A/N: As promised, the fourth chapter. Claire makes a discovery, Gabriel makes a decision, Ian makes a mistake and tries to fix it. All in all, I'm not sure how this one turned out. At first I thought it was going to be epic, but then...ehhh...I dunno. It's up to you, my dear readers, to decide. Things are speeding up a bit from this point onwards, that is for certain. And yes, Harold will make his novel appearance in this chapter!

Chapter 4

Gabriel held the door for her as she tiptoed timidly into his apartment. Like a gentleman, she thought, a slight triumphant smile decorated her lips.

"Shoes," Gabriel murmured behind her. She turned her head and saw him bending down, removing his shoes and placed them on a rack near the door. "Oh, sorry," she whispered, before proceeding to do the same. A blush crept to her cheeks, thinking how surreal this whole situation was.

It was not until she heard the door click behind her did she realize the gravity of her position.

Time hung right there and then, encircling the both of them as she breathed in the scent of the spacious loft that was laid before her, of vanilla and cinnamon and spice...and everything that screamed Gabriel Gray. It was better than she could have ever dreamed of. His apartment was fundamentally larger than hers. The fairly huge apartment she shared with Ian was avant-garde, but this...

The sheer size of it overwhelmed her; the quirkiness of it enticed her. Still, the idiosyncrasy of Gabriel's home had lingering traditional values that she couldn't quite place. For a self-proclaimed techie, she did not predict this at all.

Packed bookshelves adorned every corner of every wall she laid eyes on. She did not have to assume that they were not all there as mere meaningless ornaments. She had the rights to believe that Gabriel had read every single page of every single book in the room. In truth, the loft was compartmentalized by more bookshelves, dividing the single, roomless space into several subspaces. Like a labyrinth.

She captured all of these beautiful images at the back of her mind, absolutely knowing that 'beautiful' was an understatement.

A cosy living area with a huge plasma TV on the wall, flanked by a vast collection of music and movies dating from the 1920s. A kitchen-slash-dining area. A homemade Quiche Lorraine leftover from yesterday's dinner sitting on the stove. An unfinished cup of Earl Grey beside today's newspaper, laid carelessly on the dining table. Harold's empty dinner bowl. A wooden chair with Harold's scratch marks all over it, next to a table of a chess game still in progress.

White was losing.

She turned to the right and saw his bedroom; or something akin to a bedroom. A telescope by the window, she noted.

Gabriel cleared his throat. "How did you find the view so far, Claire?"

She was at a loss for words. Neither did she have any valour left to face the inquisition. "Gabriel," was all she was able to mutter, after witnessing so much.

"Yes?"

"It's gorgeous," she whispered in amazement as she turned to look at him. He was slouching a bit, like a child who was afraid that he would be punished for a petty crime. His hands still in his pockets, front teeth biting into his lower lip she swore he could have drawn blood.

He was nervous as hell. A train wreck waiting to burst in flames.

"I enjoyed it. Every inch, every corner of it. It's gorgeous," she beamed gregariously.

Slowly, he took his left hand out of his pocket and gestured towards the kitchen, attempting to return an equally gregarious smile. "Breakfast?"

--

This was a big step for him. Having a guest in his home. That was a first.

Serving a meal. He reminded himself that serving breakfast to Claire Petrelli was not in any way similar to feeding Harold, as cutlery clattered noisily against china. When was the last time he was this jumpy?

"You don't have to do this," she furrowed her brows when a plate almost slipped from his hands. "Let me help," she offered.

"No," he insisted, "you are my guest. Social normalcy dictates that I should do this myself," he said while pouring freshly brewed coffee into a delicately hand-painted china cup. An untouched block of butter and slices of bread were served on an equally antique-looking porcelain platter. "The toaster is over there," Gabriel pointed over at the counter, before taking a seat at the opposite end of the table.

His fingers were conspicuously shaky as he held his butter-knife. Claire tried really hard to stifle that giggle, really, she did. "It's just me," she comforted him. "I'm not going to bite your head off," she pledged unequivocally.

"Right, of course," his eyes shifted gawkily, before gazing hesitantly at her through long eyelashes. Studying the movement of her masseter muscle, as she chewed on her food assiduously.

"I believe I have revealed much about myself in one day," he squeaked. "It is only fair to say that it is now your turn to reveal a new information about yourself during this exchange."

"Alright," she wiped the corner of her upturned lips with a serviette, "what information do you want me to illuminate for you?" Claire grinned, furtively admitting that Gabrielspeak was infectious.

"You told me earlier that entering law school was not your choice. Am I correct in hypothesizing that it was a family agreement?"

Claire's grin immediately disappeared. She sipped her coffee and placed the cup back on its plate with a soft 'clank', before giving him a reluctant nod. "My dad didn't want me to turn into my uncle," she confessed. "My grandma sided with him. Told me that it was the only way to maintain our family's dignity."

"Your uncle?"

"Peter," she smiled wryly. "He was a nurse. Now a paramedic."

"Oh."

"Dad was so mad when I told him I wanted to do biology at a non Ivy League college," she said ruefully. "But hey, look at the bright side. If I hadn't come here, I wouldn't have met Ian." The statement was countered by an unsettling 'hmph' from Gabriel's side of the table.

"And if I hadn't met Ian, I wouldn't have met you," she added impishly.

Gabriel almost choked on his toast.

They had fought over who would wash the dishes for at least 15 minutes, before he gave in and sat fidgeting at the table, watching as she worked at the sink. When she announced that all was done, he neared her and inspected every plate, searching for signs of stains she might have missed.

To his absolute dismay, there was none. And she was smug about it, even though she should feel offended at his inability to trust her handiwork. She was so used to have him at least standing one foot away from her, one inch less and she became painfully hypersensitive of his nearness.

"I-I s-should go back now," she stuttered. She ambled hurriedly towards his front door, stopping short only to let Gabriel open the door. He tipped his head, not managing to catch her gaze as she said, "Am I permitted for another visit?"

"It depends," he opened the door widely, "on --,"

"Meow."

"Claire?"

Gabriel and Claire's eyes widened as they switched their utmost attention to the man standing in front of his door, with a violently growling cat fighting ferociously to get out from his hold.

"Harold??"

"Ian?"

Gabriel did not realize that he had been holding his breath until Claire and Ian left his sight. Harold mewled in his arms, the little orange Abyssinian furball snuggling affectionately against his chest, in an attempt to show Gabriel how much the cat missed him. "There, there," Gabriel muttered; scratching Harold's head gently as he re-entered his loft, his mind still reeling from what had just occurred a few minutes ago.

Claire had stood ramrod straight then; stunned, when Ian returned the poor, confused cat back to its rightful owner. "Mrs Sloman's son 'catnapped' Harold," had been Ian's explanation, with a cynical smile sketched on his face, his voice dripping with disdain. Something in Ian's clouded eyes had given Gabriel the idea that Claire needed to vindicate herself when she returned home. Hence, Gabriel had stepped up and did the inexorable – he had spoken up first to break the tension.

"I believe that Mrs Sloman was the one who asked you to return Harold to me?"

"Yes. She was very angry when she found out that Elliot had been keeping your cat in his bedroom for at least a week. Turned out Elliot wanted a pet cat of his own, but Mrs Sloman said no. And she didn't return Harold to you in person because," he had said pointedly, "she doesn't want to bother you." His answer might have been directed towards Gabriel, but his icy gaze had never left Claire.

'An alpha-male, who is enormously protective of his potential mate,' Gabriel had thought contritely, because Ian's expression could have easily resembled a snarl. He had felt as if he was on one of those Animal Planet documentaries. Never had he seen Ian wore that expression before. Beside the point, he could not believe that Harold was just a floor below him all this while, probably playing hide-and-seek with that freckly Sloman boy.

"What are you doing here?" Ian had asked Claire afterwards, trying to maintain that pearly-white smile.

"My camera needs fixing," Claire had told him boldly. Not a lie. Gabriel's ears had perched in panic.

"Of course," Ian ground his teeth together. "He fixes things."

Gabriel had not known why Ian had to point out obvious, yet trivial facts such as that. Must be part of a human speech called 'sarcasm', he had inferred.

"Don't you think that you might've interrupted Gabriel's Saturday schedule?"

Claire had gaped at Ian's sudden hostility. He wasn't usually like this, especially with Gabriel around, because she knew that Ian too had asked for the geek's help multiple times before.

"I do not mind having my schedule interrupted," Gabriel had piped in. "Particularly if it entailed matters such as..." he had paused, fixing his eyes on the purring ball of fur in his arms, "...helping a friend."

Claire had gasped. He had called her 'friend', even if it was spoken indirectly.

Gabriel had pretended as if he had not heard her.

--

Precisely 37 minutes later, after feeding Harold (the poor, starved cat that he was) and lulling him to his daily afternoon nap, Gabriel received an unexpected text message from Claire: 'Ian knows. He's mad.'

He deftly typed his reply: 'Knows about what?'

A heartbeat passed before his cell phone vibrated violently in his clammy palms. Her answer was a simple, two-lettered word.

'Us.'

He was out of his wits trying to reply to that text, because he was uncertain of what this newly retrieved information might implicate.

'He stole my mem card n saw ur pics,' another text arrived.

Gabriel's attention swiftly switched to a black-and-white, candid photo of a girl on the screen of his Mac. He scrolled through the files in the recently created photo folder – the same girl in each frame; her expressions varied from one shot to the next – a diverse array of emotions captured through the lens of his camera.

'Are you both still at home?' he texted the girl, the subject of his photos.

Moments passed before the phone vibrated again.

'Yes.'

Immediately after he read the message, Gabriel dashed downstairs, straight to Claire and Ian's apartment. Rationally, this was something only he could fix. And unlike the numerous scientifically-challenging conundrums he was accustomed to solving, he was far from able to be smug about this one.

--

As soon as Ian greeted him with a ferocious "You arsehole, give me one good reason why I should not beat the hell out of you right now," at the door, Gabriel instantly regretted his decision.

"Sir, I am not an arsehole," Gabriel swallowed.

"What do you want with Claire?"

"I wish to be her friend," Gabriel asserted adamantly.

"Are you sure? Because from the way the both of you are acting, it sure doesn't look friendly to me," Ian gnashed his teeth together, botching the last remaining flimsy threads of Gabriel's gallantry.

"That is because we have not officiated our friendship. I have only made my intention known to her earlier this morning, when you came to return Harold, to which I must express my utmost gratitude to you for doing so. An inappropriate timing, I must admit, considering the fact that Claire and I have only known each other for less than a month..." Gabriel trailed off, when he realized that Claire was already at the door, next to Ian.

"Why her? Why not pick someone else?" Ian asked dismally. His anger was slowly dying down, possibly diluted by Gabriel's ceaseless rambling.

To this question Gabriel's mind was quickly put to a halt, suddenly numbed by quite a selection of commonsensical answers to choose from. To his consternation, none of them was accurate or precise. In the end, Gabriel chose to forget logic.

"Possibly the same reason why you chose her to be your friend when you first met her," Gabriel replied hesitantly. His fingers had curled into a tight fist, his knuckles had turned whiter than white. "Because she is different," he croaked. There must be at least 6 families of butterflies breeding in his gut right now, he cringed agonizingly. His face had turned to every shade of pale; he could feel the blood draining from his cheeks. Still he had one justification left to make.

"She's special," Gabriel muttered, before falling haplessly to the floor; vision fading to black.

--

He woke up to a pair of blue eyes, staring back at him. "Ian."

His head felt heavy. The bright lights almost blinded him. His glasses were off, he realized, because the room felt like a blurry image to him. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to focus them on a closer object. Like the chequered patterns of the quilt mummifying him at the moment. Tried as he may, the quilt ignited his sense of smell rather than sight. With each unwavering breath he took, the unmistakable scent that filled his nostrils was essentially Claire's.

"Rest," Ian told him begrudgingly. "You were too stressed out. Claire told me everything. You can relax now."

Gabriel flinched and raised his knees to curl into a fetal position. It made him feel safer, for some unexplained reason.

"Look, Gabriel," Ian began, "I'm glad that you've finally taken the initiative to actually befriend someone for real...but secret trysts every weekend? Who wouldn't be suspicious?"

"Trysts?" Gabriel's left eyebrow rose weakly.

"Wasn't that what you guys were doing?"

"We talked. Took photos. No secret trysts," he retorted in short phrases. His brain was too convoluted to even build a proper 'Gabrielspeak' sentence.

Ian sighed. "Of course. I don't think anyone would want to have a secret tryst with you," he garbled to himself; voice lowered enough so the older man couldn't hear. "Except Claire. Dunno what she's thinking. Oh yeah, she's different. Special."

The acerbic imitation of his own words coming out from the Brit's mouth was not lost on Gabriel.

"Harold!" he suddenly shot up, almost tripping on the quilt that had blanketed him while he was unconscious. "Glasses," he sat back in despair, knowing well that he was beyond useless without the apparatus.

"Look," Ian grabbed a handful of his own hair, tugging slightly, "I don't care what you guys do on Saturdays. At least give me some clue so I don't go around on a wild goose chase every time she went missing."

"There are no geese at the place where Claire and I usually meet," Gabriel's brows furrowed.

Ian effectively retreated to his facepalm, headdesk mode.

And that was effectively the end of Ian and Gabriel's ineffective conversation that fateful Saturday afternoon.

At least Gabriel's innocence was effortlessly established by the spontaneous geese comment.

"Exams are like, a month away," Claire told Gabriel distractedly, two weeks after their friendship was officially approved by Ian. Sitting cross-legged on the flush carpet of what Gabriel called his 'living room'; she ignored Harold who was nuzzling his forehead mindlessly against her left knee.

Gabriel watched his cat for a moment before his gaze fell on Claire's anxious face, at the same time gesturing Harold to leave the girl alone. The cat's ears perched when Gabriel called his name, and immediately scurried to his owner's lap. Gabriel gently patted Harold's head and tickled his belly. It took him one minute and 13 seconds to realize that he had not given any valid respond to Claire's previous proclamation.

"I have nothing to say, except that it is absolutely necessary for you to start revising," he replied solicitously. "That is, of course if you have not started. Revising," he added with a touch of vigilance.

"I've been locking myself up in the library for at least a fortnight now. I'm sick of revising and the all the study groups I've been going to are making me insane. Another legal term I hear and I think my brain will explode!" she ranted dolefully.

Harold simply stared at her from Gabriel's lap guardedly, as if Claire was a mad witch ready to hex his owner. He could feel Gabriel clutching him tighter with each syllable of every word uttered by the female, if that was any indication of Gabriel's anxiety.

"Meow," Harold rumbled vociferously in retort.

"This is why you have chosen to knock frantically on my door on a Friday night," Gabriel's brow arched accusingly. "Did you not discuss about this predicament with Ian? I thought he was also a Harvard law student."

"To be honest, he's more stressed out than I am. We've both been working too hard this semester."

"Have you...informed him of this impromptu visit?" Worry was evident in his voice.

Claire snickered sardonically. "Yeah. He was the one who insisted that I should come here, because he couldn't stand me freaking about exams anymore. Said that I was too paranoid. Yeah, right," she snorted. "That guy is the most competitive bloke I have ever met, and he said that I was the one being the paranoid."

"How peculiar," Gabriel noted confoundedly. "Also, I noticed your request to be my friend on Facebook." he swallowed thickly, trying to steer the conversation away from a certain Englishman that made his blood curdle.

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Claire slapped her thighs in exasperation. "You haven't accepted me yet. I am your friend now, remember?"

"That fact has never escaped my mind, even for a second, Claire. Unfortunately, due to the recent cornucopia of childish games and self-promoting quizzes vandalizing my newsfeed each time I log in, I have to ask you to refrain from participating in such useless activities. If your willpower fails you, at least opt to not publish them," he pleaded excruciatingly, visibly tormented by the experience. "Also, please do not send petty virtual gift requests or place invites to join groups that do not represent my ideals. If you agree to my terms, I will add you as my Facebook friend," Gabriel elucidated sternly.

Claire's mouth went agape. The long-winded speech again. "Uh, okay. I agree..."

Gabriel squinted frowningly.

"I promise I won't do those things! I get annoyed when people do that to me too!" she exclaimed robustly to convince him that she wasn't kidding.

"Break the rules and I will disown you on Facebook," he warned gravely. He was really taking this seriously, Claire thought. She shouldn't be amused. Nope. Not amused at all.

"Do you have a twitter account? I'm just curious, you know..." she casually chimed in, trying to lighten up the mood.

"This," Gabriel scowled and pointed his index finger around his face, "is my 'I hate twitter' face."

Clearly, she had been lying to herself all this while -- she was completely, terribly, exceptionally amused.

Harold yawned.

--

There will be a certain period of time in a relationship when the brewing intensity will reach its appointed zenith, die down and fade away, before slowly gaining momentum again. With Gabriel, It was always a race between them, to see who would reach the top first before tumbling back down and getting hurt. Reaching the pinnacle seemed impossible. It was an endless slope that they had to climb, and now Claire wasn't too sure if she really wanted to go all the way to the top.

She liked it this way. A friendship that wasn't based on how much money she had in her account, or the length of her skirt, or who her father was.

Ever since they were connected on Facebook (and a few days later, instant messaging), she realized that Gabriel could be really sweet. Had it been anyone else, she'd suspect that the person might be a stalker. But Gabriel's 'Good mornings for the rest of the week, given the probability that I am unable to text you or see you in person,' and 'Good nights for similar reasons as the previously sent message' had to be the most hilarious things she had read in a while, after drowning herself in a turbulent ocean of lecture notes.

They had stopped going out on Saturdays ever since Claire spoke of her exam fears. He had respected her decision, because she needed the time to revise while he needed the time to attend to Harold's quirks.

Then, two nights before her first paper, he knocked on her apartment's door, acquiescing to his destiny when Ian answered the door.

"I came to wish you both all the best in your examinations," he blurted out almost unintelligibly, before doing an awkward bow and finished with, "That is all. Harold needs me." Ian barely managed a 'thank you' before Gabriel turned away most inelegantly and ran back upstairs.

A soft ding on his Mac filled the air when Gabriel reached his apartment. A new instant message blipped on the screen.

claire_b: thanks for the good luck wish. J

: You're welcome. Regrettably, I had wished you 'all the best', not 'good luck' as you had indicated.

claire_b: right. of course. my bad. sorry.

: Do you not have revision to do?

claire_b: on a 5 min break.

: I hope you will do something more useful during your 5 minute break rather than chatting with me. I shall not interrupt you any further. Take care. Good night.

He was about to stop Harold from scratching the Persian rug when his computer rang.

Webcam call from Claire Petrelli (claire_b). Answer/Reject

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel clicked 'answer' and strained a "Hello, Claire," when she appeared on his screen.

"Thank you, Gabriel."

"You have conveyed your gratitude earlier. It is therefore, redundant."

"It's worth repeating."

He rolled his eyes again. He had been doing that often lately. "If you say so. Your five minutes are nearly up."

"Who's counting?"

"I am."

"Total disciplinarian, aren't you."

"Claire..."

"Fine, I'll hang up."

"Claire. You are not listening," he snapped crisply.

"Yes, Mr. Gray sir."

Gabriel's expression softened. "You really do not have the need for luck. You deserve better than just mere luck. You will do great. Trust me, Claire," he placated, his eyes twinkled with something that looked like optimism. Or maybe, the reflection of his table lamp. His voice, however, had unambiguously dropped a register than what was legal. Deeper.

Probably huskier, Claire thought, but this was Gabriel. Gabriel Gray and husky voices could not possibly even be in the same sentence.

Any clever reply that possibly had lingered at the tip of her tongue expediently disappeared in one pure, unadulterated moment of wonderment and shock. She didn't know he could do that. Made her forget her lines, made her stutter, made her heart skip one beat as she stared blankly at Gabriel's guiltless visage on the screen. She could only nod weakly as she whispered her reply:

"I'll remember that. Good night, Gabriel."

"Good night, my friend."

When the conversation ended, she didn't realize that she had been holding her breath; she gasped for air and wiped the sweat at her brows. "Damnit Claire," she reprimanded herself. "What the hell are you doing?"

'Trust me,' he had said.

"I do," she muttered under her breath, before forcefully shoving her head in the gigantic textbook in front of her.

I trust you.

A/N #2: And thus endeth the fourth chapter. First of all, I would like to ask for forgiveness if the chapter did not reach up to your expectations. However, I promise that the story will really pick up in the next chapter. Not really happy with the way Ian turned out either, but the chapter was too long to include more of him already.

Despite the hitches and glitches, I have other characters from Heroes appearing in later chapters, especially from Claire's family, which should be interesting. Also, Harold told me that he was sorry he couldn't get enough page-time in this chapter. He'll feature more prominently in the next chapter, though. ;p

Thank you for your comments, they've helped me a lot! :)

Last but not least, I would love to hear more from you. There's nothing awesomer to a writer than knowing which bits of the story the readers like best, or if there are parts that drive you guys crazy...anything at all. So give me a shout out, and I'll happily respond. XD

Until then, the 5th chapter is going to be another major turning point in Claire and Gabriel's lives. Sorta. Think that a good enough reason to keep you guys at the edge of your seats (or keyboards)?