Fic: Date Night
Title: Date Night
Rating: Maybe PG-13 for some occurrences of language.
Word Count: 3,372
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Spoilers: Through the end of season 4. Ignores the timeline set by certain episodes I'd like to forget in that season. Once Upon a Time in Texas, I'm looking at you.
Summary: The last thing Peter was expecting when he woke up was for Claude Rains to ask him out for coffee and food at a diner.
A/N: So, in my head, this is the prequel to Down by the Fire. But this can be read entirely on its own. Also, fills the "First Date" prompt at Plaude Bingo!
Peter's pretty sure that if he doesn't eat, he's going to die.
It's his own fault; he knows it is. Signing up for long shifts is always a bad idea when it comes to things like getting a healthy amount of sleep or eating right. And every time Peter wakes up with puffy eyes, exhausted as he stumbles around his apartment to shower, get dressed, and maybe manage coffee and toast, he swears never again. Until the next round of volunteering for doubles rolls around and he remembers that working all day is better than going home and thinking about any number of the things that Hesam says probably require seeking extensive therapy. And Hesam doesn't even know the half of it.
Normally there's enough of a lull in the morning for them to at least stop at a deli. Coffee and and an egg sandwich or a bagel for three dollars, and Peter will never set foot in a Starbucks again. But he doesn't know what's going on today. It's like the city decided to wake up and go crazy: there are accidents and injuries and heart attacks left and right, and when three o'clock rolls around and Peter hasn't eaten anything except the half a muffin he shoved in his mouth around dawn, well, it really sucks.
He slides into the passenger seat of the truck, collapsing back against the fake leather after what turned out to be a false alarm call. They're downtown now, right across from Federal Plaza, and Peter really wonders if they have enough time to swing by a sandwich shop.
Hesam climbs in next, and Peter just stares over, knowing he looks pitiful. "I've gotta eat, man. I don't care, stop anywhere."
"This is what happens when you decide working fourteen hours is a good idea," he teases, but Hesam doesn't even bother starting up the truck. "There's a sandwich shop right across the street, and you owe me lunch from yesterday. I want turkey."
He grunts an affirmative, rushing out the door. The places down here are always busy, too many offices and workers to feed. But it's way past lunch time for a nine to five schedule, and the deli is thankfully near empty when Peter steps inside. He doesn't even bother getting something custom made, doubting he has the time for that. Instead he grabs a pre-packaged turkey and swiss for Hesam and a pesto chicken for himself. They both get tossed down at the register, and after waiting another minute for two coffees, Peter practically starts to run out the door and back towards the truck.
But the universe hates him; he knows that much. So he can't even make it out of a goddamn sandwich shop without smacking into some guy in a suit, sloshing hot coffee over the small opening in the cup's top. He's pretty sure it's burning his hand. At least his works in a truck filled with medical supplies, but still.
"Son of bitch," he curses, taking a step back just as the man he ran into snaps, "Oi, watch where the hell you're goin'!"
And Peter looks up then, because somehow he actually recognizes that voice. It's a voice he was one hundred percent sure he'd never hear again, and Peter has to be actually struck dumb with shock. That's the only excuse for the first words coming out of his mouth upon seeing Claude Rains to be, "You shaved. And you're wearing a suit."
The irritation actually drains from Claude's face, and he snorts as he gives Peter a once over. "Two years and that's what you've got? Suppose if you couldn't be bothered to get a hair cut I shouldn't expect a snappier greeting."
"I got it cut!" he says, scowling. Because, seriously, Claude is going to rag on his hair now?
"And you let it grow back?" he asks, grinning too wide and chuckling.
Peter stares. "Really, this is what we're doing?"
"Sorry, mate. Didn't know we were supposed to hug and talk about how much we missed each other's company."
Claude is still an asshole. At least that hasn't changed. "Still not going to tell me why you look like you just left 26 Federal Plaza on your lunch break?"
That remark earns him another grin, not the reaction Peter was expecting. "Maybe because I did just leave 26 Federal Plaza on my lunch break."
Peter blinks. "What?"
"Sorry, mate. Would love to stay and chat, but judging from your uniform, I'm gonna guess that guy standing by the ambulance over there and wavin' like an idiot is your partner. Which means you've gotta go back to work."
Oh shit. Peter blinks again, and then he huffs, because he really forgot how much Claude pisses him off. "Fine. Have a nice life," Peter snaps, brushing past Claude rougher than necessary. But the man holds the door for him, and he can't even stomp away properly before he hears Claude calling after him.
"You still live in that same crap apartment?"
Peter's tempted to say no, just so Claude won't actually know where he lives. He'll probably show up in the middle of the night and toss Peter from the fire escape for kicks. But for some reason Peter nods. "Yeah. And it's not crap."
Claude raises his eyebrows. "Your living room is two pieces of junk away from being a functional flea market."
"Goodbye, Claude," Peter says, starting to turn again.
"Oi! Not done yet. When do you get off work?"
Never. But instead Peter sighs and tells the truth again, like an idiot. "Nine."
The first thing Claude does is look at his watch. "Christ, really?"
"Yes, really. Why?"
Claude goes back to grinning, and Peter really hates it because even though it should be obnoxious, Claude's smile somehow makes him less infuriating. "Meet me at that diner down the block from your apartment. The one you almost had a meltdown when I started stealing the pastries? Ten tonight, and I'll tell you why I wear a suit."
Peter stares for a moment, but Hesam is waiting so he finally relents and rolls his eyes. "Ten-thirty and if you're lucky I won't make you pay for my food." He's going to need dinner anyway.
"All right, Peter. Suppose it's a date."
He blinks at that, wanting to ask, Wait, what? But when he opens his eyes, Claude is gone. Not in a fade of invisibility like Peter would normally expect. But he's in the deli, standing at the counter and ordering a sandwich like a normal human being.
Peter's confused and almost stomps back in there. But then his stomach rumbles again, and he remember that yeah, he's pretty much starving. Claude can wait until later, and instead, Peter can lose himself in his chicken pesto sandwich and try not wonder whether he has finally lost his mind.
***
He gets to the diner at 10:20, thinking that maybe Claude just won't show up, and at the least Peter can get a light dinner and collapse for the night. Tomorrow's his day off, and he hasn't gone so insane that he doesn't look forward to the occasional recovery day.
But when Peter walks into the diner, Claude is already there, sitting in a booth and sipping idly at a cup of coffee. He's still got on most of his suit-- the slacks, dress shirt, and jacket are left over. But the tie is off, probably long gone, and the top two buttons of the shirt are undone. It looks more natural than when Peter saw him earlier. But still kind of ridiculous. At least for Claude.
"Still in your suit," Peter says, slipping easily into the seat across from Claude and gesturing for the waitress to bring him over a cup of coffee.
"Not in your uniform," Claude shoots back, almost smirking as his eyes wonder over Peter's old Columbia hoodie. "You look like an overgrown student, mate."
"I had a fourteen hour shift, Claude. Shut up and let me wear a comfortable sweater," he says, grabbing the hot cup of coffee the waitress drops off at their table like a lifeline.
"You boys ready for food?" she asks, trying to give a smile but clearly exhausted herself. Peter doesn't blame her-- it's 10:30, almost empty in this place, and the diner is open twenty-four hours. Who knows when her shift ends.
"Just a slice of cherry pie," Claude says. "And keep the coffee comin'."
Peter's starving again. He hasn't looked at the menu, but he has a craving for breakfast. "Western omelette," he starts, because every diner has one of those. "Turkey bacon, potatoes, and whole wheat toast."
She nods, taking Peter's unopened menu and leaving them alone again. "'S a lot of food for 10:30. Fourteen hour shift?"
"Yeah. My plan is to gorge now and then pass out for most of tomorrow."
Claude snorts. "So how did Peter Petrelli go from nurse to dedicated paramedic?"
"My life sucked after you left," he says bluntly. Not accusatory, because in the overall scheme of things to be mad at, Claude is so far down at the bottom of his list. But it's still true. There was a time when he was with Claude that he had hope-- that he'd learn to control his abilities and everything would be okay. But that didn't happen, and it's been shitty ever since.
"I know. Sorry about your brother, yeah?"
"Can we not talk about Nathan? Please?"
It's too raw, like he's split open still and every conversation is a painful touch to exposed nerves. Thankfully Claude nods, and Peter hopes that's the end of the subject.
"Still. Sorry. I did think about you after I left. From time to time."
"You still left though, and I still went boom. So I guess that didn't do me much good." Even if Claude is far down on his anger list, Peter's impressed with the amount of bitterness he can still manage.
"Nah, guess it didn't."
There's another long pause where they both sip on their coffee, and even if Claude was joking earlier, this is still the worst date Peter's ever had.
The silence is finally interrupted by the clink of ceramic against formica, and Peter is almost surprised to see food dropped in front of them and to get a refill to his coffee cup. The breakfast plate is without a doubt the best thing he's seen all day, and the waitress is barely gone before he's digging in, almost groaning at the taste of hot eggs and bacon.
Claude takes a small bite out of his pie, and Peter figures that if they're going to be here a while longer, then they might as well chat. Or at least not gaze out the window in shared awkward silence.
"So the suit?" Peter finally prompts, chewing on his bacon and looking over to Claude in interest.
Claude snorts, taking another bite of his pie before glancing down at his own outfit. "Told you, 's for work."
"Right, at Federal Plaza. Are you even a legal citizen?" Peter asks. Probably not. But then Claude tosses his wallet across the table at Peter, and holy crap, when he opens it, the first thing there is Claude's New York State Driver's License. With a picture of him. It says Claude Rains and has an address on it that looks like it's in Chelsea. Like Claude is actually a legitimate member of society and not some guy who's angry and rude and runs around New York like a ghost, stealing twenties from people's wallets and food off of carts and from sidewalk cafes.
"'S a good picture, yeah?" he asks, snatching the wallet back before Peter can find out if that is an American Express card poking out of one of the card slots.
"Is that for real?"
"I'm a real boy now, Pete," he deadpans, shoving his wallet back in his pants and then stealing a piece of bacon from Peter's plate. Then he huffs out a small laugh. "Listen. Your niece took a swan dive off a ferris wheel in front of a whole news crew, mate. Kind of kicked the government into action when it came to dealing with people like us. Turns out there's a real short list of people who have experience in this and aren't also raging, psychotic assholes. So I got offered a job and I took it. Simple."
That... kind of makes sense. He knows all about the Department of Special Human Development. It was Nathan's creation in a way. A more legitimate and contained version of the Building 26 program. Nathan was working on it when he died; or he was never working on it at all. Peter hasn't fully reconciled that yet. It was slow to get going, like any bureaucratic creation probably is, even ones that have the president's full support. But then Claire pulled that stunt, and yeah, they started working real fast after that. Practically going into overdrive trying to convince the general population that it was some David Blaine street magic style trick. Which, somehow, most people believed. It has to be easier to accept that than college student takes a leap and miraculously heals. There are conspiracy theorists about the thing, and Peter knows they're correct, but he doesn't particularly care. Because every future he's seen or heard of where people actually know about abilities has been a disaster. Nathan's Building 26 experiment was a disaster. So he can really do without having to worry about whether someone is going to break into his apartment in the middle of the night and drag him to a secret facility. That sucked enough the first time around. And yeah, he bets that at first some people are going to be, Cool! Flying!, but all it takes is one asshole like Sylar to pop up and ruin it for the rest of them. God, Sylar. That's another thing he needs therapy for. The guy actually sent him a post card from Niagara Falls the other day. Peter had immediately googled suspicious deaths in the area-- on both sides of the border-- but he came up clean. He has a weird image of Sylar just going up to take a leisurely ride on Maid of the Mist, but he doesn't really want to know. He also doesn't want anymore postcards, but it's probably better to quietly accept them and not poke the creepy sleeping dragon with a stick.
Claude's still staring at him, and Peter realizes that it's been a while since he actually spoke, instead getting lost in his own head. But that shouldn't really surprise Claude, so Peter decides to just pick the conversation up again, brow furrowed as he thinks over the man's last words. "Simple? When I met you, you were like the walking dead. Nurse to paramedic makes sense. But hermit to government agent?"
"'M not a government agent. I consult."
Peter laughs. "Government agent."
"Pain in my ass," Claude retorts, scowling. "And I've got my reasons. Maybe I just decided I didn't like being a damn hermit anymore. How about that?"
He knows that Claude is just being dismissive, but somehow Peter thinks there's a grain of truth to the words. It's probably not the whole reason Claude decided to rejoin society-- and oh god, in order to get that driver's license Claude must have had to spend an afternoon at the DMV-- but it's probably part of the explanation. So Peter will take it for now. He has another bite of his omelette, close to finishing it, and decides to chance a question he may get an actual answer to.
"All right, so why'd you ask me to meet you here?"
"Was bored," Claude answers, quickly and easily.
"Bored?"
Claude shrugs. "Like I said, thought about you from time to time." He pauses. "Mostly about how you're always an unintentional good laugh. So yeah. Bored."
"You're such a jerk," Peter mutters, but he still manages a short laugh, and okay, maybe Claude kind of keeps him entertained too.
"Why'd you say yes?" Claude finally asks. "Figured if you ever saw me again you'd tell me to fuck off then maybe top it with a punch to the nose."
"I--" Peter frowns, actually having to think about it. Because he didn't know why he said yes at the time, and the question has been churning in his head ever since this afternoon. He should be angry at Claude, or at least not willing to sit down with him. But Peter has too many other things to worry about, and towards the end of his shift he was thinking that maybe he misses having someone to really talk to. He's always on thin ice with his mother; Noah has an agenda almost every time they meet; Claire has her own problems and still looks at Peter with too wide eyes, like he's still that hero who he doesn't think he can be again; Hesam and the guys at work can't really get it; and Nathan's gone. But Claude always had a disturbing ability to see right through him. Conversations with Claude can be like a punch to the gut, and maybe Peter just kind of wants that right now. At the very least he won't need to hide or walk on eggshells. Finally though he just decides to smile and say, "Bored."
Claude snorts, amusement evident in his eyes as he stares at Peter. "All right then."
Peter takes the last bite of his omelette, leaving nothing left on his plate but a small bunch of potatoes and a piece of toast. He barely stifles a yawn, and even the caffeine isn't working towards keeping him awake.
"Done then?" Claude asks, though the answer is obvious.
"Yeah, think so. I should, uh, head back. I'll probably manage to be in bed by midnight which isn't bad."
Claude nods, looking at Peter contemplatively. "You workin' late tomorrow?"
"Day off. I'm just gonna sleep."
"Good. Can meet me at a normal hour then. Get some real dinner and a drink."
Peter laughs. "Why? This is past your bedtime?" he teases.
"Yeah," Claude deadpans. "My nine to five schedule is really taxing."
"Look at you. Claude Rains, well respected man."
"I would ask if that's a round about reference to the Kinks song, but I know you only listen to whatever's popular with the pre-pubescent female set."
"I know the song, Claude."
"Did Britney Spears cover it?"
Peter glares. "Just for this, you're paying for my food. You probably make more money than me now anyway."
Claude snorts, but he still throws a twenty on the table. Too much money for the bill, whatever it is, but he doesn't seem to care. "Yeah, but you've still gotta trust fund. I'll come by your apartment after work tomorrow, all right?"
"I'll try not to be home," Peter says, but he's unable to help the small smile on his lips as he gets up, hugging his sweater closer to his body and preparing to brave the slight cold of a New York fall night for the next block and a half. Claude walks with him to the door, but the subway station is in the opposite direction, so Peter nods. "See you tomorrow, Claude."
"Yeah, mate," Claude says, offering a small smile of his own. "See you."
The smile is actually genuine, and Peter's surprised for a moment, staring when Claude finally turns away and starts at a brisk pace down the block and towards the warm shelter of the D train. The breeze finally picks up though, and Peter is shaken out of his thoughts when the cold smacks him in the face.
This has been a weird night. But he's had worse ones. He snorts to himself, because he's also had worse dates.
And if Peter is actually kind of looking forward to tomorrow, well, he supposes there really isn't anything wrong with that.
Rating: Maybe PG-13 for some occurrences of language.
Word Count: 3,372
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Spoilers: Through the end of season 4. Ignores the timeline set by certain episodes I'd like to forget in that season. Once Upon a Time in Texas, I'm looking at you.
Summary: The last thing Peter was expecting when he woke up was for Claude Rains to ask him out for coffee and food at a diner.
A/N: So, in my head, this is the prequel to Down by the Fire. But this can be read entirely on its own. Also, fills the "First Date" prompt at Plaude Bingo!
Peter's pretty sure that if he doesn't eat, he's going to die.
It's his own fault; he knows it is. Signing up for long shifts is always a bad idea when it comes to things like getting a healthy amount of sleep or eating right. And every time Peter wakes up with puffy eyes, exhausted as he stumbles around his apartment to shower, get dressed, and maybe manage coffee and toast, he swears never again. Until the next round of volunteering for doubles rolls around and he remembers that working all day is better than going home and thinking about any number of the things that Hesam says probably require seeking extensive therapy. And Hesam doesn't even know the half of it.
Normally there's enough of a lull in the morning for them to at least stop at a deli. Coffee and and an egg sandwich or a bagel for three dollars, and Peter will never set foot in a Starbucks again. But he doesn't know what's going on today. It's like the city decided to wake up and go crazy: there are accidents and injuries and heart attacks left and right, and when three o'clock rolls around and Peter hasn't eaten anything except the half a muffin he shoved in his mouth around dawn, well, it really sucks.
He slides into the passenger seat of the truck, collapsing back against the fake leather after what turned out to be a false alarm call. They're downtown now, right across from Federal Plaza, and Peter really wonders if they have enough time to swing by a sandwich shop.
Hesam climbs in next, and Peter just stares over, knowing he looks pitiful. "I've gotta eat, man. I don't care, stop anywhere."
"This is what happens when you decide working fourteen hours is a good idea," he teases, but Hesam doesn't even bother starting up the truck. "There's a sandwich shop right across the street, and you owe me lunch from yesterday. I want turkey."
He grunts an affirmative, rushing out the door. The places down here are always busy, too many offices and workers to feed. But it's way past lunch time for a nine to five schedule, and the deli is thankfully near empty when Peter steps inside. He doesn't even bother getting something custom made, doubting he has the time for that. Instead he grabs a pre-packaged turkey and swiss for Hesam and a pesto chicken for himself. They both get tossed down at the register, and after waiting another minute for two coffees, Peter practically starts to run out the door and back towards the truck.
But the universe hates him; he knows that much. So he can't even make it out of a goddamn sandwich shop without smacking into some guy in a suit, sloshing hot coffee over the small opening in the cup's top. He's pretty sure it's burning his hand. At least his works in a truck filled with medical supplies, but still.
"Son of bitch," he curses, taking a step back just as the man he ran into snaps, "Oi, watch where the hell you're goin'!"
And Peter looks up then, because somehow he actually recognizes that voice. It's a voice he was one hundred percent sure he'd never hear again, and Peter has to be actually struck dumb with shock. That's the only excuse for the first words coming out of his mouth upon seeing Claude Rains to be, "You shaved. And you're wearing a suit."
The irritation actually drains from Claude's face, and he snorts as he gives Peter a once over. "Two years and that's what you've got? Suppose if you couldn't be bothered to get a hair cut I shouldn't expect a snappier greeting."
"I got it cut!" he says, scowling. Because, seriously, Claude is going to rag on his hair now?
"And you let it grow back?" he asks, grinning too wide and chuckling.
Peter stares. "Really, this is what we're doing?"
"Sorry, mate. Didn't know we were supposed to hug and talk about how much we missed each other's company."
Claude is still an asshole. At least that hasn't changed. "Still not going to tell me why you look like you just left 26 Federal Plaza on your lunch break?"
That remark earns him another grin, not the reaction Peter was expecting. "Maybe because I did just leave 26 Federal Plaza on my lunch break."
Peter blinks. "What?"
"Sorry, mate. Would love to stay and chat, but judging from your uniform, I'm gonna guess that guy standing by the ambulance over there and wavin' like an idiot is your partner. Which means you've gotta go back to work."
Oh shit. Peter blinks again, and then he huffs, because he really forgot how much Claude pisses him off. "Fine. Have a nice life," Peter snaps, brushing past Claude rougher than necessary. But the man holds the door for him, and he can't even stomp away properly before he hears Claude calling after him.
"You still live in that same crap apartment?"
Peter's tempted to say no, just so Claude won't actually know where he lives. He'll probably show up in the middle of the night and toss Peter from the fire escape for kicks. But for some reason Peter nods. "Yeah. And it's not crap."
Claude raises his eyebrows. "Your living room is two pieces of junk away from being a functional flea market."
"Goodbye, Claude," Peter says, starting to turn again.
"Oi! Not done yet. When do you get off work?"
Never. But instead Peter sighs and tells the truth again, like an idiot. "Nine."
The first thing Claude does is look at his watch. "Christ, really?"
"Yes, really. Why?"
Claude goes back to grinning, and Peter really hates it because even though it should be obnoxious, Claude's smile somehow makes him less infuriating. "Meet me at that diner down the block from your apartment. The one you almost had a meltdown when I started stealing the pastries? Ten tonight, and I'll tell you why I wear a suit."
Peter stares for a moment, but Hesam is waiting so he finally relents and rolls his eyes. "Ten-thirty and if you're lucky I won't make you pay for my food." He's going to need dinner anyway.
"All right, Peter. Suppose it's a date."
He blinks at that, wanting to ask, Wait, what? But when he opens his eyes, Claude is gone. Not in a fade of invisibility like Peter would normally expect. But he's in the deli, standing at the counter and ordering a sandwich like a normal human being.
Peter's confused and almost stomps back in there. But then his stomach rumbles again, and he remember that yeah, he's pretty much starving. Claude can wait until later, and instead, Peter can lose himself in his chicken pesto sandwich and try not wonder whether he has finally lost his mind.
***
He gets to the diner at 10:20, thinking that maybe Claude just won't show up, and at the least Peter can get a light dinner and collapse for the night. Tomorrow's his day off, and he hasn't gone so insane that he doesn't look forward to the occasional recovery day.
But when Peter walks into the diner, Claude is already there, sitting in a booth and sipping idly at a cup of coffee. He's still got on most of his suit-- the slacks, dress shirt, and jacket are left over. But the tie is off, probably long gone, and the top two buttons of the shirt are undone. It looks more natural than when Peter saw him earlier. But still kind of ridiculous. At least for Claude.
"Still in your suit," Peter says, slipping easily into the seat across from Claude and gesturing for the waitress to bring him over a cup of coffee.
"Not in your uniform," Claude shoots back, almost smirking as his eyes wonder over Peter's old Columbia hoodie. "You look like an overgrown student, mate."
"I had a fourteen hour shift, Claude. Shut up and let me wear a comfortable sweater," he says, grabbing the hot cup of coffee the waitress drops off at their table like a lifeline.
"You boys ready for food?" she asks, trying to give a smile but clearly exhausted herself. Peter doesn't blame her-- it's 10:30, almost empty in this place, and the diner is open twenty-four hours. Who knows when her shift ends.
"Just a slice of cherry pie," Claude says. "And keep the coffee comin'."
Peter's starving again. He hasn't looked at the menu, but he has a craving for breakfast. "Western omelette," he starts, because every diner has one of those. "Turkey bacon, potatoes, and whole wheat toast."
She nods, taking Peter's unopened menu and leaving them alone again. "'S a lot of food for 10:30. Fourteen hour shift?"
"Yeah. My plan is to gorge now and then pass out for most of tomorrow."
Claude snorts. "So how did Peter Petrelli go from nurse to dedicated paramedic?"
"My life sucked after you left," he says bluntly. Not accusatory, because in the overall scheme of things to be mad at, Claude is so far down at the bottom of his list. But it's still true. There was a time when he was with Claude that he had hope-- that he'd learn to control his abilities and everything would be okay. But that didn't happen, and it's been shitty ever since.
"I know. Sorry about your brother, yeah?"
"Can we not talk about Nathan? Please?"
It's too raw, like he's split open still and every conversation is a painful touch to exposed nerves. Thankfully Claude nods, and Peter hopes that's the end of the subject.
"Still. Sorry. I did think about you after I left. From time to time."
"You still left though, and I still went boom. So I guess that didn't do me much good." Even if Claude is far down on his anger list, Peter's impressed with the amount of bitterness he can still manage.
"Nah, guess it didn't."
There's another long pause where they both sip on their coffee, and even if Claude was joking earlier, this is still the worst date Peter's ever had.
The silence is finally interrupted by the clink of ceramic against formica, and Peter is almost surprised to see food dropped in front of them and to get a refill to his coffee cup. The breakfast plate is without a doubt the best thing he's seen all day, and the waitress is barely gone before he's digging in, almost groaning at the taste of hot eggs and bacon.
Claude takes a small bite out of his pie, and Peter figures that if they're going to be here a while longer, then they might as well chat. Or at least not gaze out the window in shared awkward silence.
"So the suit?" Peter finally prompts, chewing on his bacon and looking over to Claude in interest.
Claude snorts, taking another bite of his pie before glancing down at his own outfit. "Told you, 's for work."
"Right, at Federal Plaza. Are you even a legal citizen?" Peter asks. Probably not. But then Claude tosses his wallet across the table at Peter, and holy crap, when he opens it, the first thing there is Claude's New York State Driver's License. With a picture of him. It says Claude Rains and has an address on it that looks like it's in Chelsea. Like Claude is actually a legitimate member of society and not some guy who's angry and rude and runs around New York like a ghost, stealing twenties from people's wallets and food off of carts and from sidewalk cafes.
"'S a good picture, yeah?" he asks, snatching the wallet back before Peter can find out if that is an American Express card poking out of one of the card slots.
"Is that for real?"
"I'm a real boy now, Pete," he deadpans, shoving his wallet back in his pants and then stealing a piece of bacon from Peter's plate. Then he huffs out a small laugh. "Listen. Your niece took a swan dive off a ferris wheel in front of a whole news crew, mate. Kind of kicked the government into action when it came to dealing with people like us. Turns out there's a real short list of people who have experience in this and aren't also raging, psychotic assholes. So I got offered a job and I took it. Simple."
That... kind of makes sense. He knows all about the Department of Special Human Development. It was Nathan's creation in a way. A more legitimate and contained version of the Building 26 program. Nathan was working on it when he died; or he was never working on it at all. Peter hasn't fully reconciled that yet. It was slow to get going, like any bureaucratic creation probably is, even ones that have the president's full support. But then Claire pulled that stunt, and yeah, they started working real fast after that. Practically going into overdrive trying to convince the general population that it was some David Blaine street magic style trick. Which, somehow, most people believed. It has to be easier to accept that than college student takes a leap and miraculously heals. There are conspiracy theorists about the thing, and Peter knows they're correct, but he doesn't particularly care. Because every future he's seen or heard of where people actually know about abilities has been a disaster. Nathan's Building 26 experiment was a disaster. So he can really do without having to worry about whether someone is going to break into his apartment in the middle of the night and drag him to a secret facility. That sucked enough the first time around. And yeah, he bets that at first some people are going to be, Cool! Flying!, but all it takes is one asshole like Sylar to pop up and ruin it for the rest of them. God, Sylar. That's another thing he needs therapy for. The guy actually sent him a post card from Niagara Falls the other day. Peter had immediately googled suspicious deaths in the area-- on both sides of the border-- but he came up clean. He has a weird image of Sylar just going up to take a leisurely ride on Maid of the Mist, but he doesn't really want to know. He also doesn't want anymore postcards, but it's probably better to quietly accept them and not poke the creepy sleeping dragon with a stick.
Claude's still staring at him, and Peter realizes that it's been a while since he actually spoke, instead getting lost in his own head. But that shouldn't really surprise Claude, so Peter decides to just pick the conversation up again, brow furrowed as he thinks over the man's last words. "Simple? When I met you, you were like the walking dead. Nurse to paramedic makes sense. But hermit to government agent?"
"'M not a government agent. I consult."
Peter laughs. "Government agent."
"Pain in my ass," Claude retorts, scowling. "And I've got my reasons. Maybe I just decided I didn't like being a damn hermit anymore. How about that?"
He knows that Claude is just being dismissive, but somehow Peter thinks there's a grain of truth to the words. It's probably not the whole reason Claude decided to rejoin society-- and oh god, in order to get that driver's license Claude must have had to spend an afternoon at the DMV-- but it's probably part of the explanation. So Peter will take it for now. He has another bite of his omelette, close to finishing it, and decides to chance a question he may get an actual answer to.
"All right, so why'd you ask me to meet you here?"
"Was bored," Claude answers, quickly and easily.
"Bored?"
Claude shrugs. "Like I said, thought about you from time to time." He pauses. "Mostly about how you're always an unintentional good laugh. So yeah. Bored."
"You're such a jerk," Peter mutters, but he still manages a short laugh, and okay, maybe Claude kind of keeps him entertained too.
"Why'd you say yes?" Claude finally asks. "Figured if you ever saw me again you'd tell me to fuck off then maybe top it with a punch to the nose."
"I--" Peter frowns, actually having to think about it. Because he didn't know why he said yes at the time, and the question has been churning in his head ever since this afternoon. He should be angry at Claude, or at least not willing to sit down with him. But Peter has too many other things to worry about, and towards the end of his shift he was thinking that maybe he misses having someone to really talk to. He's always on thin ice with his mother; Noah has an agenda almost every time they meet; Claire has her own problems and still looks at Peter with too wide eyes, like he's still that hero who he doesn't think he can be again; Hesam and the guys at work can't really get it; and Nathan's gone. But Claude always had a disturbing ability to see right through him. Conversations with Claude can be like a punch to the gut, and maybe Peter just kind of wants that right now. At the very least he won't need to hide or walk on eggshells. Finally though he just decides to smile and say, "Bored."
Claude snorts, amusement evident in his eyes as he stares at Peter. "All right then."
Peter takes the last bite of his omelette, leaving nothing left on his plate but a small bunch of potatoes and a piece of toast. He barely stifles a yawn, and even the caffeine isn't working towards keeping him awake.
"Done then?" Claude asks, though the answer is obvious.
"Yeah, think so. I should, uh, head back. I'll probably manage to be in bed by midnight which isn't bad."
Claude nods, looking at Peter contemplatively. "You workin' late tomorrow?"
"Day off. I'm just gonna sleep."
"Good. Can meet me at a normal hour then. Get some real dinner and a drink."
Peter laughs. "Why? This is past your bedtime?" he teases.
"Yeah," Claude deadpans. "My nine to five schedule is really taxing."
"Look at you. Claude Rains, well respected man."
"I would ask if that's a round about reference to the Kinks song, but I know you only listen to whatever's popular with the pre-pubescent female set."
"I know the song, Claude."
"Did Britney Spears cover it?"
Peter glares. "Just for this, you're paying for my food. You probably make more money than me now anyway."
Claude snorts, but he still throws a twenty on the table. Too much money for the bill, whatever it is, but he doesn't seem to care. "Yeah, but you've still gotta trust fund. I'll come by your apartment after work tomorrow, all right?"
"I'll try not to be home," Peter says, but he's unable to help the small smile on his lips as he gets up, hugging his sweater closer to his body and preparing to brave the slight cold of a New York fall night for the next block and a half. Claude walks with him to the door, but the subway station is in the opposite direction, so Peter nods. "See you tomorrow, Claude."
"Yeah, mate," Claude says, offering a small smile of his own. "See you."
The smile is actually genuine, and Peter's surprised for a moment, staring when Claude finally turns away and starts at a brisk pace down the block and towards the warm shelter of the D train. The breeze finally picks up though, and Peter is shaken out of his thoughts when the cold smacks him in the face.
This has been a weird night. But he's had worse ones. He snorts to himself, because he's also had worse dates.
And if Peter is actually kind of looking forward to tomorrow, well, he supposes there really isn't anything wrong with that.