Letters to My Uncle 2/2
Title: Letters to my Uncle (2/2)
Author: Meg lit_chick08
Rating: NC-17 for language and sexuality
Pairing: Paire
Word Count: 9391
Warnings: It’s fictional incest; if you don’t like it, don’t read it.
Spoilers: Everything up to and including 2.1 “Four Months Later”; there are spoilers from season 2 but it isn’t really canon
Summary: Claire’s having trouble coping with Peter’s death; her therapist suggests she writes a letter that says everything she wants to say to Peter
A/N: Still un-beta’ed and I love feedback/concrit. This may have a sequel; I’m unsure thus far, so let me know what you think. If you want more, I’ll see what I can do
Part One
There were certain hard truths that Nathan Petrelli had never admitted aloud to anyone in his life. It was something that every good politician did, and rarely did he ever feel any sort of remorse for it. But the one thing he had done lately that had filled him with shame was the treatment of his daughter.
When he had gotten Meredith pregnant all those years ago, he was convinced that it was the end of the road for him. If there was one thing that Angela had ever impressed upon him, it was that, if his dick ever got him into trouble, he was going to deal with the consequences. Apparently, that reasoning had only applied when the girl in question was one of the society girls that he had dated at home; Meredith Gordon was not the kind of woman that Angela Petrelli ever wanted to have called her mom. His parents had dealt with it by throwing money, and, when he thought that both of them had perished in the fire, there was tiny part of him that had sighed with the relief of it all. He had never wanted to be tied to Meredith forever, and he had never wanted that baby.
But the baby was now Claire, a fully formed teenager that had showed up just as unexpectedly as she had appeared seventeen years before, and she had thrown his world into the turmoil he had expected. He could admit that his guilt at just giving money to Meredith in Texas had been great, but it hadn’t been great enough to want to meet his daughter or know who she was. And when she had come to New York, he was more than willing to endorse his mother’s plan to send her to France. Claire Bennet was not a variable that Nathan had been able to afford in his life.
The irony was not lost on him, of course. He had worked so hard to stay distanced from Claire for fear of losing the life he had created, and it was his behavior alone that had destroyed his image. His wife was gone, his boys barely spoke to him, and he was no longer the junior Senator from New York that no one had expected to win. No, now he was a cautionary tale for the Manhattan elite, and he was left with no one.
The call from Peter had brought him out of the four month bender he had been on and given him a renewed sense of hope. He would have boarded a plane that night, he would’ve flown there himself to get to his brother, and then Peter had told him that he was in California…with Claire. Nathan had scheduled a later flight; he had needed a stiff drink and some preparation. He had not treated Claire kindly since Peter’s death, and he had done it both as a way to keep her from him and to protect her. As the last of his children that actually pretended that they cared for him, Nathan felt a certain sentimentality towards her.
Well, that was a lie too. He loved Claire. After all was said and done, after every cold and detached movement he made, he did feel affection for the young woman who had seen through his bullshit and dove out of his office window to save Peter and her other father. She was a strong girl who was going to be an incredible woman, and there were times when she called him that he wanted to talk. There were times when Nathan wanted to be her father. The problem was, she hated him now just as he had intended and that couldn’t be fixed.
One of the largest truths he hid was his jealousy of Peter and Claire’s relationship. Until his daughter had appeared, Nathan had been the most influential person in Peter’s life; decisions were made off of the basis of his opinion and his belief system. But Peter turned to Claire, and Claire clearly would do anything for his brother. Their bond made Nathan wish he was a better person for both of them.
When Peter and Claire returned to the house, his jacket around her slender, slumped shoulders, weariness in his eyes, Nathan knew that something had happened. The sadness clung to them, and Claire seemed to flinch when Peter’s hand brushed against her arm to remove the coat. Nathan had become an expert in reading body language during his campaign, and whatever had transpired between his brother and daughter, it was enough to hurt them both.
“Claire!” Sandra exclaimed, pushing right past him and wrapping Claire up in her arms. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she replied by rote, her voice dull.
Nathan turned to look at Peter, who was studiously avoiding his gaze in the way that only a little brother who feared punishment could.
“I think I’m gonna get changed and head to bed,” Claire stated. “I’m sorry for all the upset.”
Sandra was about to agree when Noah came through the door. Upon seeing Claire, he, too, pulled her into a hug before pulling back and stating, “You reek of alcohol.”
“I had a drink.”
“A drink? It smells like you bathed in it!”
“Now, Noah, I realize-“
“No, Sandra, this needs to stop right now.” Glaring at his daughter from behind his horned-rimmed glasses, he declared, “I am through with the temper tantrums and the pouting and the acting out. You are not a child and it is not appreciated. We are in a very precarious situation-“
“That you put us in! It wasn’t me that signed up for the freaking Company! It wasn’t me that made you declare war on them! And it sure as hell wasn’t me that asked to be born a freak!”
“We have gone through a hell of a lot of trouble to protect you-“
“From what?! No one can hurt me! I could go get run over by a bus all day every day for the rest of my life, and I still would be fine! Let the Company come find me; I’m done.”
“Claire, that’s not funny,” Sandra sighed, ringing her hands.
“Who’s joking?”
“Claire, your parents are right,” Nathan began.
With a roll of her eyes, she patronizingly encouraged, “Oh, please, give me your opinion. You, who never wanted a damn thing to do with me, please tell me how to live my life. You want to lecture me on drinking too, because I’m pretty sure that I inherited it from you.”
Nathan flinched at the venom in her words but quickly recovered. “You don’t know how bad things are.”
Staring at the congregation of adults, she screamed, “I know exactly how bad things are! Raise your fucking hand if Sylar ever tried to kill you! Raise your hand if you watched your friend being murdered or if you have had your skull crushed by a psycho?! How bad did things get for you in your mansion, Nathan? Was it really hard to have to listen to your opponent say bad things about you?” Whirling on her father, she pushed, “How about you? Was it really hard to have to play God with people’s lives and have your friend erase their memories?”
“Claire, stop it!” Noah ordered.
Throwing her hands up in disgust, she simply turned on her heel and walked upstairs without a backwards glance.
The four adults stood there in stunned silence before Sandra turned to Peter and softly queried, “Would you go talk to her?”
“What?” all three of the men gasped in disbelief.
“You’re the only one she talks to. We’ve been trying for four months to get her to say boo about anything, and all she does is say she’s fine, which clearly she is not. Now, maybe y’all want to sit around and wait to see what happens, but I am not going to wait for the day that she doesn’t come back.” Returning her attention to Peter, she repeated, “Would you?”
Peter wanted to say no, wanted to beg her to not encourage him to be with Claire unattended in any room, but he could see the desperation and fear in Sandra’s face. With a nod, he began to scale the stairs, the bickering between Nathan and Noah resuming once again.
* * *
Dear Peter,
I feel so trapped in Costa Verde. I understand why Dad wants me to pretend that I’m nobody special, but I feel like I’m in the middle of a room screaming my head off and nobody even turns around to look. I hate it here so badly. I miss Odessa and my old house and Zach and even Union Wells. Did you know that Dad’s even been making us work on erasing any hint of a drawl out of our speech? It’s ridiculous. If I have to change everything about who I am, am I even me anymore?
I wish you were here. You have this way of making the world turn right-side up and making me feel like less of a freak. I could really use that right now.
I miss you.
Claire
* * *
Claire was lying on her side facing away from him when Peter quietly entered her room. She knew he was there, but she refused to acknowledge him, and Peter let her have her rebellion. He perched on the opposite edge of her bed, leaning back against the headboard, his legs extended in front of him, and he waited.
For nearly fifteen minutes, Claire said and did nothing. Finally, when the silence was becoming overwhelming, she flipped to face him and snapped, “I’m not a child.”
“I never thought that you were.”
“They do.” Moving into a sitting position, pulling her legs up to her chest and hugging them against her, she said, “They all treat me like I’m five, like I don’t know anything about anything. I can’t stand it. It’s like they think that, in addition to being sixteen, I’m apparently low-functioning.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I was twenty-five and my dad still treated me like that.”
Claire cracked a half smile. “I’ve never really heard a lot about him.”
“My dad was…Well, suffice to say, my mother was the affectionate and warm one in the household.”
“Jesus.”
He chuckled mirthlessly. “Yeah.”
Softly, she confessed, “I want to run away. I want to just take off and start a life that I actually have some say in.” Tilting her head up to look at him, she quipped, “Wanna come with me?”
“To start a new life?”
“Uh-huh. We could go somewhere nice, preferably tropical, where no one would know us. We could be anyone we wanted to be, and no one could ever tell us what to do ever again. Wouldn’t that be nice, making our own identities?”
“Running wouldn’t solve anything.”
“Funny, ‘cause staying doesn’t seem to either.”
Against his better judgment, Peter wrapped an arm around her shoulders and Claire, almost instinctively, leaned her head against her chest, snuggling into the crook that his arm made. She rested her hand on his chest, idly drawing patterns with her fingertips, the steady rhythm of Peter’s heart against her palm.
“Claire-“
“Don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“I might not be able to read your mind, but I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want to hear it.”
Peter sighed, understanding why she was saying what she was, but he knew he had to get everything out. “Claire, what happened-“
“I know,” she cut in, her voice falsely calm and even. “It was a onetime thing and you were stupid to let it go that far. Did I get it right?”
Peter’s silence was her answer, and she kept a steady gaze on his shirt, not wanting him to glimpse the hurt in her eyes. She knew he could tell how she felt; it was his best quality under other circumstances, but she just didn’t want him to start treating her like she was his mistake.
“I wish things were different,” he offered, his fingers lightly sifting through the golden hair at the nape of her neck. “Please believe that.”
“I do. It still hurts though.”
“Even if we can’t…you’re still important to me, Claire, and I want you to be in my life.”
Pulling out of his embrace, she turned around and faced him head on. With far more pain in her voice than sixteen year old should have, Claire stated, “But we can’t have it both ways. I want to be in your life and I want you in mine; I hate the fact that you’re gonna go back to New York and I’m going to be stuck here. But I can’t just pretend to be your little niece and sit across from you at the Petrelli Christmas celebrations that I probably won’t be invited to anyway and act like things aren’t…the way they are.”
“Then what do you want?”
She scoffed. “I want you to not be my uncle. I want this whole stupid thing to be a nightmare. I want to actually be like everyone else or be allowed to be the freak that I am. But I can’t have any of those things, so what I really want is to not care about what I’m not supposed to want.”
The meaning of her words was not lost on Peter, nor was the way she seemed to be collapsing in on herself during her speech. The defeated hunch of her shoulders and sadness in her eyes tugged at his heart, and, before he even knew what he was doing, he was cupping her cheek, the automatic response of a man who wanted to comfort the woman that he loved.
It was a holding pattern, neither of them moving towards the other but neither moving away. Peter knew that his gaze was drifting towards her mouth, and, while he was condemning himself as a deviant, his control was slipping and he knew it.
Claire pled, her voice hoarse with emotion, “Please don’t go back to New York with Nathan. I need you.”
And, with that, Peter’s tenuous hold on his self-control snapped.
* * *
Dear Peter,
This past Christmas, we celebrated in probably the sketchiest motel ever in Richmond, Virginia. Why Virginia? Hell if I know. We’d been bouncing around since New York until Dad could settle us more permanently, and that night’s location was the motel where, from my filthy window, I saw the ever classy exchange of money for a blow job. On the list of things that I never, ever wanted to see, that was one of them. Merry freaking Christmas to me.
I keep wondering what it would have been like if our family wasn’t so batshit crazy. Would I have had Christmas dinner with you, Nathan and his family, and Angela? Would I have even been invited? Even though I love my family, there’s part of me that keeps picturing this Petrelli family gathering, complete with drinking eggnog in front of the fireplace. That’s probably really lame, but I’d rather see Nathan read The Night Before Christmas to the brothers I don’t know than watch the creepy, fat man get serviced by the somewhat drunk hooker.
I guess there’s some part of me that just can’t get over my bio-family fantasy that they actually wanted me and weren’t, you know, plotting city-wide destruction for political gain. No offense but I definitely think you’re the only good part of the whole Petrelli clan.
I miss you.
Claire
* * *
“Perhaps we should see what’s going on,” Noah suggested, breaking the terse silence that occupied the living room. He didn’t want to speak to Nathan Petrelli anymore than necessary, and that feeling was certainly mutual. If it wasn’t for Sandra sitting there reading Oprah’s latest book club offering, he was fairly certain he would have killed the man by now.
“I agree,” Nathan chimed in.
“I think you both should sit right there and let Peter handle this.” Turning the page, she added, “Clearly, he has some insight into our daughter that neither of you have been able to arrive at.”
“That’s not fair,” Noah argued.
Replacing her bookmark, Sandra set the book down and locked eyes with her husband. “I am a good wife and a damn good mother. I don’t understand what your real job was, what Claire can really do, or really what any of you do. Now, part of that is probably ‘cause you were having my memory erased on a fairly regular basis and part of that is because you and Claire only discuss it amongst yourselves, and that’s fine. You and Claire are close, and I am grateful that she talks to you about these special things she does. But when it comes to what’s actually goin’ on inside of her, she’s not talking to anyone but Peter. So I don’t care if he has to stay in that room for the next three years; if he can make Claire feel better and act like her old self, then, damn it, he’s gonna stay up there.” Turning her gaze on Nathan, she continued, “As for you, Mr. Petrelli, I realize that you are considered an important man, and I respect that. But you will not stay in our home and continue to question how we raise our daughter and the decisions we make concerning her, because if you do, you’re gonna find out just how good a shot a Texas woman is with a pistol.”
Climbing to her feet, Sandra concluded, “Now, I’m gonna head downstairs and check on Lyle before makin’ myself a snack. I suggest you two boys have a nice, long, polite conversation while I’m gone, or y’all can sleep outside on the lawn.”
Once she was out of earshot, Nathan quipped, “And here I thought she was polite and quiet.”
“Everyone has their breaking point.”
Both were quiet for a moment before Noah bluntly stated, “I’m concerned about the…nature of Claire’s relationship with your brother. It strikes me…Claire is lonely and she needs someone, and I feel that, the way she feels about Peter isn’t necessarily…the way a niece should feel about her uncle.”
“She’s a teenager; Peter’s close to her age compared to us. I may not be sure about a lot of things, but I doubt Peter would ever cross that line.”
“But could you be certain?”
Nathan momentarily faltered before emphatically repeating, “Peter wouldn’t cross the line.”
* * *
Peter Petrelli was going to hell. And not the fun hell where people simply suffered from eternal damnation but the kind of hell that Satan kept reserved for uncles that were trying to round second base with their underage nieces on said niece’s pastel colored bed. Of course, this was not going to stop him from doing what he was doing because, short of becoming a mushroom cloud once again, nothing was going to make Peter stop touching Claire.
She was so warm to the touch, as if she was the one who could become radioactive when the situation warranted it. Every inch of skin that his hands and lips came into contact with seemed to radiate with heat, and the pulse in her throat was as rapid as his own. When he began to press open mouthed kisses to the column of her throat, Claire moaned, soft and trembling in the back of her throat, and he quickly covered her mouth with his own, swallowing the noise.
He had never truly appreciated just how tiny she was until she was lying beneath him. In the past, he had always dated women like Simone, who were statuesque beauties with a detached manner, but he was certain that that attraction was over now that he had come to appreciate the benefits of a girl as petite as Claire. She fit him; there was no awkward overlapping of limbs or subtle shifting in order to accommodate the other. Wherever they touched, the other fit and molded perfectly, and Peter was far too amazed by it to let any feelings of guilt enter.
Because dating in your mid-twenties took a radical shift as compared to your teenage years, Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had simply made out with a girl, and he certainly couldn’t remember the last time he had done so with her entire family downstairs. It was this realization, more so than the knowledge that the woman beneath him was his niece, that made him start to pull away.
“No,” Claire gasped when he sat up, her hands tugging at his shoulders for him to return. When he continued to pull away, she used the leg that she had thrown over his hip to try to force his return. The sudden movement caught Peter off-guard and he faltered, pressing the hardness in his jeans against her center.
Both of them moaned, and, worry forgotten, Peter cautiously repeated the thrust. Claire gasped, her fingernails biting into the muscles in his back, and he pressed a wet kiss to the hollow of her throat.
“Again,” she whimpered, rotating her hips in request. The movement against him ripped a groan from deep within his chest, and Claire, realizing the power she had in the situation, continued to roll her hips, tightening the hold of her legs around his waist. She began to kiss him in earnest, her movements more pronounced, confidence growing until Peter suddenly rolled them over, Claire now atop him.
Confused and nervous, she froze. Peter, seeing her uncertainty, murmured, “I want to look at you.”
She bent down, pressing several tiny kisses against his jaw line before beginning her rhythm again. Both of them were finding it hard to catch their breath, Claire especially, and she could feel the peak building inside of her. She tried moving harder, faster, and, while Peter clearly enjoyed the change in cadence, she still couldn’t reach it. Claire wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all; it was like a level of hell.
When Peter heard her moan in frustration rather than pleasure, he opened his eyes and took her in. She was as flushed as he was certain he was, and a line of sweat had formed at her brow. With her hands planted firmly on his chest, she was clearly moving with a purpose, but the more she moved, the more frustrated he saw that she became. Understanding what she needed, even if she didn’t, Peter placed his hands on her hips, stilling them.
Claire opened her eyes, trying to focus, and when she realized that he had stopped her, she was certain that she was going to cry from sexual frustration.
“Peter-“
“Shhh.” Cautiously, he slipped his hand beneath the hem of her shirt, the scorching heat of his hand against her stomach making her jump. Slowly, making sure that he gave her plenty of time to object, he drew her shirt over head, leaving her clad above the waist in nothing but a lacy pink bra.
He sat up, Claire still in his lap, intimately pressed against him, and began to kiss her in a way that she had never been kissed before. This time, his kisses lacked the frenzy of someone who wanted to touch as much as possible before they were caught; they were slow and seductive, making her burn in a new way. He tightly wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close as possible, and Claire knew, even through the fog of her desire, that things were never going to be the same ever again, not after this.
Feeling bold, Claire slipped her hands beneath his t-shirt, and Peter, getting the hint, pulled it over his head. She ran her fingers over his chest, remembering how slight he had seemed the first time she had seen him in Odessa, how breakable he had appeared with the long coat that had seemed to swallow him. There was no trace of that man here; no, this was a different Peter Petrelli.
“I’m the same,” he assured her, making her blush with the knowledge that he could hear her thoughts.
“It’s not nice to read my mind,” she teased before moaning in satisfaction as he began to lightly suck on her neck.
Reaching behind her, his fingers stilling on the clasp of her bra, he moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, “But think how handy it’ll come in later.”
Claire moaned from the pure sex that dripped from the words, and she felt herself fill with a giddy anticipation as Peter unhooked her bra and slid the overpriced material down her arms. She felt that flutter of nervousness again in her stomach as Peter looked upon her bare breasts but it quickly dissipated; this might be the most naked she had ever been with a guy, but it was Peter and she trusted him.
He moved her carefully, setting her back against the pillows, and he positioned himself half on top of her. “I’m going to need you to be quiet.”
She smiled. “I can’t make any guarantees.”
Peter smirked before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Slowly, his kisses trailed down to her chin, her throat, her collarbone. When his mouth began to press butterfly soft kisses to her breasts, Claire began to shift her hips as her arousal returned in full force. His fingers gently weighed the flesh in his hand, stroked the soft skin he found there, and, when his thumb brushed the painfully erect nipple at its center, Claire bucked hard enough that she almost threw him off.
“Sorry,” she gasped, a bright blush staining its way down her chest.
“Don’t be.”
And he meant it. Peter had always loved a responsive lover, had loved knowing that what he was doing was what the woman wanted and made her feel good. It was something that he had hated about Simone; she had never made a sound when they had sex and it had always made him feel inadequate. No, he wanted Claire to be as responsive as she could be; he just didn’t want her to be responsive enough to alert her fathers.
As he began to suggestively circle her nipple with his tongue, Peter didn’t even take notice of the fact that he had all but confirmed to himself that Claire was going to be his lover.
* * *
Noah was not a patient man. No matter what people thought of him, his world had always run on his time table, and he did not like being made to wait. It was what made Sandra’s asinine plan of letting Peter talk Claire down so painful for him. He was the one who knew how to handle Claire; he had taken care of his daughter for nearly fifteen years, and he didn’t need Peter Petrelli to interfere.
Nathan Petrelli had finally left the house in frustration. He had gone to the nearest five-star hotel with explicit instructions to call him whenever Peter was done speaking to Claire. Noah had wanted to punch him when, after he had told him that they couldn’t call him because they didn’t have his number, the former Senator had cockily replied, “Claire does.”
Noah had spent a great deal of time pacing the length of the living room before venturing into the basement where Lyle was beating down hookers and shooting cops while Sandra was curled up with Mr. Muggles. When she saw her husband in the doorway, she got off of the couch and followed him upstairs before asking, “What?”
“They’ve been up there for almost two hours,” he gritted out. “I think it’s time we go up there.”
“Noah, I swear-“
“I’m serious, Sandra. We don’t know what they’re doing; we don’t even know if they’re still there.”
“What do you think that Peter is going to do to her? He saved her life; ain’t that proof enough that he cares about her and wants to help?”
“I don’t think…The relationship that he and Claire have…I’m not sure it’s appropriate…”
“Are you talking about Claire’s little crush on him?” she drawled in amusement.
“She told you that?”
“She didn’t have to, honey. I know my daughter, and anyone with eyes can see that she’s got a big ole piece of her heart wrapped up in him. Personally, I think it’s kinda sweet the way she’s got some hero worship for him. It’s natural in girls her age. Even his crush on her is sweet in a way.”
“His crush?!”
Sandra rolled her eyes as she placed Mr. Muggles onto the floor. “Sweetheart, what did you expect? They’re two good-looking kids who have a lot in common and have been through some intense things that brought them close together. It wasn’t like they knew they were related when they first met, and I’m willing to bet they were attracted to each other. But now they do know, and I’m sure that it’s harmless.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“Even if Claire tried to force the relationship, Peter is a good man. I am sure that he would never do anything to make Claire uncomfortable or hurt his family. Now would you quit your worrying and go on upstairs and check the rooms for any dishes? I wanna clean up before we go to bed.” When he didn’t make a move, she added, “You can trust him.”
“Yes, dear.”
Noah had never been a trusting person either; trusting people tended to get you killed in this business.
* * *
“Jesus!” Peter gasped as Claire’s hot hand stroked his erection. He wasn’t sure how they had got here, but both of them were completely naked now, and Claire Bennet, dainty cheerleader and indestructible girl, was touching him with an amount of skill that would put people to shame.
She was straddling the strong muscles of his thighs, her golden locks brushing the crest of her breasts every time she moved, and her touch was gentle but firm in its purpose. Her entire body was still flushed with the orgasm that Peter had given her with his hand, and she had desperately wanted to return the favor for him.
The problem was, Claire was mind numbingly good at this and Peter felt his control slipping. When Claire’s hand began to move in a flurry of motion and she began to lightly suck upon his neck, Peter’s hand moved to watch her wrist and stop her.
Pulling back, worry in her eyes, she asked, “Is something wrong? Did I-“
“No, it’s…it’s really good. I just…If you keep doing that, I’m going to…”
Smiling at the shyness he had about completing the sentence, she joked, “Isn’t that the point?”
Taking the plunge, he bluntly stated, “If you want to have sex tonight, you’re going to need to stop. If you don’t and you’re not ready, then you can…finish.”
It was the most awkward time to be having this conversation and would have been comical if it was anyone else, but Claire didn’t have time to recognize either of those things. Instead, she murmured, “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“We don’t have to,” Peter softly assured her. “I don’t expect it and I’m not going to be upset. I could wait forever.”
Claire felt her heart melt a little with those words and she slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a long, tender kiss. When they broke away, she admitted, “I don’t really want my first time to be with both of us paranoid that my parents are going to walk in.”
Peter nodded in understanding, kissing her again. He felt her hand snake down his body slowly to reclaim the erection that she had caused, the one that she had been causing ever since the day he had run into her in the Union Wells High School hallway. His eyes fell shut as he allowed the pleasure to slowly take over him once again, blocking out the part of his brain that was screaming at him because she was his niece and he was her uncle.
That part became completely drowned out at the first tentative lick on the head of his cock.
* * *
Noah was not looking for dishware for his wife to wash in the guest room where Peter was staying. No, he was looking for anything that would give him some type of hint as to what was really going on between his daughter and the empath. Just when he had about given up hope, he lifted the mattress and saw the composition book. Picking it up, he took a seat on the bed and opened it to reveal a letter written to Peter, a letter that was full of guilt and pain that Claire had felt burdened by. The first few letters were like that, rambling apologies and confessions of pain. It made Noah cringe with the knowledge that he hadn’t noticed how hurt Claire was after Kirby Plaza.
The next batch were little notes about school in Costa Verde and reminiscing on moments with Zach, Jackie, even Peter while they were in New York. They were harmless and Noah began to feel like a moron when he reached the final section. It was page after page of Claire discussing her feelings for Peter, all of them inappropriate and Claire aware of that fact; the letters cried at the fact that he was her uncle and that nothing she wanted could ever be. When Noah read the first time that Claire wrote that she loved him, he felt his heart break for his daughter.
He knew that she was lonely; he knew that she wanted someone to relate to, and he knew that she had thought she had found those things in Peter Petrelli. And Noah didn’t really have a problem with the man who had protected his daughter from Sylar and kept her safe during that insane two-day period that culminated in his alleged death. But he knew that Claire felt more intensely for him than she should, and he wanted to protect her for the dangers that weren’t physical.
When he reached the end of the notebook, he realized that the last letter was in different handwriting than Claire’s familiar, loopy hand. It was only when he studied it closer that he realized that it wasn’t written by Claire; it was addressed to Claire.
Noah felt a twinge of guilt at invading his daughter’s privacy, at reading the words that he doubted even she had read yet, but that didn’t stop him.
Dearest Claire,
The first thing that I want to say to you is this: you are the most beautiful, generous, kind-hearted woman that I have ever had the pleasure of having in my life. I recognized that the first night I met you in Odessa and I continue to see that every second of every day that I am with you. I don’t ever want you to doubt that I don’t see how special you are and don’t regret that you’re my niece.
But it’s like you wrote: I am your uncle and it’s wrong. The way that you feel, the way that I feel…if either of your fathers had even the slightest idea of what goes through my mind when I’m with you, I’d be dead quicker than you can blink.
Truthfully, the hardest thing that I’ve ever gone through is being around you because every time that I am, all I can think about is how I want to kiss you, how I want things to be different. That isn’t healthy, for you or for me, and it especially isn’t fair to you. You’re so young, Claire, and you have the entire world in front of you. I don’t want you to feel as if you can’t have a life because of me.
I don’t want to leave. Please believe this. The last thing that I ever want to do is hurt you or be apart from you, but I can’t stay in California. No matter how much we want to be selfish, I can’t forget that Sylar is out there and that there are maybe thousands more of people like us that need help. You have the luxury of starting over, but I’ve chosen my path, and that path is trying to figure out how we got to be where we are now.
I love you. I love you so much that it tears me up inside. When I woke up in Ireland, I couldn’t remember my own name but I remembered your beautiful face; I must’ve drawn you a thousand times because you were the one thing that stuck with me. When Elle got the Haitian to give me back my memory, you were the first thing that I thought of before anything else. It’s always been you, Claire.
I want you to stay in Costa Verde; I want you to stay a cheerleader and to hang out with that guy West and to make a real go out of having a normal life. The time for saving the cheerleader to save the world is over; you can have the life that you want, the life that we talked about in New York. Until we can learn how to be uncle and niece, it’s the only option I can see.
I’m leaving with Nathan, and I think you know that. No matter how you feel about him or my mother, they are my family and family’s important. Your life is here with Noah, Sandra, Lyle, and even that crazy little dog. Be Claire Bennet; be the woman that you were that night in Odessa when I fell in love with you and forget about Sylar, Kirby Plaza, Angela Petrelli, even the explosion. Forget the bad and remember the good.
I do love you, maybe more than you’ll ever even know.
Peter
Noah read the words twice and then three times before closing the notebook and sliding it back beneath the mattress. It was very rare for Noah Bennet to feel as if he had imposed upon someone’s life, but right now he felt as if he had looked directly into Peter Petrelli’s soul and that made him uncomfortable.
What was worse was that he wished that he could do something to alleviate his and his daughter’s pain.
* * *
Their legs were a tangle beneath the soft comforter on Claire’s bed, Peter’s damp chest pressed against the plentiful curves of her breasts. Claire was clinging to him as Peter stroked her hair, murmuring soft words of love against her ear. Both were exhausted, Peter’s cheeks still flushed from pleasure, and Claire pressed a moist kiss to his shoulder before whispering, “When are you going?”
She expected him to lie or to dodge the question; it was why he gave her the truth. “Nathan bought a ticket for tomorrow afternoon.”
She nodded in understanding before confessing, “I wish you’d stay.”
“I wish I could,” he countered.
Slowly, she extricated herself from his grasp, beginning to slowly dress herself. Peter followed suit, locating the forgotten items of clothing. She was fully dressed and straightening her hair before she finally sighed, “You can’t run from this.”
“Claire-“
“I know that all of you thought that I was this silly little girl; whether you admit it or not, you never treated me the same way that you treated Ted or Matt or even Nathan. But I know just as much about Sylar as you do, and I fought that stupid fight too. I don’t need protecting, not by you or my fathers, and I don’t need to be coddled.”
She turned to face him, and Peter nearly flinched from the Petrelli steel in her eyes. He had seen the expression on her face before; it was the trademark look of his father.
“I know you’re going to go looking for Sylar. I know that you’re going to try to find Hiro Nakamura and Matt and Dr. Suresh. You all think that I don’t pay attention, but I do. And in case you forgot, you’ve been out of the loop for four months, being held hostage by Psycho Electric Girl and Irish thugs. Maybe, just maybe, you could consider that I could help.”
“What are you talking about?”
Rolling her eyes, she moved over to her laptop, pulling up her instant messenger. There were only a handful of names on her buddy list, but she stopped at two in particular. Tapping the screen, she stated, “Meet Micah Sanders and Molly Walker.”
“Who are they?”
“They were at the plaza the night you blew up. Micah does stuff with machines, and Molly was the tracking device who can find anyone, anywhere, at any time.”
“How did you get those?”
She cracked a smile. “Well, when nobody has any expectations of you, it’s pretty easy.” At his glare, she admitted, “I called Nathan one day, and I asked what the status of the investigation into your death was. He told me that I should just ask the NYPD. The detective who answered the phone was Matt Parkman, freshly transplanted and eager to answer my questions. Molly Walker’s parents were killed by Sylar, and Molly’s living with Matt and Mohinder Suresh. And Molly is friends with Micah, so she connected us.”
“Connected you to do what?”
“You just don’t get it, do you? I watched my best friend be murdered by a psychopath before a radioactive man burnt my house to the ground and made us go into hiding from the Company; Molly watched her parents be murdered and barely escaped with her life; Micah was kidnapped by the Company and then watched his dead bleed to death. You all think that because we’re younger that we haven’t had to sacrifice, that we don’t have as much invested in this, but we have even more. What did you lose? What did Nathan lose? What did my dad lose?” Hugging herself, she stated, “The reason I hate being trapped here is because I know what I can do and I know that it’s important or else Hiro never would’ve come to you from the future and told you to save me. But instead of helping anything, I’m in the fucking suburbs playing cheerleader and trying to convince West that I don’t want to be his girlfriend while hiding from the Company and Sylar and even your mother. It’s my fight too.”
Peter stood there for a moment digesting everything that she had said before confessing, “I don’t want you in harm’s way. It’s better for you to stay here.”
“How long do you really think that this is going to last? Maybe my dad can fool himself into thinking that the Company can’t get to us, but we know that they can. The Haitian knew where we were, which means that Elle could too. I can’t spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder and hoping that no one finds me out. You keep talking about being normal, but I don’t know how to be that anymore because I’m not. I’m not a normal person; I can heal from anything. And the only people that understand that, the only people that I have that I can talk to about it, are two kids who haven’t even gone through puberty that if my dad ever found out about, he’d take away.”
“Claire-“
“I’ve given up ever feeling normal, Peter, but I want to feel safe, and you make me feel safe. I don’t care if it’s wrong or if we never do…what we just did again, but I can help.”
He took a step towards her before brushing a kiss to her forehead. “I can’t stay here and I can’t take you with me. You have to stay here, Claire.”
“So that’s it? You go back to New York and I have secret IM conversations with Molly Walker hoping to find out something that’s going on?”
“Your parents want you to be safe here.”
“And you know that it isn’t going to happen.”
“What do you want from me, Claire?!”
“I want you to not disappear like everyone else and let me help!”
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I don’t have the answers.”
“Maybe that’s because you aren’t even asking the right questions.”
* * *
Dear Peter,
Maybe it’s paranoia, but I feel like someone’s watching me lately. I feel like I’m always being watched. Maybe it’s because of my parents new, excessive supervision program, but it feels like more than that.
Zach would say that it isn’t paranoia if someone’s really there, but Zach isn’t here. No one’s here, so what do I do?
Claire
* * *
Elle was good at her job. You didn’t work as an asset for the Company for as long as she had and botch jobs. That stupid twit Candice had never quite understood her role in all of this; she had thought that working with Linderman allowed you to have some slack. Of course, that was why she was going to be on permanent babysitter duty while Elle got to continue in the field.
When she had been assigned to the Petrelli detail, she had been excited. The Petrellis had a long and exhaustive history with the Company and were considered a top priority. She had been fond of Mr. Petrelli, God rest his lying, cheating, ruthless soul, and she had spent more than one night in Nathan Petrelli’s bed as a “gift” from Linderman. Really, the gift was to her because that man had hid a whole lot of passion beneath that cold form. She had been hoping to take his younger brother for a spin, but Peter had far more morals about that sort of thing. It didn’t matter much to her; she wasn’t exactly wanting for male attention.
Dealing with Peter hadn’t been easy, which is why she had accidentally fried his brain. If she hadn’t been able to get the Haitian to fix the damage, she would’ve gone the way of Candice, but Elle was resourceful and knew how to do her job. Her skills were the reason that she had been able to manipulate Peter into revealing all he knew about Sylar; for a grown man, he sure was pliable to someone’s will whenever that illegitimate niece of his was in play.
Elle had seen Claire Bennet once; she had been in Odessa for a debriefing with Noah and she had caught a glimpse of the girl. She would’ve been a good operative, but Noah never would’ve let his precious Claire be soiled by the dirty work that was regularly asked of Elle. It was funny how he only ever seemed to have a moral compass when his daughter was involved.
It was that one glimpse of Claire that made locating her so easy. The Haitian had directed Peter to California; the surveillance that he was unaware of had given her that. It hadn’t been hard to narrow down a search for a man with horned rimmed glasses with a beautiful, blonde cheerleader daughter in Costa Verde. She was almost ashamed at how dumb her old boss was. Since when had hiding in plain sight ever worked?
Elle stood in front of the “Butler” house, all of the windows dark given the late hour, and she sighed. Reaching into her pocket, she removed her new phone and hit the first speed dial on her list.
“Yes?”
“You were right,” Elle purred, beginning to walk down the sidewalk away from the house. “They’re where you thought they’d be.”
“And Peter?”
“Surveillance detail says that he left around midnight and checked into the hotel where Nathan’s staying. There are two tickets in their names at the airport to return to New York tomorrow.”
“Claire?”
“No ticket and I’m willing to bet that Noah’s…unwilling to let her take up the good fight.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think that Claire Bennet’s a real threat at the current moment in time. I could reassess later. In the meantime, we could…take her in, see how that power of hers works.”
“No,” her boss stated firmly. “Leave the girl alone. As long as they come back to New York without her, there’s no reason to interfere.”
“Going soft in your old age?” Elle mocked.
“Even I have a limit to the amount of evil I will inflict upon my family.” Angela Petrelli sighed heavily before adding, “And the girl is family.”
“Isn’t that the whole problem?”
“Come back to New York,” Angela ordered, “and we’ll start the search again.”
* * *
LAX was loud, busy, and impersonal, which made it ideal to blend in, or, at least, that’s what Noah said. Personally, Peter hated it, and, from the way that Claire looked, so did she. Nathan, used to the hustle and bustle, seemed unbothered by it, as did Noah, but Peter was beginning to believe that nothing ever phased Noah.
He hadn’t slept all night, remembering Claire’s pleas and the feel of her against him. She was right; he knew that she was and he knew that he couldn’t do anything about it. Noah Bennet was not going to forfeit his daughter to their cause, and legally, they couldn’t make him. Besides, the Petrelli family was no place for Claire; she hadn’t spent her life being schooled in deception and manipulation enough to survive.
When they reached the gate to board, Nathan, who had shaved that atrocious beard off, looked awkwardly at Claire, who seemed to be so small inside the giant, shapeless sweater she wore. “Well…it was nice seeing you again.”
She absently nodded. “I didn’t even jump out of a building this time.”
Nathan cracked a smile, surprising her, before awkwardly extending his hand. She took it, her hand being dwarfed by his, and Nathan stated, “You should call me sometime; we’ll talk.”
“Sure.”
“I mean, if it’s okay with your dad.”
Noah nodded, his face grim. “That’s up to Claire.”
As they pulled apart, Claire’s eyes automatically wandered to Peter. Neither was sure how to proceed, and the silence was bordering on unbearable. Finally, Claire stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and burrowing her face in his chest. He instinctively molded to fit her and felt his heart break at the heat of her tears against his skin.
“I’m not going away forever,” he promised. “When things calm down, you can come visit.”
She pulled back, wiping her cheeks, and she countered, “Don’t you mean when things go to hell?”
“I’ll be back for you,” he swore, lowering his voice so that his brother couldn’t hear. “You just need to be strong and stick it out a little longer.”
“You know that I’m right. Besides, I want…” She broke off before mentally stating I want to be with you. I know that it’s wrong, but you can’t tell me that last night didn’t mean something. I know that it did and I know that you love me too.
“It’s not a question of that,” he stated aloud.
Then tell me what’s going on, Peter! I know that you’re hiding something!
“I will eventually. Just promise me that you’re going to stay beneath the radar.”
“Alright.”
“And if a blonde woman ever comes for you, you need to get as far away as you can and then call me immediately.”
“Elle?”
He nodded. “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her. Promise me you’ll stay safe.”
“You first.”
He smiled that crooked smile that made her heart ache before swearing so softly that she almost missed it, “I won’t do anything that will ever make you hurt again, okay?”
Swallowing back more tears, Claire stood on her tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek, wishing that she could take his mouth, wishing for a million things that would never happen. When she pulled back, she declared, “You better get on the plane.”
As she watched the Petrelli men-her father and uncle-board the plane, Claire glanced up at her father, who was still scowling. It wasn’t until they began to leave the airport that Claire noticed the blonde woman near the entrance wearing huge sunglasses and impossibly high heels. Claire felt a tug of nervousness that exploded into full blown terror as the woman lowered her sunglasses and winked at her. Claire had no doubt that this was Elle, but she wasn’t going to get scared.
She was done being afraid; if the Company wanted her, they had better be prepared for a fight.
* * *
Peter was staring aimlessly out the window as the pilot spoke when he reached into his pockets. When he encountered a tightly folded note with his name written on it, he chuckled, carefully undoing each of the precise folds.
Dear Peter,
You fill so many roles in my life: my uncle, my friend, my hero, and, after last night, my lover. I keep trying to figure out how to make all of them fit together, but they don’t and they never will. I’m not stupid; I know the reality of this situation. There will be no happy ending for us, and we both lie to each other so that the other thinks that there will be. I love you even more for that.
A war is coming, and we both know it. My dad’s never going to let me go; whether I’m sixteen, eighteen, or eighty, I am never going to be able to be free of this. Sylar is going to come back and Molly says there’s someone even worse out there. You know that I was right last night; if I wasn’t supposed to help, why would Hiro have sent you to me?
I’m done waiting for my life to happen. You were right; I have to start living my life. I started last night, whether you know it or not.
Last night was the best night of my life. For all of the craziness and the crap, spending last night with you, being touched by you and touching you…it was the first time I’ve ever felt complete. You make me complete, Peter, and I already feel like I’m losing part of myself when you’re gone.
I am going to help you take down Sylar even if I have to do it from freaking Costa Verde, but I am not going to stop loving you. Maybe it is wrong; maybe we’re freaks or criminals but I don’t care. We both should be dead right now, and we’re not, and I refuse to believe that we were given this gift and given someone to share it with and then be denied that person. No one will ever understand us; most of the time, I don’t even understand us, but I don’t care.
Be careful in New York. Truth Matt and Mohinder; be careful how much you trust Nathan with; never trust your mother or my father. If you get into trouble, all you have to do is call. It’s about damn time that I can be your hero.
Love forever and always,
Claire
“What’s that?” Nathan queried, seeing the piece of loose leaf that Peter was carefully refolding to put back into his pocket.
Peter shrugged, trying to be nonchalant and knowing he was failing badly. “Just a goodbye letter from Claire.”
Nathan pretended that he believed him; it was the smallest act of kindness that he could offer the brother that he had placed on the chopping block and the daughter that he had denied.
Author: Meg lit_chick08
Rating: NC-17 for language and sexuality
Pairing: Paire
Word Count: 9391
Warnings: It’s fictional incest; if you don’t like it, don’t read it.
Spoilers: Everything up to and including 2.1 “Four Months Later”; there are spoilers from season 2 but it isn’t really canon
Summary: Claire’s having trouble coping with Peter’s death; her therapist suggests she writes a letter that says everything she wants to say to Peter
A/N: Still un-beta’ed and I love feedback/concrit. This may have a sequel; I’m unsure thus far, so let me know what you think. If you want more, I’ll see what I can do
Part One
There were certain hard truths that Nathan Petrelli had never admitted aloud to anyone in his life. It was something that every good politician did, and rarely did he ever feel any sort of remorse for it. But the one thing he had done lately that had filled him with shame was the treatment of his daughter.
When he had gotten Meredith pregnant all those years ago, he was convinced that it was the end of the road for him. If there was one thing that Angela had ever impressed upon him, it was that, if his dick ever got him into trouble, he was going to deal with the consequences. Apparently, that reasoning had only applied when the girl in question was one of the society girls that he had dated at home; Meredith Gordon was not the kind of woman that Angela Petrelli ever wanted to have called her mom. His parents had dealt with it by throwing money, and, when he thought that both of them had perished in the fire, there was tiny part of him that had sighed with the relief of it all. He had never wanted to be tied to Meredith forever, and he had never wanted that baby.
But the baby was now Claire, a fully formed teenager that had showed up just as unexpectedly as she had appeared seventeen years before, and she had thrown his world into the turmoil he had expected. He could admit that his guilt at just giving money to Meredith in Texas had been great, but it hadn’t been great enough to want to meet his daughter or know who she was. And when she had come to New York, he was more than willing to endorse his mother’s plan to send her to France. Claire Bennet was not a variable that Nathan had been able to afford in his life.
The irony was not lost on him, of course. He had worked so hard to stay distanced from Claire for fear of losing the life he had created, and it was his behavior alone that had destroyed his image. His wife was gone, his boys barely spoke to him, and he was no longer the junior Senator from New York that no one had expected to win. No, now he was a cautionary tale for the Manhattan elite, and he was left with no one.
The call from Peter had brought him out of the four month bender he had been on and given him a renewed sense of hope. He would have boarded a plane that night, he would’ve flown there himself to get to his brother, and then Peter had told him that he was in California…with Claire. Nathan had scheduled a later flight; he had needed a stiff drink and some preparation. He had not treated Claire kindly since Peter’s death, and he had done it both as a way to keep her from him and to protect her. As the last of his children that actually pretended that they cared for him, Nathan felt a certain sentimentality towards her.
Well, that was a lie too. He loved Claire. After all was said and done, after every cold and detached movement he made, he did feel affection for the young woman who had seen through his bullshit and dove out of his office window to save Peter and her other father. She was a strong girl who was going to be an incredible woman, and there were times when she called him that he wanted to talk. There were times when Nathan wanted to be her father. The problem was, she hated him now just as he had intended and that couldn’t be fixed.
One of the largest truths he hid was his jealousy of Peter and Claire’s relationship. Until his daughter had appeared, Nathan had been the most influential person in Peter’s life; decisions were made off of the basis of his opinion and his belief system. But Peter turned to Claire, and Claire clearly would do anything for his brother. Their bond made Nathan wish he was a better person for both of them.
When Peter and Claire returned to the house, his jacket around her slender, slumped shoulders, weariness in his eyes, Nathan knew that something had happened. The sadness clung to them, and Claire seemed to flinch when Peter’s hand brushed against her arm to remove the coat. Nathan had become an expert in reading body language during his campaign, and whatever had transpired between his brother and daughter, it was enough to hurt them both.
“Claire!” Sandra exclaimed, pushing right past him and wrapping Claire up in her arms. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she replied by rote, her voice dull.
Nathan turned to look at Peter, who was studiously avoiding his gaze in the way that only a little brother who feared punishment could.
“I think I’m gonna get changed and head to bed,” Claire stated. “I’m sorry for all the upset.”
Sandra was about to agree when Noah came through the door. Upon seeing Claire, he, too, pulled her into a hug before pulling back and stating, “You reek of alcohol.”
“I had a drink.”
“A drink? It smells like you bathed in it!”
“Now, Noah, I realize-“
“No, Sandra, this needs to stop right now.” Glaring at his daughter from behind his horned-rimmed glasses, he declared, “I am through with the temper tantrums and the pouting and the acting out. You are not a child and it is not appreciated. We are in a very precarious situation-“
“That you put us in! It wasn’t me that signed up for the freaking Company! It wasn’t me that made you declare war on them! And it sure as hell wasn’t me that asked to be born a freak!”
“We have gone through a hell of a lot of trouble to protect you-“
“From what?! No one can hurt me! I could go get run over by a bus all day every day for the rest of my life, and I still would be fine! Let the Company come find me; I’m done.”
“Claire, that’s not funny,” Sandra sighed, ringing her hands.
“Who’s joking?”
“Claire, your parents are right,” Nathan began.
With a roll of her eyes, she patronizingly encouraged, “Oh, please, give me your opinion. You, who never wanted a damn thing to do with me, please tell me how to live my life. You want to lecture me on drinking too, because I’m pretty sure that I inherited it from you.”
Nathan flinched at the venom in her words but quickly recovered. “You don’t know how bad things are.”
Staring at the congregation of adults, she screamed, “I know exactly how bad things are! Raise your fucking hand if Sylar ever tried to kill you! Raise your hand if you watched your friend being murdered or if you have had your skull crushed by a psycho?! How bad did things get for you in your mansion, Nathan? Was it really hard to have to listen to your opponent say bad things about you?” Whirling on her father, she pushed, “How about you? Was it really hard to have to play God with people’s lives and have your friend erase their memories?”
“Claire, stop it!” Noah ordered.
Throwing her hands up in disgust, she simply turned on her heel and walked upstairs without a backwards glance.
The four adults stood there in stunned silence before Sandra turned to Peter and softly queried, “Would you go talk to her?”
“What?” all three of the men gasped in disbelief.
“You’re the only one she talks to. We’ve been trying for four months to get her to say boo about anything, and all she does is say she’s fine, which clearly she is not. Now, maybe y’all want to sit around and wait to see what happens, but I am not going to wait for the day that she doesn’t come back.” Returning her attention to Peter, she repeated, “Would you?”
Peter wanted to say no, wanted to beg her to not encourage him to be with Claire unattended in any room, but he could see the desperation and fear in Sandra’s face. With a nod, he began to scale the stairs, the bickering between Nathan and Noah resuming once again.
* * *
Dear Peter,
I feel so trapped in Costa Verde. I understand why Dad wants me to pretend that I’m nobody special, but I feel like I’m in the middle of a room screaming my head off and nobody even turns around to look. I hate it here so badly. I miss Odessa and my old house and Zach and even Union Wells. Did you know that Dad’s even been making us work on erasing any hint of a drawl out of our speech? It’s ridiculous. If I have to change everything about who I am, am I even me anymore?
I wish you were here. You have this way of making the world turn right-side up and making me feel like less of a freak. I could really use that right now.
I miss you.
Claire
* * *
Claire was lying on her side facing away from him when Peter quietly entered her room. She knew he was there, but she refused to acknowledge him, and Peter let her have her rebellion. He perched on the opposite edge of her bed, leaning back against the headboard, his legs extended in front of him, and he waited.
For nearly fifteen minutes, Claire said and did nothing. Finally, when the silence was becoming overwhelming, she flipped to face him and snapped, “I’m not a child.”
“I never thought that you were.”
“They do.” Moving into a sitting position, pulling her legs up to her chest and hugging them against her, she said, “They all treat me like I’m five, like I don’t know anything about anything. I can’t stand it. It’s like they think that, in addition to being sixteen, I’m apparently low-functioning.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I was twenty-five and my dad still treated me like that.”
Claire cracked a half smile. “I’ve never really heard a lot about him.”
“My dad was…Well, suffice to say, my mother was the affectionate and warm one in the household.”
“Jesus.”
He chuckled mirthlessly. “Yeah.”
Softly, she confessed, “I want to run away. I want to just take off and start a life that I actually have some say in.” Tilting her head up to look at him, she quipped, “Wanna come with me?”
“To start a new life?”
“Uh-huh. We could go somewhere nice, preferably tropical, where no one would know us. We could be anyone we wanted to be, and no one could ever tell us what to do ever again. Wouldn’t that be nice, making our own identities?”
“Running wouldn’t solve anything.”
“Funny, ‘cause staying doesn’t seem to either.”
Against his better judgment, Peter wrapped an arm around her shoulders and Claire, almost instinctively, leaned her head against her chest, snuggling into the crook that his arm made. She rested her hand on his chest, idly drawing patterns with her fingertips, the steady rhythm of Peter’s heart against her palm.
“Claire-“
“Don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“I might not be able to read your mind, but I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want to hear it.”
Peter sighed, understanding why she was saying what she was, but he knew he had to get everything out. “Claire, what happened-“
“I know,” she cut in, her voice falsely calm and even. “It was a onetime thing and you were stupid to let it go that far. Did I get it right?”
Peter’s silence was her answer, and she kept a steady gaze on his shirt, not wanting him to glimpse the hurt in her eyes. She knew he could tell how she felt; it was his best quality under other circumstances, but she just didn’t want him to start treating her like she was his mistake.
“I wish things were different,” he offered, his fingers lightly sifting through the golden hair at the nape of her neck. “Please believe that.”
“I do. It still hurts though.”
“Even if we can’t…you’re still important to me, Claire, and I want you to be in my life.”
Pulling out of his embrace, she turned around and faced him head on. With far more pain in her voice than sixteen year old should have, Claire stated, “But we can’t have it both ways. I want to be in your life and I want you in mine; I hate the fact that you’re gonna go back to New York and I’m going to be stuck here. But I can’t just pretend to be your little niece and sit across from you at the Petrelli Christmas celebrations that I probably won’t be invited to anyway and act like things aren’t…the way they are.”
“Then what do you want?”
She scoffed. “I want you to not be my uncle. I want this whole stupid thing to be a nightmare. I want to actually be like everyone else or be allowed to be the freak that I am. But I can’t have any of those things, so what I really want is to not care about what I’m not supposed to want.”
The meaning of her words was not lost on Peter, nor was the way she seemed to be collapsing in on herself during her speech. The defeated hunch of her shoulders and sadness in her eyes tugged at his heart, and, before he even knew what he was doing, he was cupping her cheek, the automatic response of a man who wanted to comfort the woman that he loved.
It was a holding pattern, neither of them moving towards the other but neither moving away. Peter knew that his gaze was drifting towards her mouth, and, while he was condemning himself as a deviant, his control was slipping and he knew it.
Claire pled, her voice hoarse with emotion, “Please don’t go back to New York with Nathan. I need you.”
And, with that, Peter’s tenuous hold on his self-control snapped.
* * *
Dear Peter,
This past Christmas, we celebrated in probably the sketchiest motel ever in Richmond, Virginia. Why Virginia? Hell if I know. We’d been bouncing around since New York until Dad could settle us more permanently, and that night’s location was the motel where, from my filthy window, I saw the ever classy exchange of money for a blow job. On the list of things that I never, ever wanted to see, that was one of them. Merry freaking Christmas to me.
I keep wondering what it would have been like if our family wasn’t so batshit crazy. Would I have had Christmas dinner with you, Nathan and his family, and Angela? Would I have even been invited? Even though I love my family, there’s part of me that keeps picturing this Petrelli family gathering, complete with drinking eggnog in front of the fireplace. That’s probably really lame, but I’d rather see Nathan read The Night Before Christmas to the brothers I don’t know than watch the creepy, fat man get serviced by the somewhat drunk hooker.
I guess there’s some part of me that just can’t get over my bio-family fantasy that they actually wanted me and weren’t, you know, plotting city-wide destruction for political gain. No offense but I definitely think you’re the only good part of the whole Petrelli clan.
I miss you.
Claire
* * *
“Perhaps we should see what’s going on,” Noah suggested, breaking the terse silence that occupied the living room. He didn’t want to speak to Nathan Petrelli anymore than necessary, and that feeling was certainly mutual. If it wasn’t for Sandra sitting there reading Oprah’s latest book club offering, he was fairly certain he would have killed the man by now.
“I agree,” Nathan chimed in.
“I think you both should sit right there and let Peter handle this.” Turning the page, she added, “Clearly, he has some insight into our daughter that neither of you have been able to arrive at.”
“That’s not fair,” Noah argued.
Replacing her bookmark, Sandra set the book down and locked eyes with her husband. “I am a good wife and a damn good mother. I don’t understand what your real job was, what Claire can really do, or really what any of you do. Now, part of that is probably ‘cause you were having my memory erased on a fairly regular basis and part of that is because you and Claire only discuss it amongst yourselves, and that’s fine. You and Claire are close, and I am grateful that she talks to you about these special things she does. But when it comes to what’s actually goin’ on inside of her, she’s not talking to anyone but Peter. So I don’t care if he has to stay in that room for the next three years; if he can make Claire feel better and act like her old self, then, damn it, he’s gonna stay up there.” Turning her gaze on Nathan, she continued, “As for you, Mr. Petrelli, I realize that you are considered an important man, and I respect that. But you will not stay in our home and continue to question how we raise our daughter and the decisions we make concerning her, because if you do, you’re gonna find out just how good a shot a Texas woman is with a pistol.”
Climbing to her feet, Sandra concluded, “Now, I’m gonna head downstairs and check on Lyle before makin’ myself a snack. I suggest you two boys have a nice, long, polite conversation while I’m gone, or y’all can sleep outside on the lawn.”
Once she was out of earshot, Nathan quipped, “And here I thought she was polite and quiet.”
“Everyone has their breaking point.”
Both were quiet for a moment before Noah bluntly stated, “I’m concerned about the…nature of Claire’s relationship with your brother. It strikes me…Claire is lonely and she needs someone, and I feel that, the way she feels about Peter isn’t necessarily…the way a niece should feel about her uncle.”
“She’s a teenager; Peter’s close to her age compared to us. I may not be sure about a lot of things, but I doubt Peter would ever cross that line.”
“But could you be certain?”
Nathan momentarily faltered before emphatically repeating, “Peter wouldn’t cross the line.”
* * *
Peter Petrelli was going to hell. And not the fun hell where people simply suffered from eternal damnation but the kind of hell that Satan kept reserved for uncles that were trying to round second base with their underage nieces on said niece’s pastel colored bed. Of course, this was not going to stop him from doing what he was doing because, short of becoming a mushroom cloud once again, nothing was going to make Peter stop touching Claire.
She was so warm to the touch, as if she was the one who could become radioactive when the situation warranted it. Every inch of skin that his hands and lips came into contact with seemed to radiate with heat, and the pulse in her throat was as rapid as his own. When he began to press open mouthed kisses to the column of her throat, Claire moaned, soft and trembling in the back of her throat, and he quickly covered her mouth with his own, swallowing the noise.
He had never truly appreciated just how tiny she was until she was lying beneath him. In the past, he had always dated women like Simone, who were statuesque beauties with a detached manner, but he was certain that that attraction was over now that he had come to appreciate the benefits of a girl as petite as Claire. She fit him; there was no awkward overlapping of limbs or subtle shifting in order to accommodate the other. Wherever they touched, the other fit and molded perfectly, and Peter was far too amazed by it to let any feelings of guilt enter.
Because dating in your mid-twenties took a radical shift as compared to your teenage years, Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had simply made out with a girl, and he certainly couldn’t remember the last time he had done so with her entire family downstairs. It was this realization, more so than the knowledge that the woman beneath him was his niece, that made him start to pull away.
“No,” Claire gasped when he sat up, her hands tugging at his shoulders for him to return. When he continued to pull away, she used the leg that she had thrown over his hip to try to force his return. The sudden movement caught Peter off-guard and he faltered, pressing the hardness in his jeans against her center.
Both of them moaned, and, worry forgotten, Peter cautiously repeated the thrust. Claire gasped, her fingernails biting into the muscles in his back, and he pressed a wet kiss to the hollow of her throat.
“Again,” she whimpered, rotating her hips in request. The movement against him ripped a groan from deep within his chest, and Claire, realizing the power she had in the situation, continued to roll her hips, tightening the hold of her legs around his waist. She began to kiss him in earnest, her movements more pronounced, confidence growing until Peter suddenly rolled them over, Claire now atop him.
Confused and nervous, she froze. Peter, seeing her uncertainty, murmured, “I want to look at you.”
She bent down, pressing several tiny kisses against his jaw line before beginning her rhythm again. Both of them were finding it hard to catch their breath, Claire especially, and she could feel the peak building inside of her. She tried moving harder, faster, and, while Peter clearly enjoyed the change in cadence, she still couldn’t reach it. Claire wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all; it was like a level of hell.
When Peter heard her moan in frustration rather than pleasure, he opened his eyes and took her in. She was as flushed as he was certain he was, and a line of sweat had formed at her brow. With her hands planted firmly on his chest, she was clearly moving with a purpose, but the more she moved, the more frustrated he saw that she became. Understanding what she needed, even if she didn’t, Peter placed his hands on her hips, stilling them.
Claire opened her eyes, trying to focus, and when she realized that he had stopped her, she was certain that she was going to cry from sexual frustration.
“Peter-“
“Shhh.” Cautiously, he slipped his hand beneath the hem of her shirt, the scorching heat of his hand against her stomach making her jump. Slowly, making sure that he gave her plenty of time to object, he drew her shirt over head, leaving her clad above the waist in nothing but a lacy pink bra.
He sat up, Claire still in his lap, intimately pressed against him, and began to kiss her in a way that she had never been kissed before. This time, his kisses lacked the frenzy of someone who wanted to touch as much as possible before they were caught; they were slow and seductive, making her burn in a new way. He tightly wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close as possible, and Claire knew, even through the fog of her desire, that things were never going to be the same ever again, not after this.
Feeling bold, Claire slipped her hands beneath his t-shirt, and Peter, getting the hint, pulled it over his head. She ran her fingers over his chest, remembering how slight he had seemed the first time she had seen him in Odessa, how breakable he had appeared with the long coat that had seemed to swallow him. There was no trace of that man here; no, this was a different Peter Petrelli.
“I’m the same,” he assured her, making her blush with the knowledge that he could hear her thoughts.
“It’s not nice to read my mind,” she teased before moaning in satisfaction as he began to lightly suck on her neck.
Reaching behind her, his fingers stilling on the clasp of her bra, he moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, “But think how handy it’ll come in later.”
Claire moaned from the pure sex that dripped from the words, and she felt herself fill with a giddy anticipation as Peter unhooked her bra and slid the overpriced material down her arms. She felt that flutter of nervousness again in her stomach as Peter looked upon her bare breasts but it quickly dissipated; this might be the most naked she had ever been with a guy, but it was Peter and she trusted him.
He moved her carefully, setting her back against the pillows, and he positioned himself half on top of her. “I’m going to need you to be quiet.”
She smiled. “I can’t make any guarantees.”
Peter smirked before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Slowly, his kisses trailed down to her chin, her throat, her collarbone. When his mouth began to press butterfly soft kisses to her breasts, Claire began to shift her hips as her arousal returned in full force. His fingers gently weighed the flesh in his hand, stroked the soft skin he found there, and, when his thumb brushed the painfully erect nipple at its center, Claire bucked hard enough that she almost threw him off.
“Sorry,” she gasped, a bright blush staining its way down her chest.
“Don’t be.”
And he meant it. Peter had always loved a responsive lover, had loved knowing that what he was doing was what the woman wanted and made her feel good. It was something that he had hated about Simone; she had never made a sound when they had sex and it had always made him feel inadequate. No, he wanted Claire to be as responsive as she could be; he just didn’t want her to be responsive enough to alert her fathers.
As he began to suggestively circle her nipple with his tongue, Peter didn’t even take notice of the fact that he had all but confirmed to himself that Claire was going to be his lover.
* * *
Noah was not a patient man. No matter what people thought of him, his world had always run on his time table, and he did not like being made to wait. It was what made Sandra’s asinine plan of letting Peter talk Claire down so painful for him. He was the one who knew how to handle Claire; he had taken care of his daughter for nearly fifteen years, and he didn’t need Peter Petrelli to interfere.
Nathan Petrelli had finally left the house in frustration. He had gone to the nearest five-star hotel with explicit instructions to call him whenever Peter was done speaking to Claire. Noah had wanted to punch him when, after he had told him that they couldn’t call him because they didn’t have his number, the former Senator had cockily replied, “Claire does.”
Noah had spent a great deal of time pacing the length of the living room before venturing into the basement where Lyle was beating down hookers and shooting cops while Sandra was curled up with Mr. Muggles. When she saw her husband in the doorway, she got off of the couch and followed him upstairs before asking, “What?”
“They’ve been up there for almost two hours,” he gritted out. “I think it’s time we go up there.”
“Noah, I swear-“
“I’m serious, Sandra. We don’t know what they’re doing; we don’t even know if they’re still there.”
“What do you think that Peter is going to do to her? He saved her life; ain’t that proof enough that he cares about her and wants to help?”
“I don’t think…The relationship that he and Claire have…I’m not sure it’s appropriate…”
“Are you talking about Claire’s little crush on him?” she drawled in amusement.
“She told you that?”
“She didn’t have to, honey. I know my daughter, and anyone with eyes can see that she’s got a big ole piece of her heart wrapped up in him. Personally, I think it’s kinda sweet the way she’s got some hero worship for him. It’s natural in girls her age. Even his crush on her is sweet in a way.”
“His crush?!”
Sandra rolled her eyes as she placed Mr. Muggles onto the floor. “Sweetheart, what did you expect? They’re two good-looking kids who have a lot in common and have been through some intense things that brought them close together. It wasn’t like they knew they were related when they first met, and I’m willing to bet they were attracted to each other. But now they do know, and I’m sure that it’s harmless.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“Even if Claire tried to force the relationship, Peter is a good man. I am sure that he would never do anything to make Claire uncomfortable or hurt his family. Now would you quit your worrying and go on upstairs and check the rooms for any dishes? I wanna clean up before we go to bed.” When he didn’t make a move, she added, “You can trust him.”
“Yes, dear.”
Noah had never been a trusting person either; trusting people tended to get you killed in this business.
* * *
“Jesus!” Peter gasped as Claire’s hot hand stroked his erection. He wasn’t sure how they had got here, but both of them were completely naked now, and Claire Bennet, dainty cheerleader and indestructible girl, was touching him with an amount of skill that would put people to shame.
She was straddling the strong muscles of his thighs, her golden locks brushing the crest of her breasts every time she moved, and her touch was gentle but firm in its purpose. Her entire body was still flushed with the orgasm that Peter had given her with his hand, and she had desperately wanted to return the favor for him.
The problem was, Claire was mind numbingly good at this and Peter felt his control slipping. When Claire’s hand began to move in a flurry of motion and she began to lightly suck upon his neck, Peter’s hand moved to watch her wrist and stop her.
Pulling back, worry in her eyes, she asked, “Is something wrong? Did I-“
“No, it’s…it’s really good. I just…If you keep doing that, I’m going to…”
Smiling at the shyness he had about completing the sentence, she joked, “Isn’t that the point?”
Taking the plunge, he bluntly stated, “If you want to have sex tonight, you’re going to need to stop. If you don’t and you’re not ready, then you can…finish.”
It was the most awkward time to be having this conversation and would have been comical if it was anyone else, but Claire didn’t have time to recognize either of those things. Instead, she murmured, “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“We don’t have to,” Peter softly assured her. “I don’t expect it and I’m not going to be upset. I could wait forever.”
Claire felt her heart melt a little with those words and she slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a long, tender kiss. When they broke away, she admitted, “I don’t really want my first time to be with both of us paranoid that my parents are going to walk in.”
Peter nodded in understanding, kissing her again. He felt her hand snake down his body slowly to reclaim the erection that she had caused, the one that she had been causing ever since the day he had run into her in the Union Wells High School hallway. His eyes fell shut as he allowed the pleasure to slowly take over him once again, blocking out the part of his brain that was screaming at him because she was his niece and he was her uncle.
That part became completely drowned out at the first tentative lick on the head of his cock.
* * *
Noah was not looking for dishware for his wife to wash in the guest room where Peter was staying. No, he was looking for anything that would give him some type of hint as to what was really going on between his daughter and the empath. Just when he had about given up hope, he lifted the mattress and saw the composition book. Picking it up, he took a seat on the bed and opened it to reveal a letter written to Peter, a letter that was full of guilt and pain that Claire had felt burdened by. The first few letters were like that, rambling apologies and confessions of pain. It made Noah cringe with the knowledge that he hadn’t noticed how hurt Claire was after Kirby Plaza.
The next batch were little notes about school in Costa Verde and reminiscing on moments with Zach, Jackie, even Peter while they were in New York. They were harmless and Noah began to feel like a moron when he reached the final section. It was page after page of Claire discussing her feelings for Peter, all of them inappropriate and Claire aware of that fact; the letters cried at the fact that he was her uncle and that nothing she wanted could ever be. When Noah read the first time that Claire wrote that she loved him, he felt his heart break for his daughter.
He knew that she was lonely; he knew that she wanted someone to relate to, and he knew that she had thought she had found those things in Peter Petrelli. And Noah didn’t really have a problem with the man who had protected his daughter from Sylar and kept her safe during that insane two-day period that culminated in his alleged death. But he knew that Claire felt more intensely for him than she should, and he wanted to protect her for the dangers that weren’t physical.
When he reached the end of the notebook, he realized that the last letter was in different handwriting than Claire’s familiar, loopy hand. It was only when he studied it closer that he realized that it wasn’t written by Claire; it was addressed to Claire.
Noah felt a twinge of guilt at invading his daughter’s privacy, at reading the words that he doubted even she had read yet, but that didn’t stop him.
Dearest Claire,
The first thing that I want to say to you is this: you are the most beautiful, generous, kind-hearted woman that I have ever had the pleasure of having in my life. I recognized that the first night I met you in Odessa and I continue to see that every second of every day that I am with you. I don’t ever want you to doubt that I don’t see how special you are and don’t regret that you’re my niece.
But it’s like you wrote: I am your uncle and it’s wrong. The way that you feel, the way that I feel…if either of your fathers had even the slightest idea of what goes through my mind when I’m with you, I’d be dead quicker than you can blink.
Truthfully, the hardest thing that I’ve ever gone through is being around you because every time that I am, all I can think about is how I want to kiss you, how I want things to be different. That isn’t healthy, for you or for me, and it especially isn’t fair to you. You’re so young, Claire, and you have the entire world in front of you. I don’t want you to feel as if you can’t have a life because of me.
I don’t want to leave. Please believe this. The last thing that I ever want to do is hurt you or be apart from you, but I can’t stay in California. No matter how much we want to be selfish, I can’t forget that Sylar is out there and that there are maybe thousands more of people like us that need help. You have the luxury of starting over, but I’ve chosen my path, and that path is trying to figure out how we got to be where we are now.
I love you. I love you so much that it tears me up inside. When I woke up in Ireland, I couldn’t remember my own name but I remembered your beautiful face; I must’ve drawn you a thousand times because you were the one thing that stuck with me. When Elle got the Haitian to give me back my memory, you were the first thing that I thought of before anything else. It’s always been you, Claire.
I want you to stay in Costa Verde; I want you to stay a cheerleader and to hang out with that guy West and to make a real go out of having a normal life. The time for saving the cheerleader to save the world is over; you can have the life that you want, the life that we talked about in New York. Until we can learn how to be uncle and niece, it’s the only option I can see.
I’m leaving with Nathan, and I think you know that. No matter how you feel about him or my mother, they are my family and family’s important. Your life is here with Noah, Sandra, Lyle, and even that crazy little dog. Be Claire Bennet; be the woman that you were that night in Odessa when I fell in love with you and forget about Sylar, Kirby Plaza, Angela Petrelli, even the explosion. Forget the bad and remember the good.
I do love you, maybe more than you’ll ever even know.
Peter
Noah read the words twice and then three times before closing the notebook and sliding it back beneath the mattress. It was very rare for Noah Bennet to feel as if he had imposed upon someone’s life, but right now he felt as if he had looked directly into Peter Petrelli’s soul and that made him uncomfortable.
What was worse was that he wished that he could do something to alleviate his and his daughter’s pain.
* * *
Their legs were a tangle beneath the soft comforter on Claire’s bed, Peter’s damp chest pressed against the plentiful curves of her breasts. Claire was clinging to him as Peter stroked her hair, murmuring soft words of love against her ear. Both were exhausted, Peter’s cheeks still flushed from pleasure, and Claire pressed a moist kiss to his shoulder before whispering, “When are you going?”
She expected him to lie or to dodge the question; it was why he gave her the truth. “Nathan bought a ticket for tomorrow afternoon.”
She nodded in understanding before confessing, “I wish you’d stay.”
“I wish I could,” he countered.
Slowly, she extricated herself from his grasp, beginning to slowly dress herself. Peter followed suit, locating the forgotten items of clothing. She was fully dressed and straightening her hair before she finally sighed, “You can’t run from this.”
“Claire-“
“I know that all of you thought that I was this silly little girl; whether you admit it or not, you never treated me the same way that you treated Ted or Matt or even Nathan. But I know just as much about Sylar as you do, and I fought that stupid fight too. I don’t need protecting, not by you or my fathers, and I don’t need to be coddled.”
She turned to face him, and Peter nearly flinched from the Petrelli steel in her eyes. He had seen the expression on her face before; it was the trademark look of his father.
“I know you’re going to go looking for Sylar. I know that you’re going to try to find Hiro Nakamura and Matt and Dr. Suresh. You all think that I don’t pay attention, but I do. And in case you forgot, you’ve been out of the loop for four months, being held hostage by Psycho Electric Girl and Irish thugs. Maybe, just maybe, you could consider that I could help.”
“What are you talking about?”
Rolling her eyes, she moved over to her laptop, pulling up her instant messenger. There were only a handful of names on her buddy list, but she stopped at two in particular. Tapping the screen, she stated, “Meet Micah Sanders and Molly Walker.”
“Who are they?”
“They were at the plaza the night you blew up. Micah does stuff with machines, and Molly was the tracking device who can find anyone, anywhere, at any time.”
“How did you get those?”
She cracked a smile. “Well, when nobody has any expectations of you, it’s pretty easy.” At his glare, she admitted, “I called Nathan one day, and I asked what the status of the investigation into your death was. He told me that I should just ask the NYPD. The detective who answered the phone was Matt Parkman, freshly transplanted and eager to answer my questions. Molly Walker’s parents were killed by Sylar, and Molly’s living with Matt and Mohinder Suresh. And Molly is friends with Micah, so she connected us.”
“Connected you to do what?”
“You just don’t get it, do you? I watched my best friend be murdered by a psychopath before a radioactive man burnt my house to the ground and made us go into hiding from the Company; Molly watched her parents be murdered and barely escaped with her life; Micah was kidnapped by the Company and then watched his dead bleed to death. You all think that because we’re younger that we haven’t had to sacrifice, that we don’t have as much invested in this, but we have even more. What did you lose? What did Nathan lose? What did my dad lose?” Hugging herself, she stated, “The reason I hate being trapped here is because I know what I can do and I know that it’s important or else Hiro never would’ve come to you from the future and told you to save me. But instead of helping anything, I’m in the fucking suburbs playing cheerleader and trying to convince West that I don’t want to be his girlfriend while hiding from the Company and Sylar and even your mother. It’s my fight too.”
Peter stood there for a moment digesting everything that she had said before confessing, “I don’t want you in harm’s way. It’s better for you to stay here.”
“How long do you really think that this is going to last? Maybe my dad can fool himself into thinking that the Company can’t get to us, but we know that they can. The Haitian knew where we were, which means that Elle could too. I can’t spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder and hoping that no one finds me out. You keep talking about being normal, but I don’t know how to be that anymore because I’m not. I’m not a normal person; I can heal from anything. And the only people that understand that, the only people that I have that I can talk to about it, are two kids who haven’t even gone through puberty that if my dad ever found out about, he’d take away.”
“Claire-“
“I’ve given up ever feeling normal, Peter, but I want to feel safe, and you make me feel safe. I don’t care if it’s wrong or if we never do…what we just did again, but I can help.”
He took a step towards her before brushing a kiss to her forehead. “I can’t stay here and I can’t take you with me. You have to stay here, Claire.”
“So that’s it? You go back to New York and I have secret IM conversations with Molly Walker hoping to find out something that’s going on?”
“Your parents want you to be safe here.”
“And you know that it isn’t going to happen.”
“What do you want from me, Claire?!”
“I want you to not disappear like everyone else and let me help!”
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I don’t have the answers.”
“Maybe that’s because you aren’t even asking the right questions.”
* * *
Dear Peter,
Maybe it’s paranoia, but I feel like someone’s watching me lately. I feel like I’m always being watched. Maybe it’s because of my parents new, excessive supervision program, but it feels like more than that.
Zach would say that it isn’t paranoia if someone’s really there, but Zach isn’t here. No one’s here, so what do I do?
Claire
* * *
Elle was good at her job. You didn’t work as an asset for the Company for as long as she had and botch jobs. That stupid twit Candice had never quite understood her role in all of this; she had thought that working with Linderman allowed you to have some slack. Of course, that was why she was going to be on permanent babysitter duty while Elle got to continue in the field.
When she had been assigned to the Petrelli detail, she had been excited. The Petrellis had a long and exhaustive history with the Company and were considered a top priority. She had been fond of Mr. Petrelli, God rest his lying, cheating, ruthless soul, and she had spent more than one night in Nathan Petrelli’s bed as a “gift” from Linderman. Really, the gift was to her because that man had hid a whole lot of passion beneath that cold form. She had been hoping to take his younger brother for a spin, but Peter had far more morals about that sort of thing. It didn’t matter much to her; she wasn’t exactly wanting for male attention.
Dealing with Peter hadn’t been easy, which is why she had accidentally fried his brain. If she hadn’t been able to get the Haitian to fix the damage, she would’ve gone the way of Candice, but Elle was resourceful and knew how to do her job. Her skills were the reason that she had been able to manipulate Peter into revealing all he knew about Sylar; for a grown man, he sure was pliable to someone’s will whenever that illegitimate niece of his was in play.
Elle had seen Claire Bennet once; she had been in Odessa for a debriefing with Noah and she had caught a glimpse of the girl. She would’ve been a good operative, but Noah never would’ve let his precious Claire be soiled by the dirty work that was regularly asked of Elle. It was funny how he only ever seemed to have a moral compass when his daughter was involved.
It was that one glimpse of Claire that made locating her so easy. The Haitian had directed Peter to California; the surveillance that he was unaware of had given her that. It hadn’t been hard to narrow down a search for a man with horned rimmed glasses with a beautiful, blonde cheerleader daughter in Costa Verde. She was almost ashamed at how dumb her old boss was. Since when had hiding in plain sight ever worked?
Elle stood in front of the “Butler” house, all of the windows dark given the late hour, and she sighed. Reaching into her pocket, she removed her new phone and hit the first speed dial on her list.
“Yes?”
“You were right,” Elle purred, beginning to walk down the sidewalk away from the house. “They’re where you thought they’d be.”
“And Peter?”
“Surveillance detail says that he left around midnight and checked into the hotel where Nathan’s staying. There are two tickets in their names at the airport to return to New York tomorrow.”
“Claire?”
“No ticket and I’m willing to bet that Noah’s…unwilling to let her take up the good fight.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think that Claire Bennet’s a real threat at the current moment in time. I could reassess later. In the meantime, we could…take her in, see how that power of hers works.”
“No,” her boss stated firmly. “Leave the girl alone. As long as they come back to New York without her, there’s no reason to interfere.”
“Going soft in your old age?” Elle mocked.
“Even I have a limit to the amount of evil I will inflict upon my family.” Angela Petrelli sighed heavily before adding, “And the girl is family.”
“Isn’t that the whole problem?”
“Come back to New York,” Angela ordered, “and we’ll start the search again.”
* * *
LAX was loud, busy, and impersonal, which made it ideal to blend in, or, at least, that’s what Noah said. Personally, Peter hated it, and, from the way that Claire looked, so did she. Nathan, used to the hustle and bustle, seemed unbothered by it, as did Noah, but Peter was beginning to believe that nothing ever phased Noah.
He hadn’t slept all night, remembering Claire’s pleas and the feel of her against him. She was right; he knew that she was and he knew that he couldn’t do anything about it. Noah Bennet was not going to forfeit his daughter to their cause, and legally, they couldn’t make him. Besides, the Petrelli family was no place for Claire; she hadn’t spent her life being schooled in deception and manipulation enough to survive.
When they reached the gate to board, Nathan, who had shaved that atrocious beard off, looked awkwardly at Claire, who seemed to be so small inside the giant, shapeless sweater she wore. “Well…it was nice seeing you again.”
She absently nodded. “I didn’t even jump out of a building this time.”
Nathan cracked a smile, surprising her, before awkwardly extending his hand. She took it, her hand being dwarfed by his, and Nathan stated, “You should call me sometime; we’ll talk.”
“Sure.”
“I mean, if it’s okay with your dad.”
Noah nodded, his face grim. “That’s up to Claire.”
As they pulled apart, Claire’s eyes automatically wandered to Peter. Neither was sure how to proceed, and the silence was bordering on unbearable. Finally, Claire stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and burrowing her face in his chest. He instinctively molded to fit her and felt his heart break at the heat of her tears against his skin.
“I’m not going away forever,” he promised. “When things calm down, you can come visit.”
She pulled back, wiping her cheeks, and she countered, “Don’t you mean when things go to hell?”
“I’ll be back for you,” he swore, lowering his voice so that his brother couldn’t hear. “You just need to be strong and stick it out a little longer.”
“You know that I’m right. Besides, I want…” She broke off before mentally stating I want to be with you. I know that it’s wrong, but you can’t tell me that last night didn’t mean something. I know that it did and I know that you love me too.
“It’s not a question of that,” he stated aloud.
Then tell me what’s going on, Peter! I know that you’re hiding something!
“I will eventually. Just promise me that you’re going to stay beneath the radar.”
“Alright.”
“And if a blonde woman ever comes for you, you need to get as far away as you can and then call me immediately.”
“Elle?”
He nodded. “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her. Promise me you’ll stay safe.”
“You first.”
He smiled that crooked smile that made her heart ache before swearing so softly that she almost missed it, “I won’t do anything that will ever make you hurt again, okay?”
Swallowing back more tears, Claire stood on her tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek, wishing that she could take his mouth, wishing for a million things that would never happen. When she pulled back, she declared, “You better get on the plane.”
As she watched the Petrelli men-her father and uncle-board the plane, Claire glanced up at her father, who was still scowling. It wasn’t until they began to leave the airport that Claire noticed the blonde woman near the entrance wearing huge sunglasses and impossibly high heels. Claire felt a tug of nervousness that exploded into full blown terror as the woman lowered her sunglasses and winked at her. Claire had no doubt that this was Elle, but she wasn’t going to get scared.
She was done being afraid; if the Company wanted her, they had better be prepared for a fight.
* * *
Peter was staring aimlessly out the window as the pilot spoke when he reached into his pockets. When he encountered a tightly folded note with his name written on it, he chuckled, carefully undoing each of the precise folds.
Dear Peter,
You fill so many roles in my life: my uncle, my friend, my hero, and, after last night, my lover. I keep trying to figure out how to make all of them fit together, but they don’t and they never will. I’m not stupid; I know the reality of this situation. There will be no happy ending for us, and we both lie to each other so that the other thinks that there will be. I love you even more for that.
A war is coming, and we both know it. My dad’s never going to let me go; whether I’m sixteen, eighteen, or eighty, I am never going to be able to be free of this. Sylar is going to come back and Molly says there’s someone even worse out there. You know that I was right last night; if I wasn’t supposed to help, why would Hiro have sent you to me?
I’m done waiting for my life to happen. You were right; I have to start living my life. I started last night, whether you know it or not.
Last night was the best night of my life. For all of the craziness and the crap, spending last night with you, being touched by you and touching you…it was the first time I’ve ever felt complete. You make me complete, Peter, and I already feel like I’m losing part of myself when you’re gone.
I am going to help you take down Sylar even if I have to do it from freaking Costa Verde, but I am not going to stop loving you. Maybe it is wrong; maybe we’re freaks or criminals but I don’t care. We both should be dead right now, and we’re not, and I refuse to believe that we were given this gift and given someone to share it with and then be denied that person. No one will ever understand us; most of the time, I don’t even understand us, but I don’t care.
Be careful in New York. Truth Matt and Mohinder; be careful how much you trust Nathan with; never trust your mother or my father. If you get into trouble, all you have to do is call. It’s about damn time that I can be your hero.
Love forever and always,
Claire
“What’s that?” Nathan queried, seeing the piece of loose leaf that Peter was carefully refolding to put back into his pocket.
Peter shrugged, trying to be nonchalant and knowing he was failing badly. “Just a goodbye letter from Claire.”
Nathan pretended that he believed him; it was the smallest act of kindness that he could offer the brother that he had placed on the chopping block and the daughter that he had denied.