Letters to My Uncle (1/2)
Title: Letters to my Uncle (1/2)
Author: lit_chick08
Rating: PG-13 (this part) for language, a little violence, and suggestiveness
Pairing: Paire
Word Count: 11,210
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: This popped into my head during class and needed to get out before I can finish up “Ring of Fire”. Feedback and concrit is appreciated. As usual, un-betaed.
AN/2: This was only supposed to be a quick one-shot…clearly, I can’t do that. The next part should be up soonish.
Playing pretend had never been a game Claire had enjoyed even as a child. She had liked who she was in Texas, before her powers and Sylar; she had liked being Claire Bennet. It seemed to her as if she had been a thousand people since then: the cheerleader, Nathan Petrelli’s illegitimate daughter, the only hope for New York City, Peter Petrelli’s niece…But she didn’t think about Peter; if she did, she’d stop functioning.
Costa Verde was nothing like Odessa and that helped her become this new girl, the unremarkable Claire Butler who never volunteered for class, had no interest in extracurricular activities, and was scoffed at by most of her fellow eleventh graders. The only one who ever showed the slightest bit of interest in her was West, who was odd in his own way but whose long brown hair when glimpsed out of the corner of her eye let her pretend that it was someone else.
In retrospect, she saw that it was her complete disconnection from the Costa Verde high school population that led her to be flagged for the guidance counselor. Apparently, a concerned teacher thought that she was depressed and referred her for counseling.
The counselor, Miss Barry’s, office was bright and decorated with pictures of beach scenes; the scent of sandalwood emanated from the air freshener on the windowsill. Miss Barry, from Claire’s visual assessment, was maybe twenty-five, and she struck Claire as the type of girl in high school that was involved in every activity and baked cookies for her friends. In her red polka dot dress and curly black hair, she looked like Minnie Mouse brought to life.
“Hi, Claire, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” she mumbled, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
“The reason I called you in is because some of your teachers are worried that you’re a little…withdrawn.”
“I’m just trying to get used to everything, I guess.”
“Your math teacher said that you seem sad in class.”
Twisting her mouth into the charming half-smile she had seen Nathan use on her, she quipped, “Wouldn’t you be sad in first period trig?”
Miss Barry echoed her smile, but Claire could tell it wasn’t because she agreed with her. “Your English teacher said that you fell asleep in class and when she woke you up, you said ‘Peter, don’t.’”
Claire couldn’t help but flinch at the sound of his name. She never said it, even during those late night calls to Nathan that brought her no solace, and her father didn’t mention anyone of the Petrelli bloodline, especially the one who was presumed dead.
In a much gentler tone, Miss Barry began, “Claire, if someone is hurting you-“
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” When she didn’t immediately say anything, she added, “Anything you say here will stay completely confidential. You seem like a great girl, but I think there’s something heavy on your heart that you need to let out. I promise that, whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve heard it before.”
“I highly doubt that.”
She smiled. “You’d be surprised. Why don’t we start small and you tell me who Peter is?”
She didn’t want to talk to this woman, but she couldn’t…Her heart ached every second of every day with holding in this pain. Nathan wouldn’t talk to her; her father didn’t want to hear about it; no one else would ever understand. She didn’t have to tell this stranger every detail, but she needed to get something out before she exploded.
“Peter is…was my uncle. He died four months ago.”
Miss Barry’s face folded in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. You were close?”
Averting her gaze so that she couldn’t see the tears in her eyes, Claire began, “We were just really getting to know each other. He was…I’m adopted, and I had just met my birth family, and he was my real dad’s little brother. I didn’t really get along with my dad or my grandma, but Peter was…different.”
“Different how?”
“He was the only one who ever acted like what I wanted mattered. He would really listen when I talked and he never treated me like I was a kid. When things got…crazy earlier this year, he was…It sounds really lame, but he was my hero.”
“How did he pass?”
Unsure how to answer, Claire finally decided upon the way she viewed it, the description she would never give to either of her fathers. “He was murdered by my grandmother, his mom.”
Miss Barry gasped, bringing her hands to cover her mouth. “Oh my God, Claire, that’s terrible! No wonder you’re having a hard time! Have you talked to anyone about it?”
She shook her head, her golden hair falling into her face. “My dad thinks I’m over it, and my real dad…he’s kind of a drunk now. And besides, I don’t…I never know what to say even if they did want to listen.”
“Maybe it would help to write it down.”
“What?”
Reaching into the cabinet behind her, Miss Barry removed a black composition notebook. She extended it to Claire, who took it in confusion. “I think it would be a good idea if you wrote Peter a letter. Write down everything you wish you could say to him and wish that you had said to him.”
“Write Peter a letter?”
“It can be as long or as short as you want it to be, and no one will ever read it but you. But I think it would definitely help you to get your feelings out where you can see them. Let’s meet again in, say, two weeks, and we’ll talk about it.”
“Um…okay.”
As Claire left the office, she knew that she’d have to keep this notebook on her at all times. After all, whether he knew she knew it or not, her father kept searching her room to make sure that she wasn’t contacting Nathan.
* * *
Cork, Ireland
He didn’t know who he was, where he came from, or what had brought him to be handcuffed in a shipping crate in Ireland. There were many things that the man that those who had found him had christened Tommy did not know about himself but there were things that he did know with absolute certainty. He had started to make a list in his head of what he had deducted about himself in hopes that it would trigger something in his subconscious.
He liked Italian food, especially lasagna. He knew how to bandage a wound no matter how bad it was. He knew how to make electricity come from his hands. And he knew how to draw and paint.
It was the artistic talent that had surprised him. He had been sitting at the table one night with some of the guys from the gang-even in his current state, he recognized what they were-and had been doodling on a pad when one of the guys had said something. Glancing down, he realized he had drawn a beautiful young woman crying, a gun held tightly in her hand, a tall building behind her.
“Who’s that?” the man named Seamus had queried.
“I have no idea.”
She kept popping up in his drawings: crying, smiling, covered in blood, standing with unfamiliar men. Sometimes, he tried to conjure up a name for this mystery woman, this woman that he felt such a strong tie to. Was she his girlfriend? His wife? Whoever she was, he was certain that he missed her even without knowing who she was.
Hannah, the sister of the leader of the gang, had become particularly interested in his drawings. Even in his amnesiac state, he knew that Hannah was attracted to him, and he could admit that she was beautiful. To any other man, the idea that Hannah wanted to be with them was enough to make them happy, but he could not escape the blonde woman that danced in his head.
The symbol around his neck mocked him. Like the blonde woman, it tugged at his memory, encouraging him to remember, but the memory danced away from him, like trying to catch mist in his hands. Ian, the man in charge, had tried to take it off of him once, but he had shocked him in order to keep it.
He had no idea why he could shock people; he didn’t know what brought it forth or what made it go away, but it wasn’t normal. Ian liked it; he wanted him to use it on jobs to show his gratitude for Ian and his boys taking him out of that shipping crate. He had bargained instead, trading his medical skills for room and board.
On nights like tonight when the gang was going to commit a somewhat dangerous offense, it was his responsibility to stay alert and be prepared to take care of whatever injury they returned with. Hannah usually stayed with him, but tonight she was babysitting for her sister, so he sat alone, sketching.
It was shortly before midnight when he heard someone knocking on the door. Visitors were a rarity, especially this late at night, and so he proceeded with caution as he opened the door.
The woman standing on the doorstep was petite, blonde, and poured into cerulean colored top. She grinned at the sight of him before declaring, “You’re an awfully hard man to keep a hold of, Peter Petrelli.”
Before he could reply, the pixie of a girl shocked him, sending electricity straight into his heart, sending him into unconsciousness.
* * *
Dear Peter,
Ever since Miss Barry said I should write you a letter, I’ve been trying to figure out what I’d say to you if I could. So, I guess, the most important thing I want to say to you is this: I wish I would’ve shot you.
I’ve been thinking about this ever since that day in November, and all I can think is that, if I had just shot you when you started to glow, it would have killed you and your powers would’ve stopped. You wouldn’t have died because you have my power, and you still wouldn’t have blown up. If I had just done that, Nathan wouldn’t have had to fly you up into the sky and leave you like you asked him to, and you wouldn’t be dead.
I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to shoot you.
Love,
Claire
* * *
“You’re awfully quiet today, Claire,” Noah Bennet stated as they drove home from the grocery store. Sandra had sent him on a mission to get the necessary ingredients for stir fry and Claire, who had been moping around the house, had been enlisted into going with him.
“A lot on my mind.”
“How’s school going?”
“Well, none of my teachers could pick me out of a lineup, I have no friends, and I have no activities to do. It’s like I’m a ghost.”
Hearing the displeasure in her voice, Noah began, “Now, Claire, you understand that-“
“I understand,” she interrupted, continuing to stare out the window. “I understand that we have to hide from the Company; I understand that I can’t be remarkable; I understand that you’re doing this for all of us.”
“And yet you sound like you’re very resentful of all of this.”
“What do you want me to do?” she asked helplessly. “I never wanted this! I want to go home, Dad. I want to go back to Odessa and Zach and cheerleading.”
“You know that’s not possible.”
Taking a deep breath, she challenged, “And if I want to go back to New York?”
Noah said nothing, pulling the car into one of the numerous gas stations along the highway. Turning to face her, he asked, “What’s going on, Claire? I know you don’t want to go back to Angela or Nathan Petrelli.”
“I’m sick of hiding. I’m sick of not being able to be who I am. I’m sick…I’m sick of pretending that Kirby Plaza never happened.”
“Sweetheart, Sylar’s not coming back.”
“Yeah, and neither is Peter.”
The name hung thickly in the air, and Noah sighed, sitting back into his seat. Peter Petrelli had been the elephant in the room for them for the past four months, and Noah had been hoping she would deal with the loss in her own way. He was grateful to Peter for protecting her the way that he had, but he was also glad that someone who was as large of a threat as he was to everyone’s existence was gone. Peter Petrelli had been a good man, but his power was far too unstable to ever be trusted.
“Claire, I understand that you miss him, and that’s fine. But you have to start getting over it. You barely knew him.”
Claire closed her eyes to keep the tears from rushing out and she just nodded. When the car started again, she vowed that she would never say his name in front of her father ever again.
* * *
Dear Peter,
Today, my dad told me that I barely knew you, and maybe he’s right. We didn’t know each other for a long time, but I feel like I do know a lot about you. So I decided to make a list of all the things I know about you.
1) Your favorite color is black; you told me that day I wore the black sweater
2) You always drive 5 miles over the speed limit because you said it’s still faster than usual but not fast enough to get pulled over
3) You always smell like cedar and mouthwash
4) You always wipe away my tears because you can’t stand to see me cry
5) You give good hugs, especially when I start to spiral out of control like I did after Sylar killed Ted
6) Your lips are soft when you kiss me on the forehead
7) When you’re invisible, you like to mess with people to make me smile
8) Your instincts are always right about people, even Nathan
9) You have the best smile
10) You never judge anyone, even me, even when I’m scared
Love,
Claire
* * *
”Do you really think that we’re going to live?”
Peter turned to stare at the blonde teenager in the passenger’s seat, anxiously wringing her hands. “Of course I do.”
“How do you know?”
“Because all we have to do is get out of New York, and I can’t destroy it.”
“And Sylar? He’s not going to go away.”
“Claire-“
“I’m scared, Peter,” she confessed, her lower lip trembling. “I’m so scared.”
As traffic slowed to a halt, Peter turned to face her. Gently, he cupped her cheek and brought her face closer to his own. They were separated by mere inches, and Peter breathed against her face, “I swear to you that we are going to be fine. I will not let anything happen to you, Claire.”
She stared at him with her big, tearful eyes and whispered, “You really are my hero, you know that?”
Without thinking, he moved to kiss her; it was only as their lips were about to touch that he remembered that this beautiful girl wasn’t just the woman that he felt inexplicably connected to but his niece. Quickly, he changed the trajectory of his lips, brushing them against her forehead.
“I wonder what the holdup is,” he said, moving to get out of the car.
The shock of cold water against his bare skin was enough to tear Peter out of his slumber. When his eyes focused, he realized that he was, once again, chained up, though this time it was to a chair in an empty room. The blonde was there and she was talking to a tall, black man who moved with an unsettling grace.
“Who are you?!” he shouted. “Where am I?!”
The blonde turned her head to look at him and patronizingly replied, “It’s not polite to interrupt.”
“What’s going on?!” He began to rattle the chains angrily in an attempt to free himself, and he recoiled when the blonde sent a small jolt of electricity through the metal.
“You know, I wouldn’t have to chain you up if you hadn’t abused my hospitality and tried to hulk smash me in LA. Sit and be quiet like a good little boy and I’ll try to get you your memory back.”
“It was not supposed to be like this,” the man stated in an accented voice.
The blonde’s eyes turned cold as she drawled, “Suddenly you’re developing a conscious?”
“You said that this would not be something evil.”
“Funny how your morals on good and evil didn’t play a part when your boss bagged and tagged me when I was in diapers.” She moved away from the man, going to a table in the corner and removing a syringe.
“Elle-“
“Your job and your loyalty are to the Company,” she reminded him, tapping the air bubble out of the needle. “Now, if you have some sort of problem with what we’re doing, I suggest you take it up with the Board.”
When he offered no reply, the woman-Elle-bent down beside the mildly struggling Peter. “Here’s the deal, bud: I’m going to give you a shot of this nice, mild sedative so that our Haitian friend here can repair the damage to your memory that some of that electricity did. When you remember who you are, we’re gonna have a nice, long chat about what happened that night in New York. If you try to use any of those borrowed powers of yours, I’m going to keep frying you until those regenerative powers of yours give out completely and your little mushroom cloud will be a pleasant memory. Do we have a deal?”
Despite having no idea what she was talking about, he gritted his teeth and nodded.
She grinned, suddenly looking like a California-blonde teenager. “Good. This’ll only sting a bit.”
As Elle injected him with the sedative, all he kept repeating to himself was My name is Peter Petrelli. My name is Peter Petrelli.
* * *
Dear Peter,
I joined the cheerleading squad today. It totally pissed off my dad, but I told him that if I kept trying to just float by after being on Miss Barry’s radar, it would just draw more attention to me. West thinks I sold out. Have I told you about West yet? He’s this guy in my classes, and I’m pretty sure he has a crush on me. He’s not bad looking and he’s nice; I doubt he has any date-rape tendencies like my last foray into romance. West seems like a nice, solid guy, and maybe it wouldn’t be terrible to actually do something normal instead of just pretending to.
I called Nathan again today. I can’t call him on my cell anymore ever since my mom got the bill and saw the New York numbers, so I’ve been convincing this girl in my Spanish class to let me use her phone. She’s under the impression that Nathan’s a guy I’m forbidden to date and therefore is helping me indulge in some Romeo and Juliet escapades.
He was at your apartment again and also drunk. He’s hardly ever sober anymore. I wish that I could just chalk it up to karma, but he isn’t so bad. You were right about him; you were always right about people. If I was a good judge of people, I wouldn’t have to worry so much.
I was thinking about Ted last night. I keep wondering what would’ve happened if Sylar hadn’t killed him. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have to go through life knowing that your power killed the person you loved. I’ve also been wondering if I’ll ever actually die. If my body fixes every kind of damage, doesn’t that make me immortal?
I wish that I could talk to someone like me again. As crazy as it was towards the end, knowing that there were more of us made me feel so safe and less lonely. Dad won’t tell me anything about everyone that was at the plaza that night; the only thing he told me is that Officer Parkman lived and DL, the guy with Niki and the two kids, didn’t.
Is it terrible that I keep wishing that Hiro Nakamura would come and tell me that it’s my turn to save the world all over again? If it weren’t for him-well, Future Hiro-we never would’ve met. Even though you’re gone now, I’m glad we met.
Love always,
Claire
* * *
“Claire.”
It was the first word out of Peter’s mouth when he regained consciousness and his memory, and it made Elle’s lips twist into a caricature of a smile. As an operative for the Company, she had been well-informed about the players in the game, and a good section of Peter Petrelli’s file had been dedicated to the Texas cheerleader.
Claire Bennet, biological child of Nathan Petrelli and Meredith Gordon, had been adopted by Noah Bennet, one of the main bag-and-taggers of the Company. She could regenerate any injury, and the Company was intensely interested in studying her power further. She had gone off the grid following the Kirby Plaza catastrophe, and, with little Molly temporarily out of commission as long as they were trying to court Dr. Suresh, locating her was increasingly difficult. Elle knew that Peter’s mission had been to save the cheerleader in order to save the world; what she didn’t know was how much information he’d be willing to trade in order to protect his niece.
“And the memory returns.” Straddling a chair backwards, she confided, “I was a little unsure that the Haitian would be able to do it. I mean, all of our powers have limitations.”
When his eyes focused and he saw who was addressing him, he spat, “Elle.”
“Is that any way to greet your savior?”
“Savior?” He coughed. “You electrocuted me until I died, waited until I came back to life, and then started over again.”
“And the Company wanted to kill you completely because you weren’t of any use to us. I risked a huge chunk of my reputation to save your wimpy ass, Peter, so I’d expect a little gratitude. After all, I could’ve left you in the middle of Ireland, patching up bullet holes on a bunch of thugs. Is that what you want?”
“Perhaps you could unchain him as a sign of good faith,” the Haitian suggested from his place in the shadowed corner.
“The last time I unchained him, he nearly put me through a wall.”
“At least I didn’t nuke you.”
Elle glared hatefully before stating, “I don’t want to waste any more time on you than I have to. The world thinks you’re dead, and I could make you that way if I really wanted to. Just tell me what I want to know about that night, and you can walk out of here free and clear.”
“You mean to tell me that the Company doesn’t want me?”
“I have explicit orders from the Board that, if you’re ever found alive, you are to be returned to your life as you left it.”
“If the Board’s in charge of the Company, why am I here now?”
Leaning in closely, she confided, “Because we don’t want you. Don’t you get it, Peter? This whole thing was never about you.”
“Claire?”
Elle rolled her eyes, getting to her feet. “We don’t want your silly little niece either. The only one we’ve ever wanted was Gabriel Gray. I believe you knew him as Sylar.”
“Sylar’s dead.”
“No, Sylar’s missing. We need to know what happened to him so that we can find him and eliminate him. If you tell me that, the Haitian will unlock you and give you cab fare back to your mother, brother, and coordination challenged niece. So what’s it gonna be, Pete?”
* * *
Claire detested Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t because she didn’t have a boyfriend or because of the fakeness of it; no, she hated Valentine’s Day because of girls like Casey, the cheerleading squad captain who apparently had been reincarnated with the soul of Jackie.
As they all stood around the volleyball nets, Casey was regaling them with tales of her college boyfriend, the infamous Tad, who had rented a hotel room for them in celebration of this Hallmark occasion. This wouldn’t have been too terrible if not for the fact that Tad had once dated Lena, another cheerleader, who was not taking his dumping her for her friend very well.
It was during her dissertation on why Tad was totally going to give her a promise ring that Claire had enough and blurted out, “Could you just shut up already?”
Casey froze mid-sentence in complete shock. Doing the slow turn that was usually reserved for Lindsay Lohan movies, she drawled, “Excuse me?!”
“Maybe not everyone wants to hear about Tad.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Does poor Claire not want to focus on the fact that she’s so pathetic no one but the freak wants to date her?”
West, who was on the other side of the net, pondered aloud, “Should I be insulted?”
“Maybe my entire life doesn’t revolve around who’s getting into my pants.”
“Maybe that’s ‘cause the only person who is, is you.”
The sound of a shrill whistle blew, announcing for everyone to get changed for their next class, and Claire was left glaring after her, wishing she had decked her the same way she had Jackie six months before.
* * *
Dear Peter,
That first night we met, you told me that it gets better after high school. Well, it better or else I’m going to cut my own head open. I hope you’re as right about that as you were everything else.
I miss you.
Claire
* * *
Claire found West waiting for her outside of eighth period, waving a small blue pompom that they had given out at the pep rally following gym. She smiled weakly before asking, “Found your school spirit?”
“No, I think that’s with my understanding of football. I thought you might want an escort.”
“Why?”
“Casey and her cronies hold court on game days like this; they’re standing between you and the parking lot. And, while nothing made my day more than watching you call her out in gym today, Casey is not going to let you slide by undisturbed.”
“Geez, whatever happened to cheerleader loyalty?” she grumbled, shoving her books into her locker.
As she fell into step beside him, she felt something tugging at her senses. It wasn’t a feeling of fear or panic, but as if something familiar was about to happen. Because of this, she didn’t realize West was speaking until he asked, “So what do you think?”
“Huh? About what?”
A charming smile on his face, he brandished a chocolate rose from behind his back and repeated, “Be my valentine?”
Before she could reply, Casey, who was standing in a throng of basketball players and cheerleaders, loudly ordered, “Oh, look! It’s a geek mating ritual!”
West, usually unflappable, flushed lightly but Claire wasn’t embarrassed. No, she wasn’t even angry because she was convinced that she was having a nervous breakdown. Her sole reasoning for this was the hallucination that was standing on the edge of the campus, a hallucination that met her gaze, raised his hand in a wave, and smiled in that crooked way that had melted her heart at Homecoming.
“Peter!” she gasped, breaking out into a run, moving faster than she ever had in her life to reach the man she thought was dead.
Peter didn’t stopped moving towards her, planting his feet in order to take the impact of her hurtling herself at him. He caught her easily around the waist as she flung her arms around his neck and began to cry tears of joy and relief against his chest. One of his hands began to pet her straightened hair in comfort as his other reached up and gently began to wipe at her tears.
“How-I thought-Nathan said-“
“Shhh. I’ll explain it later.”
She nodded, hugging him again, tighter than before, her tears still falling. As he returned the embrace, whispering comforting nothings into her hair, Lena declared to a stunned Casey, “He is so much hotter than Tad.”
* * *
When Noah Bennet came home from his job at the copy shop from hell, he had been expecting Sandra to be making dinner, Lyle to be complaining about his Internet connection, and Claire to be listlessly lying around the house in her permanent funk. What he had not been expecting was to find a presumed dead Peter Petrelli to be sitting on his couch, Claire all but curled up next to him, entertaining Sandra with stories.
“Noah!” Sandra cried at the sight of him. “You have got to come on in here and see the miracle that happened. You remember Claire’s uncle, Peter, right?”
Still in shock, he nodded. “It’s nice to see you again, Peter.”
“You, too, sir.”
“I was under the impression that you…well, that you had…”
“The Company was holding him,” Claire volunteered. “He had to trade information about Sylar to get out.”
“Let’s not talk about that now,” Sandra stated firmly. She hated this talk of powers and the Company; she preferred to live in her special world of denial. “I think now is a time of celebration. It’s not often we have one of Claire’s…other family members here.”
“Thank God for that,” Claire mumbled under her breath.
“What’s your favorite meal, Peter? I’m gonna whip it up, whatever it is.”
“Oh, you don’t have to-“
“No, no, I insist. You are a guest in our home, and you deserve a good meal. Now, what’s your favorite?”
“Pasta, I guess.”
“Well, then, I’m gonna go get that started. Claire, why don’t you take Peter up to the guest room to get settled in? I’m sure you had a long flight from New York.”
“Peter’s staying with us?” Noah queried.
“Of course he is! After everything he’s done for our Claire, he’s one of the family now. You two, go scoot. I’m sure y’all got lots to talk about while your dad and I make supper.”
Claire took Peter’s hand, leading him up the stairs, her blue cheerleading skirt flipping with every step, and Peter spared only one glance over his shoulder at Noah. Noah was sure that Peter could read his thoughts, and he was glad for it; he wanted Peter to know that he didn’t trust him yet.
* * *
“This is the guest room,” Claire stated unnecessarily. “Sorry about all the flowers and ruffles. Once Mom gets a theme in her head, it tends to take over.”
“It’s nice,” he lied. “I don’t think I’ve had enough lacy floral patterns in my life.” At her smile, he added, “She seems really nice.”
“She is. When everything was happening in Odessa, she was the one person who I never had to worry about.” Taking a seat on the thick mattress, she asked, “What did Nathan and Angela say when they saw you?”
He shrugged, sitting back against the headboard. “I haven’t seen them yet.”
“What? Why not?”
“When Elle let me go and I realized that Sylar was still out there, I asked the Haitian where you were; I figured he kept in touch with Bennet. He said Costa Verde, so I used Hiro’s power, and here I am.”
“You have to, at least, call Nathan! He’s been a wreck since you-since that day. He resigned his office before he ever got in, Heidi left him, and he’s been drunk every day since! Call him right now!”
Guilt twisted in Peter’s gut as he accepted Claire’s pink cell phone. “Since when do you care about Nathan?” he asked with no malice in his voice.
Getting to her feet, she replied, “Since he was the last tie I had to you.”
Peter met her gaze steadily, and Claire felt the same heat start inside of her that she had felt in Odessa, in New York. It always happened when he looked at her like that, in the way that made her forget that he was her uncle and she was his niece and that this was not going to end up happily ever after.
Taking a chance, she whispered, “I missed you.”
Before he could answer, she hurried out the door, closing it to give him privacy.
* * *
Dear Peter,
You are not dead; in fact, you are at the other end of the hall, in our guest room, talking to your brother, my biological father, on my cell phone. However, I am still going to write this letter because I still have things I need to say to you. And right now, what I need to say, is that, sometimes, I wish you weren’t my uncle. In fact, I have a list of times when I especially wish you weren’t.
1) That night we ran into each other in my school before Sylar killed Jackie. This might seem silly because I didn’t know that we were related then, but, considering the thoughts I was thinking about you that night, I feel as if it should be on the list. This, of course, relates directly to number 2.
2) That day in the Odessa County Jail when I came to thank you for saving my life and rejoice in the fact that you, too, are a freak. Sometimes I like to think that if my dad hadn’t been there and I hadn’t been convinced that you totally would’ve laughed at me, I might’ve kissed you.
3) The day that I pulled the glass out of your head and brought you back to life. When I saw you dead on the couch, I felt like my heart had stopped. It was bad enough that I was thrust into this family that I didn’t know, but to know that you were the only good part of it and now were dead almost killed me. When you woke up and you wiped away my tear, I really wished I could’ve welcomed you back to life properly.
4) The day in Kirby Plaza when I told you how scared I was and you, again, wiped away my tears. You didn’t do it like you were my uncle, and you weren’t looking at me like you were my uncle, and I really wanted you to do something pretty un-uncle-like that day.
5) That night in the car before we found out that Sylar had killed Ted and you promised to protect me. I thought you were going to kiss me; I was pretty disappointed when you didn’t.
Maybe all of this makes me a giant, Deliverance kind of freak, but I can’t help it. There’s this part of me that hates the fact that the one guy that I feel like I could really fall in love with is actually my uncle. As if the universe hadn’t screwed us enough, did they really have to do this on top of it?
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say this out loud, so I’m just going to write it now: I love you.
Claire
* * *
It was the most awkward dinner that Peter could ever remember having, and he was including the dinner that he had attended where his father, mother, and his father’s mistress had been present. The awkwardness didn’t stem from any rudeness on any of the Bennets/Butlers part, but more from the fact that he realized just how little he actually knew about Claire’s life pre-Homecoming. All of the details that he had filed away in his mind about his illegitimate niece were either trivial, like her love of Swedish fish, or deeply personal, like her guilt for her family losing their house; he was embarrassed to realize that, until he had shown up at her school today, he hadn’t even known that she had a little brother.
Lyle was actually the least intimidating member of Claire’s family. Part of that could have been because he was a rather disinterested fifteen-year-old boy, but he was also equal parts interested in what Peter could do. He had all but demanded to see Peter do something cool with his powers, apparently having lost interest in Claire’s regenerative properties, and, just as Noah was chastening him, Peter had become invisible and then reappeared, thereby earning him the approval of Claire’s brother.
Sandra was welcoming, asking polite questions about Peter’s childhood and his career. He noticed that she was drinking heavily from the bottle of wine on the table, and he couldn’t blame her; if he had been through what this family had in the past six months, he would’ve been hitting the bottle too.
Noah was quiet, and, while he didn’t say or do anything inappropriate, Peter couldn’t help but feel unwelcome by him. He understood it; from what Claire had described, he had gone through great lengths to hide from the Company and his sudden reappearance in Claire’s life could put them directly into their sights once again. Peter didn’t believe that Noah disliked him, but he was certain that he hated every threat that Peter seemed to represent.
Claire sat beside him at dinner, her eyes focused on her plate, saying very little, and, though Peter hated to do it, he briefly used Matt’s power to see what was going on in her head.
Why did I say that? I’m so stupid! “I missed you?” Gee, why not just fasten a big I’m a needy mess sandwich board around me?
When dinner was over and Sandra cleared the table, refusing to let him help, Noah asked to speak to him about what had happened in the past four months. Claire, who was helping her mother, disappeared into the kitchen, and Peter sighed, wishing he could just get done with this so that he could talk to her.
* * *
“Peter seems like a very nice man,” Sandra stated as she washed the dishes before handing them to Claire to dry and put away.
“He is.”
“I gotta admit, sweetie, that the stories I’ve heard about your birth family made me awful nervous.”
“Peter’s not like them.”
“He’s got a good heart about him, you can just tell. He sure did seem real worried about you. I’m glad that he’s back. I know you’ve been missing him something fierce.”
Claire nodded, blowing a piece of hair away from her face. “He just has a way of…calming you down, you know?”
“I could see that. It’s good to have a person in your life like that. You’re lucky he’s so close to your age; all my uncles always seemed like such old men.”
Claire’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. “I don’t…really think of Peter as my uncle. He’s more like a friend.”
Sandra studied her daughter out of the corner of her eye carefully before declaring, “Why don’t you go rescue Peter from your dad?”
Claire nodded, wiping her hands and leaving the kitchen. Sandra stared after her, her heart full of sadness for her daughter who was so clearly in love with her uncle.
* * *
“So Nathan’s coming?” Claire queried as she sat on the swing hanging from a tree in their backyard, slowly twisting and untwisting the ropes as she spun.
Peter, who was leaning against the tree, nodded. “I told him not to but-“
“But since when has Nathan ever listened to you,” she completed. After a beat, she asked, “Is your mom coming?”
He shook his head. “I told him that if he showed up with her, I’d disappear and he’d never know where I was.”
“Good.”
Cautiously, he ventured, “She isn’t a terrible person, Claire.”
Her eyes flaring with anger, she spat, “Yeah, she just wanted you to destroy New York City for some twisted plan to make Nathan president. It practically qualifies her for sainthood.”
“She’s still my mother. You still love your dad after all of the things he’s done.”
Jumping to her feet, she insisted, “That’s different!”
“How?”
“My dad didn’t know that I was going to explode and kill millions of people, and not only did nothing to stop me, but encourage it! My dad didn’t try to send me to a different continent just so that I wouldn’t ruin his picture perfect world! My dad didn’t let me die with the hope that I’d heal! And if I had died and I went to see Nathan to find out what happened, my dad wouldn’t have told you that it was none of your business because it was all your fault!”
“What?” Peter gasped.
Tears streaming down her face, “She told me that if I hadn’t almost gotten killed in Texas, if I had just stayed away from you and hadn’t come to New York that you would’ve fulfilled your destiny to murder people and would’ve lived! She said it was my fault that you were dead!”
Peter pulled her tightly to his chest as she sobbed out her frustration and pain of the last four months. As she cried, he firmly stated, “None of this was ever your fault. What happened did not happen because of anything you did. You’re the only good thing that came out of this whole mess.” Pulling back, cupping her face between his two hands, he ordered, “Look at me.” Locking eyes with her, he declared, “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are the only person in this world that I trust unconditionally. I don’t want you to ever think that I regret anything as far as you’re concerned.”
“I just feel like-like everything and everyone I touch gets hurt-“
Taking her hand, he pressed it against his chest. “Do I feel hurt to you?”
Claire felt the steady rhythm of his heart against her palm, and, unintentionally, her fingers flexed, stroking the firm muscle that now formed his chest. Peter shivered from the touch, and, when Claire met his gaze again, there was something new in her eyes, an unspoken desire that Peter knew existed in him as well.
“I missed you too,” he breathed and Claire felt a lump form in her throat.
Claire lifted her face towards his tentatively, waiting to see what would happen, terrified of what would or wouldn’t occur, and, when Peter slowly inclined his head, Claire felt her heart begin to beat wildly in her chest.
Just as their lips were about to meet, Sandra yelled from inside the house, “Claire, West is on the phone!”
Breaking away, shame and guilt filling her face with color, Claire mumbled something before rushing into the house, leaving a confused and ashamed Peter aroused and confused in the backyard.
* * *
Dear Peter,
We can never kiss. I know that. On the list of things that I know, I know that we can never kiss or do anything that I want to do with you. I know this.
But it doesn’t make it easier and doesn’t make me not want to do it.
And I really want to do it.
Claire
* * *
“How’s West?”
Claire jumped, spinning around to face her father, who was leaning against the archway of the living room, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“He’s fine.”
“What did he want?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Just wanted to talk, I guess.”
As she tried to brush past him, he gently caught her upper arm, stilling her. “Claire, I know that you’re excited that Peter’s back, but you can’t forget what’s at stake here.”
“I never forget. How can I when you’re constantly reminding me?”
“Claire-“
“I am the oldest sixteen-year-old in the world! All I ever do is worry about the Company and Sylar and keeping our identities secret. Do you think that you could give me a little bit of credit when I say that I know how dangerous the situation is?”
“You don’t think rationally when it comes to Peter,” he stated, ignoring her bright blush. “I think that you need to exercise a little bit of caution here.”
Jaw set, she replied, “I don’t think that this is any of your business.”
“Not my business? Claire, you are my daughter-“
“And he’s my uncle!” she exclaimed in a whisper, making sure not to disturb anyone else. “You always told me that family comes first, and I’m doing that. Could you please just leave this alone?”
When he released her arm, she hurried up the stairs, leaving a very concerned Noah in her wake.
* * *
Peter couldn’t sleep. The harder he tried, the more he tossed and turned in the flowered bed. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind that he couldn’t even begin to process; between waking up in that crate, being in Ireland, being back with Elle, and finally being here in Costa Verde, it was as if his life had become something he didn’t recognize. And what was worse was that he wanted nothing more than to curl up beside his niece and hold and be held by her.
Glancing at the bedside clock, he saw that it was nearly two in the morning. With a groan, he kicked the heavy blankets off and stepped out into the hallway. The “Butler” household was eerily still in the dark, and Peter felt very much an outsider as he walked around the house. He was half tempted to go see Claire, but he didn’t want to cross the line into being the creepy uncle on punch lines and To Catch a Predator episodes.
After doing several laps around the downstairs, he silently climbed the stairs, prepared to return to his bed when he heard the sound of whimpering coming from Claire’s room. Concerned, he quickly moved to her door and opened it to ensure that she was safe.
Claire was draped across her bed, a collection of textbooks and notebooks at the near the bottom, and she was still wearing the outfit she had changed into after coming home from school. She was clearly in the middle of a distressing dream, sweat coating her forehead as she twitched. Peter laid a hand against her shoulder, and Claire started awake, eyes wide, her fist already swinging to connect with whoever posed a threat.
Peter caught her hand easily, and, when she saw who it was, she tried to control her panicked panting. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard noises. I thought that you were in danger.”
Shaking off his hold, she mumbled, “Bad dream,” before smoothing her hair back from her face. Peter would’ve smiled at the way she did it, so similar to the way that he had done when his hair was too long, but now wasn’t the time to point out similar characteristics…familial characteristics.
“Do they happen a lot?”
Slipping out of bed towards her closet to remove her pajamas, Claire shrugged, keeping her back to him. “Enough to be a pain in the ass.”
“What-“
“Homecoming,” she cut in, clearly not wanting to discuss it. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “Do you mind? I need to change.”
Peter obediently turned his back. As he heard the sounds of clothing being removed, he began to gather up the books in an attempt to hopeful. When he heard the distinctive sound of her unfastening her bra, Peter fumbled with the books, sending them to the ground. As he bent to pick them up, he caught sight of his name in one of the notebooks. Looking closely, he realized that it was a letter addressed to him. Flipping the page, he realized that there were dozens of letters written to him, clearly with the belief that he was dead.
“I’m finished, and I have school tomorrow, so if you could…”
Without turning, Peter nodded, carefully slipping the notebook into the waistband of his pants. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Night.”
The second he returned to his room, Peter turned on the small bedside lamp and began to read the letters that were carefully written in Claire’s delicate script.
* * *
Claire was running late for school, and she was panicking. She couldn’t find her Peter notebook anywhere. If her father found it, she knew he would send Peter away; if Peter found out, she’d jam something into her brain stem herself. She was halfway under her bed, digging through the assortment of crap there when Sandra yelled for the fourth time, “Claire, you are gonna be late!”
With a growl of frustration, she slid out from under her bed and stomped downstairs. Lyle was already waiting by the door, clearly impatient, and Sandra didn’t look any happier than he did.
“It’s about time, lazy bones.”
“I know, I know. Can I have my lunch money?”
“You don’t need lunch money. It’s a half-day, remember?” Lyle asked in the scornful way that only a little brother could.
Thank you, Jesus.
* * *
Dear Peter,
Sometimes, when I think about Homecoming, all I can remember is the way that he killed Jackie. As terrible as she was to me and Zach, she was still my friend and he killed her when he wanted to kill me. The last thing she told me to do was run. Did I ever tell you that?
When I saw you go over the edge with Sylar, I thought you had died too, and I was scared that you had died because of me too. That was the worst night of my life. I mean, Kirby Plaza was bad and watching you explode was the most painful thing I’ve ever been through, but I’ve never felt as scared and helpless as I did that night.
It still amazes me that you jumped without knowing you’d heal. I know that everyone thinks it’s so cool that I heal, but getting hurt becomes something so unimportant that you forget that other people are fragile. I don’t know if I would’ve had that kind of courage, and it makes me glad to know that you do, that you care about people that much.
Love,
Claire
* * *
Forty-three.
That was how many letters Claire had written to him since his demise. Some were long, rambling apologies; others were short rants about high school and her parents. What was the worst to read were the ones that explained exactly how she felt about him, for they were the ones that tore his heart out at reading his own feelings from Claire’s perspective.
He hadn’t wanted to fall for Claire. When he had first literally run into her at Union Wells High, he had thought that she was beautiful and that, if she were a few years older, he would certainly be interested. Seeing her covered in blood that night had inspired a protective streak in him that he had never felt for anyone before, and, while strong, it certainly wasn’t attraction. It wasn’t until the next day in the jail cell that he had felt desire bloom inside of him at the sight of her easy smile and declaration that she was his hero.
When he had returned to New York and woken from his coma, all he could think of was the beautiful cheerleader that he had saved. If ever there was proof of that, it was when Claude had tossed him off of the building and his last thought had been of Claire and her sad, little smile. She had saved his life that night as much as she had in Odessa or in his mother’s parlor; Claire was always there.
The day she had pulled the shard of glass out of his head, seeing her sitting there, tears streaming down her smiling face at his revival, he had been certain that it was fate. He had felt a connection with Claire that he had never felt with anyone, and when Nathan and his mother had finished hugging him, he had turned his attention on Claire. He remembered how excited he had been, asking what she was doing here and what was going on, and he had seen her fold in on herself as Nathan and Angela explained everything.
His niece…He had fought the urge to gag as he had remembered every fantasy he had concocted starring his cheerleader, how the memory of her curves in that blue sweater had inspired him to take himself in hand more than once. To know that it was Nathan’s daughter that had been the object of his sexual fantasies had made him feel dirtier than anything else in the world.
He knew that he had not treated her like a niece in New York; he hadn’t looked at her or spoken to her the way he would have every spoken to his nephews. But the mental knowledge that Claire was his niece and the emotions he felt for her were in conflict, and so he had treated her like the girl-woman he had met in Odessa and not like the family member Angela wanted her to become.
He was unsure what to do now; did he tell Claire that he had read them and that there was no reason for her to be embarrassed? Did he pretend he had never seen them and try to avoid the tension brewing between them? He had never been good in these situations, especially when the situation involved his underage niece.
It was around noon that he heard the front door open and the sounds of Claire and Lyle returning from school. He tucked the notebook beneath his mattress and headed downstairs to intercept her; they needed to talk.
Just as Claire was closing the door, though, he caught sight of a man on the doorstep. He had a heavy beard that Peter had never seen before, and, though his clothing was expensive, it hung on him. Shock struck him as he gasped, “Nathan?”
Claire spun suddenly to see her biological father, and her jaw dropped as well.
“Peter,” he sighed, rushing through the entryway without an invitation and enveloping his little brother in his arms.
Peter met Claire’s gaze over his brother’s shoulder and he knew right then that anything he wanted to talk to her about was never going to happen now.
* * *
Claire and Lyle sat at the top of the stairs listening as the adults argued amongst themselves downstairs. Both had resented being sent away like they were children, especially Claire, but Noah had all but bellowed that they were not to be part of this conversation.
It had started the moment that Sandra realized that the stranger in her house was Claire’s birth father. Upon that realization, she had called Noah, who had immediately come home from work. By this time, Peter had been trying to diffuse the situation, explaining that Nathan had no interest in taking custody of Claire and was only there to see him. Sandra had been fine with that, stating that she would prefer then if Nathan didn’t speak with Claire. Of course, Nathan being Nathan, he had begun to insist that he had every right to speak to Claire because, technically, he had never signed any adoption papers and was still her father. At this point, Noah had taken a swing at him, Sandra was sobbing, and Peter was trying to pull them off of each other. When he had finally separated them, Claire and Lyle, who had been watching this is shock, had been sent away.
Even as far away as they were from the living room, they could hear Claire’s fathers shouting at each other. First it was about custody and Claire; then it was followed by Sylar and powers; now, they were shrieking about safety and the insanity that was Angela Petrelli. The longer she listened, the angrier Claire became; they were arguing over her life and once again she wasn’t being consulted.
“This is so fucked up!” she declared, getting to her feet.
“You think we’ll have to move again?”
“I’m leaving,” she decided, stomping down the stairs.
“Where are you going?!”
“Who cares!”
As she slammed the front door in her hasty retreat, she realized that this was now her life. Until the day she died, she was going to be the ping pong ball between Noah Bennet and Nathan Petrelli; until the day she died, Sandra was going to constantly fear her disappearance and every adult would discuss her as if she was a pair of shoes and not a person. It was ridiculous and frustrating, and it wasn’t until she was over a mile from her house that she realized that, in their fighting, none of the adults in her life knew she had left.
Frustrated, angry, and needing an outlet, she began to walk towards the townhouse where Casey lived. She knew that there was a party there tonight, and, for once, Claire was going to be a normal teenager just like her father wanted her to be.
* * *
It was sometime between Noah’s jab at Nathan’s morality and Nathan’s swipe at Noah’s past career that Peter realized he couldn’t hear Claire’s thoughts anymore. He could hear Lyle’s, Sandra’s, and even the two dueling men, but Claire was now conspicuously absent.
“Where’s Claire?” he suddenly blurted out.
“She’s upstairs,” Sandra replied.
“No, she’s not.” Exiting the living room, he spotted Lyle, who was scrambling to move away from the banister. “Where’s Claire?”
“I-I don’t know,” he stuttered. “She got really pissed and took off.”
“Took off where?” Noah asked, now behind Peter.
The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. She just left.”
“Damn it!” Turning to Nathan, he spat, “This is all your fault!”
“Mine? You’re supposed to be her father; you should know where she is!”
“Would you two stop it?!” Sandra screamed, silencing the two men. “Our daughter is missing, and y’all are fighting like this? What is wrong with you? Now, we need to find Claire. Peter, Noah, why don’t you start at the high school and the mall? Mr. Petrelli can stay here with me incase she calls.”
Everyone nodded, their assignments given, off to find Claire.
* * *
Dear Peter,
Want to know a secret? I really don’t hate Nathan.
I don’t like him; I’m not going to pretend that I do. I think that he’s selfish and mean and that he doesn’t respect people. But, at the same time, sometimes, I can see what you see in him. Your mom told me once that Nathan always protected you, always looked out for you, and I thought that she was lying because Nathan’s so…Nathan. But I saw it that night in the Plaza; I think that if Nathan Petrelli can love anyone in this world, it’s you.
You have that effect on people.
Whenever I call him, I want him to care, to talk to me. I don’t want him to be my dad; I have a dad and he’s a good dad. But I wish that Nathan cared. I wish that when I call him, he’d want to know what classes I have or if West tried to kiss me. I don’t want him to be my dad, but I want him to want to be without Angela forcing him.
I saw him with his sons, my half-brothers, and he’s a good dad. After meeting Meredith, meeting Nathan was such a shock, but I don’t know why. Does he hate me because I’m like her? Do I look like her in a way that I don’t see or do I have too much of a drawl that I sound like the woman who lives in a trailer in Kermit, Texas? Why doesn’t he want me?
Is it strange that I wish that he could be my father but you wouldn’t be my uncle? I’m sure that stranger things have happened, especially to us.
Love always,
Claire
* * *
Claire had ingested more alcohol than any human being should be able to consume, but she still couldn’t get drunk. Her liver was regenerating faster than Claire could drink, and she was furious at that. After finishing an entire bottle Jack Daniels in forty-five minutes, Claire became frustrated, leaving the party as silently as she had entered.
She was stumbling back to her house when she suddenly felt someone seize her from behind. Immediately, she screamed and began to fight only to still when someone covered her mouth and hiss, “It’s me!”
Claire froze at the sound of Peter’s voice. When he released her, she turned to face him and she knew she was in trouble the second he caught the scent of alcohol.
“Are you drunk?”
She scoffed. “No. Stupid healing powers.”
“Are you nuts? Do you know what could’ve happened to you?”
“Let me guess.” Affecting her best Noah Bennet voice, she intoned, “Sylar is still out there, Claire, and he could be watching us right now. Even if he isn’t, the Company is every where and you won’t even know they’re there until it’s too late. Powerful people want to hurt you, Claire; you have to constantly be aware of that.”
“Do you think that this is a game?”
“If it is, it’s the worst one ever.”
“Claire-“
“I don’t want a lecture! Why don’t you go back to the house and finish discussing me like I don’t exist?!”
“Look, I know that things are kind of crazy right now-“
“Kind of?! True to fucking form, Nathan just came roaring in here and demanding to be in charge after he spent the last four months totally blowing me off! The only reason he’s even arguing with my dad is so that he can seem like a big shot! He doesn’t give a shit what happens to me! If it wasn’t for you being here, I probably never would’ve seen him again and that would’ve been fine by him!”
“Nathan’s complicated,” Peter began.
“So is everyone else! I’m sick of the excuses for him. Just go away!” she exclaimed in frustration, stinging with the betrayal of Peter’s defense of her biological father. “I don’t want you here!”
“You don’t mean that,” he softly argued.
“How would you know?” she petulantly spat.
“Because I read your letters.”
There were few moments in Claire’s life where it seemed as if the entire world slowed to a stop and everything around her seemed to be frozen. When the words actually registered in her brain, she felt the overwhelming urge to vomit and then promptly die.
“Oh my god…”
“Claire-“
“How-When-Did you steal my notebook?”
“I didn’t steal it,” he immediately denied. “I dropped it last night, and I saw that they were addressed to me, so-“
“Well, yeah, but you weren’t supposed to read them!”
“But I did.”
“Oh god!” She buried her face in her hands, sure that she was burning up with shame. “You must think I’m the biggest freak in the whole world.”
“I don’t.”
“Right,” she scoffed. “I’m just the creepy secret niece who has fantasies about her uncle and writes them down in letter form when she thinks he’s dead. Yeah, that’s not creepy at all!”
“It doesn’t have to change anything.”
Lifting her face from her palms, she stared at him for a moment before softly realizing, “You never felt the same way.” Ignoring the sting of tears that were threatening to flow, she quickly assured him, “That’s fine. I mean, whatever. It’s not like it even matters anyway since this isn’t Appalachia.”
“I never said that.”
The cruel irony of it twisted her insides into knots as Claire deciphered the meaning of his words. When the full realization of it hit her, the tears came, hot and salty against her cheeks, and Claire closed her eyes so that he couldn’t see her pain anymore than he already was.
Peter sighed in helpless before slowly moving and taking her into his arms. She rested her forehead against his chest as he stroked her back and whispered his confession to her.
“If things were different, if we weren’t…I want to be with you, Claire. Everything you wrote…I feel the same way.”
Bracing herself with courage that was different from any other she had ever possessed, Claire lifted her head from his chest and, very deliberately, stood on her toes, bringing her mouth to his. Peter silently cursed at his weakness as he took her proffered mouth and acted on the desire that had been building in him for months.
She had only intended it to be a brief kiss, one of those movie moments where the two main characters brush their mouths together before stepping apart and going on about their lives, eternally heartsick but trying to overcome that loss for the greater good.
But this was not a movie and Claire knew the moment they started kissing that she was not going to be the one to step back.
Peter’s mouth was warm against hers and tasted of the cinnamon mouthwash that Claire recognized as her own; one of his hands was holding her gently at her hip while the other was at the nape of her neck, his thumb gently caressing her cheekbone as they kissed. As the kiss grew in intensity, Claire felt herself digging her fingers into his broad shoulders, clutching to get closer, wanting to be as close to him as she could get.
When Peter’s mouth separated from her own, she opened her mouth to cry at the unfairness of it, but instead gasped as he moved his kissed to the column of her throat, his stubble scratching her in a way that was more erotic than Claire would ever have thought. As his mouth returned to claim hers, Claire realized that she wanted him in a way that she had never wanted anyone before; the writings in her letters were the fantasies of a girl who had only a vague idea of desire and need, but those feelings had exploded in her now.
Finally, Peter stepped back, both of them gasping for air, Claire’s lips swollen with his kisses. They stared at each other for a moment, Peter’s pupils dilated with lust, Claire’s fingertips gently pressing against her mouth, before he shrugged out of his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders.
“Let’s get you home.”
Keep Reading!
Author: lit_chick08
Rating: PG-13 (this part) for language, a little violence, and suggestiveness
Pairing: Paire
Word Count: 11,210
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: This popped into my head during class and needed to get out before I can finish up “Ring of Fire”. Feedback and concrit is appreciated. As usual, un-betaed.
AN/2: This was only supposed to be a quick one-shot…clearly, I can’t do that. The next part should be up soonish.
Playing pretend had never been a game Claire had enjoyed even as a child. She had liked who she was in Texas, before her powers and Sylar; she had liked being Claire Bennet. It seemed to her as if she had been a thousand people since then: the cheerleader, Nathan Petrelli’s illegitimate daughter, the only hope for New York City, Peter Petrelli’s niece…But she didn’t think about Peter; if she did, she’d stop functioning.
Costa Verde was nothing like Odessa and that helped her become this new girl, the unremarkable Claire Butler who never volunteered for class, had no interest in extracurricular activities, and was scoffed at by most of her fellow eleventh graders. The only one who ever showed the slightest bit of interest in her was West, who was odd in his own way but whose long brown hair when glimpsed out of the corner of her eye let her pretend that it was someone else.
In retrospect, she saw that it was her complete disconnection from the Costa Verde high school population that led her to be flagged for the guidance counselor. Apparently, a concerned teacher thought that she was depressed and referred her for counseling.
The counselor, Miss Barry’s, office was bright and decorated with pictures of beach scenes; the scent of sandalwood emanated from the air freshener on the windowsill. Miss Barry, from Claire’s visual assessment, was maybe twenty-five, and she struck Claire as the type of girl in high school that was involved in every activity and baked cookies for her friends. In her red polka dot dress and curly black hair, she looked like Minnie Mouse brought to life.
“Hi, Claire, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” she mumbled, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
“The reason I called you in is because some of your teachers are worried that you’re a little…withdrawn.”
“I’m just trying to get used to everything, I guess.”
“Your math teacher said that you seem sad in class.”
Twisting her mouth into the charming half-smile she had seen Nathan use on her, she quipped, “Wouldn’t you be sad in first period trig?”
Miss Barry echoed her smile, but Claire could tell it wasn’t because she agreed with her. “Your English teacher said that you fell asleep in class and when she woke you up, you said ‘Peter, don’t.’”
Claire couldn’t help but flinch at the sound of his name. She never said it, even during those late night calls to Nathan that brought her no solace, and her father didn’t mention anyone of the Petrelli bloodline, especially the one who was presumed dead.
In a much gentler tone, Miss Barry began, “Claire, if someone is hurting you-“
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” When she didn’t immediately say anything, she added, “Anything you say here will stay completely confidential. You seem like a great girl, but I think there’s something heavy on your heart that you need to let out. I promise that, whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve heard it before.”
“I highly doubt that.”
She smiled. “You’d be surprised. Why don’t we start small and you tell me who Peter is?”
She didn’t want to talk to this woman, but she couldn’t…Her heart ached every second of every day with holding in this pain. Nathan wouldn’t talk to her; her father didn’t want to hear about it; no one else would ever understand. She didn’t have to tell this stranger every detail, but she needed to get something out before she exploded.
“Peter is…was my uncle. He died four months ago.”
Miss Barry’s face folded in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. You were close?”
Averting her gaze so that she couldn’t see the tears in her eyes, Claire began, “We were just really getting to know each other. He was…I’m adopted, and I had just met my birth family, and he was my real dad’s little brother. I didn’t really get along with my dad or my grandma, but Peter was…different.”
“Different how?”
“He was the only one who ever acted like what I wanted mattered. He would really listen when I talked and he never treated me like I was a kid. When things got…crazy earlier this year, he was…It sounds really lame, but he was my hero.”
“How did he pass?”
Unsure how to answer, Claire finally decided upon the way she viewed it, the description she would never give to either of her fathers. “He was murdered by my grandmother, his mom.”
Miss Barry gasped, bringing her hands to cover her mouth. “Oh my God, Claire, that’s terrible! No wonder you’re having a hard time! Have you talked to anyone about it?”
She shook her head, her golden hair falling into her face. “My dad thinks I’m over it, and my real dad…he’s kind of a drunk now. And besides, I don’t…I never know what to say even if they did want to listen.”
“Maybe it would help to write it down.”
“What?”
Reaching into the cabinet behind her, Miss Barry removed a black composition notebook. She extended it to Claire, who took it in confusion. “I think it would be a good idea if you wrote Peter a letter. Write down everything you wish you could say to him and wish that you had said to him.”
“Write Peter a letter?”
“It can be as long or as short as you want it to be, and no one will ever read it but you. But I think it would definitely help you to get your feelings out where you can see them. Let’s meet again in, say, two weeks, and we’ll talk about it.”
“Um…okay.”
As Claire left the office, she knew that she’d have to keep this notebook on her at all times. After all, whether he knew she knew it or not, her father kept searching her room to make sure that she wasn’t contacting Nathan.
* * *
Cork, Ireland
He didn’t know who he was, where he came from, or what had brought him to be handcuffed in a shipping crate in Ireland. There were many things that the man that those who had found him had christened Tommy did not know about himself but there were things that he did know with absolute certainty. He had started to make a list in his head of what he had deducted about himself in hopes that it would trigger something in his subconscious.
He liked Italian food, especially lasagna. He knew how to bandage a wound no matter how bad it was. He knew how to make electricity come from his hands. And he knew how to draw and paint.
It was the artistic talent that had surprised him. He had been sitting at the table one night with some of the guys from the gang-even in his current state, he recognized what they were-and had been doodling on a pad when one of the guys had said something. Glancing down, he realized he had drawn a beautiful young woman crying, a gun held tightly in her hand, a tall building behind her.
“Who’s that?” the man named Seamus had queried.
“I have no idea.”
She kept popping up in his drawings: crying, smiling, covered in blood, standing with unfamiliar men. Sometimes, he tried to conjure up a name for this mystery woman, this woman that he felt such a strong tie to. Was she his girlfriend? His wife? Whoever she was, he was certain that he missed her even without knowing who she was.
Hannah, the sister of the leader of the gang, had become particularly interested in his drawings. Even in his amnesiac state, he knew that Hannah was attracted to him, and he could admit that she was beautiful. To any other man, the idea that Hannah wanted to be with them was enough to make them happy, but he could not escape the blonde woman that danced in his head.
The symbol around his neck mocked him. Like the blonde woman, it tugged at his memory, encouraging him to remember, but the memory danced away from him, like trying to catch mist in his hands. Ian, the man in charge, had tried to take it off of him once, but he had shocked him in order to keep it.
He had no idea why he could shock people; he didn’t know what brought it forth or what made it go away, but it wasn’t normal. Ian liked it; he wanted him to use it on jobs to show his gratitude for Ian and his boys taking him out of that shipping crate. He had bargained instead, trading his medical skills for room and board.
On nights like tonight when the gang was going to commit a somewhat dangerous offense, it was his responsibility to stay alert and be prepared to take care of whatever injury they returned with. Hannah usually stayed with him, but tonight she was babysitting for her sister, so he sat alone, sketching.
It was shortly before midnight when he heard someone knocking on the door. Visitors were a rarity, especially this late at night, and so he proceeded with caution as he opened the door.
The woman standing on the doorstep was petite, blonde, and poured into cerulean colored top. She grinned at the sight of him before declaring, “You’re an awfully hard man to keep a hold of, Peter Petrelli.”
Before he could reply, the pixie of a girl shocked him, sending electricity straight into his heart, sending him into unconsciousness.
* * *
Dear Peter,
Ever since Miss Barry said I should write you a letter, I’ve been trying to figure out what I’d say to you if I could. So, I guess, the most important thing I want to say to you is this: I wish I would’ve shot you.
I’ve been thinking about this ever since that day in November, and all I can think is that, if I had just shot you when you started to glow, it would have killed you and your powers would’ve stopped. You wouldn’t have died because you have my power, and you still wouldn’t have blown up. If I had just done that, Nathan wouldn’t have had to fly you up into the sky and leave you like you asked him to, and you wouldn’t be dead.
I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to shoot you.
Love,
Claire
* * *
“You’re awfully quiet today, Claire,” Noah Bennet stated as they drove home from the grocery store. Sandra had sent him on a mission to get the necessary ingredients for stir fry and Claire, who had been moping around the house, had been enlisted into going with him.
“A lot on my mind.”
“How’s school going?”
“Well, none of my teachers could pick me out of a lineup, I have no friends, and I have no activities to do. It’s like I’m a ghost.”
Hearing the displeasure in her voice, Noah began, “Now, Claire, you understand that-“
“I understand,” she interrupted, continuing to stare out the window. “I understand that we have to hide from the Company; I understand that I can’t be remarkable; I understand that you’re doing this for all of us.”
“And yet you sound like you’re very resentful of all of this.”
“What do you want me to do?” she asked helplessly. “I never wanted this! I want to go home, Dad. I want to go back to Odessa and Zach and cheerleading.”
“You know that’s not possible.”
Taking a deep breath, she challenged, “And if I want to go back to New York?”
Noah said nothing, pulling the car into one of the numerous gas stations along the highway. Turning to face her, he asked, “What’s going on, Claire? I know you don’t want to go back to Angela or Nathan Petrelli.”
“I’m sick of hiding. I’m sick of not being able to be who I am. I’m sick…I’m sick of pretending that Kirby Plaza never happened.”
“Sweetheart, Sylar’s not coming back.”
“Yeah, and neither is Peter.”
The name hung thickly in the air, and Noah sighed, sitting back into his seat. Peter Petrelli had been the elephant in the room for them for the past four months, and Noah had been hoping she would deal with the loss in her own way. He was grateful to Peter for protecting her the way that he had, but he was also glad that someone who was as large of a threat as he was to everyone’s existence was gone. Peter Petrelli had been a good man, but his power was far too unstable to ever be trusted.
“Claire, I understand that you miss him, and that’s fine. But you have to start getting over it. You barely knew him.”
Claire closed her eyes to keep the tears from rushing out and she just nodded. When the car started again, she vowed that she would never say his name in front of her father ever again.
* * *
Dear Peter,
Today, my dad told me that I barely knew you, and maybe he’s right. We didn’t know each other for a long time, but I feel like I do know a lot about you. So I decided to make a list of all the things I know about you.
1) Your favorite color is black; you told me that day I wore the black sweater
2) You always drive 5 miles over the speed limit because you said it’s still faster than usual but not fast enough to get pulled over
3) You always smell like cedar and mouthwash
4) You always wipe away my tears because you can’t stand to see me cry
5) You give good hugs, especially when I start to spiral out of control like I did after Sylar killed Ted
6) Your lips are soft when you kiss me on the forehead
7) When you’re invisible, you like to mess with people to make me smile
8) Your instincts are always right about people, even Nathan
9) You have the best smile
10) You never judge anyone, even me, even when I’m scared
Love,
Claire
* * *
”Do you really think that we’re going to live?”
Peter turned to stare at the blonde teenager in the passenger’s seat, anxiously wringing her hands. “Of course I do.”
“How do you know?”
“Because all we have to do is get out of New York, and I can’t destroy it.”
“And Sylar? He’s not going to go away.”
“Claire-“
“I’m scared, Peter,” she confessed, her lower lip trembling. “I’m so scared.”
As traffic slowed to a halt, Peter turned to face her. Gently, he cupped her cheek and brought her face closer to his own. They were separated by mere inches, and Peter breathed against her face, “I swear to you that we are going to be fine. I will not let anything happen to you, Claire.”
She stared at him with her big, tearful eyes and whispered, “You really are my hero, you know that?”
Without thinking, he moved to kiss her; it was only as their lips were about to touch that he remembered that this beautiful girl wasn’t just the woman that he felt inexplicably connected to but his niece. Quickly, he changed the trajectory of his lips, brushing them against her forehead.
“I wonder what the holdup is,” he said, moving to get out of the car.
The shock of cold water against his bare skin was enough to tear Peter out of his slumber. When his eyes focused, he realized that he was, once again, chained up, though this time it was to a chair in an empty room. The blonde was there and she was talking to a tall, black man who moved with an unsettling grace.
“Who are you?!” he shouted. “Where am I?!”
The blonde turned her head to look at him and patronizingly replied, “It’s not polite to interrupt.”
“What’s going on?!” He began to rattle the chains angrily in an attempt to free himself, and he recoiled when the blonde sent a small jolt of electricity through the metal.
“You know, I wouldn’t have to chain you up if you hadn’t abused my hospitality and tried to hulk smash me in LA. Sit and be quiet like a good little boy and I’ll try to get you your memory back.”
“It was not supposed to be like this,” the man stated in an accented voice.
The blonde’s eyes turned cold as she drawled, “Suddenly you’re developing a conscious?”
“You said that this would not be something evil.”
“Funny how your morals on good and evil didn’t play a part when your boss bagged and tagged me when I was in diapers.” She moved away from the man, going to a table in the corner and removing a syringe.
“Elle-“
“Your job and your loyalty are to the Company,” she reminded him, tapping the air bubble out of the needle. “Now, if you have some sort of problem with what we’re doing, I suggest you take it up with the Board.”
When he offered no reply, the woman-Elle-bent down beside the mildly struggling Peter. “Here’s the deal, bud: I’m going to give you a shot of this nice, mild sedative so that our Haitian friend here can repair the damage to your memory that some of that electricity did. When you remember who you are, we’re gonna have a nice, long chat about what happened that night in New York. If you try to use any of those borrowed powers of yours, I’m going to keep frying you until those regenerative powers of yours give out completely and your little mushroom cloud will be a pleasant memory. Do we have a deal?”
Despite having no idea what she was talking about, he gritted his teeth and nodded.
She grinned, suddenly looking like a California-blonde teenager. “Good. This’ll only sting a bit.”
As Elle injected him with the sedative, all he kept repeating to himself was My name is Peter Petrelli. My name is Peter Petrelli.
* * *
Dear Peter,
I joined the cheerleading squad today. It totally pissed off my dad, but I told him that if I kept trying to just float by after being on Miss Barry’s radar, it would just draw more attention to me. West thinks I sold out. Have I told you about West yet? He’s this guy in my classes, and I’m pretty sure he has a crush on me. He’s not bad looking and he’s nice; I doubt he has any date-rape tendencies like my last foray into romance. West seems like a nice, solid guy, and maybe it wouldn’t be terrible to actually do something normal instead of just pretending to.
I called Nathan again today. I can’t call him on my cell anymore ever since my mom got the bill and saw the New York numbers, so I’ve been convincing this girl in my Spanish class to let me use her phone. She’s under the impression that Nathan’s a guy I’m forbidden to date and therefore is helping me indulge in some Romeo and Juliet escapades.
He was at your apartment again and also drunk. He’s hardly ever sober anymore. I wish that I could just chalk it up to karma, but he isn’t so bad. You were right about him; you were always right about people. If I was a good judge of people, I wouldn’t have to worry so much.
I was thinking about Ted last night. I keep wondering what would’ve happened if Sylar hadn’t killed him. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have to go through life knowing that your power killed the person you loved. I’ve also been wondering if I’ll ever actually die. If my body fixes every kind of damage, doesn’t that make me immortal?
I wish that I could talk to someone like me again. As crazy as it was towards the end, knowing that there were more of us made me feel so safe and less lonely. Dad won’t tell me anything about everyone that was at the plaza that night; the only thing he told me is that Officer Parkman lived and DL, the guy with Niki and the two kids, didn’t.
Is it terrible that I keep wishing that Hiro Nakamura would come and tell me that it’s my turn to save the world all over again? If it weren’t for him-well, Future Hiro-we never would’ve met. Even though you’re gone now, I’m glad we met.
Love always,
Claire
* * *
“Claire.”
It was the first word out of Peter’s mouth when he regained consciousness and his memory, and it made Elle’s lips twist into a caricature of a smile. As an operative for the Company, she had been well-informed about the players in the game, and a good section of Peter Petrelli’s file had been dedicated to the Texas cheerleader.
Claire Bennet, biological child of Nathan Petrelli and Meredith Gordon, had been adopted by Noah Bennet, one of the main bag-and-taggers of the Company. She could regenerate any injury, and the Company was intensely interested in studying her power further. She had gone off the grid following the Kirby Plaza catastrophe, and, with little Molly temporarily out of commission as long as they were trying to court Dr. Suresh, locating her was increasingly difficult. Elle knew that Peter’s mission had been to save the cheerleader in order to save the world; what she didn’t know was how much information he’d be willing to trade in order to protect his niece.
“And the memory returns.” Straddling a chair backwards, she confided, “I was a little unsure that the Haitian would be able to do it. I mean, all of our powers have limitations.”
When his eyes focused and he saw who was addressing him, he spat, “Elle.”
“Is that any way to greet your savior?”
“Savior?” He coughed. “You electrocuted me until I died, waited until I came back to life, and then started over again.”
“And the Company wanted to kill you completely because you weren’t of any use to us. I risked a huge chunk of my reputation to save your wimpy ass, Peter, so I’d expect a little gratitude. After all, I could’ve left you in the middle of Ireland, patching up bullet holes on a bunch of thugs. Is that what you want?”
“Perhaps you could unchain him as a sign of good faith,” the Haitian suggested from his place in the shadowed corner.
“The last time I unchained him, he nearly put me through a wall.”
“At least I didn’t nuke you.”
Elle glared hatefully before stating, “I don’t want to waste any more time on you than I have to. The world thinks you’re dead, and I could make you that way if I really wanted to. Just tell me what I want to know about that night, and you can walk out of here free and clear.”
“You mean to tell me that the Company doesn’t want me?”
“I have explicit orders from the Board that, if you’re ever found alive, you are to be returned to your life as you left it.”
“If the Board’s in charge of the Company, why am I here now?”
Leaning in closely, she confided, “Because we don’t want you. Don’t you get it, Peter? This whole thing was never about you.”
“Claire?”
Elle rolled her eyes, getting to her feet. “We don’t want your silly little niece either. The only one we’ve ever wanted was Gabriel Gray. I believe you knew him as Sylar.”
“Sylar’s dead.”
“No, Sylar’s missing. We need to know what happened to him so that we can find him and eliminate him. If you tell me that, the Haitian will unlock you and give you cab fare back to your mother, brother, and coordination challenged niece. So what’s it gonna be, Pete?”
* * *
Claire detested Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t because she didn’t have a boyfriend or because of the fakeness of it; no, she hated Valentine’s Day because of girls like Casey, the cheerleading squad captain who apparently had been reincarnated with the soul of Jackie.
As they all stood around the volleyball nets, Casey was regaling them with tales of her college boyfriend, the infamous Tad, who had rented a hotel room for them in celebration of this Hallmark occasion. This wouldn’t have been too terrible if not for the fact that Tad had once dated Lena, another cheerleader, who was not taking his dumping her for her friend very well.
It was during her dissertation on why Tad was totally going to give her a promise ring that Claire had enough and blurted out, “Could you just shut up already?”
Casey froze mid-sentence in complete shock. Doing the slow turn that was usually reserved for Lindsay Lohan movies, she drawled, “Excuse me?!”
“Maybe not everyone wants to hear about Tad.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Does poor Claire not want to focus on the fact that she’s so pathetic no one but the freak wants to date her?”
West, who was on the other side of the net, pondered aloud, “Should I be insulted?”
“Maybe my entire life doesn’t revolve around who’s getting into my pants.”
“Maybe that’s ‘cause the only person who is, is you.”
The sound of a shrill whistle blew, announcing for everyone to get changed for their next class, and Claire was left glaring after her, wishing she had decked her the same way she had Jackie six months before.
* * *
Dear Peter,
That first night we met, you told me that it gets better after high school. Well, it better or else I’m going to cut my own head open. I hope you’re as right about that as you were everything else.
I miss you.
Claire
* * *
Claire found West waiting for her outside of eighth period, waving a small blue pompom that they had given out at the pep rally following gym. She smiled weakly before asking, “Found your school spirit?”
“No, I think that’s with my understanding of football. I thought you might want an escort.”
“Why?”
“Casey and her cronies hold court on game days like this; they’re standing between you and the parking lot. And, while nothing made my day more than watching you call her out in gym today, Casey is not going to let you slide by undisturbed.”
“Geez, whatever happened to cheerleader loyalty?” she grumbled, shoving her books into her locker.
As she fell into step beside him, she felt something tugging at her senses. It wasn’t a feeling of fear or panic, but as if something familiar was about to happen. Because of this, she didn’t realize West was speaking until he asked, “So what do you think?”
“Huh? About what?”
A charming smile on his face, he brandished a chocolate rose from behind his back and repeated, “Be my valentine?”
Before she could reply, Casey, who was standing in a throng of basketball players and cheerleaders, loudly ordered, “Oh, look! It’s a geek mating ritual!”
West, usually unflappable, flushed lightly but Claire wasn’t embarrassed. No, she wasn’t even angry because she was convinced that she was having a nervous breakdown. Her sole reasoning for this was the hallucination that was standing on the edge of the campus, a hallucination that met her gaze, raised his hand in a wave, and smiled in that crooked way that had melted her heart at Homecoming.
“Peter!” she gasped, breaking out into a run, moving faster than she ever had in her life to reach the man she thought was dead.
Peter didn’t stopped moving towards her, planting his feet in order to take the impact of her hurtling herself at him. He caught her easily around the waist as she flung her arms around his neck and began to cry tears of joy and relief against his chest. One of his hands began to pet her straightened hair in comfort as his other reached up and gently began to wipe at her tears.
“How-I thought-Nathan said-“
“Shhh. I’ll explain it later.”
She nodded, hugging him again, tighter than before, her tears still falling. As he returned the embrace, whispering comforting nothings into her hair, Lena declared to a stunned Casey, “He is so much hotter than Tad.”
* * *
When Noah Bennet came home from his job at the copy shop from hell, he had been expecting Sandra to be making dinner, Lyle to be complaining about his Internet connection, and Claire to be listlessly lying around the house in her permanent funk. What he had not been expecting was to find a presumed dead Peter Petrelli to be sitting on his couch, Claire all but curled up next to him, entertaining Sandra with stories.
“Noah!” Sandra cried at the sight of him. “You have got to come on in here and see the miracle that happened. You remember Claire’s uncle, Peter, right?”
Still in shock, he nodded. “It’s nice to see you again, Peter.”
“You, too, sir.”
“I was under the impression that you…well, that you had…”
“The Company was holding him,” Claire volunteered. “He had to trade information about Sylar to get out.”
“Let’s not talk about that now,” Sandra stated firmly. She hated this talk of powers and the Company; she preferred to live in her special world of denial. “I think now is a time of celebration. It’s not often we have one of Claire’s…other family members here.”
“Thank God for that,” Claire mumbled under her breath.
“What’s your favorite meal, Peter? I’m gonna whip it up, whatever it is.”
“Oh, you don’t have to-“
“No, no, I insist. You are a guest in our home, and you deserve a good meal. Now, what’s your favorite?”
“Pasta, I guess.”
“Well, then, I’m gonna go get that started. Claire, why don’t you take Peter up to the guest room to get settled in? I’m sure you had a long flight from New York.”
“Peter’s staying with us?” Noah queried.
“Of course he is! After everything he’s done for our Claire, he’s one of the family now. You two, go scoot. I’m sure y’all got lots to talk about while your dad and I make supper.”
Claire took Peter’s hand, leading him up the stairs, her blue cheerleading skirt flipping with every step, and Peter spared only one glance over his shoulder at Noah. Noah was sure that Peter could read his thoughts, and he was glad for it; he wanted Peter to know that he didn’t trust him yet.
* * *
“This is the guest room,” Claire stated unnecessarily. “Sorry about all the flowers and ruffles. Once Mom gets a theme in her head, it tends to take over.”
“It’s nice,” he lied. “I don’t think I’ve had enough lacy floral patterns in my life.” At her smile, he added, “She seems really nice.”
“She is. When everything was happening in Odessa, she was the one person who I never had to worry about.” Taking a seat on the thick mattress, she asked, “What did Nathan and Angela say when they saw you?”
He shrugged, sitting back against the headboard. “I haven’t seen them yet.”
“What? Why not?”
“When Elle let me go and I realized that Sylar was still out there, I asked the Haitian where you were; I figured he kept in touch with Bennet. He said Costa Verde, so I used Hiro’s power, and here I am.”
“You have to, at least, call Nathan! He’s been a wreck since you-since that day. He resigned his office before he ever got in, Heidi left him, and he’s been drunk every day since! Call him right now!”
Guilt twisted in Peter’s gut as he accepted Claire’s pink cell phone. “Since when do you care about Nathan?” he asked with no malice in his voice.
Getting to her feet, she replied, “Since he was the last tie I had to you.”
Peter met her gaze steadily, and Claire felt the same heat start inside of her that she had felt in Odessa, in New York. It always happened when he looked at her like that, in the way that made her forget that he was her uncle and she was his niece and that this was not going to end up happily ever after.
Taking a chance, she whispered, “I missed you.”
Before he could answer, she hurried out the door, closing it to give him privacy.
* * *
Dear Peter,
You are not dead; in fact, you are at the other end of the hall, in our guest room, talking to your brother, my biological father, on my cell phone. However, I am still going to write this letter because I still have things I need to say to you. And right now, what I need to say, is that, sometimes, I wish you weren’t my uncle. In fact, I have a list of times when I especially wish you weren’t.
1) That night we ran into each other in my school before Sylar killed Jackie. This might seem silly because I didn’t know that we were related then, but, considering the thoughts I was thinking about you that night, I feel as if it should be on the list. This, of course, relates directly to number 2.
2) That day in the Odessa County Jail when I came to thank you for saving my life and rejoice in the fact that you, too, are a freak. Sometimes I like to think that if my dad hadn’t been there and I hadn’t been convinced that you totally would’ve laughed at me, I might’ve kissed you.
3) The day that I pulled the glass out of your head and brought you back to life. When I saw you dead on the couch, I felt like my heart had stopped. It was bad enough that I was thrust into this family that I didn’t know, but to know that you were the only good part of it and now were dead almost killed me. When you woke up and you wiped away my tear, I really wished I could’ve welcomed you back to life properly.
4) The day in Kirby Plaza when I told you how scared I was and you, again, wiped away my tears. You didn’t do it like you were my uncle, and you weren’t looking at me like you were my uncle, and I really wanted you to do something pretty un-uncle-like that day.
5) That night in the car before we found out that Sylar had killed Ted and you promised to protect me. I thought you were going to kiss me; I was pretty disappointed when you didn’t.
Maybe all of this makes me a giant, Deliverance kind of freak, but I can’t help it. There’s this part of me that hates the fact that the one guy that I feel like I could really fall in love with is actually my uncle. As if the universe hadn’t screwed us enough, did they really have to do this on top of it?
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say this out loud, so I’m just going to write it now: I love you.
Claire
* * *
It was the most awkward dinner that Peter could ever remember having, and he was including the dinner that he had attended where his father, mother, and his father’s mistress had been present. The awkwardness didn’t stem from any rudeness on any of the Bennets/Butlers part, but more from the fact that he realized just how little he actually knew about Claire’s life pre-Homecoming. All of the details that he had filed away in his mind about his illegitimate niece were either trivial, like her love of Swedish fish, or deeply personal, like her guilt for her family losing their house; he was embarrassed to realize that, until he had shown up at her school today, he hadn’t even known that she had a little brother.
Lyle was actually the least intimidating member of Claire’s family. Part of that could have been because he was a rather disinterested fifteen-year-old boy, but he was also equal parts interested in what Peter could do. He had all but demanded to see Peter do something cool with his powers, apparently having lost interest in Claire’s regenerative properties, and, just as Noah was chastening him, Peter had become invisible and then reappeared, thereby earning him the approval of Claire’s brother.
Sandra was welcoming, asking polite questions about Peter’s childhood and his career. He noticed that she was drinking heavily from the bottle of wine on the table, and he couldn’t blame her; if he had been through what this family had in the past six months, he would’ve been hitting the bottle too.
Noah was quiet, and, while he didn’t say or do anything inappropriate, Peter couldn’t help but feel unwelcome by him. He understood it; from what Claire had described, he had gone through great lengths to hide from the Company and his sudden reappearance in Claire’s life could put them directly into their sights once again. Peter didn’t believe that Noah disliked him, but he was certain that he hated every threat that Peter seemed to represent.
Claire sat beside him at dinner, her eyes focused on her plate, saying very little, and, though Peter hated to do it, he briefly used Matt’s power to see what was going on in her head.
Why did I say that? I’m so stupid! “I missed you?” Gee, why not just fasten a big I’m a needy mess sandwich board around me?
When dinner was over and Sandra cleared the table, refusing to let him help, Noah asked to speak to him about what had happened in the past four months. Claire, who was helping her mother, disappeared into the kitchen, and Peter sighed, wishing he could just get done with this so that he could talk to her.
* * *
“Peter seems like a very nice man,” Sandra stated as she washed the dishes before handing them to Claire to dry and put away.
“He is.”
“I gotta admit, sweetie, that the stories I’ve heard about your birth family made me awful nervous.”
“Peter’s not like them.”
“He’s got a good heart about him, you can just tell. He sure did seem real worried about you. I’m glad that he’s back. I know you’ve been missing him something fierce.”
Claire nodded, blowing a piece of hair away from her face. “He just has a way of…calming you down, you know?”
“I could see that. It’s good to have a person in your life like that. You’re lucky he’s so close to your age; all my uncles always seemed like such old men.”
Claire’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. “I don’t…really think of Peter as my uncle. He’s more like a friend.”
Sandra studied her daughter out of the corner of her eye carefully before declaring, “Why don’t you go rescue Peter from your dad?”
Claire nodded, wiping her hands and leaving the kitchen. Sandra stared after her, her heart full of sadness for her daughter who was so clearly in love with her uncle.
* * *
“So Nathan’s coming?” Claire queried as she sat on the swing hanging from a tree in their backyard, slowly twisting and untwisting the ropes as she spun.
Peter, who was leaning against the tree, nodded. “I told him not to but-“
“But since when has Nathan ever listened to you,” she completed. After a beat, she asked, “Is your mom coming?”
He shook his head. “I told him that if he showed up with her, I’d disappear and he’d never know where I was.”
“Good.”
Cautiously, he ventured, “She isn’t a terrible person, Claire.”
Her eyes flaring with anger, she spat, “Yeah, she just wanted you to destroy New York City for some twisted plan to make Nathan president. It practically qualifies her for sainthood.”
“She’s still my mother. You still love your dad after all of the things he’s done.”
Jumping to her feet, she insisted, “That’s different!”
“How?”
“My dad didn’t know that I was going to explode and kill millions of people, and not only did nothing to stop me, but encourage it! My dad didn’t try to send me to a different continent just so that I wouldn’t ruin his picture perfect world! My dad didn’t let me die with the hope that I’d heal! And if I had died and I went to see Nathan to find out what happened, my dad wouldn’t have told you that it was none of your business because it was all your fault!”
“What?” Peter gasped.
Tears streaming down her face, “She told me that if I hadn’t almost gotten killed in Texas, if I had just stayed away from you and hadn’t come to New York that you would’ve fulfilled your destiny to murder people and would’ve lived! She said it was my fault that you were dead!”
Peter pulled her tightly to his chest as she sobbed out her frustration and pain of the last four months. As she cried, he firmly stated, “None of this was ever your fault. What happened did not happen because of anything you did. You’re the only good thing that came out of this whole mess.” Pulling back, cupping her face between his two hands, he ordered, “Look at me.” Locking eyes with her, he declared, “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are the only person in this world that I trust unconditionally. I don’t want you to ever think that I regret anything as far as you’re concerned.”
“I just feel like-like everything and everyone I touch gets hurt-“
Taking her hand, he pressed it against his chest. “Do I feel hurt to you?”
Claire felt the steady rhythm of his heart against her palm, and, unintentionally, her fingers flexed, stroking the firm muscle that now formed his chest. Peter shivered from the touch, and, when Claire met his gaze again, there was something new in her eyes, an unspoken desire that Peter knew existed in him as well.
“I missed you too,” he breathed and Claire felt a lump form in her throat.
Claire lifted her face towards his tentatively, waiting to see what would happen, terrified of what would or wouldn’t occur, and, when Peter slowly inclined his head, Claire felt her heart begin to beat wildly in her chest.
Just as their lips were about to meet, Sandra yelled from inside the house, “Claire, West is on the phone!”
Breaking away, shame and guilt filling her face with color, Claire mumbled something before rushing into the house, leaving a confused and ashamed Peter aroused and confused in the backyard.
* * *
Dear Peter,
We can never kiss. I know that. On the list of things that I know, I know that we can never kiss or do anything that I want to do with you. I know this.
But it doesn’t make it easier and doesn’t make me not want to do it.
And I really want to do it.
Claire
* * *
“How’s West?”
Claire jumped, spinning around to face her father, who was leaning against the archway of the living room, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“He’s fine.”
“What did he want?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Just wanted to talk, I guess.”
As she tried to brush past him, he gently caught her upper arm, stilling her. “Claire, I know that you’re excited that Peter’s back, but you can’t forget what’s at stake here.”
“I never forget. How can I when you’re constantly reminding me?”
“Claire-“
“I am the oldest sixteen-year-old in the world! All I ever do is worry about the Company and Sylar and keeping our identities secret. Do you think that you could give me a little bit of credit when I say that I know how dangerous the situation is?”
“You don’t think rationally when it comes to Peter,” he stated, ignoring her bright blush. “I think that you need to exercise a little bit of caution here.”
Jaw set, she replied, “I don’t think that this is any of your business.”
“Not my business? Claire, you are my daughter-“
“And he’s my uncle!” she exclaimed in a whisper, making sure not to disturb anyone else. “You always told me that family comes first, and I’m doing that. Could you please just leave this alone?”
When he released her arm, she hurried up the stairs, leaving a very concerned Noah in her wake.
* * *
Peter couldn’t sleep. The harder he tried, the more he tossed and turned in the flowered bed. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind that he couldn’t even begin to process; between waking up in that crate, being in Ireland, being back with Elle, and finally being here in Costa Verde, it was as if his life had become something he didn’t recognize. And what was worse was that he wanted nothing more than to curl up beside his niece and hold and be held by her.
Glancing at the bedside clock, he saw that it was nearly two in the morning. With a groan, he kicked the heavy blankets off and stepped out into the hallway. The “Butler” household was eerily still in the dark, and Peter felt very much an outsider as he walked around the house. He was half tempted to go see Claire, but he didn’t want to cross the line into being the creepy uncle on punch lines and To Catch a Predator episodes.
After doing several laps around the downstairs, he silently climbed the stairs, prepared to return to his bed when he heard the sound of whimpering coming from Claire’s room. Concerned, he quickly moved to her door and opened it to ensure that she was safe.
Claire was draped across her bed, a collection of textbooks and notebooks at the near the bottom, and she was still wearing the outfit she had changed into after coming home from school. She was clearly in the middle of a distressing dream, sweat coating her forehead as she twitched. Peter laid a hand against her shoulder, and Claire started awake, eyes wide, her fist already swinging to connect with whoever posed a threat.
Peter caught her hand easily, and, when she saw who it was, she tried to control her panicked panting. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard noises. I thought that you were in danger.”
Shaking off his hold, she mumbled, “Bad dream,” before smoothing her hair back from her face. Peter would’ve smiled at the way she did it, so similar to the way that he had done when his hair was too long, but now wasn’t the time to point out similar characteristics…familial characteristics.
“Do they happen a lot?”
Slipping out of bed towards her closet to remove her pajamas, Claire shrugged, keeping her back to him. “Enough to be a pain in the ass.”
“What-“
“Homecoming,” she cut in, clearly not wanting to discuss it. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “Do you mind? I need to change.”
Peter obediently turned his back. As he heard the sounds of clothing being removed, he began to gather up the books in an attempt to hopeful. When he heard the distinctive sound of her unfastening her bra, Peter fumbled with the books, sending them to the ground. As he bent to pick them up, he caught sight of his name in one of the notebooks. Looking closely, he realized that it was a letter addressed to him. Flipping the page, he realized that there were dozens of letters written to him, clearly with the belief that he was dead.
“I’m finished, and I have school tomorrow, so if you could…”
Without turning, Peter nodded, carefully slipping the notebook into the waistband of his pants. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Night.”
The second he returned to his room, Peter turned on the small bedside lamp and began to read the letters that were carefully written in Claire’s delicate script.
* * *
Claire was running late for school, and she was panicking. She couldn’t find her Peter notebook anywhere. If her father found it, she knew he would send Peter away; if Peter found out, she’d jam something into her brain stem herself. She was halfway under her bed, digging through the assortment of crap there when Sandra yelled for the fourth time, “Claire, you are gonna be late!”
With a growl of frustration, she slid out from under her bed and stomped downstairs. Lyle was already waiting by the door, clearly impatient, and Sandra didn’t look any happier than he did.
“It’s about time, lazy bones.”
“I know, I know. Can I have my lunch money?”
“You don’t need lunch money. It’s a half-day, remember?” Lyle asked in the scornful way that only a little brother could.
Thank you, Jesus.
* * *
Dear Peter,
Sometimes, when I think about Homecoming, all I can remember is the way that he killed Jackie. As terrible as she was to me and Zach, she was still my friend and he killed her when he wanted to kill me. The last thing she told me to do was run. Did I ever tell you that?
When I saw you go over the edge with Sylar, I thought you had died too, and I was scared that you had died because of me too. That was the worst night of my life. I mean, Kirby Plaza was bad and watching you explode was the most painful thing I’ve ever been through, but I’ve never felt as scared and helpless as I did that night.
It still amazes me that you jumped without knowing you’d heal. I know that everyone thinks it’s so cool that I heal, but getting hurt becomes something so unimportant that you forget that other people are fragile. I don’t know if I would’ve had that kind of courage, and it makes me glad to know that you do, that you care about people that much.
Love,
Claire
* * *
Forty-three.
That was how many letters Claire had written to him since his demise. Some were long, rambling apologies; others were short rants about high school and her parents. What was the worst to read were the ones that explained exactly how she felt about him, for they were the ones that tore his heart out at reading his own feelings from Claire’s perspective.
He hadn’t wanted to fall for Claire. When he had first literally run into her at Union Wells High, he had thought that she was beautiful and that, if she were a few years older, he would certainly be interested. Seeing her covered in blood that night had inspired a protective streak in him that he had never felt for anyone before, and, while strong, it certainly wasn’t attraction. It wasn’t until the next day in the jail cell that he had felt desire bloom inside of him at the sight of her easy smile and declaration that she was his hero.
When he had returned to New York and woken from his coma, all he could think of was the beautiful cheerleader that he had saved. If ever there was proof of that, it was when Claude had tossed him off of the building and his last thought had been of Claire and her sad, little smile. She had saved his life that night as much as she had in Odessa or in his mother’s parlor; Claire was always there.
The day she had pulled the shard of glass out of his head, seeing her sitting there, tears streaming down her smiling face at his revival, he had been certain that it was fate. He had felt a connection with Claire that he had never felt with anyone, and when Nathan and his mother had finished hugging him, he had turned his attention on Claire. He remembered how excited he had been, asking what she was doing here and what was going on, and he had seen her fold in on herself as Nathan and Angela explained everything.
His niece…He had fought the urge to gag as he had remembered every fantasy he had concocted starring his cheerleader, how the memory of her curves in that blue sweater had inspired him to take himself in hand more than once. To know that it was Nathan’s daughter that had been the object of his sexual fantasies had made him feel dirtier than anything else in the world.
He knew that he had not treated her like a niece in New York; he hadn’t looked at her or spoken to her the way he would have every spoken to his nephews. But the mental knowledge that Claire was his niece and the emotions he felt for her were in conflict, and so he had treated her like the girl-woman he had met in Odessa and not like the family member Angela wanted her to become.
He was unsure what to do now; did he tell Claire that he had read them and that there was no reason for her to be embarrassed? Did he pretend he had never seen them and try to avoid the tension brewing between them? He had never been good in these situations, especially when the situation involved his underage niece.
It was around noon that he heard the front door open and the sounds of Claire and Lyle returning from school. He tucked the notebook beneath his mattress and headed downstairs to intercept her; they needed to talk.
Just as Claire was closing the door, though, he caught sight of a man on the doorstep. He had a heavy beard that Peter had never seen before, and, though his clothing was expensive, it hung on him. Shock struck him as he gasped, “Nathan?”
Claire spun suddenly to see her biological father, and her jaw dropped as well.
“Peter,” he sighed, rushing through the entryway without an invitation and enveloping his little brother in his arms.
Peter met Claire’s gaze over his brother’s shoulder and he knew right then that anything he wanted to talk to her about was never going to happen now.
* * *
Claire and Lyle sat at the top of the stairs listening as the adults argued amongst themselves downstairs. Both had resented being sent away like they were children, especially Claire, but Noah had all but bellowed that they were not to be part of this conversation.
It had started the moment that Sandra realized that the stranger in her house was Claire’s birth father. Upon that realization, she had called Noah, who had immediately come home from work. By this time, Peter had been trying to diffuse the situation, explaining that Nathan had no interest in taking custody of Claire and was only there to see him. Sandra had been fine with that, stating that she would prefer then if Nathan didn’t speak with Claire. Of course, Nathan being Nathan, he had begun to insist that he had every right to speak to Claire because, technically, he had never signed any adoption papers and was still her father. At this point, Noah had taken a swing at him, Sandra was sobbing, and Peter was trying to pull them off of each other. When he had finally separated them, Claire and Lyle, who had been watching this is shock, had been sent away.
Even as far away as they were from the living room, they could hear Claire’s fathers shouting at each other. First it was about custody and Claire; then it was followed by Sylar and powers; now, they were shrieking about safety and the insanity that was Angela Petrelli. The longer she listened, the angrier Claire became; they were arguing over her life and once again she wasn’t being consulted.
“This is so fucked up!” she declared, getting to her feet.
“You think we’ll have to move again?”
“I’m leaving,” she decided, stomping down the stairs.
“Where are you going?!”
“Who cares!”
As she slammed the front door in her hasty retreat, she realized that this was now her life. Until the day she died, she was going to be the ping pong ball between Noah Bennet and Nathan Petrelli; until the day she died, Sandra was going to constantly fear her disappearance and every adult would discuss her as if she was a pair of shoes and not a person. It was ridiculous and frustrating, and it wasn’t until she was over a mile from her house that she realized that, in their fighting, none of the adults in her life knew she had left.
Frustrated, angry, and needing an outlet, she began to walk towards the townhouse where Casey lived. She knew that there was a party there tonight, and, for once, Claire was going to be a normal teenager just like her father wanted her to be.
* * *
It was sometime between Noah’s jab at Nathan’s morality and Nathan’s swipe at Noah’s past career that Peter realized he couldn’t hear Claire’s thoughts anymore. He could hear Lyle’s, Sandra’s, and even the two dueling men, but Claire was now conspicuously absent.
“Where’s Claire?” he suddenly blurted out.
“She’s upstairs,” Sandra replied.
“No, she’s not.” Exiting the living room, he spotted Lyle, who was scrambling to move away from the banister. “Where’s Claire?”
“I-I don’t know,” he stuttered. “She got really pissed and took off.”
“Took off where?” Noah asked, now behind Peter.
The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. She just left.”
“Damn it!” Turning to Nathan, he spat, “This is all your fault!”
“Mine? You’re supposed to be her father; you should know where she is!”
“Would you two stop it?!” Sandra screamed, silencing the two men. “Our daughter is missing, and y’all are fighting like this? What is wrong with you? Now, we need to find Claire. Peter, Noah, why don’t you start at the high school and the mall? Mr. Petrelli can stay here with me incase she calls.”
Everyone nodded, their assignments given, off to find Claire.
* * *
Dear Peter,
Want to know a secret? I really don’t hate Nathan.
I don’t like him; I’m not going to pretend that I do. I think that he’s selfish and mean and that he doesn’t respect people. But, at the same time, sometimes, I can see what you see in him. Your mom told me once that Nathan always protected you, always looked out for you, and I thought that she was lying because Nathan’s so…Nathan. But I saw it that night in the Plaza; I think that if Nathan Petrelli can love anyone in this world, it’s you.
You have that effect on people.
Whenever I call him, I want him to care, to talk to me. I don’t want him to be my dad; I have a dad and he’s a good dad. But I wish that Nathan cared. I wish that when I call him, he’d want to know what classes I have or if West tried to kiss me. I don’t want him to be my dad, but I want him to want to be without Angela forcing him.
I saw him with his sons, my half-brothers, and he’s a good dad. After meeting Meredith, meeting Nathan was such a shock, but I don’t know why. Does he hate me because I’m like her? Do I look like her in a way that I don’t see or do I have too much of a drawl that I sound like the woman who lives in a trailer in Kermit, Texas? Why doesn’t he want me?
Is it strange that I wish that he could be my father but you wouldn’t be my uncle? I’m sure that stranger things have happened, especially to us.
Love always,
Claire
* * *
Claire had ingested more alcohol than any human being should be able to consume, but she still couldn’t get drunk. Her liver was regenerating faster than Claire could drink, and she was furious at that. After finishing an entire bottle Jack Daniels in forty-five minutes, Claire became frustrated, leaving the party as silently as she had entered.
She was stumbling back to her house when she suddenly felt someone seize her from behind. Immediately, she screamed and began to fight only to still when someone covered her mouth and hiss, “It’s me!”
Claire froze at the sound of Peter’s voice. When he released her, she turned to face him and she knew she was in trouble the second he caught the scent of alcohol.
“Are you drunk?”
She scoffed. “No. Stupid healing powers.”
“Are you nuts? Do you know what could’ve happened to you?”
“Let me guess.” Affecting her best Noah Bennet voice, she intoned, “Sylar is still out there, Claire, and he could be watching us right now. Even if he isn’t, the Company is every where and you won’t even know they’re there until it’s too late. Powerful people want to hurt you, Claire; you have to constantly be aware of that.”
“Do you think that this is a game?”
“If it is, it’s the worst one ever.”
“Claire-“
“I don’t want a lecture! Why don’t you go back to the house and finish discussing me like I don’t exist?!”
“Look, I know that things are kind of crazy right now-“
“Kind of?! True to fucking form, Nathan just came roaring in here and demanding to be in charge after he spent the last four months totally blowing me off! The only reason he’s even arguing with my dad is so that he can seem like a big shot! He doesn’t give a shit what happens to me! If it wasn’t for you being here, I probably never would’ve seen him again and that would’ve been fine by him!”
“Nathan’s complicated,” Peter began.
“So is everyone else! I’m sick of the excuses for him. Just go away!” she exclaimed in frustration, stinging with the betrayal of Peter’s defense of her biological father. “I don’t want you here!”
“You don’t mean that,” he softly argued.
“How would you know?” she petulantly spat.
“Because I read your letters.”
There were few moments in Claire’s life where it seemed as if the entire world slowed to a stop and everything around her seemed to be frozen. When the words actually registered in her brain, she felt the overwhelming urge to vomit and then promptly die.
“Oh my god…”
“Claire-“
“How-When-Did you steal my notebook?”
“I didn’t steal it,” he immediately denied. “I dropped it last night, and I saw that they were addressed to me, so-“
“Well, yeah, but you weren’t supposed to read them!”
“But I did.”
“Oh god!” She buried her face in her hands, sure that she was burning up with shame. “You must think I’m the biggest freak in the whole world.”
“I don’t.”
“Right,” she scoffed. “I’m just the creepy secret niece who has fantasies about her uncle and writes them down in letter form when she thinks he’s dead. Yeah, that’s not creepy at all!”
“It doesn’t have to change anything.”
Lifting her face from her palms, she stared at him for a moment before softly realizing, “You never felt the same way.” Ignoring the sting of tears that were threatening to flow, she quickly assured him, “That’s fine. I mean, whatever. It’s not like it even matters anyway since this isn’t Appalachia.”
“I never said that.”
The cruel irony of it twisted her insides into knots as Claire deciphered the meaning of his words. When the full realization of it hit her, the tears came, hot and salty against her cheeks, and Claire closed her eyes so that he couldn’t see her pain anymore than he already was.
Peter sighed in helpless before slowly moving and taking her into his arms. She rested her forehead against his chest as he stroked her back and whispered his confession to her.
“If things were different, if we weren’t…I want to be with you, Claire. Everything you wrote…I feel the same way.”
Bracing herself with courage that was different from any other she had ever possessed, Claire lifted her head from his chest and, very deliberately, stood on her toes, bringing her mouth to his. Peter silently cursed at his weakness as he took her proffered mouth and acted on the desire that had been building in him for months.
She had only intended it to be a brief kiss, one of those movie moments where the two main characters brush their mouths together before stepping apart and going on about their lives, eternally heartsick but trying to overcome that loss for the greater good.
But this was not a movie and Claire knew the moment they started kissing that she was not going to be the one to step back.
Peter’s mouth was warm against hers and tasted of the cinnamon mouthwash that Claire recognized as her own; one of his hands was holding her gently at her hip while the other was at the nape of her neck, his thumb gently caressing her cheekbone as they kissed. As the kiss grew in intensity, Claire felt herself digging her fingers into his broad shoulders, clutching to get closer, wanting to be as close to him as she could get.
When Peter’s mouth separated from her own, she opened her mouth to cry at the unfairness of it, but instead gasped as he moved his kissed to the column of her throat, his stubble scratching her in a way that was more erotic than Claire would ever have thought. As his mouth returned to claim hers, Claire realized that she wanted him in a way that she had never wanted anyone before; the writings in her letters were the fantasies of a girl who had only a vague idea of desire and need, but those feelings had exploded in her now.
Finally, Peter stepped back, both of them gasping for air, Claire’s lips swollen with his kisses. They stared at each other for a moment, Peter’s pupils dilated with lust, Claire’s fingertips gently pressing against her mouth, before he shrugged out of his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders.
“Let’s get you home.”
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