Part Four

She ends up sharing a room with Molly because sometime between the hospital and the hotel it's been decided it's best if Molly have a female roommate. Claire wants to laugh at the absurdity of propriety at a time like this, but obviously her dad and Mohinder take their responsibilities as protectors seriously.

"Good night Claire." Molly is sweet and trusting, despite everything that's happened to her. When Molly was in the bathroom Mohinder told Claire in hushed tones what he'd gathered of her past. Her parents had been murdered by Sylar, who had almost murdered her if not for Matt Parkman saving her just in time. Molly has a talent of finding anyone anywhere in the world; Claire understands now why Molly is such a sought after commodity.

Commodity, like she was a thing. Even her dad had wanted to destroy this little girl for her ability, but Claire knows better. Molly isn't the sum of her talents; she's the sum of what makes her a person, a living breathing girl. Her ability is just one small piece that makes her who she is, she isn't a what but a who.

She hears snippets of Mohinder's conversation with her dad in the connecting room. About how Niki, DL and Micah Sanders had headed off in one direction, Mohinder and Molly the other. They'd split up to increase the chances of a quick getaway, agreeing to contact each other once they were safe. Claire can't quite match the faces with the names; she's vaguely aware there were others at Kirby Plaza along with them but her awareness is filled only with those who matters to her. Her dad, Peter, Nathan. No one else matters.

She looks into the face of the trusting little girl, sees contentment in her eyes. She needs to ask, just once. Brushing her dark hair off her delicate face, Claire asks softly. "Sweetie, can I ask you to do something for me?"

Big eyes, so wide and innocent. Had Claire ever been like this? Was this why her dad had risked so much to protect her? "You want me to find someone?"

Molly's directness unnerves her. Her calm acceptance of only being wanted – needed – f for her power almost makes Claire cry, but she isn't about to cry yet. Instead she nods, leans forward and murmurs softly. "Yes. Can you?" A smidgen of her desperation leaks from her voice, no matter how hard she's trying to keep it in. She doesn't want to frighten Molly with her intensity, but knowing how close she is to finding, no saving Peter, makes her control dissolve.

Molly nods, smiles her big, bright smile. "I can. Because I like you."

Her trust makes Claire's heart break and suddenly a flash appears before her eyes, of a trusting little boy of raven-haired innocence looking up to his much older, stronger brother.

She understands a little now, of Peter's unbreakable trust in Nathan. Understands how Peter's trust really did save the world; Nathan's resolve at the last minute only prompted by Peter's expectation that Nathan would in the end help his little brother save the day.

Sometimes we are who we're expected to be.

Words carry faintly inside the room, but there's no wind. They're indoors, the windows aren't open because it's a freezing almost-winter night in New York, but she hears them, plain as day. Are these Peter's words, or Nathan's? Or Peter's memories of Nathan as they flew up into the stratosphere, the blinking lights of Manhattan growing ever fainter in the distance?

"Claire?" Molly's words jerk her back and she smiles reassuringly. It's hard being scattered when someone's there, looking up to her. "Who do you want me to find?"

"I –" How to describe Peter? How to describe him in a few short sentences when he already means so, so much? And then she knows. "I need you to find my hero."

Molly's eyes widen in delight "You have a hero too?"

Claire nods, tears welling in her eyes. She doesn't bother brushing them away, to do so would be to deny the truth of all things. "I do. He's – he saved me."

"Did he save you from the bogeyman?" Molly asks in hushed worry, and Claire doesn't know how to respond.

"Yes Molly, he did." Claire spins at Mohinder behind her, shadowed by her dad. She looks guilty but Mohinder's smiling gently, so she takes it as his tacit okay to keep pressing Molly for help. "He saved her from the bogeyman."

Molly's eyes dance in delight; crinkles with wonder. She stretches her hand out silently and Mohinder hands her a giant Atlas and thumb tack.

Now it's Claire's turn to watch in wonder as Molly closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. Mohinder unconsciously takes the girl's hand and the beauty of their closeness is breathtaking to watch. There's a few tense seconds as she steadies herself, then her eyes pop open to stare straight into Claire's. "Tell me about him."

Claire does, haltingly, with feeling. She feels her dad's eyes on her, would have felt awkward describing Peter in hushed and intimate tones any other time, but somehow this is right. She doesn't know how Molly's gift works but she figures the more accurate the description, the better. She doesn't even know whether Molly needs anything other than Peter's name but she pours her heart out anyway, just in case.

She doesn't want to leave anything to chance when it comes to Peter's life.

Molly's hand shakes a while before she flips the pages. It takes a surprisingly short time for her hand to land squarely and surely. They peer curiously at the atlas, Claire perhaps more desperate than the others.

East Fire Island, just off the coast of Long Island. It's not even that far away, as far as she can tell from the map. Just a little way out of New York.

"How do we get there?" Is all Claire wants to know, and possibly how long that would take. Time is against Peter and Nathan and they need to move on this, now.

"Whoa, we need to at least wait until daylight." Her dad's ever the voice of reason but he seems unreasonable now. Sure the colour of the sky is midnight opalescence and it's way past midnight but should they really be concerns right now? Peter's out there – on East Fire Island, wherever that is – probably freezing to death and they're going to wait until light because – why?

"Why?"

"Because there's probably no safe way of getting there in the dark." Mohinder reasons and now it's two against one. "Your father's right, we have to wait."

"We can wait until dawn, but we should be there when the sun rises." She's not going to take no for an answer and strength permeates her now, and purpose. Molly's told them where Peter is and the knowledge fuels her, so much so she grabs her coat and is reaching for the car keys before anyone has the presence of mind to stop her.

"Claire-bear." Her dad's hand lands on hers softly as she grabs the car keys off the table. Molly's looking on in confusion and Mohinder sits beside her on a chair watching a family drama unfold. "You can't do this alone."

"I don't want to." She looks up into her dad's eyes – quite a ways up really – and pleads silently for help. She doesn't want to admit that she really, truly does need it. It doesn't matter that her pride's shred to pieces because there's something so much more important, waiting for her. Peter. "Please dad. Please."

He sighs only once before grabbing his coat and the complimentary map of New York State they'd picked up at a gas station a day ago. Looks once at Mohinder before he turns to go, saying in his wake. "Wait for us. We'll be back to find Nathan. Protect her with your life."

The nod Mohinder gives her dad leaves no room for doubt he's going to indeed do just that, protect Molly with his life.

Claire's glad she hasn't underestimated the chill as she wraps her coat around her. It's almost winter after all and they're standing at the Bay Shore Marina waiting for the first ferry. She looks at her dad huddled under the shelter by the side of the marina; he's busy reading a pamphlet about Fire Island of all things. "What are you doing?" She's curious at why he's so interested in all the tourist attractions there.

"I don't know anything about Fire Island." He's not being very forthcoming in the chill and she has to prod him for more.

"Why's that important?"

"Because, do you have any idea how to get there, or what to expect?"

They finally board the first ferry to Fire Island when it's still dark. She wonders whether Molly's dreaming away in her warm bed; she wonders whether Peter misses Claire in their dreams. She hasn't slept for what seems like quite a while, but then she remembers it was only earlier last night the New York lights jolted her awake as they drove into the city.

It's her turn to read the pamphlet now and it's pretty interesting, as far as a way to while away the time goes and to keep her mind off Peter, potentially freezing in the open next to the Atlantic. Fire Island, it turns out, is really one long barrier island made up of small communities dotted along the narrow stretch of land. A casual conversation struck up by her dad with a fellow passenger is all that's needed to discover how exactly to get to East Fire Island, which is uninhabited and accessible only by boat. It's an important detail and one she surely would have missed, once again she's glad her dad's here to take care of her and Peter.

The sun's up and the rest of the world's awake by the time they conclude their trip. Suddenly they're here and she has no idea what to do next. Luckily her dad walks confidently down the gangplank, his eyes searching for someone willing to hire their boat out for the day.

While he's looking Claire's gaze is caught by a sight that hitches her voice and snatches her breath away.

She sees the field of green and gold. It's almost winter so it's nowhere near as colourful as it had been in their dreams – in fact, not showing much colour beyond chill green and greys, soft sand blanketing the ground – but she knows it's the place just the same. She sees the wooden bridge rolling off into the distance, sunken trees unfurling from beneath to just grasp on ankles. The sky's clear and the wind whips her hair; it's cold but not uninviting. The smell of the sea stings her nostrils but she's glad of it, because now she knows he's really and truly here.

"Claire?" Her dad's noticed her pursuit of unreality and she responds dreamily to him that she'll be right back, but hardly cares whether he hears her or not. She knows this is the place, knows the feeling in her bones, even if they regenerate and quickly tell her she's crazy.

But she's not crazy. She turns and knows for sure it's real, everything's real and the feeling infuses her with enough warmth to last a lifetime.

She knows with certainty worthy of a thousand lifetimes when she sees the lighthouse. The lighthouse of her dreams, rising up at the crest of a green hill, red and white in the morning sun. It's a beacon of hope, clichéd and cheesy as that sounds. If everything from her dreams are real, then surely Peter's real too?

Her dad catches up and follows her eager gaze to the lighthouse. Reads the silly pamphlet he's still holding. "That's the Fire Island Lighthouse." He says dumbly while Claire's transfixed, entirely breathless from her discovery but he mistakes that for the cold, so he hustles her way from the wind to wait while he finds a boat for them.

She shrugs his hold away not unkindly as they make their way back to the pier. She has to make him understand – he has to understand that this is the place where she's going to find Peter – where they're going to find Peter. Her dad's followed Peter's trail of broken dreams this far and somehow it's important for him to know that the hope they seek is as real and as tangible as Claire's dad is to her.

She turns and gazes at that lighthouse once more, pulls him short even though he towers over her and capable of bodily lifting her out of the cold. "Dad, this is the place."

He squints because the glare from the sun is that strong; it's the chill sun of the coming winter but the glare still makes both their eyes hurt. "What place?"

She explains haltingly and finally he understands why she's so transfixed by everything. His gaze isn't patronising nor sympathetic, it's a mixture of pity and hope for the little girl he's lost. He doesn't say anything but Claire knows he understands, and that's all that matters.

It takes a while for her dad to conclude negotiations with a happy enough looking amateur fisherman who'd rather take the cash than spend another windy day out on the foreshore. Claire pretends not to wince at the smell of rotting fish at the bottom of the boat or react to the squishy wetness as she steps into it. Her dad cranks the engine, propelling them into the open water.

She catches the intensity in his eyes and it strikes her then, how lucky she is to have him. Not once in the past few days as he made her doubt her own sanity about this insane mission of hers to save Peter. She's only a 16 year old girl after all; he could just as easily have stripped her notions bare and shown her the desperation that had driven her here, shown her the guilt that plagues her for Nathan's death.

But instead he's silent and resolute, and the only conversation they make is small talk because they're both so tense, and cold. He's motoring them along and the spray hits her full in the face because she's planted herself at the front, but she doesn't mind too much because it means she's that much closer to saving her hero.

"Thanks dad." She says quietly, and somehow she can't say more. She hopes he understands.

He does. "You're my daughter Claire. I'll do anything for you."

It's a short trip to East Fire Island because apparently it's only about a few miles away, and there isn't too much of the island itself. It's a fraction of the size of Fire Island and people use it mainly for hiking, camping and other recreational activities that has never interested Claire. She hopes – naively perhaps – that they're close to finding Peter, and can't help the thought that by the end of the day he'll be safe and sound.

But her hope is short lived, because they've traipsed through the island twice already with no sign of anything, let alone a man who had exploded and landed with fiery intensity in the middle of this piece of rock. They've seen plenty of trees and poison ivy, enough for Claire to expertly recognise them because apparently they're the big danger out in these parts.

They're tired, and hungry, and she has to see the hope waning in her dad's eyes. "I don't want to hear it."

"You have to." He spins her around and they have a ludicrous stare off, a six foot something tall man against a girl barely five foot. "We're searched this placed twice. He isn't here."

"He is." She's being obstinate but not without good cause. Molly said Peter was here, and here's where she has to believe Peter is. Nothing else matters and besides, if the organisation her dad worked for believed Molly was a tracking system, she has to be accurate, right? Claire has to trust and hope because it's all she's been living on since it happened, trust and hope and family and love, because they're the most important things in the world.

"We can go back to the shore. Get a late lunch. We'll have enough time to come back." Her dad's being the voice of reason, she knows it but Claire's reluctant to leave. She suspects that once ashore there's no guarantee they'll return, and she doesn't want to risk giving up the only chance she'll have to save Peter.

"Just one more time Dad. Please?" She knows she's batting her eyelashes and pouting shamelessly, but reasons it's all for a good cause. It seems ludicrous to think Peter's life could be hanging in the balance and they give up on their search because of a little thing called food.

But even Claire's hope dwindles as they search fruitlessly around the small island, poison ivy, trees, dirt and dust mingling as they all start looking the same. "Claire." Her dad says and it's not even a question.

She cries when they climb wearily back into the boat – dinghy really, why sugar coat the truth anymore – and she glares at the sun now skirting the horizon. The days are getting shorter as the fall draws to a close and she suddenly finds herself hating it, hating the short days and stupid dreams and why couldn't Peter have been clearer about his location? If he wants to play the damsel in the distress that's fine; there's no reason to be cryptic and make Claire feel bad about it.

Her dad doesn't even try to strike up conversation as they hurtle back to the main island. Claire's tired and drained and crushed and that doesn't even begin to describe her feelings at the moment. She wants to wring someone's neck and suspects that because her dad's the closest person she'll end up taking it out on him.

They have a quiet dinner through which Claire sits silently fuming. She fumes at the freshly baked bread rolls the kindly owner places in front of them, scowls at the fish soup and loses her appetite when the mains roll around. She should be out there, trying to find him. Instead she's safe and warm and because she is, it's just not right.

So she forms a plan – a desperate, not altogether logical plan – but she doesn't have a choice. Peter died to save her once and she wouldn't be half the person he is if she at least can't try to do the same. She bides her time, endures her dad's worried glances and follows him obediently to a rented cabin on the outskirts of town.

Waits until he goes to the bathroom, then swipes the keys to the boat (dingy) and races to begin her search for Peter anew.

Unfortunately he's too smart for her and just as she winces at the tell-tale squeak of the door he looms behind her, firelight casting eerie reflections off his glasses. "You didn't think I was going to fall for that, did you?" He doesn't sound angry, just tired. She at least manages to look contrite but she's not sorry; she's defiant because she's doing what has to be done.

He sighs, grabs his coat and demands the keys from her. "Next time you want to sneak out, remember I did this for a living for 14 years. You're going to have to do a lot better than that."

It's all he ends up saying from the cabin to the dingy. the motor revs up and they're heading back to the tiny little chunk of rock again. The wind's so much more bitter now that the sun has set and even with an extra scarf and hat it's cold and wintry. She doesn't shy away though; the thought of Peter lying in this salty wasteland is enough to light her insides on fire with desperation. So she doesn't blanch at the vast emptiness around her; remains stoic even though every muscle in her body's wailing with exhaustion.

Claire doesn't know how searching in the dark will increase their chances of finding Peter, but she knows it – in her bones, in her everywhere – that she needs to do this. As they approach and she sees looming midnight silhouettes of towering pines and rocky inlets, she finally discovers why.

She spies them first as lights twinkling not quite merrily; flashes that could perhaps have been small camp fires if not for one thing. They're blinking like a torch being switched on and off, but the light is all wrong. It's an orangey, static-y glow and reminds her of tiny explosions of flame – like firecrackers on the fourth of July.

They're small but incandescent and she's fascinated by it, so she motions for her dad to get closer. He voices concern about coming too close to the rocks but suddenly Claire knows – she feels why she's here, alone with her dad in the middle of this watery desert searching for her lost hero.

Seek for ye shall find and she finally knows what that passage in the bible means, because attached to the glow is a shadow, a suggestion of a whisper of a man – nestled against a rocky outcrop at the very farthest end of the tiny island.

"Peter!" She screams and without thinking – without doing much of anything else really – she jumps over the side and half-swims, half-runs to the source of the flickering glow. She's small so it takes her almost an eternity and a half to get to shore, the steady swish-slosh of the bottom half of her body struggling through increasingly shallow water.

But finally – finally ­– she's there.

Peter's lying against a rock outcrop almost entirely covered with everything that has no place on a human being. Bits of shrubs, leaves, seaweed, and that's only what Claire sees in the microsecond between the time she sees him clearly and when she's by his side. She probably took a hell of a lot longer than a few seconds to struggle to his side but all she remembers afterwards is that she's not there and then she is, holding his limp head just above the water.

He's still, so still and even in the almost absolute darkness Claire can see he's the very picture of death warmed over. She cradles his head as the waves lap against them, hating the cold clamminess of his skin against hers. She runs her hands over his body, trying to check for signs – of any sign – that he's alive and he hears her, but he just lies there, motionless. She brushes detritus off him and gasps in anger at the state of his formerly fair skin.

He's blanketed with sores and scars up and down his arms, legs and torso, every part of skin exposed to the cruel vagaries of the elements and fate. His handsome face's criss-crossed with angry red gashes and sores; radiation burns she thinks but she can't question that now. Once silky hair's matted with congealed blood and seaweed and goodness knows what else, but the one thing that catches her attention awes her, because it's only then that she understands about destiny and the universe and everything Peter believes in with his whole heart and soul, even when they're half dead.

Peter's hands are glowing, the way they did when he first absorbed Ted Sprague's powers. The glow is what she'd seen from the boat, the glow from his hands were beacons of light guiding her to him.

She'll be fascinated by what this means later but right now she needs to know he's still alive. She says his name in increasingly frenzied rhythm until it finally crescendos into hysteria. She's too young to be strong and she needs him to be her hero. Tears don't struggle down her face because they're now allowed to run free; she's not going to try taming them in this watery hell.

Then suddenly she hears a splash, a croak, then a long, painful wheeze. "You found me." His eyes open and they're looking directly into hers, piercing in the sudden light. The moon's unveiled her ghostly light and Claire can see Peter's face now, pale and charred even in the darkness.

"I found you."

"I knew you would." Is all Peter says as his eyes flutter close and he shudders twice. Before her very eyes she sees why the Haitian man had called her healing a gift from God; it truly is because she sees its magic work on Peter. Gradually the sores and burns dissipate and his skin mends itself anew, the scars scatter like ashes in the wind. If he's still looking pale and dirty it's okay, because his breathing is returning and she can feel the rise and fall of his chest as she cradles him against her. She leans over until her head's resting gently on his chest; she delights in the steady pitter-patter of his heart.

By the time her dad manages to manoeuvre the boat (dingy) close enough for them both to half pull, half drag Peter into it, her hero is whole again, if in body only. Claire's glad for that miracle at least; she isn't going to be taking anything to do with Peter's rescue for granted.

As they motor away into the deep, dark night, Claire looks down and gasps. Peter's hands have finally stop emitting that strange glow. It flickers once more before it crackles, withers and dies.