"Are ya going to open it or stare it down all day?" Caitlin gestured towards the prize Peter received from her brother after the heist the night before. The unassuming, wooden box sat on the top of the bar, holding the missing pieces of his life.

Peter shrugged. Ever since he'd gotten back from the robbery, he'd been all the more moody. It should have been simpler. Just get back, rip open the box, figure out where everything went wrong and then go home, wherever home was, to fix it. Still, there was something about it that didn't feel right to him. Perhaps it was just the way it had been won. Peter didn't know much about his past, but he knew he wasn't a thief, at least not until last night. Weakly, he muttered, "I'll open it.. eventually."

"Eventually?!" She shouted. It was all she could do to keep her from jumping across the bar and knocking some sense into that American skull of his. "This is what ya wanted. Answers, right?"

"Right," Peter sighed. "It's just—"

"Just what exactly? Are ya happy like this, not knowing who ya are, not knowing why ya can shoot lightening bolts out ya hands like Jesus knows what." They'd been at this debate for hours now, but this was the first time she'd raised her voice. Lifting her hands to the ceiling, to call for help in this moment of her own exasperation, she swore, "Holy mother of god, you're about at stubborn as me brother."

"Caitlin, I—" Peter wanted to explain his reluctance to her but he could hardly explain it to himself yet. There was something there though, something that told him he should stay away from whatever was contained in that small contained.

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, not willing to hear anymore. Pushing the box closer to him, she said point-blankly, "You cannot hide from your past forever, Peter. Least of all, not here, not around me."

Before he could answer or talk her down from her insistence that he do what he knew he should be doing anyway, Caitlin walked out of the barroom, slamming the door that that led up the stairs to her living quarters behind her.

Left alone with the mysteries of his past, Peter fingered the latch of the box. Who was he and how did he fit into this world? Did he have a family? Did he have a girl in his life, someone strong like Caitlin perhaps? What did he do for a living? The first step to finding the answers lay hidden inside.

Peter lifted the lid, revealing what he hoped were enough pieces of himself to find a place to call home once again. Inside, there was only a sealed envelope, with his name written on it in blue ink. Was this the love letter Ricky spoke about? He raised his eyebrows and ripped it open, suddenly eager to know what he had been carrying around when they'd found him.

Peter,

You've really done it this time, haven't you, mate? Let's state with that whole blowing up New York deal. Of course, you won't remember that but I'm sure a lot of other people will. Good job drawing unneeded attention to our kind. What was I training you all those months for is you couldn't control your powers when they time called for you to do so? Lucky for you, big brother Petrelli came and saved your weak ass.

I, for one, am glad the Big Apple didn't go kaboom, if only because I was standing right there when it all went down. I saw it all. From you throwing down on Sylar, to you and Nathan taking flight, to Primatech capturing your comatose self once you fell back down to Earth. Nathan didn't save you then, did he?

I saw him watching from a rooftop, hiding there while the company bagged and tagged you. Guess he only really cared about saving New York City, not saving you. That oughta look good on his political record. Sorry mate, but what did I tell you about people sucking?

After watching that prat hiding like that, I couldn't let what I knew was coming next happen to you. You're a decent kid, a bit cheeky and incredibly stupid and naive at times, but a decent kid nonetheless. I had to stop what was coming. I've watched the company destroy people and by the time I'd gotten to you, you were quite well broken too.

I'm not sure what they did to you, what tests they might have run, but I can imagine it wasn't pretty. You looked ready to keel over by the time me and my colleague got to you. We weren't sure how to help you those first few weeks after we got you out. You'd gone more than a little batty and the company was still on our heels. We had an inkling to erase your memories of what they did to you, thinking that might get it sorted. I didn't get a chance to see the results, as I needed to make my way out of town rather quickly.

I left before you woke up. I told some street contacts of mine where to find a shipment of I-PODs that could be easily filched. There's obviously no I-PODS, just a sad chap who doesn't know how to control his own powers. Won't those paddys be surprised!

In case you don't remember, your name is Peter Petrelli. You're the younger brother of congressman Nathan Petrelli, son to Angela Petrelli (they're a bunch of snooty wankers, if you ask me) and you're one of the biggest pains in my ass I've ever met. You're an empath who can pick up abilities from others. Not sure how many you may have filched so far, but the ones I can recall are flight, precognition, rapid cell regeneration, telepathy, invisibility (you got that one from me), telekinesis, induced radioactivity, enhanced strength, electromagnetism and phasing. You're from New York City, but for now you should lie low, keep your head down and keep your gob shut. The company is still out there. If they find you again, you will wish they hadn't.

I'll come back when it's safe. This is the first time I've ever stuck my neck this far out for someone, so don't cock it up, okay?

-Claude

When Caitlin returned from upstairs, Peter was watching the fire burning in the fireplace. Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed her there until she spoke. "I saw ya opened the box. What did you find?"

Peter pondered over this question. He still wasn't sure what to think about the letter, what it said about his brother, and the company, his powers and himself. It had jogged his memory, bringing vague recollections of scenes and feelings back. Now Peter knew why he hadn't wanted to remember his past.

When he looked back over it, he could very faintly recall waking up in the company's cell and the terror inside when that happened. They'd run test after test, evaluating his endurance and driving him past the point of madness. More than any thing else though, he could remember the pain the clearest. The needles and the drugs they stuck in him, the burning they had caused, the test.. after test.. after excruciating test.

There were times he wanted to kill himself to stop it all. A few times he had even tried to do so but his invulnerability prevented him from doing even that. He was their guinea pig and he was there to stay.

He had prayed to whoever and whatever would listen to save him, get him out of that hell. It seemed his prayers had been answered. If only he could remember what this Claude person looked like. Peter watched the fire as it consumed the ashes of the letter. "I think I found a friend. A hero."

-End-