Like father, like daughter. I love it."
Rage and fear rushes through her, leaving her blood ice-cold. Claire throws her glass at Peter violently.
A negligent wave of his hand ensures that Peter doesn't even get milk on his shoes, and the glass and spilled milk end up in the sink. He just gives Claire a half-smile, which terrifies her even more.
"Tell you what. Next time we take a vacation in Italy, we'll bring you along. Tuscany sound good?" Peter doesn't wait to hear Claire's protest, just turns and heads to the window. He pauses halfway through. "Oh, and I know you're more a dog person, but you want a kitten? I found a litter in Nevada."
Claire just nods, too numb to do anything else. Peter grins and replies, "Cool. See you in a couple of days. And make sure you lock these windows behind me, okay?"
He flies off, a dark smear against the orange-lit sky. Claire slams the window shut, sinking to the floor and trying to stop shaking. Being a Petrelli really sucked sometimes.