(Untitled)

[morelikeasponge]

Plunk.

Plunk.

Splorch.

Plunk-unk.

Peter Petrelli is standing by the edge of the lake, half-heartedly attempting to skip stones.

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[lilmsmiraclegro]

"Peter?"

Claire is standing some distance behind him, wanting to make sure it is him before she stops pretending she's perfectly fine no really

[morelikeasponge]

Peter glances over his shoulder, reaching up automatically to push his bangs away and letting his hand drift to his neck when he doesn't find any. He's still got a rock clasped loosely in his other hand.

"Hey," he says, with the start of a puzzled smile. It fades when he gets a better look at the expression on the kid's face.

"Is something wrong?"

[lilmsmiraclegro]

"Apart from everything?"

Well, not everything. It's been worse. She thought Peter was dead, once.

Still, it's confirmed that's him, so she draws closer, looking past him to the lake. "You hear about West?" The sign's up, after all.

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He winces, and lets the stone drop to the grass. "Yeah."

She knew West? Which --

"Do you know, uh. Do you know me?"

[lilmsmiraclegro]

Claire stops entirely short, and stares at him, her mouth dropping slowly open.

"What?"

It's not a confused what, it's a surprised and a distressed what? But it's not a what that finds unexpected and complete amnesia an unusual thing.

It's just not a good thing.

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Confusion would be reassuringly normal, and he could launch into the now-familiar explanation.

Instead he's thrown, and he's not sure why.

"Do I know you?"

[lilmsmiraclegro]

"Yes," Claire says. She tries to make her eyes drop, but instead they're stuck on his, as if she had some sort of memory-restoration power that works by shooting beams from her eyes into his.

(That would be cool.)

"You're my uncle."

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It's Peter's turn to say,

"What?"

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"You're my uncle," Claire repeats. A minute ago, she had intended to use Peter for a comforting hug, and now she comes close for another reason - placing a hand on his upper arm.

"What do you remember?"

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Peter is staring at her like she might disappear if he blinks.

"I -- they found me in a shipping container. In Cork." Bemused, he adds, "It was supposed to have iPods."

There's a thin stripe of red along the outside of his elbow; just a small cut, from a brush with a low-hanging branch or a sharp corner. He rubs a hand over it absently.

[lilmsmiraclegro]

"The Haitian," Claire mutters to herself. Her hand moves down as he rubs his elbows, fingers brushing fingers.

Louder, she says, "We thought you were dead.

"You have to remember, Peter. You have to remember me."

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"How?" he says, frustrated. "I've been trying."

When he lowers his hand, the skin around his elbow is unmarked.

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Claire might notice, except she's still staring into his eyes.

"I don't know," she says, trying not to sound too pleading. "But you did it before, I know you did."

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And Peter might notice, except he's staring at her.

"Wait," he says. "What? I did it before, what does that mean?"

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"When you went missing," Claire repeats. And time being what it is, she's not exactly sure if that's this one or not.

"Before you saved the world, again."

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Neither is Peter. "I went missing before?"

He blinks.

"I saved the world?"

He'll have to ask about that later. Right now there's a weird buzz in his head, and his elbow itches. "Claire, I don't even know what --"

Oh.