In another time, in another life, she looks back at him for just one long moment, then tenders an apology rife with bitterness and pulls the trigger. But in this one, in that moment she sees a light in his eyes and a fragility in his voice that brings her back to when they first met. He promises - begs her - to fix the past, and all at once she feels the walls and cages she'd built inside herself crumble into dust. And she is furious.
"Can you fix me, Peter?" She asks angrily, stepping forward and shoving the gun against his chest. And now his eyes hold confusion, and he is silent, and that is answer enough. "God, you didn't even know. You really never figured it out."
"What are you talking about, Claire?"
"That day wasn't just Nathan's press conference. Your harmless little friend, Gabriel," she spat the name, "he found me. He found me and he took what he wanted and you weren't there."
The look on his face is somewhere between denial and heartbreak. "Claire-"
She shakes her head. "I couldn't even pass out. I could only— lie there helpless while he dug his fingers in my brain. And then I stopped feeling pain. And then I stopped feeling anything at all." She sees his brows furrow and she barks a short laugh. "That's right, Peter, I haven't felt anything in over a year."
He is completely disarmed. It's less satisfying than she thought it would be. He steps forward, reaching out towards her. Stops. "I've been trying for so long to understand what happened," he says quietly. "What made you so cold, so angry." His hand drops back to his side. "I'd started to think that maybe I had you wrong from the start, that you had all this hate inside you all along."
His audacity and the self-righteousness in his words renders her speechless. She is glowering at him now, but he keeps talking.
"Claire, let me help. Let me go. I can be there, I can change everything."
Now she has a response. "And let you kill Nathan? No." She raises the gun again. "Unlike you, I'm loyal to my family."
He looks at her in that awful way he does, that look that strikes right through to your soul. Concrete walls and damp floors are replaced by November sunlight and the bustle of people and the soft stroke of a hand on her cheek. Through the vision, his voice filters through. "God, Claire. This is all my fault."
"Stop that," she snaps. She jabs her gun forward, slamming back into the present with sheer force of will.
"It is. I should have been better, I should have seen—"
"No. Stop your stupid empath thing."
He frowns. "What are you talking about?"
"Our researchers at Pinehearst haven't been wasting their time. They know what you're capable of. They told me what you do."
"Claire, I wouldn't mess with your mind. I haven't even used telepathy in months."
"That's not—" frustrated, she drops the subject. "Enough. You're a terrorist and a menace, and if I have to kill you to stop you I will."
"But you haven't," he points out unhelpfully. "You know I'm right, Claire. The future I've seen is real, and I have to stop it."
"I won't let you kill my father." She says resolutely. "Your own brother."
"What do you want me to do, Claire?" He asks her. She feels herself transported again. The gun in her hands a different gun, heavier, her arms shaking, her eyes moist. Ghostlike, she feels a broad figure push past her, speaking in reassuring tones. "What else can I do? Do you think I want to hurt Nathan?" His hands are shaking.
Memory is like a physical bond, pulsing in the air between them, pulling on her heart. Claire should never have been sent after him. She's compromised. Maybe she's always been compromised. The gun drops to her side. "You just have to stop him telling everyone about us?"
He shrugs. "And stop the formula."
"Don't." He starts to protest, and she cuts him off. "No. If it's the right thing—" Claire still isn't convinced it is, and doesn't want to stop Nathan's press conference, either, doesn't want to hide, and she doesn't believe his rhetoric about people being fundamentally untrustworthy at all. She can't believe Peter does; it goes entirely against the man she used to know. But Peter was right when he said things are awful for everyone with natural abilities. The conference was too soon, or it came about with too many other secrets still hanging over their heads. "If it's the right thing to do, it still isn't your place.
"I guess so," he says thoughtfully. "And Nathan?"
Claire grits her teeth, hand spasming around the grip of her gun. "He's always been stubborn," she says. "Like me." She looks him in the eye. "You'll have to take me with you. I'm the better shot. We can take him down without hurting him too badly."
"And then save you."
"And then tell past you that I need help," she corrects him. "Idiot. You've been a seer and a time-traveler all these years and you still haven't learned not to do everything yourself?"
He laughs in relief, stepping forward and leaning in to touch her as if he can't quite believe she's real. Even though she's trying to be serious, there's something intoxicating about the movement. She leans into him. His lips brush against her cheek. "You sound like my mother," he says softly.
"So she tells me." Then she's looking up at him, his eyes half-lidded and close enough to breathe the same breath. His hands slide slowly around her back, holding her close as if she's something precious, and he's so warm, and how could she have ever believed he was her enemy? Peter is—
She has a hand on his shoulder and another holding his face. She pulls him down to meet her, and her eyes slide shut as he breathes her name against her lips.
The first kiss is far too brief, but her skin burns wherever they touch— and besides, they'll have all the time in the world soon enough.