Notes: For by7the7sea, who suggested I write about Peter and Claire's conversation in the kitchen during "Let It Bleed." The dialogue is from the episode.

Once alone with Claire in the kitchen, Peter loosened his tie, grateful to feel less restricted, if only in a physical sense.

"Hey, where's your dad?" he casually asked Claire as they began slicing lemons and limes for the guests. "I didn't see him out there." He briefly wondered whether Noah had chosen not to show up out of shame or guilt, until he heard Claire's answer.

"Uh, I asked him not to come," she admitted.

"Ah. You're pissed," he quietly observed.

"You're not?"

"Oh, I am," he assured her.

"Good. Because you're about the only person who's on the same page as me."

He was silent, wondering if she too was contemplating getting revenge on Sylar.

"That's a hell of a lie," Claire said, referring to the cover-up orchestrated by Angela and Noah.

"They were trying to protect us," Peter pointed out. He could understand Angela's and Noah's reasoning. Despite his anger and disgust at their prolonged lie, at this terrible charade he had lived through with Sylar's body being in Nathan's form, compounded by the cover-up of Nathan's death, he could understand why they felt the need to shield their children from the truth.

"Yeah, that's fine. I get that," Claire agreed. "I mean, did they really think they were just going to get away with it? Forever? That we would just never find out?" Her knife slipped in her hand, cutting her finger. "Ow!" she exclaimed. "Damn it!"

Peter reached over to examine her cut. "Let me see."

"It's not healing," Claire realized.

He handed her a dish towel to staunch the bleeding. "I have the Haitian's power. I'll, uh, sorry, I'll turn it off."

"No, don't, don't," she told him.

The paramedic stared at her, a little surprised she had refused him. "Let me find you a Band-Aid."

"A Band-Aid," the college student repeated, chuckling. "I have not used a Band-Aid in forever." He glanced at her, remembering the last time he had used a Band-Aid. It had been to cover a scrape he had sustained during his fight with Sylar in the hospital. He had needed a few of them actually, as well as an ice pack and some ibuprofen.

Now, as he bandaged Claire's minor cut, his niece added, "It's nice to feel pain, feel normal."

"We're anything but," Peter argued. "Normal." Suddenly, that fact, which he had once been so elated by, now stung him. If he and Nathan had not had abilities, they would have never tangled with Sylar, and Nathan would still be...here.

"Mourning Nathan could not be more ordinary," Claire argued, breaking into his thoughts. "That's what we're here to do—to… cut lemons and limes and remember that…." She paused, and Peter looked at her, wondering what she would say about the biological father she didn't get to spend enough time with. "Stupid jerk," Claire finished, her slight chuckle taking the insult out of her words. "I can't believe he's gone," she softly added.

Me either, Peter silently agreed, glancing at her as he prepared to slice more fruit.

"Well," Claire continued, "I hope he could find heaven because he was a terrible navigator. I mean, for a guy who could fly."

Oh, I don't know, Peter thought to himself. He found Kirby Plaza all right. He got there in time to save you from shooting me. Got there in time to stop me from blowing up New York City.

Claire was starting to laugh now, and Peter couldn't help feeling another twinge of irritation at the thought that Nathan was the subject of her laughter.

"Why are you laughing? What's so funny?" he inquired.

"He gave me endless grief for dating a guy who could fly. He said I had daddy issues, which, I do."

Her uncle saw his chance to steer the conversation towards someone else, and he took it. "Whatever happened to that kid? What was his name?"

"West. He goes to NYU. We're Facebook friends."

Peter nodded politely, now concentrating on arranging the cut fruit on a silver tray to keep his mind occupied.

The blonde girl gave a sigh. "It's nice telling stories. It makes it a little easier." She paused, and he could feel her eyes on him. "What about you? You must have a million of 'em."

Something in her tone made him look at her again, and he saw the expression of sorrow in her eyes, as if she understood for the first time how hard he must be taking this.

Peter bit his lip, holding back the words that came to mind, the stories of Nathan he did have and wanted to tell his niece. But he couldn't bring himself to say them out loud. It would make Nathan's passing all too real. So, instead, he picked up the silver tray of lemons and limes and said, "I'm going to take these out there."

Claire watched him leave the kitchen, wondering whether she had said something wrong.