FIC: Sunshine at Midnight (peter/claire, heroes)
Here's the first official post for 50 alternates. Wish me luck!
TITLE: Sunshine at midnight
SERIES: Midnight Hour 1
AUTHOR: TaleWeaver
DISCLAIMER: the characters you recognise belong to Tim Kring and NBC, and no profit was made. These words are my own. The world here is a smush of about five different vampire fandoms (especially Blade the series), with my own bits thrown in.
FANDOM / PAIRING: Heroes, Peter/Claire (platonic), Nathan
RATING / CONTENT: PG-13. Implications of off-screen paedophilia
SPOILERS: None, except for basic character backgrounds. This is AR - alternate reality.
SUMMARY: In 260 years as a Pureblood, Peter of Clan Petrelli has done some pretty outrageous things - but bringing home a small human child?
PROMPT: 50 alternates - prompt 17 psychic
SOUNDTRACK: ‘Sooner or later’ Switchfoot
Come back and haunt me
Follow me home
Give me a motive
Swallow me whole
They say I've lost it
What could I know
‘Sooner or later’ Switchfoot
Nathan Petrelli, 370 years old, and leader of his Clan in the United States, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. His younger brother, Peter, had a truly great heart; there was no denying it. In fact, it had helped keep his sibling sane a few times over the centuries, and kept the Clan from taking courses that would not only have damaged their status, but hurt multitudes of people for no good reason. Peter was continually developing into someone extraordinary, and a man he was proud to call kin. As a consequence, Peter’s heart had inevitably led him into some truly strange and awkward situations over the centuries. But this had to be the most outrageous.
“I’m not giving her up, Nathan.”
Nathan sighed again. “Yes, I can see that.”
Peter was normally the easiest going of men, but occasionally, he set himself to a particular course of action, and nothing could sway him from it. Not orders, not punishments, or pleas. One look at the devoted expression on his face whenever he looked at the little girl, and it was patently obvious that this was not only one of those times, it quite possibly surpassed all the others. One look at the expression of adoration on the sunshine-haired child’s face whenever she looked at Peter, and it was easy to see why.
Nathan’s psychic abilities were more in the nature of perception and manipulation of motivations and truths (he took after their mother that way), but he could sense the emotional bond that had formed between the two on the couch opposite him, in only a few hours. Just the thought of the psychic backlash awaiting anyone foolish enough to try to interfere mentally made him take another sip of Scotch. (Such a useful drink, alcohol. Although once he was done, he was quite possibly going to ask a donor to get stinking drunk so he could ingest it properly.) The girl couldn’t be more than six, but it could already be discerned that she was not without power of her own, gathering in potency below the surface of her skin.
“How did you get her, anyway?”
Peter’s face darkened, and he absently reached out an arm to bring the child closer. “I bought her.”
Nathan nearly dropped his glass.
Three hours earlier
New York City suburbs
Peter shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as he strode away from the shopping district. A few weeks after the solstice, and the nights were already growing shorter. Granted, he wasn’t physically bound to sleep during the daylight hours, but it could grow very confining.
It was just after midnight, and the suburban streets were crowded. Peter let the noise from the thoughts of the hundreds surrounding him merge into a pleasant blur of psychic white noise.
All the different Clans had different gifts. The Lindermans, who had ruled the Blood in the south and midwest of the country for centuries - and had held sway from Las Vegas since Bugsy Siegel had laid out the first blueprints - could control the flow of life energy in both human and Blood, killing or healing in seconds with a touch. The Monroes, an English Clan with a strong Branch on the west coast, were extraordinarily resilient - they could brush off wounds that would outright kill another Blood. The Nakamuras, an allied Clan in Japan, could affect the flow of time around them. It was whispered that one or two especially gifted members could actually remove themselves from time, re-inserting themselves in a far distant place in a matter of seconds. The Bishops, while only a small Clan with little territory, could manipulate certain aspects of the elements, making them powerful in the Council.
The Petrellis, on the other hand, were masters of the mind. Perception, manipulation, communication. All of them were telepathic or empathic to some degree; some had more power than others, some were more attuned to reception or projection, or kinds of emotion than others. Peter wasn’t very high up in the Clan politically, but he was the most powerful psychic to be born to the Clan in a thousand years. Able to perceive not only the thoughts, but also the hearts, of others. Able to discern dreams as they happened, as well as digging deeper in a conscious mind to find memories. Able to not only focus on one mind in a crowded room, but with a range unmatched among the Clans. The more intimate the relationship, the further he could reach - Nathan had nearly been killed in an attack by that crazy Vatican off-shoot last century, and the only reason he’d survived was because Peter had felt his distress from the opposite coast, and contacted their mother to give her Nathan’s location.
The more intense the emotion, the more clearly Peter could read it and the accompanying thought. Which is why he could sense the junkie’s desperation from across the street, as loudly as a human next to her could hear her speak.
“Devon’ll give me at least five hundred bucks for the kid. I’ll be able to square my debt and have enough stuff for weeks.”
Freezing in his tracks, Peter narrowed his focus to a fishing-line thread, casting for the psychic scent attached to the thought he’d just heard. In a matter of seconds, he was dashing across the street at top speed, cars not even stopping, because by the time the drivers saw him he was already gone. Following the scent down the alley, he stopped dead a few metres away from the two humans. The woman obviously wasn’t used to Bloods; she froze and scrambled away, hand reaching for the throat of her skimpy dress. Probably to fish out a crucifix. Despite the circumstances of the Alliance, some people still couldn’t get over the Dracula shit.
Peter’s eyes were locked on the child next to her. She was beautiful. A round, pretty face held the promise of future loveliness, with eyes like emeralds, and hair the colour of sunlight. Then she gave him a sad, sweet smile, and he was lost forever.
“How much?” He demanded of the woman.
“What?” she asked blankly.
“Devon will give you five hundred for the child, right? How much will it take for you to give her to me, instead?” Peter left unsaid the fact that he could just take her; the woman would undoubtedly go running for the police, bewailing her loss, and the resulting publicity would bring Nathan crashing down on him. Erasing or adjusting memories was one of the few mental abilities he didn’t have.
“You’re a bloodsucker! I can’t give her to one of you!”
Peter took his gaze from the little girl just long enough to slip into the woman’s mind, and perform a quick scan to confirm what he’d already surmised. Eyes narrowed, he spat out, “But you have no qualms about trading her to a kiddie-pimp?”
His tone dripped with disgust he couldn’t control. Purebloods only had children rarely, and the Turned couldn’t at all - all young were held sacred to the Blood.
The woman looked away, and Peter mentally ran through his pockets, then the surrounding location. “I’ll give you two thousand dollars, if you sign a note saying that you will surrender custody of her to me.”
The woman brightened, and held out her hand.
“There’s an atm around the corner. It will give you enough light to write the note properly.” No way in hell was he giving her the chance to run off with the girl when his back was turned.
He gestured towards the mouth of the alley, and the woman tugged on the child’s hand, tossing an uneasy look over her shoulder as they walked past him. The little girl, on the other hand, looked up at him longingly.
A few minutes later, Peter had a note granting him custody of Claire Gordon, (and a video record that the transaction was a willing one, courtesy of the security cameras) and the slovenly woman had two thousand dollars. She almost ran out of the atm vestibule, eyes alight at the thought of the drugs she could buy. Peter could feel her craving in his mind, and it made him want to retch.
Peter was brought out of his queasiness by a tiny hand tugging on his knee-length coat.
“My Lord?”
Wondering where on earth the child had learned the proper form of address, and how she’d discerned his rank in the first place, Peter looked down. Another smile, and Peter couldn’t resist the urge to pick her up and cuddle her close, settling her on his hip. Stroking her golden hair, he asked gently, “What is it, Sunshine?”
“Are we going home now?”
A light brush of his mind against hers, and he knew that the little girl had instinctively understood the connection between them, even as he had. The Petrelli's all recognised destiny on the occasions they were touched by it, and Peter knew it now. This girl-child was born to be a part of his life, though her role in it was yet to be determined. Her place was at his side, and they both knew it.
“Yes, honey, we’re going home now,” Peter told her. Claire gave him the most joyous grin he’d ever seen, and threw her arms around her neck, hugging him tightly. Peter closed his eyes and inhaled sharply at the wave of love that swamped him.
Nathan’s study
Clan Petrelli enclave
“All right, I see why you had to do that,” Nathan said firmly. “Did you get a fix on Devon’s location?” At Peter’s nod, he continued, “I’ll call the DA tomorrow. I assume you’ll be happy to observe the raid and inhibit the scumbag’s desire to run away?”
Nathan took another look at the little girl. Freshly washed and wearing one of the tacky souvenir T-shirts that Peter collected, and frequently wore just to drive their mother crazy - this one saying ‘Everything’s bigger in Texas’ - she didn’t look much younger than his own boys, Monty and Simon.
“So how are we going to work this, Peter? Give her to one of servant families to raise? I know Esmerelda’s always wanted more kids.”
Peter shook his head. “I had a quick consult with Marcus on the way back. I want to register Claire as my Vessel.”
Nathan’s glass hit the floor. Luckily for the carpet, he’d finished his drink already.
Vessels were humans who were sworn to the service of a single, high-ranking Blood. A corruption of the word ‘vassal’, the Vessels regularly fed their Lord or Lady directly from the vein, and in return were protected and housed. In Blood terms, they were a kind of property - if any other Blood fed from or injured a Vessel, the Vessel’s Lord had the right to kill the interloper. The Vessels had to be absolutely trustworthy, given their intimacy with their Lord - most of them were employed as high-ranking servants such as ladies’ maids or valets in the old days, now personal assistants or bodyguards. The Petrelli’s had formally contracted their Vessels even before the Alliance, setting out the obligations and rights of both parties. With the Petrelli gifts, it was necessary - the more sensitive members of the Clan could read the thoughts of those they fed on, or taste the emotions or memories in their blood. One story that had been running around since the black plague told of one of the earlier Clan heads actually being fatally poisoned by the psychic vitriol of an unwilling Vessel.
Peter had had both Blood and human lovers over the centuries, but he’d never had a personal Vessel before. Ever since he’d been born, he’d only taken sustenance from the feeding room, where a rotating schedule of servants and other trustworthy - and healthy - acquaintances donated blood once a month, much the same way as the blood bank.
“It’s not even legal, Pete.”
“Yes, it is, as long as I don’t feed from her until she’s sixteen. I don’t intend to feed from her at all - if she feels strongly about it later, we can discuss it when she turns eighteen. It’s rare, but Contracts for underage Vessels have been signed before. Mostly for situations like this one.” Nathan sat flabbergasted, as Peter’s voice took on a slightly desperate edge. “I need to keep Claire with me, Nathan, and this is the only sure way. No human court will give me custody, note or not. Claire has to be a legal citizen of the Blood Nation, so that our laws will apply, not the human. As a Vessel, no one can take her away.”
As if in response to Peter’s agitation, little Claire snuggled closer to him, almost into his lap, and he calmed. “I’ve got most of the basics worked out. Can you give me the agency you got Monty and Simon’s tutor from?”
Nathan shook his head absently. “She can share theirs.”
Peter gave him a quick smile of thanks, then continued, “She shouldn’t grow up a hermit or anything, and only among the Blood would be almost as bad, not to mention dangerous - you’ve done a great job with your boys, but most of the other Blood children don’t always have the best control of their thirst. I figure she can be home-schooled until she’s done with elementary school, so I can keep her with me on a nighttime schedule. After that, Devaux Academy has a night-school program for professional children, parents on night-shift or odd schedules, and children of those who work for our kind. They also offer a three days daytime, Monday and Fridays night-shift program to acclimatise the children to a part-daytime school life. That way, Claire should be able to handle daytime high school when she’s old enough to stay up late with me.”
“Devaux Academy? Never heard of it.”
“You remember that art dealer I was dating about eight years back? Simone Devaux?”
“Oh, I remember her,” Nathan retorted, frowning. “I remember what it did to you when she broke it off.”
Peter’s gently bittersweet smile belied the suffering he’d gone through at the time. “She wouldn’t be the first person to try life under the fang and decide it’s not for her - and now she’s got those kids she wanted. Her father helped found the school, and now her husband teaches art there part time. Anyway, she talked me into joining the board of directors when we first got together, and I’m still on it. The night school program was my idea, and it’s their strongest-growing program. They even won a commendation from the state board of education a few years back.”
Nathan sat back with a sigh. “You do seem to have most of the basics covered already.” But then, Peter had always had a knack for instinctively strategizing under pressure - he was a lousy chess player, but brilliant at poker, even with his strongest mental shields up.
“Heidi can take her shopping, if she wants,” Peter offered, and Nathan couldn’t help but grin. His wife always had wanted a little girl, and was notorious for spoiling every female child in the enclave. Many of their now-adult servants still kept the presents she’d bought them.
“I guess we’ll have a party once the paperwork goes through then, to officially welcome Claire to the family.”
Claire looked up from Peter’s side and smiled at him.
FINI
TITLE: Sunshine at midnight
SERIES: Midnight Hour 1
AUTHOR: TaleWeaver
DISCLAIMER: the characters you recognise belong to Tim Kring and NBC, and no profit was made. These words are my own. The world here is a smush of about five different vampire fandoms (especially Blade the series), with my own bits thrown in.
FANDOM / PAIRING: Heroes, Peter/Claire (platonic), Nathan
RATING / CONTENT: PG-13. Implications of off-screen paedophilia
SPOILERS: None, except for basic character backgrounds. This is AR - alternate reality.
SUMMARY: In 260 years as a Pureblood, Peter of Clan Petrelli has done some pretty outrageous things - but bringing home a small human child?
PROMPT: 50 alternates - prompt 17 psychic
SOUNDTRACK: ‘Sooner or later’ Switchfoot
Come back and haunt me
Follow me home
Give me a motive
Swallow me whole
They say I've lost it
What could I know
‘Sooner or later’ Switchfoot
Nathan Petrelli, 370 years old, and leader of his Clan in the United States, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. His younger brother, Peter, had a truly great heart; there was no denying it. In fact, it had helped keep his sibling sane a few times over the centuries, and kept the Clan from taking courses that would not only have damaged their status, but hurt multitudes of people for no good reason. Peter was continually developing into someone extraordinary, and a man he was proud to call kin. As a consequence, Peter’s heart had inevitably led him into some truly strange and awkward situations over the centuries. But this had to be the most outrageous.
“I’m not giving her up, Nathan.”
Nathan sighed again. “Yes, I can see that.”
Peter was normally the easiest going of men, but occasionally, he set himself to a particular course of action, and nothing could sway him from it. Not orders, not punishments, or pleas. One look at the devoted expression on his face whenever he looked at the little girl, and it was patently obvious that this was not only one of those times, it quite possibly surpassed all the others. One look at the expression of adoration on the sunshine-haired child’s face whenever she looked at Peter, and it was easy to see why.
Nathan’s psychic abilities were more in the nature of perception and manipulation of motivations and truths (he took after their mother that way), but he could sense the emotional bond that had formed between the two on the couch opposite him, in only a few hours. Just the thought of the psychic backlash awaiting anyone foolish enough to try to interfere mentally made him take another sip of Scotch. (Such a useful drink, alcohol. Although once he was done, he was quite possibly going to ask a donor to get stinking drunk so he could ingest it properly.) The girl couldn’t be more than six, but it could already be discerned that she was not without power of her own, gathering in potency below the surface of her skin.
“How did you get her, anyway?”
Peter’s face darkened, and he absently reached out an arm to bring the child closer. “I bought her.”
Nathan nearly dropped his glass.
Three hours earlier
New York City suburbs
Peter shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as he strode away from the shopping district. A few weeks after the solstice, and the nights were already growing shorter. Granted, he wasn’t physically bound to sleep during the daylight hours, but it could grow very confining.
It was just after midnight, and the suburban streets were crowded. Peter let the noise from the thoughts of the hundreds surrounding him merge into a pleasant blur of psychic white noise.
All the different Clans had different gifts. The Lindermans, who had ruled the Blood in the south and midwest of the country for centuries - and had held sway from Las Vegas since Bugsy Siegel had laid out the first blueprints - could control the flow of life energy in both human and Blood, killing or healing in seconds with a touch. The Monroes, an English Clan with a strong Branch on the west coast, were extraordinarily resilient - they could brush off wounds that would outright kill another Blood. The Nakamuras, an allied Clan in Japan, could affect the flow of time around them. It was whispered that one or two especially gifted members could actually remove themselves from time, re-inserting themselves in a far distant place in a matter of seconds. The Bishops, while only a small Clan with little territory, could manipulate certain aspects of the elements, making them powerful in the Council.
The Petrellis, on the other hand, were masters of the mind. Perception, manipulation, communication. All of them were telepathic or empathic to some degree; some had more power than others, some were more attuned to reception or projection, or kinds of emotion than others. Peter wasn’t very high up in the Clan politically, but he was the most powerful psychic to be born to the Clan in a thousand years. Able to perceive not only the thoughts, but also the hearts, of others. Able to discern dreams as they happened, as well as digging deeper in a conscious mind to find memories. Able to not only focus on one mind in a crowded room, but with a range unmatched among the Clans. The more intimate the relationship, the further he could reach - Nathan had nearly been killed in an attack by that crazy Vatican off-shoot last century, and the only reason he’d survived was because Peter had felt his distress from the opposite coast, and contacted their mother to give her Nathan’s location.
The more intense the emotion, the more clearly Peter could read it and the accompanying thought. Which is why he could sense the junkie’s desperation from across the street, as loudly as a human next to her could hear her speak.
“Devon’ll give me at least five hundred bucks for the kid. I’ll be able to square my debt and have enough stuff for weeks.”
Freezing in his tracks, Peter narrowed his focus to a fishing-line thread, casting for the psychic scent attached to the thought he’d just heard. In a matter of seconds, he was dashing across the street at top speed, cars not even stopping, because by the time the drivers saw him he was already gone. Following the scent down the alley, he stopped dead a few metres away from the two humans. The woman obviously wasn’t used to Bloods; she froze and scrambled away, hand reaching for the throat of her skimpy dress. Probably to fish out a crucifix. Despite the circumstances of the Alliance, some people still couldn’t get over the Dracula shit.
Peter’s eyes were locked on the child next to her. She was beautiful. A round, pretty face held the promise of future loveliness, with eyes like emeralds, and hair the colour of sunlight. Then she gave him a sad, sweet smile, and he was lost forever.
“How much?” He demanded of the woman.
“What?” she asked blankly.
“Devon will give you five hundred for the child, right? How much will it take for you to give her to me, instead?” Peter left unsaid the fact that he could just take her; the woman would undoubtedly go running for the police, bewailing her loss, and the resulting publicity would bring Nathan crashing down on him. Erasing or adjusting memories was one of the few mental abilities he didn’t have.
“You’re a bloodsucker! I can’t give her to one of you!”
Peter took his gaze from the little girl just long enough to slip into the woman’s mind, and perform a quick scan to confirm what he’d already surmised. Eyes narrowed, he spat out, “But you have no qualms about trading her to a kiddie-pimp?”
His tone dripped with disgust he couldn’t control. Purebloods only had children rarely, and the Turned couldn’t at all - all young were held sacred to the Blood.
The woman looked away, and Peter mentally ran through his pockets, then the surrounding location. “I’ll give you two thousand dollars, if you sign a note saying that you will surrender custody of her to me.”
The woman brightened, and held out her hand.
“There’s an atm around the corner. It will give you enough light to write the note properly.” No way in hell was he giving her the chance to run off with the girl when his back was turned.
He gestured towards the mouth of the alley, and the woman tugged on the child’s hand, tossing an uneasy look over her shoulder as they walked past him. The little girl, on the other hand, looked up at him longingly.
A few minutes later, Peter had a note granting him custody of Claire Gordon, (and a video record that the transaction was a willing one, courtesy of the security cameras) and the slovenly woman had two thousand dollars. She almost ran out of the atm vestibule, eyes alight at the thought of the drugs she could buy. Peter could feel her craving in his mind, and it made him want to retch.
Peter was brought out of his queasiness by a tiny hand tugging on his knee-length coat.
“My Lord?”
Wondering where on earth the child had learned the proper form of address, and how she’d discerned his rank in the first place, Peter looked down. Another smile, and Peter couldn’t resist the urge to pick her up and cuddle her close, settling her on his hip. Stroking her golden hair, he asked gently, “What is it, Sunshine?”
“Are we going home now?”
A light brush of his mind against hers, and he knew that the little girl had instinctively understood the connection between them, even as he had. The Petrelli's all recognised destiny on the occasions they were touched by it, and Peter knew it now. This girl-child was born to be a part of his life, though her role in it was yet to be determined. Her place was at his side, and they both knew it.
“Yes, honey, we’re going home now,” Peter told her. Claire gave him the most joyous grin he’d ever seen, and threw her arms around her neck, hugging him tightly. Peter closed his eyes and inhaled sharply at the wave of love that swamped him.
Nathan’s study
Clan Petrelli enclave
“All right, I see why you had to do that,” Nathan said firmly. “Did you get a fix on Devon’s location?” At Peter’s nod, he continued, “I’ll call the DA tomorrow. I assume you’ll be happy to observe the raid and inhibit the scumbag’s desire to run away?”
Nathan took another look at the little girl. Freshly washed and wearing one of the tacky souvenir T-shirts that Peter collected, and frequently wore just to drive their mother crazy - this one saying ‘Everything’s bigger in Texas’ - she didn’t look much younger than his own boys, Monty and Simon.
“So how are we going to work this, Peter? Give her to one of servant families to raise? I know Esmerelda’s always wanted more kids.”
Peter shook his head. “I had a quick consult with Marcus on the way back. I want to register Claire as my Vessel.”
Nathan’s glass hit the floor. Luckily for the carpet, he’d finished his drink already.
Vessels were humans who were sworn to the service of a single, high-ranking Blood. A corruption of the word ‘vassal’, the Vessels regularly fed their Lord or Lady directly from the vein, and in return were protected and housed. In Blood terms, they were a kind of property - if any other Blood fed from or injured a Vessel, the Vessel’s Lord had the right to kill the interloper. The Vessels had to be absolutely trustworthy, given their intimacy with their Lord - most of them were employed as high-ranking servants such as ladies’ maids or valets in the old days, now personal assistants or bodyguards. The Petrelli’s had formally contracted their Vessels even before the Alliance, setting out the obligations and rights of both parties. With the Petrelli gifts, it was necessary - the more sensitive members of the Clan could read the thoughts of those they fed on, or taste the emotions or memories in their blood. One story that had been running around since the black plague told of one of the earlier Clan heads actually being fatally poisoned by the psychic vitriol of an unwilling Vessel.
Peter had had both Blood and human lovers over the centuries, but he’d never had a personal Vessel before. Ever since he’d been born, he’d only taken sustenance from the feeding room, where a rotating schedule of servants and other trustworthy - and healthy - acquaintances donated blood once a month, much the same way as the blood bank.
“It’s not even legal, Pete.”
“Yes, it is, as long as I don’t feed from her until she’s sixteen. I don’t intend to feed from her at all - if she feels strongly about it later, we can discuss it when she turns eighteen. It’s rare, but Contracts for underage Vessels have been signed before. Mostly for situations like this one.” Nathan sat flabbergasted, as Peter’s voice took on a slightly desperate edge. “I need to keep Claire with me, Nathan, and this is the only sure way. No human court will give me custody, note or not. Claire has to be a legal citizen of the Blood Nation, so that our laws will apply, not the human. As a Vessel, no one can take her away.”
As if in response to Peter’s agitation, little Claire snuggled closer to him, almost into his lap, and he calmed. “I’ve got most of the basics worked out. Can you give me the agency you got Monty and Simon’s tutor from?”
Nathan shook his head absently. “She can share theirs.”
Peter gave him a quick smile of thanks, then continued, “She shouldn’t grow up a hermit or anything, and only among the Blood would be almost as bad, not to mention dangerous - you’ve done a great job with your boys, but most of the other Blood children don’t always have the best control of their thirst. I figure she can be home-schooled until she’s done with elementary school, so I can keep her with me on a nighttime schedule. After that, Devaux Academy has a night-school program for professional children, parents on night-shift or odd schedules, and children of those who work for our kind. They also offer a three days daytime, Monday and Fridays night-shift program to acclimatise the children to a part-daytime school life. That way, Claire should be able to handle daytime high school when she’s old enough to stay up late with me.”
“Devaux Academy? Never heard of it.”
“You remember that art dealer I was dating about eight years back? Simone Devaux?”
“Oh, I remember her,” Nathan retorted, frowning. “I remember what it did to you when she broke it off.”
Peter’s gently bittersweet smile belied the suffering he’d gone through at the time. “She wouldn’t be the first person to try life under the fang and decide it’s not for her - and now she’s got those kids she wanted. Her father helped found the school, and now her husband teaches art there part time. Anyway, she talked me into joining the board of directors when we first got together, and I’m still on it. The night school program was my idea, and it’s their strongest-growing program. They even won a commendation from the state board of education a few years back.”
Nathan sat back with a sigh. “You do seem to have most of the basics covered already.” But then, Peter had always had a knack for instinctively strategizing under pressure - he was a lousy chess player, but brilliant at poker, even with his strongest mental shields up.
“Heidi can take her shopping, if she wants,” Peter offered, and Nathan couldn’t help but grin. His wife always had wanted a little girl, and was notorious for spoiling every female child in the enclave. Many of their now-adult servants still kept the presents she’d bought them.
“I guess we’ll have a party once the paperwork goes through then, to officially welcome Claire to the family.”
Claire looked up from Peter’s side and smiled at him.
FINI