Title: "Adaptation and Revelation"
Rating: PG
Genre: General/Drama/Angst
Characters: Claire/Peter, Nathan, Heidi
Complete Summary: Over a year after discovering her biological relation to the Petrelli family, Claire spends her first Christmas at the Petrelli estate in New York. But she finds that she has trouble fitting in, especially with the absence of one Peter Petrelli, who later makes an appearance, bringing an interesting truth along with him. (One-shot.)
Author's Note: In some ways, this fic is AU. You'll see why. Just as background info on this story, Claire hasn't seen Peter in almost a year, since the near-explosion of New York City. He's been distant from many people.
Adaptation and Revelation
The interior of the Petrelli estate was furnished with red, green, and gold trimmings, an apparent sign of the occasion the family was celebrating. Garlands twisted around the banister, lights hung on the eight-foot evergreen tree, and unused, silk stockings hung above the hearth where a warm fire blazed.
Claire Bennet sat alone in the dimly lit guestroom. The walls were near bare, the curtains were stark white, and the bed sheets were a pale yellow. Judging by the appearance of this room, she couldn't have known what the occasion was. However, this was to be her first Christmas with her biological father, Nathan Petrelli. She had received an invitation by phone from Nathan's wife Heidi last month. Heidi had said that Nathan was so busy with political duties that he couldn't call her himself. Nevertheless, Claire had gratefully accepted the invitation.
Now she was here, having arrived at the JFK airport just the morning before, and was already about to meet her extended family and friends. Not to mention important political figures whom Nathan worked with and for. If anyone asked—Nathan told her earlier after he had asked to speak with her privately in his office—she was Heidi's best friend's daughter. Admittedly, she was taken quite aback with his request for her to lie about her identity, but she very well understood the risks he was already taking by having her here in the first place. He was distant, but he tried.
The party—the formal dinner party, if anything—had officially started at the first ring of the doorbell. That was over an hour ago, and since then, the bell had rung more times than Claire could count, and more and more guests filtered within the house's walls. Yet Claire stayed sitting in the guestroom, so nervous that she had to sit on her hands to keep them from shaking. Repeatedly, she questioned why she had decided to come to New York, why she had willingly come for the holiday. She didn't know anyone, she realized. She had no one to talk to. Well, she thought again, she did have someone she could talk to. But that would depend on whether or not he would show up. His name lingered in her mind, but she didn't speak it aloud or mention it to Nathan. It wasn't her place to.
I can't hide up here forever, she told herself, and after one slow and deep breath, she stood from her bed. She crossed to the mirror for a last checkup before walking out the door. The collar of her red turtleneck was crooked and her blonde ringlets were slightly out of place. After fixing herself to a decent appearance, she took one more deep breath and opened the guestroom door. She walked to the banister, holding her hands in front of her for self-containment, and peered at the sight below.
There were several people hanging around below the staircase, champagnes in hand and talking rather knowledgably about some topic she knew little about. But, from what she could hear, the majority of the party was in the family room, the dining room, and the patio outside. Soft Christmas music played in the background. She carefully moved down the stairs to find something to do, maybe get some food from the dining room or find her young, half-brothers. The well-dressed individuals who stood at the foot of the stairs looked at her, with an obvious curiosity in their minds, but, thankfully, they didn't voice it. They turned back to each other and continued their conversation as Claire strode quickly passed.
She went into the dining room to spot out the food, but she found that she had lost her appetite somehow. So she went into the family-turned-party room.
Nathan was there, entertaining a rather large audience. The smile on his face was beaming, the smile of a politician.
Claire hung by the door. She noticed that she was probably the youngest person in the room and she felt uncomfortable and out of place. She was about to leave Nathan and his spectators to their business when Nathan had called her name.
Frozen stiff, she stopped in place, her back facing him. She could just feel the stares in her direction. Mustering all the power she had in her, she turned to them. Nathan was looking straight at her, the same smile branded on his face.
"Claire, come over here for a second, will you?" He gestured friendly to her.
It was a slow walk to him, but she made it there eventually. She could feel her cheeks burning.
"I bet you're all wondering who this young flower is, seeing as she stands out among all of us withering trees," Nathan said. Everyone laughed. Claire forced a smile.
"This is Claire," Nathan continued. "She's the daughter of one of my wife's friends, who's been tragically put into a hospital recently, for personal reasons… So Heidi was kind enough to invite Claire to enjoy Christmas with our family." She had to hand it to him, Nathan knew how to pull lies out of his… head.
After waving a sheepish hello to everyone in the room, she started making her way out. Nathan slipped a quiet, "Go find the boys and watch them for me," to her, and Heidi grabbed Claire's hand in support, knowing full well about the lie. Everyone she passed on her way out gave his or her sincere—or not-so-sincere—condolences, which she accepted, despite the fact that no one she knew was hospitalized at the current time.
Claire went outside to stand on the patio. She needed a little fresh air. Thankfully, no one was outside due to the cold. Here, she held back a range of emotions from escaping her. She walked to the garden; the flowers were brittle and fragile from the winter. What was beautiful and blooming in the spring was now lifeless and stiff. They would stay this way for the next few months, until the sun returns to claim them.
From behind her, she heard small and quick footsteps coming toward her. She turned around and was greeted by two small bodies smashing into her in what seemed to be a hug. Her half-brothers had some way of showing affection, even if they had only known her for two days. They were adorable, though.
"Hey, guys," she said, messing up their hair.
"It's cold outside, Claire."
"Go inside, Claire."
She laughed at their endearing concern. "I'll go, don't worry. Just give me a sec." She motioned the two of them to go back inside, and they skipped when they saw Heidi at the glass doors.
Claire smiled sadly as they fled. She saw Heidi speaking critically to them, perhaps telling them not to go outside in the dark. Heidi didn't see her hiding in the garden, so Claire decided to stay outside for a little bit more.
Then she heard one of the boys shouting from the door in delight, "Uncle Peter's here?"
That got Claire's attention.
Heidi shushed her son for shouting so loudly, but the damage had already been done. Claire quietly and discreetly edged her way toward the patio in hopes of hearing what she was telling them.
"… Your father doesn't know Peter's here yet," Heidi was saying. "I don't want either of you bothering either of them, all right? You'll get to see Peter later, okay?" The boys voiced their agreement. "Okay, let's go inside."
Heidi ushered the boys inside and shut the door behind her.
Claire's mind was racing. He was here? It was almost unbelievable. The one person she wanted to see, for whom she had agreed to come to New York in the first place—although she hadn't admitted that until now—was here.
Peter Petrelli.
Her uncle.
Somehow that title had never sat well with her.
But right now, that was immaterial. She needed to see him. She could no longer fight the urge of wanting, of needing a friend whounderstood her. It had been over a year since she had first met him. It had been months since she had last seen him. It was almost as though Peter had dropped off the face of the earth. There was no knowing how much longer she could go without seeing him, the only person she knew she could trust in this large, confusing, deceitful world.
All these thoughts she had suppressed were now coming back to her full force. She ran across the patio and into the house. Heidi was there, helping the boys eat their dinner so as not to stain their tailor-made suits.
"Claire, is everything all right?" Heidi asked. She had undoubtedly noticed Claire's unsettled state.
"I'm fine," Claire lied in passing and left it at that. She paced to another part of the house.
She checked in the party room, the living room, and the dining room. He wasn't there. Neither was Nathan. Had Nathan already gotten wind of him?
She went into the billiards room; surprisingly, there were many people in there. After taking a turn around the room and concluding that he wasn't in there, she made her way out.
Then she saw him.
Peter Petrelli was standing alone in the foyer, right in front of the door. Claire noticed that he stood out like a sore thumb in his outfit. He wore a dark trench coat, exuding a very ominous quality about him. His face was screwed in determination, as he was looking around as if he were sensing out someone somewhere in the estate. Nearly everyone around him was eyeing him suspiciously. Who, they probably wondered, would dare rain in on our lovely celebration?
Claire had to dodge several people to get anywhere near Peter. She had to do this carefully so as not to spill their champagnes or o'deurves on them.
"Peter!" she called out to him.
Peter's head shot up at the sound of his name. He looked around, scouting the source of it.
He was about to look in her direction when a very tall man stood directly in front of her. Taken aback, Claire craned her neck upward to see who this person was.
Not only was this man tall, he was also intimidating. There was something about his demeanor and his facial expression that didn't bode well.
"Hello," he said to her in a way that was almost creepy. He offered his hand to her. "I'm John Corrigan. I work with Mr. Petrelli. Somewhat."
Hesitantly, Claire shook his hand. He had a firm grip, squeezing her fingers a little too harshly. "I'm Claire."
"So I heard," he said pensively.
She took this opportunity to steal a glance behind John Corrigan. Peter was still standing at the front door, but he was no longer looking for whoever called him. Someone else had caught his attention. Nathan was marching toward him.
"So where exactly is your mother from, Claire? I'm so sorry to hear about her condition," Corrigan said, but she knew that he wasn't sorry at all. For another thing, she didn't like how he was interrogating her like this.
"Um… She's from Massachusetts—I'm from Massachusetts," Claire lied. She wanted to get away from this guy. She wanted to talk with Peter. She could now see that Peter appeared to be exchanging a very heated line of words with Nathan. Nathan, as far as Claire could tell, was trying his best to keep Peter contained, to not attract the attention of everyone else present.
"What happened to her exactly?" Corrigan interrupted.
Claire's brow creased and didn't answer. Who was this guy?
"Don't you know what happened to her?" he questioned in strange curiosity.
Furious, she answered. "She's had some head trauma, all right? Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find someone." And Claire walked away.
After making sure that Corrigan wasn't watching her anymore, she strode to the foyer.
But neither Peter nor Nathan was there.
She scanned the entire area. Then she remembered the one place they could have gone to get privacy: Nathan's office.
When she saw that the door to Nathan's office was partially open, she reached her hand to the doorknob. But then she heard Peter's furious voice from the other side of the door.
"Just stop lying to me, Nathan!"
"Okay, okay." Nathan was trying to calm him down. "We'll talk about this after the party. It's Christmas Eve. Go and enjoy yourself tonight, will you do that for me?"
"I don't see the point, since I'm not part of this family."
Nathan paused. So did Claire.
"What are you talking about?" Nathan asked. Claire couldn't pinpoint it, but it seemed as though Nathan were covering something with his voice.
"You know what I'm talking about! You, Mom, Dad… It's all been a lie."
Knowing that she was risking exposure, Claire peeked through the small crack between the door and the doorframe. Peter's back was to her, but she clearly saw Nathan. His expression was one of utter shock, like he had been caught red-handed for something. Suddenly—as though the look on his face had triggered something—tearing her devastatingly, Claire felt a surge of emotional pain rush through her. She didn't know where it had come from.
"… Who told you?" was all he said.
"Does it matter? I just want the truth." Peter was fuming, his breath ragged.
"I can't tell you that."
Peter pressed, "You can't or you won't?"
Nathan didn't answer.
"I knew it," Peter said. "I knew it!"
"Peter, stop. Please." Nathan put his hands on Peter's shoulders to steady him from losing control. "We didn't tell you because we knew it would kill you. You were always the fragile one in the family. I didn't mean for you to find out, Peter."
Peter just stood there rigidly, not looking his brother in the face. Then Nathan tentatively moved in to embrace Peter. "Everything's going to be all right, Peter." And Claire thought that he was telling the truth.
But Peter violently shoved Nathan away.
"I told you to stop lying to me, Nathan," Peter said quietly. "Everything won't be okay."
And with that, Peter turned toward the door. Claire ran out of the way so she wouldn't be caught on the other side of the door, listening in to their conversation. She hid, though not cleverly, behind a tall plant. It had worked, though, for neither Peter nor Nathan had seen her.
Nathan didn't wait to see Peter walk out of the house. Instead, he shut his office door and stayed in there for what seemed to be the rest of the night.
Peter, on the other hand, was striding into the foyer, his trench coat catching wind behind him, looking at no one. Claire followed him.
Just as he opened the front door, Claire called, "Peter!"
He stopped at the sound of his name and turned to its source. Claire stood right in front of him, staring into his eyes. They were watery from holding back tears. His face was strained in pain, like his whole world had just crashed and shattered around him. But a flicker of recognition had sparked in his eyes when he saw her, and his expression softened, albeit a very little.
They didn't say anything, for time seemed to have stopped.
She understood. She didn't have to hear the whole conversation to know that Peter's entire life had been a lie, just as hers had been.
She understood his need to be alone, and she didn't press on her wishes to speak with him, for his needs far surpassed her own.
With one last, sad smile, Peter intimated his goodbye.
Claire returned the smile, with the same sorrow, the same sentiment.
Then he walked out the door, shutting it behind him, and disappeared into the night.
After that moment, Claire—disregarding the group of friends and family who had started singing Christmas carols by the grand piano and realizing the one person that mattered to her most was not among them—retreated into the guestroom, not knowing whether she would ever see Peter Petrelli again.
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