Fic: Letters to My Niece (12B/13)
Title: Letters to My Niece (12B/13)
Author: lit_chick08
Rating: NC-17 overall; R this chapter for language and violence
Pairing: Paire, Claire/West, Peter/Elle, Claire/Adam Monroe
Word Count: 3638
Spoilers: Everything up till the end of Season 2; goes AU from there
Summary: Peter and Claire try to come to terms with how they feel about each other while the world threatens to end around them
A/N: This is a sequel to “Letters to My Uncle,” which can be found HERE. You might be confused if you try to read this one without reading the first one.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve-A
Claire had been digging in the closet she shared with Monica for a sweater when she heard the commotion outside in the hallway. Concerned that it was Sylar or the Company, she had immediately burst out of the room, prepared to battle whoever it was threatening everyone she loved. What she saw stopped her cold.
Her father was beating the crap out of Peter, who wasn’t doing a damn thing to defend himself.
Since finding out what Noah Bennet really did for a living, Claire assumed that there must have been a reason he had been so feared; she had never seen but…she assumed. And as she saw him mercilessly kicking Peter in the ribs, her fake uncle pinned against the banister and lying on his side, Claire felt fear.
Matt and Mohinder were trying to pull him off of Peter, and, as the situation really began to sink in, Claire wondered where Nathan was and why he wasn’t helping.
“Stop it!” she screamed, finally finding her voice, flying at her father.
In his rage, Noah did not even realize that it was his daughter who had leapt at him, the daughter whose honor and innocence he was attempting to avenge. No, in his furor, he struck at her the same way he was doing to Peter, and Claire, with her imperfect balance, was thrown backwards, tipping over the banister and crashing into the first floor foyer, her skull shattering with a grotesque sound against the imported Italian marble.
Like every other time she had died only to live again, the first thing she became aware of was the mending process. As she lied twisted on the floor, she felt the bones in her skull begin to shift back into their proper positions, her brain once again protected. Next she was aware of a sharp pain in her hip, a pain that increased as it snapped back into its socket. There was the pinch of her left wrist healing, the slide of her right humorous realigning. Because her head injury was the most extensive, her vision was the last to return, and, when she saw the humungous puddle of blood surrounding her, Claire became aware of the fact that she had landed on the table in the entryway, the one with the large vase, the same vase that was now embedded in large shards in her back. As the pieces pushed their way out of her skin, she fought to sit up and cried out as her ribs snapped back into place.
There was blood in her lungs, if the sickly crackling of her breathing was any indication, and she coughed into her hands, her palms now coated in blood. She became aware of people crying her name, felt a hand - Adam’s… - on her shoulder, and then, as her vision fully returned, she saw her father rushing down the staircase, a battered but healing Peter following.
Peter was bending down beside her when Noah stopped him, throwing him back against the stairs. “Don’t touch her!”
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice sounding far more pathetic than she had hoped.
No one would answer her, which was the first sign that, whatever it was, it was bad enough that no one wanted to be the one to break it to her. And, when she looked from Matt to Mohinder to Hiro, she saw the shame and embarrassment, and instantly she knew what was going on.
Pushing to her feet, she began, “Dad, you don’t understand - “
“What’s there to understand?!”
“You don’t know the whole story!”
“What acceptable story could there possibly be?!” Noah roared, prompting Hiro to jump.
Claire caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and there stood Angela, true fear written on her face. In that moment, Claire knew that she had a decision to make: she could either shatter her grandmother’s life or paint the man she loved as some sort of incestuous predator.
“Because everything’s a lie,” she managed to get out, bile rising in her throat.
“What do you mean, everything’s a lie?” Nathan pressed.
Claire threw a hand towards Angela. “Ask her.”
All eyes turned to the Petrelli matriarch, coolly standing away from the scene. Claire waited, ready for the confession to come pouring out of her grandmother’s mouth.
Instead, Angela sighed, “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
Her words hung in the air for a moment before Claire shrieked in fury, frustration, and helpless; she was moving before she even realized it, flying at the woman in black, prepared to beat the truth out of her if necessary.
Of course, she never made it; Adam caught her easily, holding her around the waist and murmuring calming words into her ear that she didn’t hear, not with the blood roaring in her ears.
“You stupid bitch!” Claire screamed, trying to fight her way out of Adam’s arms. “Tell the truth, god damn it! Tell the truth!”
“Claire, calm down,” Adam advised, grunting with the effort of restraining her flailing limbs.
But she was a woman possessed, filled with such unfathomable rage that she was prepared to lay the entire city to waste if it meant that Angela would tell the truth. So when she managed to escape Adam’s grasp, she flung her full weight at her grandmother, pinning her against the door, her hands wrapped tightly in her shirt even as Adam and now Matt attempted to pull her off.
“You are going to tell them everything or I swear to God I will get Victoria and take her straight to Arthur! See if he’ll be as forgiving as I was!”
“Claire,” Matt grunted as she kicked backwards, catching him in the knee.
“Noah, Nathan, I suggest you control your daughter,” Angela advised, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Tell them!” Claire shrieked, sounding inhuman even to her own ears.
When Angela still said nothing, as her fathers now were assisting Adam and Matt in subduing her, Claire began to sob in frustration. “She’s lying! She’s lied about everything! You have to believe me! We didn’t do anything wrong!”
Peter looked as if he was going to vomit as he turned his head away in shame, unable to meet his brother’s gaze.
“Peter’s not her son!” she finally shouted, desperation filling her body. “He’s not hers and not Arthur’s! She made a deal with Victoria to take him so she could change the future!”
At this, Peter and Nathan both froze in shock, Nathan’s grip loosening enough on Claire that she was able to push at Matt’s hands, freeing one side of her body. Managing to calm her self enough to not fly at her grandmother again, Noah and Adam released their hold, though Adam kept a steadying hand at the small of her back.
“She saw the future,” Claire repeated, taking deep breaths to regain her composure, “saw me. And she knew, Nathan, she always knew about me, and she was going to let you raise me, to be my father, but she saw Peter, too. He was always going to save me from Sylar, and he was supposed to do it in New York when I was your daughter and he was Victoria’s son.”
“Stop it!” Angela cried, pushing away from the door. “I won’t listen - “
“Let her finish,” Nathan interrupted, glaring at his mother as he read the sincerity on Claire’s face.
“We were supposed to be together, supposed to get married, but…They would kill us, kill our kids, so Angela decided to…change it, change everything. Because, see, if she raised Peter as her son and made sure…made sure I was never a part of your lives - “ Claire’s voice caught, the betrayal she had felt with Victoria suddenly reasserting herself with a vengeance.
The silence that followed her declaration was long and fraught with tension, no one finding the words to verbalize what was going through all of their minds in that moment. And then the silence was shattered by a sole, agonized voice.
“How could you do this to me?” Peter asked, tears tracking down his face.
For the first time since Claire had started speaking, Angela’s entire posture changed, remorse and shame flooding her. “Peter, you have to understand - “
“Everything is a lie! You made everything about me a lie! You made me think that I - “ He didn’t complete the thought but, from the way he looked at Claire, everyone could infer how his sentence was to end.
“I was trying to save your life, to give you the kind of life that - “
Peter didn’t let her finish; instead, he brushed right past her and disappeared out the front door. Claire made a move to follow, but Adam stopped her with a gentle tug on her wrist.
“You look like you just survived an attack by Freddy Kruger,” he pointed out, gesturing to her blood soaked clothing. “I’ll go.”
As the 400-year-old man disappeared out into the streets, Claire looked at Nathan, who appeared as if he had been hit by a bus. The others slowly slunk from the room, leaving their family to its open wound.
No one said anything.
There was nothing left to say.
* * *
Sylar’s patience had grown since his first foray into stealing powers; back then, he had been far too impulsive, ready to kill with no finesse. It had taken him time to realize that there was a precision to what he did, a delicate balance necessary to fulfill his goal without telegraphing his moves.
Elle Raines had none of that finesse, no patience to speak of, and, as they sat in their stolen car outside the Petrelli mansion surveying the comings and goings of its inhabitant, he was beginning to wonder if she possessed sanity. While many things could be said about the man who had once been Gabriel Gray, no one would ever say that he was insane; if anything, he was far too logical in his homicide.
He was starting to doubt his alliance with the woman in the passenger’s seat. Elle took unnecessary risks, let her emotions dictate her actions; it was a liability that he couldn’t afford.
Besides, her power would be useful to him.
He had been debating the merits of killing Elle or letting her live when he saw Peter explode out of the brownstone, an unfamiliar blond man trailing behind him, a man that Elle identified as Adam Monroe, a healer like Claire. Seeing an opportunity, Sylar turned to Elle and ordered, “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
“Stay? This is not the plan - “
“This is my plan! Now stay here and don’t do anything stupid.”
With that, Sylar left a stewing Elle in the car, anger coursing so strongly through her that actual sparks were emanating from her body.
* * *
No one would look at her after Claire got out of her second shower in less than two hours. She wasn’t sure whether it was from being at a loss or watching a video of her having sex, but no one, especially her fathers, would glance her way. Angela had retreated to the attic, and the others wandered the brownstone with little purpose. Stung and at a loss, Claire slipped on her coat and tucked her wet hair beneath her hood.
“Where are you going?” Molly queried softly, coming down the stairs.
Claire shook her head, not really having an answer. “Just gonna get some air.”
“Can I come?”
Glancing into the living room where Matt and Mohinder were studiously avoiding her gaze, Claire sighed, “I think it might be a better idea to stay here.”
“You’re coming back, right?”
I don’t have anywhere else to go. “Of course.”
The December air bit at Claire’s skin, forcing her to shove her hands deep into her pockets. She had never quite adjusted to East Coast winters, and, as snow began to fall, she missed Texas and even California. Last Christmas, she had worn Capri pants and a tank top to open presents while her mother made breakfast; she worried that might have been the last time she’d ever get that.
God, the way Noah had looked at her…It was as if he had been staring at a stranger and not his daughter. Claire knew that she had let her father down in the past, had disappointed him and infuriated him, but lately…Claire strongly doubted her father was ever going to get over the sight of her writhing atop Peter, especially when coupled with the one-two punch of her…whatever with Adam.
It would be easier if she loved Adam. Well, maybe not easier since he had worked with her grandfather to murder almost all of the Company’s founders, but it wouldn’t have caused this sort of uproar. She had just shattered Peter; she had seen it in his face, and Claire wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive her. Even if the truth had spared him from being beaten collectively by her fathers, it had also killed whatever illusions he had left about his family, and Angela was his family. As sorry as Claire felt for Victoria, she had made her own choices, had wanted Peter to be a Petrelli and be safe.
Maybe she had made the wrong choice. Maybe there had never been a right one.
As she wandered the streets, she realized that she nearly to Arthur’s hotel room. She knew from Peter’s letters that he hadn’t cared much for his father, who was overbearing and had little time for his son’s sensitivities, and Claire could certainly see that in the burly man who described murdering his former colleagues the way most people talked about what they had for dinner. But Claire also saw…something softer in him, something familiar.
Claire suspected that Peter had more of his “father” in him than he believed.
She was about to open the door to the hotel when she suddenly felt a sharp pain at the base of her skull. Whirling around as she reached back to find the cause of pain, she froze when she saw Elle, grinning sadistically and bearing a syringe, the plunger fully depressed.
“What did you do?” Claire gasped, finding the location of her wound, her fingers coming back with minute drops of blood.
“Everyone loves you,” Elle gritted out from clenched teeth. “West, Adam, Noah…even my father, who dumped me with the Company drops everything to protect you! But Peter was supposed to be mine! He loved me until you came back! You ruined everything!”
The electricity hit Claire hard, making her muscles seize and burn with a pain that she had forgotten existed; her invincibility had apparently softened her memory when it came to injury, which used to justify the cries she made.
“I know that Sylar wants to kill you, to take your power, but, see, I figure that he can take Adam’s; it’s just as good. And this way…you get to suffer like I’ve suffered.” Grasping the front of her coat, shaking her like a rag doll despite her small size, Elle continued to shock her as she growled, “You’re not special anymore, Claire-bear. You’re nothing now.” Tossing Claire to the ground as she writhed in agony, Elle declared, “The strand of Shanti now working its way through your brain, it’ll probably kill you within two days, and I hope you realize every second of those days that no one can save you now, not even your precious Peter.”
Sending one final bolt through her, a bolt of electricity that caused blood to start to trickle out of Claire’s nose and ears, Elle snickered cruelly. “So much for saving the cheerleader, huh, Claire?”
It took Claire a minute to gather her bearings enough to crawl her way into the hotel elevator and press the button for Arthur’s floor. She struggled to pull herself up using the bar and then stumbled out into the hallway. Claire managed two knocks before collapsing completely just as Arthur opened the door.
* * *
“You’re a bloody disgrace, you know that?!” Adam called after Peter as he ducked into Central Park.
Peter whirled around, his emotions clear on his face as he exploded, “Excuse me?!”
“Angela Petrelli may be one of the biggest bitches I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing, but that woman loves you more than Victoria Pratt ever could have!”
“She took me from my mother! She pretended that I was her son to keep me away from Claire! She played God with our lives and you expect me to, what, thank her?!”
“Of course not! What she did was fucked up by anyone’s measure, but she’s still your family! You want to march the streets having a pity party for yourself, fine! But you left Claire back there to face everyone alone, like she didn’t have her whole life fucked with too!”
“You don’t understand!”
“You’re damn right I don’t!” Getting right into the empath’s face, Adam growled, “I love her! Now maybe that doesn’t mean anything to someone like you, who’s loved other women, but it doesn’t exactly happen for me. And she loves you. You want to stand here and whine about what Angela’s done to you? She did nothing to you except give you a brother that you idolize, a life that doesn’t seem that bad, and a so-called niece that you still fell in love with and still ended up with!” Shaking his head in disgust, Adam finished, “I might be a murderer and a villain to you, but at least I have the good sense to know when I’ve won and when I’ve lost.”
Peter glared at the immoral Englishman for a moment before feeling his fury slowly drain away. He was about to offer up a response - not an apology for he would never find a reason to apologize to this man he hated - when he spotted a familiar face coming towards the two of them.
Peter acted instinctively, sending a bolt of Elle’s electricity straight at the approaching Sylar, which the man quickly repelled.
“Well, now,” Sylar drawled, “it looks like I’m going to kill two birds with one stone.”
* * *
When Arthur burst through the front doors of what had once been his home, his unconscious and bleeding granddaughter in his arms, he did not care what the ramifications of his actions would be, did not think about the recriminations that his wife and sons would throw at him; all he could think about, was Claire.
He had told her the truth; he had held her as an infant, had monitored her throughout her life, had wanted only good things for Nathan’s only daughter. Like Angela, he had never wanted her to know their life; he had wanted for Claire to live a happy, normal life untouched by darkness. He should’ve known better; no Petrelli got out of this life unscathed.
“Oh my god!” Noah gasped as Arthur rushed forward and laid Claire out on the couch. “What happened?!”
“She showed up at my door like this,” Arthur explained, struggling to ignore Claire’s blood on his shirt. “She mumbled some things about Shanti and Elle before passing out.”
Mohinder pushed his way forward, tapping Claire’s face gently to try to rouse her. When it didn’t work, he turned to Hiro and said, “You need to get to a hospital and come back with adrenaline. Hurry.”
Hiro nodded before disappearing only to reappear a moment later with the vial in question. Mohinder quickly fetched a syringe, filled it, and murmured an apology to Claire before jamming the needle straight into her heart, causing Molly and Monica to both cry out in sympathy.
Claire sat straight up with a gasp, her arms flailing wildly, nearly smacking her father and Mohinder in the process. As her breathing began to regulate, she quickly said, “Sylar’s going after Adam. Elle…needle…Shanti…two days.”
“She’s not making any sense,” Noah stated, brushing her hair back from her face, accepting a wet washcloth from Nathan to wipe her face clean of blood.
Claire looked around the room, her eyes catching Matt’s. Silently she told him, You need to find Victoria Pratt. She went to Port au Prince under the name Eleanor Raines. The cure is in Odessa at Primatech. You can’t let Sylar get Adam’s powers.
“There’s a cure at Primatech,” Matt informed the group, “and she says we need to get Victoria Pratt; she went to Port au Prince.”
“I’ll call the Haitian,” Noah declared, digging his phone from his pocket.
“Sylar’s with Peter and Adam in Central Park,” Molly spoke up from her place beside Micah, as far from her “nightmare man” as possible.
“I’ll go,” Niki offered.
“I’ll come with you,” Nathan chimed in. Glaring at his father for a long moment, he decided to put his anger aside for a moment. “You’ll stay here with Claire?”
“Of course.”
As the group separated, Arthur turned when he glimpsed his wife out of the corner of his eye. Perched on the stairs, Angela held his gaze for a long moment before sighed, her voice empty of any animosity, “You selfish bastard.”
He smiled mirthlessly. “Hello, Angie.”
* * *
Dear Claire,
I have always felt like I didn’t quite belong in my family. I was never like my mother or my father, never showed any real aptitude for power or politics the way Nathan does. I used to joke that I must’ve been switched at birth because I heard my father complain more than once that I wasn’t a “real Petrelli.”
I wish it were true now. I wish that this was all some cruel joke and I wasn’t really a Petrelli because then, the way I feel…the way you feel, wouldn’t be so wrong.
I love you.
Peter
Author: lit_chick08
Rating: NC-17 overall; R this chapter for language and violence
Pairing: Paire, Claire/West, Peter/Elle, Claire/Adam Monroe
Word Count: 3638
Spoilers: Everything up till the end of Season 2; goes AU from there
Summary: Peter and Claire try to come to terms with how they feel about each other while the world threatens to end around them
A/N: This is a sequel to “Letters to My Uncle,” which can be found HERE. You might be confused if you try to read this one without reading the first one.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve-A
Claire had been digging in the closet she shared with Monica for a sweater when she heard the commotion outside in the hallway. Concerned that it was Sylar or the Company, she had immediately burst out of the room, prepared to battle whoever it was threatening everyone she loved. What she saw stopped her cold.
Her father was beating the crap out of Peter, who wasn’t doing a damn thing to defend himself.
Since finding out what Noah Bennet really did for a living, Claire assumed that there must have been a reason he had been so feared; she had never seen but…she assumed. And as she saw him mercilessly kicking Peter in the ribs, her fake uncle pinned against the banister and lying on his side, Claire felt fear.
Matt and Mohinder were trying to pull him off of Peter, and, as the situation really began to sink in, Claire wondered where Nathan was and why he wasn’t helping.
“Stop it!” she screamed, finally finding her voice, flying at her father.
In his rage, Noah did not even realize that it was his daughter who had leapt at him, the daughter whose honor and innocence he was attempting to avenge. No, in his furor, he struck at her the same way he was doing to Peter, and Claire, with her imperfect balance, was thrown backwards, tipping over the banister and crashing into the first floor foyer, her skull shattering with a grotesque sound against the imported Italian marble.
Like every other time she had died only to live again, the first thing she became aware of was the mending process. As she lied twisted on the floor, she felt the bones in her skull begin to shift back into their proper positions, her brain once again protected. Next she was aware of a sharp pain in her hip, a pain that increased as it snapped back into its socket. There was the pinch of her left wrist healing, the slide of her right humorous realigning. Because her head injury was the most extensive, her vision was the last to return, and, when she saw the humungous puddle of blood surrounding her, Claire became aware of the fact that she had landed on the table in the entryway, the one with the large vase, the same vase that was now embedded in large shards in her back. As the pieces pushed their way out of her skin, she fought to sit up and cried out as her ribs snapped back into place.
There was blood in her lungs, if the sickly crackling of her breathing was any indication, and she coughed into her hands, her palms now coated in blood. She became aware of people crying her name, felt a hand - Adam’s… - on her shoulder, and then, as her vision fully returned, she saw her father rushing down the staircase, a battered but healing Peter following.
Peter was bending down beside her when Noah stopped him, throwing him back against the stairs. “Don’t touch her!”
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice sounding far more pathetic than she had hoped.
No one would answer her, which was the first sign that, whatever it was, it was bad enough that no one wanted to be the one to break it to her. And, when she looked from Matt to Mohinder to Hiro, she saw the shame and embarrassment, and instantly she knew what was going on.
Pushing to her feet, she began, “Dad, you don’t understand - “
“What’s there to understand?!”
“You don’t know the whole story!”
“What acceptable story could there possibly be?!” Noah roared, prompting Hiro to jump.
Claire caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and there stood Angela, true fear written on her face. In that moment, Claire knew that she had a decision to make: she could either shatter her grandmother’s life or paint the man she loved as some sort of incestuous predator.
“Because everything’s a lie,” she managed to get out, bile rising in her throat.
“What do you mean, everything’s a lie?” Nathan pressed.
Claire threw a hand towards Angela. “Ask her.”
All eyes turned to the Petrelli matriarch, coolly standing away from the scene. Claire waited, ready for the confession to come pouring out of her grandmother’s mouth.
Instead, Angela sighed, “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
Her words hung in the air for a moment before Claire shrieked in fury, frustration, and helpless; she was moving before she even realized it, flying at the woman in black, prepared to beat the truth out of her if necessary.
Of course, she never made it; Adam caught her easily, holding her around the waist and murmuring calming words into her ear that she didn’t hear, not with the blood roaring in her ears.
“You stupid bitch!” Claire screamed, trying to fight her way out of Adam’s arms. “Tell the truth, god damn it! Tell the truth!”
“Claire, calm down,” Adam advised, grunting with the effort of restraining her flailing limbs.
But she was a woman possessed, filled with such unfathomable rage that she was prepared to lay the entire city to waste if it meant that Angela would tell the truth. So when she managed to escape Adam’s grasp, she flung her full weight at her grandmother, pinning her against the door, her hands wrapped tightly in her shirt even as Adam and now Matt attempted to pull her off.
“You are going to tell them everything or I swear to God I will get Victoria and take her straight to Arthur! See if he’ll be as forgiving as I was!”
“Claire,” Matt grunted as she kicked backwards, catching him in the knee.
“Noah, Nathan, I suggest you control your daughter,” Angela advised, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Tell them!” Claire shrieked, sounding inhuman even to her own ears.
When Angela still said nothing, as her fathers now were assisting Adam and Matt in subduing her, Claire began to sob in frustration. “She’s lying! She’s lied about everything! You have to believe me! We didn’t do anything wrong!”
Peter looked as if he was going to vomit as he turned his head away in shame, unable to meet his brother’s gaze.
“Peter’s not her son!” she finally shouted, desperation filling her body. “He’s not hers and not Arthur’s! She made a deal with Victoria to take him so she could change the future!”
At this, Peter and Nathan both froze in shock, Nathan’s grip loosening enough on Claire that she was able to push at Matt’s hands, freeing one side of her body. Managing to calm her self enough to not fly at her grandmother again, Noah and Adam released their hold, though Adam kept a steadying hand at the small of her back.
“She saw the future,” Claire repeated, taking deep breaths to regain her composure, “saw me. And she knew, Nathan, she always knew about me, and she was going to let you raise me, to be my father, but she saw Peter, too. He was always going to save me from Sylar, and he was supposed to do it in New York when I was your daughter and he was Victoria’s son.”
“Stop it!” Angela cried, pushing away from the door. “I won’t listen - “
“Let her finish,” Nathan interrupted, glaring at his mother as he read the sincerity on Claire’s face.
“We were supposed to be together, supposed to get married, but…They would kill us, kill our kids, so Angela decided to…change it, change everything. Because, see, if she raised Peter as her son and made sure…made sure I was never a part of your lives - “ Claire’s voice caught, the betrayal she had felt with Victoria suddenly reasserting herself with a vengeance.
The silence that followed her declaration was long and fraught with tension, no one finding the words to verbalize what was going through all of their minds in that moment. And then the silence was shattered by a sole, agonized voice.
“How could you do this to me?” Peter asked, tears tracking down his face.
For the first time since Claire had started speaking, Angela’s entire posture changed, remorse and shame flooding her. “Peter, you have to understand - “
“Everything is a lie! You made everything about me a lie! You made me think that I - “ He didn’t complete the thought but, from the way he looked at Claire, everyone could infer how his sentence was to end.
“I was trying to save your life, to give you the kind of life that - “
Peter didn’t let her finish; instead, he brushed right past her and disappeared out the front door. Claire made a move to follow, but Adam stopped her with a gentle tug on her wrist.
“You look like you just survived an attack by Freddy Kruger,” he pointed out, gesturing to her blood soaked clothing. “I’ll go.”
As the 400-year-old man disappeared out into the streets, Claire looked at Nathan, who appeared as if he had been hit by a bus. The others slowly slunk from the room, leaving their family to its open wound.
No one said anything.
There was nothing left to say.
* * *
Sylar’s patience had grown since his first foray into stealing powers; back then, he had been far too impulsive, ready to kill with no finesse. It had taken him time to realize that there was a precision to what he did, a delicate balance necessary to fulfill his goal without telegraphing his moves.
Elle Raines had none of that finesse, no patience to speak of, and, as they sat in their stolen car outside the Petrelli mansion surveying the comings and goings of its inhabitant, he was beginning to wonder if she possessed sanity. While many things could be said about the man who had once been Gabriel Gray, no one would ever say that he was insane; if anything, he was far too logical in his homicide.
He was starting to doubt his alliance with the woman in the passenger’s seat. Elle took unnecessary risks, let her emotions dictate her actions; it was a liability that he couldn’t afford.
Besides, her power would be useful to him.
He had been debating the merits of killing Elle or letting her live when he saw Peter explode out of the brownstone, an unfamiliar blond man trailing behind him, a man that Elle identified as Adam Monroe, a healer like Claire. Seeing an opportunity, Sylar turned to Elle and ordered, “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
“Stay? This is not the plan - “
“This is my plan! Now stay here and don’t do anything stupid.”
With that, Sylar left a stewing Elle in the car, anger coursing so strongly through her that actual sparks were emanating from her body.
* * *
No one would look at her after Claire got out of her second shower in less than two hours. She wasn’t sure whether it was from being at a loss or watching a video of her having sex, but no one, especially her fathers, would glance her way. Angela had retreated to the attic, and the others wandered the brownstone with little purpose. Stung and at a loss, Claire slipped on her coat and tucked her wet hair beneath her hood.
“Where are you going?” Molly queried softly, coming down the stairs.
Claire shook her head, not really having an answer. “Just gonna get some air.”
“Can I come?”
Glancing into the living room where Matt and Mohinder were studiously avoiding her gaze, Claire sighed, “I think it might be a better idea to stay here.”
“You’re coming back, right?”
I don’t have anywhere else to go. “Of course.”
The December air bit at Claire’s skin, forcing her to shove her hands deep into her pockets. She had never quite adjusted to East Coast winters, and, as snow began to fall, she missed Texas and even California. Last Christmas, she had worn Capri pants and a tank top to open presents while her mother made breakfast; she worried that might have been the last time she’d ever get that.
God, the way Noah had looked at her…It was as if he had been staring at a stranger and not his daughter. Claire knew that she had let her father down in the past, had disappointed him and infuriated him, but lately…Claire strongly doubted her father was ever going to get over the sight of her writhing atop Peter, especially when coupled with the one-two punch of her…whatever with Adam.
It would be easier if she loved Adam. Well, maybe not easier since he had worked with her grandfather to murder almost all of the Company’s founders, but it wouldn’t have caused this sort of uproar. She had just shattered Peter; she had seen it in his face, and Claire wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive her. Even if the truth had spared him from being beaten collectively by her fathers, it had also killed whatever illusions he had left about his family, and Angela was his family. As sorry as Claire felt for Victoria, she had made her own choices, had wanted Peter to be a Petrelli and be safe.
Maybe she had made the wrong choice. Maybe there had never been a right one.
As she wandered the streets, she realized that she nearly to Arthur’s hotel room. She knew from Peter’s letters that he hadn’t cared much for his father, who was overbearing and had little time for his son’s sensitivities, and Claire could certainly see that in the burly man who described murdering his former colleagues the way most people talked about what they had for dinner. But Claire also saw…something softer in him, something familiar.
Claire suspected that Peter had more of his “father” in him than he believed.
She was about to open the door to the hotel when she suddenly felt a sharp pain at the base of her skull. Whirling around as she reached back to find the cause of pain, she froze when she saw Elle, grinning sadistically and bearing a syringe, the plunger fully depressed.
“What did you do?” Claire gasped, finding the location of her wound, her fingers coming back with minute drops of blood.
“Everyone loves you,” Elle gritted out from clenched teeth. “West, Adam, Noah…even my father, who dumped me with the Company drops everything to protect you! But Peter was supposed to be mine! He loved me until you came back! You ruined everything!”
The electricity hit Claire hard, making her muscles seize and burn with a pain that she had forgotten existed; her invincibility had apparently softened her memory when it came to injury, which used to justify the cries she made.
“I know that Sylar wants to kill you, to take your power, but, see, I figure that he can take Adam’s; it’s just as good. And this way…you get to suffer like I’ve suffered.” Grasping the front of her coat, shaking her like a rag doll despite her small size, Elle continued to shock her as she growled, “You’re not special anymore, Claire-bear. You’re nothing now.” Tossing Claire to the ground as she writhed in agony, Elle declared, “The strand of Shanti now working its way through your brain, it’ll probably kill you within two days, and I hope you realize every second of those days that no one can save you now, not even your precious Peter.”
Sending one final bolt through her, a bolt of electricity that caused blood to start to trickle out of Claire’s nose and ears, Elle snickered cruelly. “So much for saving the cheerleader, huh, Claire?”
It took Claire a minute to gather her bearings enough to crawl her way into the hotel elevator and press the button for Arthur’s floor. She struggled to pull herself up using the bar and then stumbled out into the hallway. Claire managed two knocks before collapsing completely just as Arthur opened the door.
* * *
“You’re a bloody disgrace, you know that?!” Adam called after Peter as he ducked into Central Park.
Peter whirled around, his emotions clear on his face as he exploded, “Excuse me?!”
“Angela Petrelli may be one of the biggest bitches I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing, but that woman loves you more than Victoria Pratt ever could have!”
“She took me from my mother! She pretended that I was her son to keep me away from Claire! She played God with our lives and you expect me to, what, thank her?!”
“Of course not! What she did was fucked up by anyone’s measure, but she’s still your family! You want to march the streets having a pity party for yourself, fine! But you left Claire back there to face everyone alone, like she didn’t have her whole life fucked with too!”
“You don’t understand!”
“You’re damn right I don’t!” Getting right into the empath’s face, Adam growled, “I love her! Now maybe that doesn’t mean anything to someone like you, who’s loved other women, but it doesn’t exactly happen for me. And she loves you. You want to stand here and whine about what Angela’s done to you? She did nothing to you except give you a brother that you idolize, a life that doesn’t seem that bad, and a so-called niece that you still fell in love with and still ended up with!” Shaking his head in disgust, Adam finished, “I might be a murderer and a villain to you, but at least I have the good sense to know when I’ve won and when I’ve lost.”
Peter glared at the immoral Englishman for a moment before feeling his fury slowly drain away. He was about to offer up a response - not an apology for he would never find a reason to apologize to this man he hated - when he spotted a familiar face coming towards the two of them.
Peter acted instinctively, sending a bolt of Elle’s electricity straight at the approaching Sylar, which the man quickly repelled.
“Well, now,” Sylar drawled, “it looks like I’m going to kill two birds with one stone.”
* * *
When Arthur burst through the front doors of what had once been his home, his unconscious and bleeding granddaughter in his arms, he did not care what the ramifications of his actions would be, did not think about the recriminations that his wife and sons would throw at him; all he could think about, was Claire.
He had told her the truth; he had held her as an infant, had monitored her throughout her life, had wanted only good things for Nathan’s only daughter. Like Angela, he had never wanted her to know their life; he had wanted for Claire to live a happy, normal life untouched by darkness. He should’ve known better; no Petrelli got out of this life unscathed.
“Oh my god!” Noah gasped as Arthur rushed forward and laid Claire out on the couch. “What happened?!”
“She showed up at my door like this,” Arthur explained, struggling to ignore Claire’s blood on his shirt. “She mumbled some things about Shanti and Elle before passing out.”
Mohinder pushed his way forward, tapping Claire’s face gently to try to rouse her. When it didn’t work, he turned to Hiro and said, “You need to get to a hospital and come back with adrenaline. Hurry.”
Hiro nodded before disappearing only to reappear a moment later with the vial in question. Mohinder quickly fetched a syringe, filled it, and murmured an apology to Claire before jamming the needle straight into her heart, causing Molly and Monica to both cry out in sympathy.
Claire sat straight up with a gasp, her arms flailing wildly, nearly smacking her father and Mohinder in the process. As her breathing began to regulate, she quickly said, “Sylar’s going after Adam. Elle…needle…Shanti…two days.”
“She’s not making any sense,” Noah stated, brushing her hair back from her face, accepting a wet washcloth from Nathan to wipe her face clean of blood.
Claire looked around the room, her eyes catching Matt’s. Silently she told him, You need to find Victoria Pratt. She went to Port au Prince under the name Eleanor Raines. The cure is in Odessa at Primatech. You can’t let Sylar get Adam’s powers.
“There’s a cure at Primatech,” Matt informed the group, “and she says we need to get Victoria Pratt; she went to Port au Prince.”
“I’ll call the Haitian,” Noah declared, digging his phone from his pocket.
“Sylar’s with Peter and Adam in Central Park,” Molly spoke up from her place beside Micah, as far from her “nightmare man” as possible.
“I’ll go,” Niki offered.
“I’ll come with you,” Nathan chimed in. Glaring at his father for a long moment, he decided to put his anger aside for a moment. “You’ll stay here with Claire?”
“Of course.”
As the group separated, Arthur turned when he glimpsed his wife out of the corner of his eye. Perched on the stairs, Angela held his gaze for a long moment before sighed, her voice empty of any animosity, “You selfish bastard.”
He smiled mirthlessly. “Hello, Angie.”
* * *
Dear Claire,
I have always felt like I didn’t quite belong in my family. I was never like my mother or my father, never showed any real aptitude for power or politics the way Nathan does. I used to joke that I must’ve been switched at birth because I heard my father complain more than once that I wasn’t a “real Petrelli.”
I wish it were true now. I wish that this was all some cruel joke and I wasn’t really a Petrelli because then, the way I feel…the way you feel, wouldn’t be so wrong.
I love you.
Peter