Remix: M.I.A. (The Rule-Breaker Remix) [Peter/Claude, 440 words, rated PG], by lotus0kid
It’s the silence that wakes Claude up. He’s so used to all manner of street noise buzzing around his head it’s become his alarm clock. Though, not so much anymore, because in a humiliatingly short time it’s been replaced by the gentle pad of feet, the grumble of a coffeemaker, and the sizzle of cooking food. As Claude’s eyes open to take in the silent, still space of Peter’s apartment, the only thing that overwhelms the inner voice that chastizes him constantly for this dangerous indulgence is the voice demanding to know where Peter is. Because he’s not here. Not in the kitchen, and not in his bedroom, as a few swift steps and a hand pushing open the door reveals. He’s not in the bathroom, and he’s not in the hallway outside.
Where is he, where is he, where the fuck is he? Claude stops. His heart is already pounding, the walls of the apartment creeping in fist-tight even as its emptiness mocks him. He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes. Accepts the obvious. Peter’s gone. Taken, undoubtedly. Claude led them right to his door. All he can do now is save himself. He probably only has a few minutes left to avoid Peter’s fate. That poor kid. Well, if nothing else takes the rosy film off his eyes, it’ll be what happens to him now.
One deep breath, and he’s moving back to the couch to snag his shoes and coat. Half an hour, that’s all he needs. He can be out of the city and gone forever in half an hour. They can’t catch him. Seven years and they haven’t yet, and that’s seven years he’s had to learn more tricks. Could’ve... should’ve taught them to Peter. He... we could’ve gone together. He stomps down hard on the thought, allows no hint of grief to interfere in his escape. They’re coming.
The door opens as he’s tugging on his shoes. He winks out of sight and jumps to his feet, ready to risk loose laces if he must. But instead of Company operatives firing taser needles or worse at his head, he finds Peter. Peter, his arms full of groceries, easing the door shut and practically tiptoeing into the kitchen. Claude stares, and clasps his hands to his head as if relief is about to take him to pieces. He breathes the adrenaline out of his body and just watches. Watches him, his student. His- his Peter. He lets himself become visible. “I know it may surprise you, mate, but the milk carton doesn’t actually fill up on its own again once you’ve finished with it.”