Her dad's kind enough to not elude to her dream (or was it a nightmare?) the next morning, a dream that ended with her screaming at the tope of her lungs. She hadn't known she was crying until her dad gently wiped the tears off her face and she'd collapsed into his arms, needing to feel safe. This was what dads were for, this was why family was so important.
Claire feels like she's aged 10 years in the last few weeks.
They're on the road again after a less than stellar breakfast. If Claire doesn't see another plate of bacon and eggs in her life she can live with it.
It's been four days since it happened and they're still a good day of driving out of New York. Her dad's been trying to get a hold of a guy called Mohinder Suresh who'd agreed to hide Molly from anyone that tried to find her. Unfortunately her dad had been a little too good instructing Mohinder; so far he hadn't been able to reach them. But he thinks they're still in New York, which is why they're heading back into the proverbial lion's den.
"Why would they still be there?"
"Molly wouldn't want to leave before knowing Matt Parkman was out of the woods." Never mind that Molly was a kid who apparently needs Mohinder Suresh to take care of her, to stay alive even. She gets the feeling from her dad though that Mohinder would do anything for that little girl. She hopes so; Peter's and Nathan's lives depend on it.
"Why?"
"Matt saved her. She –" His voice hitches and she sees something – something – indecipherable. But she can't quite make it out. "She called him her other hero. I don't think she'd leave New York without finding out whether he's okay."
"Matt saved her?"
"From Sylar." Claire suddenly feels so much closer to the girl, and to Matt. She remembers his kind eyes and the way he knew her thoughts even before she spoke them. She feels close to the girl because she understands what it's like to do anything for her hero. She's glad Matt stopped her dad from doing the unspeakable to Molly in Claire's name.
"I can relate." She settles in for the long road ahead. The steady clickety-clack of wheels on hard gravel-paved road lulls her to sleep – unintentionally of course, but it does and when she stirs, the sun's so bright she knows she's dreaming.
Her eyes are closed but she feels him next to her. They're lying side by side in that field of green, faces keening towards the clear blue sky. Claire smiles and knows that Peter's lying with his head propped behind his head, feels his crooked grin as he laps in the sun and wind rifling through his hair. It's untidy and he doesn't bother brushing his bangs back, just lets it be and she feels that freedom.
He turns to her, so close she can feel his breath tingling her skin. "I like this." He says simply, whatever 'this' is. And she can relate, because she likes it too.
Loves it rather, because they have no cares here, no worries or concerns. They're just Peter and Claire and she brushes away the guilty thought of her dad being excluded from this tryst. It's not that she doesn't care deeply about him, of course she does. But this is their thing, and she's selfishly holding onto it like there's no tomorrow.
And perhaps there is no tomorrow, and this is all they'll ever have. Her throat tightens at the very thought.
"There is a tomorrow you know." Peter whispers into her ear. He can read her thoughts and connects two and two together; Peter has Matt's ability; she has to remember that when she finds him.
"You can read my thoughts." She says with hushed horror, remembering their last conversation in the parking garage before she had foolishly run away from him. He nods, smile faltering at her stricken look. "You heard me –"
"Hey." He brushes tendrils of golden hair off her face, traces the frown lines that mar her complexion. His touch soothes her, lets her know that everything's okay. "I know you trust me. I should've trusted you."
She shakes her head, reaching for him unconsciously and grabs onto his arm. "No, you were right. Nathan – you loved Nathan and trusted him. You were right."
"We were both right." Is all Peter says as he gives her a chaste kiss, holding her to him.
They don't say anything for a while, they don't need to. It's what she treasures about these dreams of theirs, these moments of crystalline perfection that transcend reality.
"Where are you?" She shatters the silence. When she looks up at him it's darker, they're bathed in the orange glow of dusk and the wind whips their hair. It's no longer a gentle rippling breeze but something stronger, something much more terrifying. "Peter?"
His dark eyes meets hers, strong and calm. "I'm not sure whether I can do this much longer." At the panic rising in her eyes, he smiles again, softly, gently. "I'm not very good at this."
"Can't you just tell me where you are?"
He shakes his head sadly, averting her eyes. "Claire – I don't know where I am." That almost shatters her right there. She's been grasping onto the hope that these dreams will lead her straight to him, but they won't because he doesn't even know himself. She feels the dying embers of hope smoulder in death throes but then he speaks and her faith bursts into life anew. "But I know you'll find me."
"But how?" She cries brokenly. They're having the same conversation over and over and it's a painful déjà vu that smites her insides with ice.
He points silently. They're lying in the field of green and gold but now the wooden bridge appears, and over the crest of the bridge she sees – a lighthouse. It's not spectacular and to her untrained eyes there's nothing distinguishable about it, it's red and white with a watch tower and a small cottage in front. Strong winds whip their hair and her words get bitten off and carried away almost as soon as they're out of her mouth.
"I'll find you Peter."
Sand. Wind. Wooden bridges against azure blue skies. Fields of green and gold, red and white. A lighthouse, framed by the orange glow of dusk.
He's near the sea, the ocean. He's near water. Then it dawns on her. He's showing her things he saw on his flight to save the world. His last memories before everything faded to black and he wants – no needs – her to find him. So they can find Nathan.
It's completely dark when they roll into the bustling streets of Manhattan from the Holland Tunnel. Claire's stomach is rumbling and it's like she hasn't done anything in the last few days but drive, eat and sleep. The radio's on softly in the background; instead of music it's all current affairs and news. She thinks she catches WNYC-FM but isn't sure in her fuzzy state.
Once again her dad's failed to wake her up to take her turn, which makes her alternately annoyed but grateful. He's not being consistent with the treating her like equals thing. One minute he's believing her crazy story of Peter dreaming to her and the next he's taking it upon himself to give her more sleep. But she guesses that's what people are at their core, inconsistent. But if they're true friends or family you love them anyway.
"I'm sorry, I must've fallen asleep. Are we there yet?" She says it before catching herself, the familiar whine of kids the world over unable to be suppressed in time. It makes him smile though, which is good.
"Almost. We should get some food first, before we go to the hospital."
It's soon clear why he insisted on getting food. What her dad meant by going to the hospital actually meant staking it out for a good few hours, as he explains to her when they dig into burgers, fries and sodas. "I don't know whether Parkman will be monitored. Linderman and Thompson's deaths probably threw them into chaos, but I can't be sure. We shouldn't risk it until we know for certain."
He finally tells her then as they wait in the car munching away at their greasy burgers of the company and all they've done over the years, as far as he knows anyway. People with abilities and tagging and locating them, from the mundane to the bizarre. All this craziness and she had been part of it all, however unknowingly.
"Dad – there used to be a man that came over a lot. He'd just disappear into thin air I think – I don't know, I used to think he was imaginary. Was he – was he real?"
"You remember him?" He sounds surprised, but glad. "That was Claude sweetie. He's the one – he gave you your first teddy bear from around the world. Don't you remember?"
"He gave me Millie?" Millie was almost as old as Claire was. "So, his power's invisibility?"
Her dad nods through mouthfuls. "I'm not sure how, but he ran into Peter. That's how Peter absorbed invisibility."
Everything's starting to make sense now and she knows with even more certainty than before how connected they all are. She and Peter, Peter and Nathan, she and her dad and Claude and Peter and back to Nathan again – they're all connected. Everyone one of them, bound by invisible tethers that will never let them go, not ever.
Peter was right. It's destiny, and it had taken her so long to realise just how wonderful that was.
She's about to tell her dad this when she spies two figures walking towards them. One tall and one shorter, much, more shorter. The gait of a scared, tentative little girl. "Dad, look."
He turns and soon the figures focus into view. It's a tall handsome Indian man with a tiny waif of a girl, both sweaty, tired and withdrawn. Her dad motions them to get in and with no further ado they collapse into the back seat, the man's breathing heaving and tired.
"How did you know we were here?" Her dad asks but his question's met with exasperation from the Indian man as he glances at the little girl. She can only guess this is Mohinder Suresh and the small girl Molly. His wide dark eyes turns to Claire in the dim light, acknowledgement passes through him in a flash.
"Molly. She wanted to make sure everyone was safe." Claire spins and smiles softly at the girl, who smiles shyly back. There's something breakable about her and Claire aches to protect her the way she wants to be protected.
Everything's connected, she hears Peter's voice in her head. And maybe they've always been and she's only just realised it.
"You're Molly?" The girl nods and Claire's eyes crinkle fully into a smile. She can't help it, the small girl's touching her heart and she feels close to her, the same closeness she felt when she first learned of her from her dad. "How's Matt?"
Molly sighs sadly as Mohinder answers for her. "Still not awake. His wife's with him now though."
"Is he being watched?" Her dad asks with concern, peering into shadows as if expecting to see figures leaping out of them any second.
"Not sure. I haven't seen anyone yet."
"You're risking your life and hers you know, every single time you walk in there." Her dad says pointedly. It's harsh but it's the truth.
Mohinder's gaze meets her dads, then hers, imploring. "I know. But what can I do? He risked his life to save ours, and Molly –" He looks down at the small girl who's now nestled in his arms. "Molly needs to know her hero's safe. I can't deny her that."
"You're my hero too." She says sweetly to Mohinder, and Claire can't but help be touched by her sincerity. Molly's providing a perfect echo of her thoughts of Peter and it's comforting to know there's someone else like her in the world, someone with a hero who needs saving.
Claire looks as the little girl starts drifting off to sleep; she looks weary and exhausted, more tired than someone her age has a right to look. Her eyes meet her dad's in the dim light that emanates from the fluorescent brilliance of the hospital. She doesn't have the heart to deny Molly her safety cocoon of sleep.
Saving Peter is the most important thing in her life right now but not at the expense of Molly. And so they let the little girl sleep, dreaming the dreams of a child, tired and protected by the adults around her.