Title: Worries
Author: Symphonyflute
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: PG
Pairings: None
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Definitely not mine. If someone wants to give me Peter I won't object, but as of right now he and the show belong to NBC. And I stole the first few lines of dialogue straight from the episode Fallout.
Summary: With an evil superpowered killer on the loose, his entire world turning upside down, and a need to save the cheerleader, Peter has more than enough to worry about. The last thing he needs is a cold now.
Author Notes: I doubt anyone but me and tarotgal watches Heroes, but if you do, this is an AU ending to 'Fallout'. Takes place when Nathan gets him out of jail, but Mr. Bennet never sent the Haitian to make Claire forget. Wow, does that make sense to anyone?
Author Notes 2: Wow, this was hard to end. I wrote like eight endings. Blah.
Bunny: 5, 10
Feedback: I'd love some.

"What are you doing here Nathan?"

 The politician threw the bag of his belongings at him, but didn't answer the question. "Let's go."

"Aren't you gonna ask what happened?" Peter struggled to keep up with his brother's quick pace.

"I know what happened. You got yourself in trouble and you almost got yourself killed."

"But I saved a girl," Peter defended.

"Had to be a hero, didn't you?" Nathan didn't even try to hide the disdain from his voice. "Got it out of your system now?"

If Peter noticed his hostility, he didn't care. "I finally get it now. I have these dreams, and when I'm around someone with an ability I can do what they do."

Nathan looked him over as he stumbled. "You look like hell."

Peter had to cough before continuing, but continued nonetheless. "When I was with that girl, and that guy that was trying to kill that girl. And this cop. I think he was reading my mind. They were all like us."

"Dysfunctional?"

"No, they..." he had to stop talking as a dizzy spell hit him, but continued afterward like nothing had happened. He had to get this across to his brother no matter how sick he felt. "Nathan I have to stop that bomb and I have to save everyone."

"Right now I'd settle for you walking straight."

Peter stumbled again in his walking, and Nathan grabbed his elbow to help him down the stairs of the prison. "How do you get sick alone in a jail cell?" he asked. "There's no one there to get it from."

"Nathan-" Peter tried again but was forced to stop talking and wrench his arm away from his brother to cover his face. "HeKetschh!"

Nathan sighed, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket and handing it over. "Now that you've managed to get hurt, arrested and sick, are you ready to come home?"

"I think I need to be here, at least for a little while."

Peter could see the vein on the side of Nathan's forehead twitching, and knew he was really ticking off the older man. "The plane back to New York leaves in an hour," he told him. "You're on it or you're not, but either way I am."

Peter had expected as much. "I'll see you in a few days then."

"And how will you afford a ticket? Or better yet, how will you afford food? Clothes? A hotel room? Do you expect me to just hand you money?"

"I'll figure something out." As Peter raised his voice to argue, another battery of coughs tore through his chest, and he forced himself to calm down. "I'm sorry, this is just how it has to be. I have some money with me." He held up the clear plastic bag Nathan had given him and shook it, allowing Nathan to hear the rattling of coins. "I won't starve."

Nathan glared at him for a minute, before sighing, pulling out his wallet, and giving Peter a couple twenty dollar bills. "Get your ass back to Manhattan as soon as you're done being stubborn."

Nathan climbed into the cab he had taken to the prison and gave Peter one last significant look before directing the driver to take him to the airport.  Peter waved weakly as the car sped into the distance, then quickly put the hand over his mouth and nose as he doubled over with more sneezes. "Haktchoo! HeKetschh!"

He was out of jail now, and that could definitely be viewed as a good thing. It meant he could focus his efforts on saving the cheerleader and saving the world. Or it could be viewed as a bad thing, considering her was now out on the streets and had no idea what to do to go about saving the world. The optimist in him wanted to be happy, but the sick and tired nurse in him wasn't sure he could.

Night was starting to fall and it was starting to drizzle, and Peter was standing in the middle of the sidewalk outside a county prison. So he started walking, hoping to come across a hotel or something so he could get out of the cold and out of the rain. Thunder boomed overhead, prompting him to  walk faster, still occasionally stumbling over his steps.

Being new to Texas as he was, Peter had absolutely no idea where to find a hotel. He could pretty much tell you where the jail and local high school were. As rain poured down from the clouds, he was starting to entertain the idea of breaking into the school to spend the night. Of course, that wouldn't do much for him in the eyes of the detective who thought he was a pervert.

His head was starting to hurt again, and he wished he could go back and ask the mind-reading cop for some more of whatever he had given him before. But obviously he couldn't do that. So he settled for walking around aimlessly and wishing he had a coat or an umbrella. Or even a long sleeved shirt, preferably without blood on it.

A car started driving slowly alongside him, and Peter tried his best to ignore it. As unnerving as having a car following you is, he had grown up with a politician and knew how to hold a straight face when the situation called for it.

The window on the passenger side opened and a female voice called out to him. "You know it's raining?"

Peter recognized the voice immediately and looked up at the car. "Claire. Hi."

She smiled at him and clicked her tongue. "You're getting all wet."

He looked down at his water soaked jeans and chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"What are you doing out here?"

"I don't know." He could feel the tips of his ears turning red in embarrassment. He kept admitting to Claire that he never knew his next move, whether jumping of a building or walking in the rain, and if he kept it up she'd never trust him to save her life again.

She had the same look in her eyes as she did when he had met her earlier, one of wonderment and concern, and that was almost as unnerving to him as being stalked by a car had been. He wondered briefly how she convinced her father to drive at such a slow pace to be next to him.

Neither of them said anything for a minute, just walked and drove slowly and silently. Then Peter felt another sneeze coming and didn't want to subject Claire to watching it, so he sped up and walked angled away from the road. "Heketschh! Haketchh!" The sneezes triggered another painful coughing fit and he had to stop and put his hand on a nearby tree for balance.

Of course, the car had been able to move as fast as him and she had still been watching. "You sound awful," she fretted. "You really need to get out of the rain."

"I'm fine," he assured her, walking at a normal pace again as he realized they were going to follow him no matter how fast he walked and he may as well go slow. Then he remembered-Claire lived here. She could help him. "But if you want to point me to a hotel I'd really appreciate it."

Claire gave him a sympathetic look, which Peter quickly took to mean she was going to give him bad news. "Nearest hotel is about twenty miles that way." She pointed back the way he'd come. "Sorry, there are none in this part of town."

"Of course there aren't," Peter grumbled under his breath. He wasn't looking forward to walking twenty miles in the rain. Claire started talking to her dad in a quiet voice, and Peter took this as an indication they were going to leave him alone now so he started walking back in the direction she had pointed..

Instead, the car turned with him and stopped. "Get in," Clare ordered.

"Excuse me?"

"Get in. We're taking you to the hotel." She smiled charmingly at him. "Don't worry, I don't bite. Cheerleader's honor."

Peter was hesitant to accept help from virtual strangers, but the prospect of not having to walk all the night in the rain ended his inner struggle before it even began, and he gratefully climbed in the backseat. "Thank you so much for the ride. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

"It's no problem at all," Mr. Bennet assured him, though the smile he gave in the rearview mirror was nowhere near as warm as the one his daughter had. "After all, I did owe you one."

"Not that giving you a ride is anywhere near as amazing as saving my life," Claire quickly amended.

When was she going to drop this 'you're my hero' thing? He had never felt like any less of a hero then he did at that moment. "It's like I said, right place right time. And believe me, this ride is saving my life. If I had to walk 20 miles in the rain at night in Texas, I'd end up lost for the rest of my life or dead of pneumonia." He smiled at her to let her know the act really was important to him, but coughed again, in effect ruining the effort.

"You might still end up dead of pneumonia." She turned back in her seat and reached over to feel his forehead. "I think you have a fever."

He leaned out of her reach. "I'll be fihh-HeKetschh!-fine." He shook his head to clear it. "Ugh, excuse me.

"Bless you."

Nathan had never blessed him. No one he knew was quite that polite, except him. "Thank you."

Peter stared out the window, and Claire got the message that he really didn't feel like talking. The rest of the ride went by in silence. Peter must have fallen asleep because before he knew it, Claire was shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, we're here."

Peter blinked groggily and tried to get his bearings. He was looking up at a cheap-looking motel, with half the neon letters of it's name burnt out. Yeah, this was probably right in his price range. Claire walked him to the door and promised to call him in the morning, and he promptly bought a room key and collapsed on the bed.

True to her word, Claire called to check on him the next morning. She was so eager to talk to him again she called as soon as she woke up.

"Claire," he groaned into the phone. "It's 6:30 on a Saturday. Why are you awake?"

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted. "I was worried about you, sick and sleeping at some crappy motel."

Sensing this was going to be a longer call than he would have liked, Peter forced himself to sit up in bed. He stifled four quick sneezes against his wrist before continuing the conversation. "You'd rather I was sick and awake at some crappy motel?" She giggled. "Not that I'm sick of course," he added. "And this isn't a crappy motel."

"Yeah, you don't sound sick at all," Claire remarked sarcastically as she listened to him cough, sneeze, and sniffle his way through the phone call.

Peter chuckled. "Okay, maybe I have a little cold. But I'm fine, really. You don't have to worry about me."

"But I do," Claire replied seriously. "You saved my life, and I care about you because of it. So yeah, I'm worried."

Peter didn't know how to respond to the sentiment, but he was saved by Claire changing the mood to one much more light felt. "I thought I'd bring you some soup later. What kind do you want?"

"I don't need any soup," he said quickly. He had already accepted their help, he didn't need anymore. "If I'm hungry later I'll just grab something from the vending machine down the hall."

"You would never be able to keep a cheerleader's physique," Claire joked. "But seriously, what kind? Chicken noodle is a classic. But tomato is good too. Or I made avocado soup once, that's good if you want to go the unusual route."

"I don't want soup," he repeated. "Thanks anyway."

"Chicken noodle it is then," she piped in happily. "I'll bring it by later. Bye."

"Claire-" She hung up the phone before Peter got a chance to argue again, and he couldn't bring himself to care enough to call her back. It didn't matter anyway, Claire was going to do whatever she wanted because that was just who she was. And he had better things to think about then anyway.

Sylar was one thing he needed to spend some time on. Or rather, one person. He was getting braver, not stalking the shadows as much. He had attacked and killed at a high school dance. That meant he was either getting more courageous or more desperate. Neither seemed very appealing to Peter.

As he was trying to piece together the puzzle that was Sylar, was him and Nathan and Claire, was Isaac and Hiro, was this whole new life, he felt his eyelids getting heavier. Being woken up at 6:30 in the morning when he was sick wasn't a very good idea, and he was too tired to function. So promising himself he would only sleep for an hour, Peter slid back under the covers and fell asleep.

A loud knocking woke Peter up from his slumber, and a quick look at the clock told him he had slept for close to six hours. Dragging himself up, he opened the door to reveal a cheery looking Claire. "Hey. I brought you soup." She held up a large plastic container. "Can I come in?" He stepped aside to let her enter. "You know how you said you didn't want soup? I don't really care if you want it or not, because my mom always says worries go down better with soup than without, and I think we have more then enough worries to down. And I know I said I was going to bring chicken noodle, but the more I thought about it, the more you struck me as a tomato guy. So I brought that. Plus, that's all we had. Aren't you going to say anything?"

Peter cleared his throat roughly. "Hey Claire."

Claire made a face. "You sound terrible. Didn't you sleep at all?"

"I slept all night. And all this morning."

"Then you should sound better, not worse. But don't worry, Dr. Claire will make it all better."

Of course, the sixteen year old was going to take care of him. There was no way Peter was going for that plan. "I'm fine," he assured her, as he sat down on the floor and started pulling on his shoes.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I think I'm going to go talk to that cop from the other night," he said. "When I was talking to him, there was this weird resounding noise in my head. I think he was trying to read my mind."

"You can't go out, you're sick." Claire snatched his second shoe away before he got a chance to put it on.

"Claire," Peter said calmly. "Give me my shoe please."

"No." She sounded like a five year old.

He stood up and matched her glare with his expectant stare. "Shoe?"

"No shoe. Soup. Not get back in bed."

Peter opened his mouth to try again to get his shoe back, but instead stood there with his mouth open as he took deep heaving breaths. He managed to turn away from Claire before he sneezed again into the crook of his elbow. "Haketssch! HaAkstsch!"

"Bless you." Claire took advantage of his momentary lack of control and pushed him backwards onto the bed. "You lie there now. Talk to Officer Parkman later, when you can go ten minutes without sneezing."

"And what do I do until then?" Peter was never one for idle time, especially when there was work to be done.

"Just rest and get better," Claire advised.

Peter chuckled. "You know, my brother always said 'Don't stay in bed, unless you can make money in bed.'"

"Your brother's an idiot." Claire pulled a spoon out of her purse and set it and the container on the bedside table. "If you're sick, stay in bed. Not hard." She rummaged through her purse, which was one of the biggest pursed Peter had ever seen, once more, and pulled out a dark blue sweatshirt. "I thought you might want a shirt that wasn't bloody," she explained, handing it over.

Peter pulled it on gratefully. "Thanks."

Claire smiled at him. "Go to sleep. And don't worry, I'll still be alive when you wake up. I promise."

"I do worry about you," he said

Claire nodded toward the soup. "Then eat the soup. My mom gives sound advice." She looked solemn for a minute, then looked him in the eye. "Peter?"

"Hmm?"

"We'll win. We're the good guys."

Peter nodded. "I know," he lied.  Don't worry about it."

"I'll leave you to your soup and sleep then," Claire promised, dropping his shoe by the door. "Feel better."

Peter watched her go, before going to get his other shoe. It was halfway on before he changed his mind and opted to eat some soup. The sooner he got better, the sooner he could focus all his energy on saving Claire.