Angela had come storming in earlier that morning, a whirlwind of impatience and frustration churning with defiance and regret. Claire had been sitting on the edge of the bed while Peter still slept, fixing her hair into a ponytail. Her biological grandmother had burst into room followed closely by her dad, taken one look at Nathan, thin and pale and unmoving and had then rushed to his side. Somehow at the same time Peter awoke and between startled exclamations, recriminations and hissed comments between mother and son, Claire didn't know what to do with herself or what to think.
Then all hell had broken loose; one moment she swore Peter's eyes started to burn with anger and the next they're extinguished by a feeble wheeze. It wasn't the sound but the source; the prone form lying at the centre of the room swathed in bandages.
"Oh my god."
"Nathan." They exclaimed.
And like they weren't in the middle of a fight or total destruction of a tender relationship they both rushed to Nathan's side, Angela albeit much more sedately than Peter. Claire's sure Nathan's almost crushed by Peter's onslaught and though much more subdued, Angela's relief was at least passionate enough to convince Claire that her grandmother did in fact, love Nathan to her very core.
Her dad had quietly ushered her out of the room after calling for a doctor, Claire understanding the Petrellis needed time with Nathan. The unbidden thought is that they needed the time to say goodbye but it's too sad to think about so she discards it pretty quickly, trails obediently after her dad to the cafeteria.
She cups slightly chilly hands around the mug of hot cocoa; cocoa because she's decided she's had enough coffee to last a lifetime and she doesn't need any more jarring energy in her body. There's enough there with Angela's sudden presence and Nathan's consciousness against all odds and all she wants to do now is stop, and rest.
She glances at her plate of waffles and smiles feebly; they're her usual Sunday morning treat and it reminds her painfully of her old life where her mom made Sunday breakfast and her dad read the newspaper while she and Lyle bickered over who got the last waffle or pancake.
"You're not hungry?" When she shakes herself out of the reverie his eyes look still and steady into hers.
She shakes her head, gathers knife and fork in her hands and starts eating. "Course I am. It's just …"
"Nathan." He finishes quietly, swallowing coffee silently.
"It's so sad." She forces a mouthful of waffles with maple syrup through dry lips, washes it down with cocoa. "I wish I could do something."
There's a tense silence which Claire doesn't understand. "He'll be all right, you know."
Startled, she looks up. "What do you mean? I thought the doctor said –"
He waves her confusion aside. "Not Nathan. Peter."
Suddenly the tense silence, the wary eyes, start making sense. He's worried about her, the effect Peter's grief will have on her.
Her eyes widen and she blinks rapidly, as a shaft of sunlight streams through the open window. He knows; knows how much Peter means to her and she can't describe why but the fact that her dad understands and knows, really knows suddenly lifts a weight off her she didn't know she'd been carrying all along.
Can't describe it, but it breaks a dam in her and before she knows it she's gushing tears, like an endless fountain of sorrow. "Dad, it's not fair. Nathan's dying to save the world because I talked him into it. It's all my fault, Peter will lose Nathan because of me. He won't have anyone."
He reaches across the table, steadies her hand; she hadn't even noticed she'd reached out to him. "He still has his mother."
"She betrayed him."
There's a pause and then he exhales, slowly. "He'll have you." And then adds quietly, almost as an afterthought. "He'll have us."
Somehow the way he says it makes it a solemn promise rather than empty, comforting words. She wants to ask whether he really means it but knows he does so holds her tongue. She trusts him and there's no need to question his integrity when it's been forever proven to her once and for all; the scar in his side standing mute testimony to that devotion which Claire promises herself never to forget.
They give the Petrellis ample time to reconnect and by the time they re-enter the room Nathan looks exhausted just from listening to Peter and Angela gently recount last week's events. He's a far cry from the strong, brusque man she'd known from her short stay in New York, limbs weak from disuse and voice coming out in rasps so gravely her throat feels scratched and raw just listening to him.
"Claire. You're here." The naked wonder in his voice, so genuine and for once unmasking the caring man underneath, touches her more than she can express with mere words. So she just smiles, resolutely keeps tears overflowing and stands by Peter's side as she takes Nathan's hand, gives it a light reassuring squeeze.
"I am."
Angela excuses herself to see the doctor and make arrangements for Heidi and his sons to fly to Birmingham as quickly as possible. Glances once at Claire rather coldly but she doesn't take it personally because from what she's seen it's almost certainly nothing to do with her; Angela's worried about Nathan and determined in that unique Petrelli way to get what she wants, which is Nathan alive and well; and will use any means at her disposal to get it. Claire can definitely get behind that so she merely moves out of Angela's way as she brushes past.
She wants to cry because it's only now she sees that Nathan and Peter are brothers; both fashioned from the same caring core powering different shells. But they're the same and for this she feels grief wash over her; it makes his loss all the more unbearable because she feels so much more closer to him now that she realises this. Wishes she hadn't but she can't take it back; nothing can be taken back now.
She's talking about Nathan dying as if it was inevitable but then recalls her dream. It's not inevitable, Charles said so. Doesn't know why she's placing that much stock in someone who she's never met and by all accounts never will, but it's Peter's tale and she's just tagging along for the ride.
They talk of light hearted things with Nathan, things of fantasy that don't ever touch on reality. Peter stares at her the entire time, darkness growing in his eyes. To Nathan he's gentle, soft, considerate; away from his brother's eyes he's beseeching her to make this stop, make all of this stop and it wounds her, every look and silent scream a fiery thrust at her side.
Because she understands what it must be like, for him. Saying a prolonged farewell to a brother long admired, deeply loved but at the same time it's stupefying agony to watch him slowly disintegrate. Even now Nathan's fading, willpower not quite enough to keep himself slipping into unconsciousness.
The last thing he says to them breaks her heart; thinks she actually hears it being shorn in two. "I love you both. Don't ever forget that."
She's crying but doesn't know it; not until she hears the breaking of a man behind her. She turns, catches her dad's eyes as Peter collapses into her arms and they cry oh so quietly, muffled by each other's bodies. Her dad stands on the side lines watching them, watches them silently but not reverently; more like surveillance by a creature waiting to pounce.
But after a while he slips unobtrusively out of the room; leaves them to their sorrow.
They cling to each other softly, Nathan's laboured breathing providing a haunting requiem of a shattered family.
She's having her umpteenth cup of coffee this week but her first for the day; knows it's bad for already hormonal teenagers to be juiced up on caffeine but it's so far down her list of priorities it doesn't register. She feels tired but anxious, like a caged bird so when Peter suggests a walk through the grounds she almost jumps into his arms with eagerness. So much so it almost – almost – induces a smile from him.
Her dad's been shut up in talks with Angela all morning; Claire's sure they're speaking of matters of great import like powers and radiation treatment and feels guilty she's not showing more interest in saving Nathan. But then remembers that Peter whose got the most to lose from all of this is sitting, standing, walking and talking with her; so shuts thoughts of guilt and betrayal down resolutely.
They stroll through the shaded lawn, the almost winter sparseness reflecting the barrenness of their hope. It's the season for death and destruction and somehow that means something to Claire, it shouldn't because it's stupid and superstitious but because the trees are dying and leaves are brown and lie dead on the ground, Nathan's going to die too and all their dreaming and desperation will ultimately count for nothing.
She doesn't want this to be the last thing Nathan sees. This russet hued landscape that's so barren and ugly; it's not the place but the season she rails against. She wishes – doesn't know what, because to say it aloud even to Peter is a Catch 22. Once it's out in the open, once she admits she doesn't want this to be Nathan's last view of the world he helped save, she's allowing his fate to happen. Opening the door and tempting fate and the universe to take him away and she doesn't want that, not if there's even the slightest chance they can save him, somehow.
She reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against coarse dry leaves. Wishes she can save Nathan, not just for Peter but for her and her family; for his family. Her two half-brothers she's never formally been introduced to, for Heidi who doesn't yet know of Claire's existence.
"What's the matter?"
Peter's concern seeps through his voice, into her pores. "Nothing." Everything. "It's just – I wish it wasn't so brown. Ugly. Nathan –" She can't continue, because doing so would admit defeat.
He doesn't let her fort crumble, not yet. "We can't let it happen." He murmurs, so close his breath tickles her ear.
"I know." It's cold today and the grounds are strangely deserted, either not many people get sick in Alabama or they've just stumbled into one of their dreams. But they're not because cars rev by in the distance and she can see people bustling about inside the hospital; but everything seems muted and strangely surreal.
"The answer's love." He tries not to sound bitter or cynical, but it comes out that way anyway. Not that she blames him.
"No offence, but what sort of crap is that? It doesn't make sense." He grumbles in agreement. "I mean, how's that meant to help?"
"I have to believe it will."
There's a pause; she wants to say something but it sounds silly and cringe worthy even inside her own mind, let alone floating out in the ether with Peter within listening. But they've shared so much the last few days, she shares it anyway. "Then I believe it too."
It sounds mindlessly naïve and young, too young, accentuates her age which is something she's always keen not to do around adults, which Peter clearly is. But he takes her hand and crushes it, clasps them both close over his beating chest. "I'm glad you're here." Amends, almost as an afterthought. "You and your dad. I owe you my life."
"Twice." She replies impishly and this time she does draw a laugh out of him. It's tempered by sorrow and guilt but at least it's there, that spark of hope, if only for a moment.
"Technically only once now."
"Once?"
"Homecoming." He doesn't need to elaborate, she gets it. Concedes the point and moves on.
"Fine. Once, now." Smiles slyly at him. "But who's counting."
They walk around a small pond, dirty and green with algae. The sort of thing Claire imagines not very welcoming in a hospital hoping to rejuvenate people's minds as well as bodies. They circle slowly, in almost languorous deliberation, and she wonders whether he's forgotten he's still holding her hand; hopes he hasn't but continues anyway.
He observes matter of factly in the winter chill. "I'm hiding."
"We're hiding." She gently chides, and he nods.
"We should be up there, with him."
Without pausing to contemplate further, she turns, pulls him slowly back to the hospital. Because he's right and he's hiding; they're both hiding from grief and sorrow about to assail them. And while it's nice to have a reprieve – god knows they've earned it – it's time to get back to their lives, their responsibilities.
He knows it too. Together they climb to the top of the stairs, not once looking back at the barren sky behind them.