A.N: Okay, I decided to continue this...although it's more of a sequel than a direct continuation. Hope you like!
Warning: Incest. If you don't like it, don't read it.
Disclaimer: Heroes doesn't belong to me, as I'd unrelate Peter and Claire if it did.
Peter had never forgotten that night at Kirby Plaza. Or rather, he had never forgotten her that night at Kirby Plaza, so afraid – so afraid that she was trembling as she held the gun in her hand. He found it strange with hindsight, to see such an innocent, breakable – although Peter knew she was anything but that – girl with something that could cause so much pain.
Then again, he was the one who'd asked her to shoot him.
It was cowardly, he reflected, to force that decision on her like that. Just because he was too scared to put the gun to his head himself and end it, he'd asked her, knowing she'd do anything he asked of her…Well, almost anything, as it turned out.
He shifted on the mattress; turning so he was lying on his back and could count the tiny speckles that were visible to him in the darkness – thanks to a man from Memphis. Niki stirred beside him but didn't wake, and it was that that made Peter get up from the bed, deciding to walk around for a while to clear his thoughts.
Because normal people, even those who could take on countless different powers and was wanted by the Government – his own brother – for terrorism didn't dream of their dead niece at night; didn't dream of her the way he did, golden curls falling around her face, bright grin and sea-foam eyes. But after five years of dreaming, Peter no longer felt disgusted with himself for these thoughts, instead, he revelled in them; it was the only time he felt truly at peace.
He felt more disgusted with himself for having caused her death in the first place. That's what the scar was there for, to remind him daily, nightly, constantly of a time and place where he could have made things right, he could have changed what had happened.
Somehow, his feet had bought him to the bar in the club, as they often did on nights like these. Niki's show had long since ended, but the bar was still open until dawn; a fact that Peter took full advantage of, as he turned invisible and poured himself a shot.
Drinking had become another habit of his, much like the dreams and the nightly wanderings. It allowed him more time to think of her, savouring each small memory in the way a drug-taker would savour his next hit, although it damaged him irreparably to the core.
Maybe it was the drink then, which caused him to suddenly see her form creep cautiously into the club; some sort of waking nightmare come to haunt him. His eyes followed her, and he noticed she was shaking, like the last time he had seen her, except this time it was from the cold, not fear. The rain outside had clung to her clothes, hair and skin, dripping softly on the marble floor.
With a jolt, Peter realised that he wasn't dreaming, nor was he drunk. She was there; alive.
Her eyes scanned across the room and landed on him, and Peter shivered, realising he was still invisible. Her hair was darker now, and he could see she'd lost weight. With a sense of fascination, he watched as she held a small conversation with the bar-tender, before slipping into an empty booth at the back of the room. She was there, alive. Breathing.
Quickly, as if she would disappear within seconds, become a dream, a fantasy, once more, Peter crossed the room, seating himself next to her. She must have felt the presence next to her because her eyes turned towards him again, wide-eyed and bewildered.
"Peter?" Her voice was a whisper, barely audible even to his hearing, but the sound was like a heavenly chorus to Peter's ears. She was alive. He hadn't killed her. She was alive.
Slowly, he allowed himself to become visible, his eyes never leaving hers. His mouth became dry and it felt as though a vacuum had sucked all the oxygen out of the room, that all his energy had been sucked out of him with just that one word uttered from her mouth.
"How?" He managed to choke out, wanting to embrace her but not knowing if he should, if his control could hold if they touched. It was then he remembered she was soaking and immediately offered her the overcoat he'd thrown on before leaving.
She accepted it with the faintest of smiles, seeming as careful as he was to make sure they didn't have physical contact.
"I am sorta indestructible," she managed to quip, wrapping the garment around her body closely. "My dad told me you lived in Vegas…I asked around."
Her gaze met his again and her voice wavered, "If…if you don't want me here –"
"Don't" – his hand covered her much smaller one in a heartbeat, entwining their fingers without a second thought, "Don't even think that. God, Claire, I thought…I thought you were…that I'd…"
"I know." That sad smile flickered onto her face; the one Peter remembered from when he'd bumped into her in Texas, the one that appeared in some of his dreams, before disappearing again as her eyes filled with an emotion he couldn't quite place.
"I'm…sorry." She said softly, and Peter was taken aback, couldn't believe those words had just come out of her mouth. Surely he was the one that needed to apologise?
He must have looked as though he was about to speak, as Claire tightened her grip around his hand, "Just – let me finish. I wasn't strong enough to – to…you know…you know. And I'm – I'm sorry."
Her words faltered as tears threatened to spill from her eyes, which Peter immediately wiped away, unthinking. The touch sparked electricity through his veins and everything else around him seemed to fall away.
All thoughts of Niki, of the Government and of consequences left his mind as he leaned forward slightly, his hand moving from hers to run gently up her arm and his breath tickling her ear, "Don't be."
Peter felt her inhale sharply, heard the mumble of his name die against her lips, and that was all the permission he needed. In one swift movement he captured her lips in a hungry kiss, sealing both their fates a million times over and feeling more at home with her small body flush against him than any time he'd been with Niki.
But Niki was still far from his mind as she wound her arms around his neck, kissing him back with a fervour Peter had only imagined in his dreams. All that mattered was her, Claire. She was alive and breathing and – God in heaven he was going to hell – and Peter was going to make sure it stayed that way.
She was alive and she was his, and it was going to stay that way.