Chapter Two

"Meet New York"

"You have a what living at your place?! Jesus Peter, at least tell me she's not underage." Peter had long since gotten used to holding the receiver at a comfortable distance whenever Nathan was in the middle of delivering one of his customary tirades. The key, he had discovered long ago, was to just take whatever Nathan threw at him and not be goaded into any retaliatory verbiage of his own.

"Nathan, for the last time, she's not living, living with me." Peter repeated patiently, careful to keep his tone even. "She's crashing here because she has nowhere else to go. She's in danger, and I'm going to take care of her like I'm supposed to."

Nathan swore loudly at the other end – so loudly in fact, that Peter wouldn't have been surprised if Claire was able to hear his egomaniacal brother from where she was sitting in his bedroom.

He wasn't exactly sure what Nathan was saying but one thing he knew – congressional candidates running on a platform of family values sure wouldn't be using these kind of words on their campaign posters any time soon. " … tell me she's over 16 at least. That's the magic age, some states legalise marriage at 16 –"

"For God's sakes Nathan, shut up." He hadn't meant to snap at his brother. If he was going to keep Claire safe, he needed his brother's help – or his money, preferably both – to do it. "I'm just giving you a head's up for your campaign. I'm sure you can make up some story about what your crazy brother's up to now." A slight creak from behind the door told him that Claire was no doubt eavesdropping on at least Peter's end of the conversation, a conversation she didn't need to hear. The poor girl had been through enough. "Look, I can't talk right now, I'll call you later."

Peter's suspicion that Claire had been eavesdropping proved correct, as she poked her head through the door only a second after he hung up on his brother. Feigning only a casual level interest, she asked curiously. "What was all that about?"

"My brother, the soon to be Congressman Nathan Petrelli." Peter waved his hand at what he imagined to be his brother's direction. "Being the biggest jerk this side of Manhattan."

"Is it going to be a problem?" Claire asked quietly in her slight Texan drawl, absently twirling a strand of sun-kissed blond hair. "About my staying here?"

"No." Peter replied a little too quickly. He didn't lie very well at the best of times, and it was especially hard in the face of Claire's innocent trust in him. God, she was still so young, yet here she was in New York by herself, world weary, scared and battered at 17. It was clear that things had happened to her, bad things, and she was barely keeping it together. He didn't want to add to her burdens. He had to protect her at all costs. "Nathan's … stupid."

"I think I got that part. Many times." Claire laughed, her blue eyes twinkling merrily, worries momentarily forgotten.

The next day Peter found himself sitting with Claire on the roof of his apartment building enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. It had been a beautiful, albeit slightly chilly fall day and Claire had expressed more than a passing inclination of sitting outside in the sun. And since Peter was currently between jobs, she had politely asked whether he would mind sitting with her. He had pretended not to notice the loneliness in her voice, and had suggested they spend the afternoon introducing her to New York.

They had gone to Bloomingdales first, where he had expected squeals of excitement from the teenage girl but instead received only a muted "wow" at the brightly lit store displays. Triple choc-chip ice cream in Central Park fared a little better, and Peter noted with satisfaction the brilliant smile that appeared on her face as the sun streamed through the leafy golden branches.

When she smiled like that, Peter noticed, it was easy to imagine the girl she had been before everything had started. He had also found it easier then to loosen up.

Ever since he had awoken from his coma in Odessa, there had only been one thing on his mind. He had not forgotten his dream – likely to be prophetic – that one day soon, he would, in less elegant terms, blow up New York. Thoughts of his final few moments in the dream, with people running away from him – Nathan, Claire, Matt Parkman, Mohinder Suresh were the only people he recognised – were enough to make him hurl the entire contents of his stomach night after night. They had caused him restless weeks of worry, anxiety, and although he was working with Mohinder now to come up with a solution, one that they were close to, that shadow was constantly at the back of his mind.

November 8. That was the day the world ended. It was exactly one week from today.

Claire's unexpected arrival had provided him almost with a welcome relief from the unease plaguing his thoughts.

Peter had also realised that part of his tension had been him subconsciously mirroring the small blonde's anxiety to the point where he too had been wound tight as a drum. Having realised this he was able to shake it off, however fleetingly.

Gesturing magnificently, he had grandly introduced Claire to his city. "New York, meet Claire Bennet. Claire Bennet, New York." They had gone back to his apartment after that, where Peter continued to contemplate the exact dimensions of their living arrangements as a way to distract himself from other, more unpleasant thoughts of New York and Petrelli holocausts.

Although his brother had accused him of still being that 'kid who sat at the back of the class and daydreamed', he was aware enough of the world to know that Nathan had a point, regardless of the way his brother had chosen to enunciate it. Although these were extraordinary circumstances, a 17 year old girl – a runaway no less – could not live with a 24 year old man without raising a few eyebrows, even at the most anonymous of times. And with Nathan running for congress and "outing" Peter's fictitious mental health issues, their anonymity had already been lost.

So in summary, even if – and this was a big if – he managed to avoid exploding into tiny little Peter pieces all over New York City, there would still be that tiny but not insignificant issue of how Claire would live with him. Peter was in no doubt that he had to be around her to protect her. He had no idea why, but he felt an almost otherworldly compulsion to be around the tiny Texan cheerleader.

"What're you thinking about?" Claire's voice lulled him back to the present.

Peter gave a slight shake of his head. He had decided the night before that if he was to take his role as Claire's protector seriously, he would have to lay down some ground rules. Firstly, he was never going to lie to her. No matter how dire things would become or how horrific they would be for her to contemplate, Peter was a big supporter of just telling the plain truth. Claire was young, but she also had a right to know why all this was happening to her. While none of them had the answers to their origins just yet, it would not have been fair to treat her like less than she was. His decision had been cemented when he had heard her story in more detail about the man known as the Haitian, capable of erasing the memories of anyone he chose. Seeing her terror at the thought of having her memories erased – even more than the terror of being chased down by a homicidal maniac Peter suspected – had confirmed to him that this was the best way to go. Although he felt guilty about not divulging his unsettling dream concerning his impending doom, he figured it didn't directly concern her – yet.

And so when Claire asked a question, he would (generally) answer it to the best of his ability. "Our living arrangements." Peter answered quietly, his gaze still fixed on the Manhattan cityscape.

"I meant what I said yesterday Peter. I know it's asking a lot of you …"

"No." He quickly interrupted. "It's not that." He elaborated, fixing his eyes onto hers. "Nathan's a politician. He's not going to let this go, he'll do something … to 'fix' the situation. He always thinks he's going to clean up after my messes. I'll think of a way to get around it."

He tried giving her a reassuring smile, but her equally unsure response told him yet again that he was a terrible, terrible liar. "I'm sorry to be this much trouble."

Peter had only been around Claire one day, yet he already hated the look of brokenness that seemed to regularly surface in her normally bright blue eyes. The juxtaposition of such dread and aching loneliness just seemed too stark against the marks that her happy childhood had left behind. "Hey, it's no trouble. Don't ever think that, okay?"

Peter knew he was being slightly dorky with the earnestness – could there be a worse mantra than 'save the cheerleader, save the world'? But if this was his mission, if this was why he had been given his powers, then by God he would carry it out to the best of his abilities. "Did you get settled in all right?" He asked abruptly, changing the subject.

A surprising little giggle escaped from her mouth. Off what must have been his perplexed look, she flushed. "I'm sorry, I was poking around trying to find some clean sheets and I accidentally took out one of your drawers, clean off the hinges." Off Peter's still uncomprehending look, she elaborated, trying to re-enact her actions at the same time. "You know, I kinda ripped it out and tried to push it back in, and it was … um, just …" The red flush that had started with her face now steadily crept down her neck. "It was your underwear drawer. And … you have X-Men boxers?"

Peter did a quick intake of breath before colouring slightly himself. "Uh, yeah. Looks like I'm gonna have to clear out some space for you in my underwear drawer, huh?" He teased.

There it was again, that cute little giggle that only teenage girls did. "That's okay, I think I can cope with not ever seeing that again." Her eyes travelled down his body slightly, prompting Peter to frown a little. He had momentarily forgotten that she was still slightly too young.

They went back downstairs soon after that. Peter made good on his promise to cook them waffles – yes, waffles for dinner – which seemed to brighten Claire's manner even more. And then after dinner, to his surprise, she had pushed him out of the way and started matter-of-factly washing the dishes. He looked down at her blond head in a mixture of astonishment and consternation. "You don't have to do that." Peter said pointedly.

She turned on the tap and soon water was running merrily into the sink. "No, I want to." Rummaging around his cupboards, she asked brightly. "Do you have gloves or anything. You know, to protect my hands?" She took his dumb-founded look as a no. "Okay then, I guess you don't." Still needing to elbow him out of the way, Claire continued. "Don't look so surprised Peter. I may be a spoilt little Texas cheerleader, but I know how to behave like a proper guest." Her smile dipped a little, her sincerity breaking through the thin veneer of normality in her features. "It's the least I do for all you've done for me."

Peter quickly turned off the tap and instinctively covered his hand with hers. "Hey." He turned her reluctantly to face him. "I don't ever want you to feel like you owe me anything. You don't. I'm just doing my bit to save the world." He gave her a lopsided smile, hoping to dispel some of the seriousness that had settled between them.

"It's just that …" Her lip started trembling. "You saved me. You saved my life and I don't think I'll ever to be able to repay you. And I can't … I don't know why all this is happening to me. It's … I tried so hard to die, and when I thought I was going to …" Her entire body was shaking now, and Peter carefully placed both hands on her shoulders in an attempt to steady her, making shushing noises. " … I was so scared. And I wanted my dad to protect me and take me home and he wasn't supposed to be like he is, he's supposed to be my dad and protect me from bad things and not wipe memories and take away people's friends and family and …" She broke down, and if Peter hadn't been there to hold her against him she would have sunk to the floor.

She sobbed painfully into his chest, great heaving heart broken sobs that chased everything from his body except the need, now intensified a thousand fold, to protect her. And this time, he wouldn't be protecting her to save the world. He would be protecting Claire Bennet because she had turned to him in her hour of need, and Peter would not fail her – even if it was the last thing he ever did.