--Girl on His Canvas--
"Petrelli. It's a nice name, don't you think?" Caitlin commented lightly, sending a soft smile in his direction, only to have her mouth crease into a frown a few moments later as she realized Peter's attention was elsewhere, beautiful brown eyes glazed over with a pasty-white film. His hand was moving gracefully across one of her last canvases- God knows he'd filled most of what she kept stocked in the cottage- color quickly taking on brilliant shape and form.
They're all the same in one single element: the girl.
It was always the same girl that appeared; petite, blonde and pretty, sometimes featured in a blue-white cheerleading uniform, sometimes soaring through the skies in the arms of a dark-haired boy. Sometimes there were only glimpses of a small, sad smile, sunshine curls or soft green eyes. Most of them depicted her and a lean, sable-haired man that was unmistakably her Peter; some were quiet scenes, just sitting side by side, reading together or standing on a rooftop watching a sunset, others depicted embraces, kisses and passionate lovemaking.
Caitlin figured there wasn't really any use in deluding herself: Peter was never hers to begin with.
They made love that night for the first time; Caitlin held him close as he began to tense and shudder, riding the edges of his climax. And as he came, he cried out a muffled name against her skin. She couldn't quite make it out, but she knew it wasn't hers.
All questions could be laid to later that night, as he woke up screaming beside her. This time, the name he called was loud and clear.
Claire.
And Claire, she was certain, would be petite, blonde and pretty, young with a sad smile and entrancing green eyes.
The rest of the night, Peter's sleep was restless and fitful at her side. Caitlin had little doubt it was the girl on his canvas that haunted his dreams.