A.N: Okay, this is my first shot at writing anything from the Heroes universe, and anything that's Paire implied, so I hope I've done a good job. I got the inspiration for this while watching the preview for Kindred, and it wouldn't go away after I watched said episode tonight, so there we go.
Warnings: Canon implications, undertones of incest.
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes. (Or Peter for that matter. Sigh.)
Caitlin knew this day would come as soon as her brother dragged the man's half-conscious form into the light of the dingy pub. She knew it would come as soon as she saw the man heal himself, shoot lightning from his palms, hoist a man into the air without blinking.
Even when she first kissed him, she knew what the consequences would be.
Because men like Peter always had someone looking for them, even when women like herself tried not to remember it.
So when, on that chilly spring evening she heard a distinct American accent amongst the throngs of regulars, Caitlin tried to convince herself that, yes, she'd known what was going to happen…but that didn't make the happening any easier.
Retreating into the back rooms, she swung her head around one of the doorframes; the back of Peter's head and his flannel shirt greeting her as he helped with the bottling up.
Taking a deep breath, the brunette steadied her emotions, "I migh' need some help tonight, looks like it's gonna be busy."
A quick smile tried to dispel the look of worry that had crossed Peter's handsome features, "Hurry up, then. They're comin' in a mile a minute."
She pivoted and made her way back to the bar before he could answer, sure that her feelings might be known, if they weren't already, and placed a cheery grin on her face that all the customers would fall for immediately.
A few moments later, Caitlin spotted the source of the accent that she now associated so much with the new miracle that had sprung into her life; a miracle that, she was now steadily realising, didn't belong to her.
A young girl, and Caitlin reckoned she must be young, much younger that she should to be on her own in a strange country, sat by herself at one of the tables; a look in her eyes that many would have thought was just the side effects of being in a new place.
But the barmaid recognised the look as one of loss, the same one she had worn before Peter had catapulted into her life. And Peter, she was sure, was the reason this girl looked so engulfed in the crowd.
She was a pretty thing, Caitlin could acknowledge, with curly, blonde hair and tanned skin. She couldn't quite make out the colour of her eyes, but then again, Caitlin decided as she served another pint of Guinness, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Moments later, or so it seemed, Caitlin had made her way over to the table, unsure of how to strike up a conversation with the person that was, however unknowingly, about to take away her heart.
"Can I get ya anythin'?" Was her question, and Caitlin tried not to look into the girl's eyes as she did so.
"Erm, well…I know this sounds really strange…" the young girl bit her lip, and her voice sounded foreign to Caitlin's ears, somewhere in between a Texan drawl and Peter's own tones of voice. "but I've been asking anyone around here. I'm sorta…looking for someone."
A sharp jolt rippled through her, but the brunette managed to keep her head from glancing back to the bar, where she was sure Peter was at that moment.
"Depends who you're lookin' for," her voice was quieter now, "What's he look like?"
"He's American…he's got brown hair and brown eyes. He was…is called Peter. Please," The blonde stared straight at her, and her sea-green eyes could clearly be seen. Caitlin could also see she was trying not to cry, "Please, if you know anything. He's – I'm his –"
"Hold on a minute," Caitlin said, cutting off the other girl from speaking. She didn't want confirmed what she already knew. Peter had had another girl before her, and here she was, sitting in her pub as bold as brass!
In that moment, guilt washed over the woman's conscience; she had tried to stop Peter from remembering, tried to convince him that he belonged here, in Cork, with her, when really, he belonged wherever-it-was-he-came-from with the girl sat in front of her. How could she have ever staked a claim in someone that so obviously belonged, was connected to, someone else?
Swallowing slowly and making her way back to the bar, she stopped short of Peter, not daring to look at his face lest her tears fell.
"There's someone on the end table; the blonde girl. Go t'her, Peter."
And as she heard the girl's cries and the smashing of glass on the floor, saw the reflection of her golden head buried in Peter's chest in the glass cabinets; his look of recognition, Caitlin tried to convince herself that she was doing this for the greater good.
After all, miracles can't be shared.