A/N: It has been 5 years since The Company has been brought down. Everyone just wants to live a normal life.
*This is my first fanfic. Be gentle!
I don't own this show. Boo.
Claire sat by the pool, watching the sun reflect off the ripples of the body sliding through the water, almost like a fish. Her breathe caught in her throat as she watched the hard muscles move up, out of the water, coming back down, pushing his body through the water with no effort at all. His jet black hair shone through the water like the ominous fin of a shark. A hungry dangerous shark.
The Pretelli mansion was behind her, looming over her much like her grandmother, Angela did. Claire glanced over her shoulder, the darkened windows feeling like hiding watchful eyes. She hated that this was the only place for her. The Company had stolen her life away, killed her family.
After they had found out Noah was a double agent, they had killed him. Claire was sure her mother and Lyle were still alive, living somewhere else under a different name. Maybe Noah was dead, maybe not. You never knew when it came to those kinds of things. Claire lowered her sunglasses, rolling her eyes as she thought her previous life. "True, the running and dodging bullets got old but seeing my friends was nice," she thought to herself, smiling as she thought of Mohinder, Hiro, Matt, Peter. She smirked at the last thought, watching the man in the pool. As if he'd heard her thoughts, he stopped swimming, gliding to the edge of the pool. As he pulled up on the ladder, the water weighed his swim trunks down slightly. Claire's eyes were riveted to the V of his hips. The water droplets rolled down his tight stomach, like little beacons, neon arrows.
"Did you say something," he asked, grabbing a towel, smirking at her as he dried his body off. Claire licked her lips slowly, shaking her head, forcing her eyes away from his body.
"No, Peter, just thinking," she said, smiling. She felt her heart jump a little as he smiled at her, walking off, shaking his head a little.
Claire let a soft gasp out, not even realizing she had been holding her breathe in. She tried to push the thoughts from her head. He was her uncle and thinking the kinds of things she was, was not right.
"Only by blood. It isn't like you grew up with the guy in your life. Plus, in this family you really have no idea if he is or isn't your uncle. He could be a no body for all you know...and we both know you want him to be a somebody to you. Somebody special, Claire," the voice in her head reasoned with her. Claire pulled her long blonde hair up, off her neck. She had been thinking about that a lot; love, finding love, keeping it. She sat up, pulling the rainbow colored towel around her thin waist, shielding her entire body with the bright fabric. She slide her tiny feet into flip flops and walked lazily across the patio, towards the mansion. She glanced up slyly, feeling the house's eyes on her, watching her move. Claire smiled, seeing the curtains move in one of the rooms upstairs, being pulled back into place by an unseen hand.
She opened the French doors, walking into the kitchen, the central air welcoming her into its igloo arms. Angela sat at the dining room table, her back stiff and regal as always.
"Hello, Claire. Did you happen to see the mail," she said, motioning her head towards the envelopes on the table. Claire walked to the refrigerator, pulling a bottle of lemonade from a shelf. Claire yawned as she sat down, glancing quickly through the small stack. Colleges, brochures...wait, what was this one? She didn't recognize the hand writing. She looked at the postmark, the black smear across the stamp.
"New Mexico," her grandmother said curtly, "who lives in New Mexico that knows you?" Claire looked at her, shrugging slightly. Angela raised an eyebrow, not sure if she should believe Claire or not. Claire held her stare with her, lifting her chin in slight defiance. She respected her grandmother but feared her also. Claire also knew Angela respected people who held their own. Angela gave a small nod, breaking eye contact first.
"I'm going to take these to my room," Claire said, grabbing the envelopes and smiling. She walked quickly out the kitchen, rushing up to her room. She had been in such a rush she had not noticed Peter leaning against the wall, listening to the conversation.
Of course, she would not have noticed him anyway. He had phased out, going invisible when he heard her leaving the room.
He could still smell that clean fresh scent of her, the scent of her shampoo as she had rushed by. He stood by the doorway, turning to glance at his mother as she covered her face in her hands, sighing loudly in frustration. Silently, he moved through the house, taking the steps two at a time, moving smoothly and quickly until he arrived at Claire's door. Peter stood outside the door, thinking to himself, questioning whether he wanted to betray Claire's trust or not. He remembered the sound of her voice as she had lied to his mother about New Mexico, saying she didn't know anyone from there. He could feel his blood start to boil a little, a tinge of anger entering his system. The lie had set a small tingle through his body. What reason did she have to lie, about what? With those questions dancing around in his brain, he entered her room, still invisible. He glided through the shut door, thanks to D. L.'s powers he had acquired years ago.
The envelopes with various college logos were tossed carelessly on her desk. There was a decent stack going. Obviously, college was not in Claire's future plans. Peter gave a lop sided grin to himself as he turned, watched her. She was in the adjoining bathroom, the door partially shut. He could hear her singing to herself, her voice cracking terribly. He couldn't help but grin at her carefree attitude. She had been through so much and seemed to be healing, mentally, just fine. Peter stood still, just listening, watching. He saw a flash of her, crossing the crack in the bathroom door. An arm, a leg, something unclothed, her tanned skin like a stream of sunshine to him.
Peter turned around, inner shame running rampant in his mind. He shouldn't be in here. He shouldn't be watching her get dressed. He had come in here to see about the New Mexico envelope and that was all. He ran a hand through his hair, still damp from the swim. Closing his eyes, sighing loudly, he fought with his conscious on whether to turn around or to stay put. Claire answered that for him as she walked out of the bathroom, fully dressed. Her Ipod ear buds were in her ears as she moved around, humming to herself. Peter could hear her sigh as she turned the Ipod off, setting it on her desk. She picked up the envelopes, her fingers moving through them swiftly. As she came to the plain white envelope, she slowed, pulling it away from the rest. She tossed the envelope to the bed, watching it flutter softly as it landed. Peter was tempted to lean over the bed, to read the name across the return address. He crossed his arms, watching Claire, his eyes darting between her and the envelope.
She seemed as unsure about it as he did, as Angela did. He rolled his eyes, licking his lips impatiently. Claire paced around her bed, watching the envelope, as if it would transform or pounce. Peter edged closer to the bed, the chicken scratch hand writing becoming a little clearer. Why had he not met someone with amazing eye sight as an ability?
Finally, Claire made a decision, picking up the envelope. She quickly ran her finger under the flap, the ripping down echoing in the vast silence of of the mansion. Peter watched her, entranced by the way she seemed so into what was written on the paper.
And then she smiled. Peter felt the jealousy in an instant. What was written on there to make her smile? Who was making her smile? The small laugh she let out ran through him, like fingers on a piano on his nerves. He felt his hands start to tingle. Looking down, he saw the glowing in his finger tips.
Quickly, he left the room before Claire looked up to see him spying on her. He went into his room, slamming the door loudly. The jealousy still lingered, his fingers flickering brightly. It would be nothing really, to have burned the envelope while she was in the bathroom.
He would find out who had sent that letter and what it said. He did not completely understand why but he felt so possessive over Claire. Maybe because they had saved each other's lives. If they had not been there for each other, they would both be dead. He wanted to protect her, to keep her. She was his and no one else's but he knew he could not act on those feelings. He did not want to scare her. Looking in his mirror, he pushed his hair back off his face.
A smile formed on his lips. "She is mine," he whispered to himself. He sometimes wondered just how much of his personality was his and how much was Sylar's now. The smile fell from his face, searching in his eyes for that part that was him. He scared himself sometimes when thoughts like this entered his mind. Thoughts of possession, of hurting someone, of killing someone if they had something he wanted...it was the hunger.