Disclaimer: If you recognise it, I don't own it.

Fracture

8.

"Eyes up, Peter."

Blonde hair, black dress, pink lipstick. Mutter to Peter. "Want Bennet to shoot you? Or should I just throw you out the window now?"

You got a perfect right. You got champagne. "You want to get out of here?"

"Meet me on the balcony." Pink lips curve. Dodge Ma. Dodge Peter.

Fly, eighteen floors up, and the door must be unlocked. Wanted it to unlock. Click. In ten minutes you'll be going to hell. "Want a drink?"

Green eyes dark. "No."

In twenty she's got what she came for.

In thirty you almost remember that you died.

9.

Claire lies in her own bed and waits for midnight. Nathan was right to take her home. He would have been missed. She should feel regret. She should feel a lot of things.

She does feel a lot of things. Just not the right ones.

Mostly, she feels growing impatience with the slow tick of her bedside clock.

Are you all right, Nathan asked, after. It sounded like someone else. Felt like a vortex had opened up beneath her.

"Yes."

She smiled. Reached for him again. And they fell.

It's all right.

It's all wrong.

But it doesn't feel wrong.

10.

After dark. Past Pete's door. Gleam of her open eyes. "It doesn't feel wrong."

Sure doesn't.

Morning sunlight. Throw her a red apple. She bites. Wicked sparkle.

"You'll be late."

Ignore Angela.

"How about we meet for lunch?"

She nods. Grins.

Wink. This house isn't our home.

Seconds tick down to twelve. Meet her in the elevator. "What do you feel like?"

You want four, five courses, you think, at least. Eye her appreciatively. Make her laugh. Flush. You want to take your time.

Smile.

"Or we could skip lunch and have rough sex."

Ding.

Matt Parkman.

You spoil everything.

11.

What's he got to be so scared about. Pathetic. Fingers twitch.

"We're not hurting anyone."

Don't justify yourself to him. Like his rules apply to us.

"Let me have this. Matt. Please."

Eyes narrow. Flinch. Fingers tick, tick, twitch.

"Matt's not telling anyone." Pleasant. Touch her back. Possessive. Take this, Parkman. Dare you.

"You don't know what you're doing."

Take her to lunch. You know exactly what you're doing. Spill of her hair, like – Tracy's. So many beautiful blondes. All her, somehow.

Her heels. Kicking. Digging in. You mean digging.

Seconds tick up to one.

"Meet me at midnight."

Yes.

12.

Angela tells her everything. Everything. Claire cries. She's lost Nathan. Nathan's dead, and her Nathan is – Angela wants her to go away. Matt's going to catch him, tell him again who he is, make it like before, and Nathan's going to hate himself for this.

No.

Sylar took Nathan.

And then he gave him back.

To Claire.

His life falls neatly into two halves. And both belong to Claire. Fists clench. Claire's never been so high, never so wildly happy, and she's not losing this. So it's wrong – in a whole different way from what she thought – but –

We're special.

13.

Meet her in the car. Hurry. Only four thirty. Tires squeal. What's wrong?

"We gotta get out of here." Knuckles white. "Angela knows."

Kill Angela. Kill Matt.

No, you have to meet with the President, can't kill anyone. Wouldn't kill Ma, anyway. Rub your face.

"They're gonna brainwash you."

So scared. "What did Angela say to you?"

"I'm happy. She's not taking this from me." Sidelong glance. "I want you, Nathan. I don't care."

Turn around. She's reluctant. Turn around.

You can take care of Ma. Practice soft eyes. Warm eyes. Contrition.

Pretend it's before, when you didn't want this.

14.

Getting caught is easy.

"Please, Nathan." Desperate kiss. Grab her wrists, push her back. She runs away. Your secretary overhears everything.

Less than ten minutes later, here's Ma. Little tattletale. "It didn't feel wrong," you plead. Hand over your eyes. "And then it did."

So tortured. Bewildered. "What's wrong with me?"

You convince her that you're – you don't know. Like you were? Before. Being confused is easy.

"I'm going back to Washington. I want you to keep Claire in New York."

Approval. Sadness. And for her you've got – amusement. And contempt.

Doesn't Angela know how fast you can fly now?