Part Sixteen

Claire's woozy from lack of sleep but there's no way on god's green earth she's not going to do this now. Not when her biological father's fading away, time is of the essence and besides, if she lays her head down on anything resembling a pillow there's every chance she'll go to sleep for a year.

She grips Peter's hands across Nathan's sleeping form, the other hand made slippery with sweat. It's stupid and silly but she's really, really scared and can't think of any reason why she is.

As she assured Peter a moment ago, she can't die, not from this and neither can he. But why is she so frightened? What does she think will happen?

"It's okay." Peter nods at her, only once but he's so reassuring it bolsters her courage once more. "We'll try, see what happens."

As Claire closes her eyes it feels like everyone in the room – with the exception of Nathan, of course – is holding their collective breaths in fascinated anticipation. After arguing so strenuously, her dad and Angela had capitulated and now they're all standing around Nathan's bed like they're conducting some ritual, like they're trying to rescue someone from death's very jaws. Which they are, so it's really not that strange at all.

"Ready?" Peter's voices pierces her thoughts; snatches her attention back to the present.

"No, not really." Even with closed eyes she feels his smile, designed to reinforce her strength and for that she's grateful. She knows, no feels, he's as petrified as she is but it's somehow okay because she's going through all of this with him. It's yet another thing they chalk up to the mounting list of things they share; she knows that as long as she lives she won't ever forget this.

He squeezes her hand; knows it's their signal to do – whatever they're supposed to do. But after a few tense moments her eyes fly open because nothing happens; there's a vast emptiness of nothing where everything should have been.

It's not working and as scared as she'd been, the lack of result's debilitating. "What's wrong?" Her dad quickly asks.

She's so annoyed and disappointed she can't even find the words. Even Angela looks upset, which makes Claire feel even guiltier. Not only did she get everyone's hopes up but now it looks like she's made a liar of herself.

But it's Peter who speaks; he's frowning but not defeated, not yet. "I didn't feel anything, did you?"

"No." Hopeless despair's threatening to crush their hopes but he's not giving in.

"What if –" His eyes flame alight; his entire body straightens and conviction and fire blaze forth, basks her with hope and trust and desire and comfort and everything else she can't put a name to.

It's their connection flaming into tangibility, a living, breathing umbilical cord and there's something there too, she sees it but can't quite understand, but it's a part of them all the same. And it's them, this thing, and together they're going to do this.

It fills her up, runs like ambrosia through her veins, so sweet and smooth she wants to bask in it, in them, forever. But then Peter's voice breaks through; it's only a whisper but it carries all his conviction, opens himself up for her to see. "Think of how you felt before, when you grabbed him."

Her mind returns when she grabbed Nathan, to her hands, her tears, her voice. Her anger.

"Think –"

"I was angry."

"I don't think you should be, when you do this." His voice is like honey, dreamy and smooth and it's like she's stumbled into yet another one of their dreams.

"I …I don't know how else to be."

"It hurt you because you were angry."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Because." His smirk's there even if she can't see it. "Before, I thought I had to control my feelings to use my power. But I was wrong."

"Then how?"

"I had to remember, remember how the person made me feel." She sees a cheerleader, bloodied, running, screaming for help. A handsome, dark haired stranger minus the shining armour but he's her knight all the same, telling her to –

"Run!"

They're on the floor and she's looking into his eyes, intense and dark and uncertain but she's safe for now because of him. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Peter. What's yours?"

Her eyes snap open; those same eyes now stare back at her, deep and dark but no longer uncertain. "Do you get it?" He asks, but knows she does; knows at this moment she always will.

She nods, breathes once more for luck, and then –

It happens, she feels it instantly, feels her healing for lack of a better word flow from her brain to her chest and heart, through her veins to her fingertips and suddenly her fingers are warm; they tingle but it's not uncomfortable by any stretch of the imagination. It strangles her for a moment but because Peter's there she doesn't panic; she feels him close, so close it's like he's standing beside her even though he's not.

He's more than standing next to her, it's like – she won't ever be able to describe it to anyone else, not ever and not accurately, but knows he feels it too. It's like their essences have mingled and he's in her veins and she in his; and together – only once they're together do they try to heal Nathan.

She's a little scared of the pain, the memory of it too recent to forget. But she feels Peter, soothing the fear lurking and writhing under her skin. Hesitates just a little and his face comes unbidden into her mind; the sun's shining in the background and they're by the sea, azure water gleaming in sparkling sunlight. Sees his smile, caring but determined and she realises it's how she's always pictured him – her hero, shining in her thoughts.

It's that smile that gives her the last ounce of courage; she takes a deep breath and dives straight in. It's the Petrelli way, that headstrong determination they both share and she's so grateful he's there with her, holding her as they heal Nathan, together.

The pain returns, the blisters, burns and it's like her arms are being set ablaze. But it doesn't hurt nearly half as much as it did before; she doesn't know whether it's because she's not angry or Peter's with her or both but the absence of pain gives her courage to dive deeper.

The entire process is surreal and absurd, really. When she tries describing it to her dad later she'll say it was like taking on everything that had happened to Nathan, allowing her power to heal him through her. She'll say that it wasn't easy, running on instinct and maybe Peter's limited experience of controlling his own wayward powers, but knows there's really one thing that was decisive in getting her through it all.

It's too scary to admit so she doesn't, not even to herself.

She opens her eyes a split second before Peter does. Sees the instant when he returns to the present, returns to only one of the realities they share. Their eyes meet in what seems like a bubble of silence; dimly she hears Angela gasp in shock, surprise, hope, wonder and her dad she thinks is staring, eyes agog, like she's the second coming.

But she's not there with them, not yet. Her connection with Peter lingers and for a moment it's like they've got one foot in two realities, only one of which being uncle and niece matters.

It's not the fleeting look of amazement that shocks her, it's – she can't vocalise it because it scares her in its perfection; it's like looking directly into sunlight – but recognises it all the same. She can admit though in that instant their connection, bond, link and love – yes, even love – cements and crystallises and she sees, really sees, how their need saved the cheerleader, the dreamer, the world … and finally, their family.

Funny, to think a grown man needs her, a mere girl, but it's the truth. And she needs him, needed him even before she knew it and will need him always forever after.

Their moment simmers and crackles in the air before it's swallowed by that other reality, the world they both live in. She regrets it; because she knows the perfection of her retreating realisation will be forgotten, lost to her in the real world.

She doesn't know how long they stand there staring mutely; one minute Angela's bending over Nathan's slowly reawakening form and the next she's giving Claire a hug that almost verges on being grandmotherly. "My dear girl." There's no trace of the domineering matriarch now, she's all tears and Claire's heart catches in her throat to see a real person underneath Angela's cold, calculating veneer. "Thank you for saving my son."

What can a girl say to that? Not thank you; so she just nods and that's when she notices tears streaming down her face and exhaustion creeping through her limbs. Her dad's already there, peering anxiously down at her.

"That wasn't so hard after all, was it?" Claire smiles wanly, wants it to be reassuring. She notices how pale Peter looks, how unsteady on his feet.

Takes one ungainly step towards him before toppling into blackness.

When she wakes from a sleep filled with blissful nothingness it's late afternoon and hazy sunlight streams through the windows. It takes her a long, heavenly moment to orient herself but when she does, knows obviously she's not in Kansas anymore.

"You're awake." Her dad's smile is all relief and tight concern; he's trying very hard to hide it but she can see it even through his glasses that are partially reflecting the light.

She struggles to shrug the comforter off her face and shoulders, ends up in a tangle of curls and sheets. "Where am I?"

He tells her softly they're at a local boutique hotel; Nathan's okay and awake but weak and Angela's busy filling Heidi in on what happened. She must've looked stricken at the mention of Nathan's wife because her dad hurries to reassure her. "It's okay, she – I think she understands. For now anyway. Just glad to have Nathan back I think."

Claire nods; she can't really do anything about it right now but doesn't look forward to the moment when she has to meet Heidi or his two real sons. It's going to be awkward as all out; imagines herself in Heidi's place and knows she wouldn't be so accommodating to her husband's illegitimate offspring.

But another thought topples this one and she sits quickly, grabs her dad's arm. "Where's Peter? Is he okay?"

"He's fine." She doesn't understand the look he gives her, brushes it off as her mind not quite regaining full function. She feels like she's been run over by a truck, run over again and then put through a meat grinder before being assembled back together. "He's sleeping in the other room."

It's not like she doesn't trust her dad but a part of her knows she won't sleep again until she sees him. "I want to see –"

"He's sleeping." His brusqueness takes her aback; but the next moment his soft smile's back and she thinks she must've imagined it. "He – he made sure you were okay, helped me get you here. Then he collapsed like you did."

She doesn't even have to finish, it's obvious now what happened. "How long –?"

"Longer than I thought." Is all her dad's willing to admit and she doesn't press the issue. She's safe and warm and everything seems to be readjusting to normality, except for one thing she has to do.

It seems like her dad knows it and what's more accepts it too. He stands and helps her up even though by this time she's more than capable of standing on her own. She's not the one they'd just rescued from the jaws of death after all.

He gestures to the room across the hall, gazes at her strangely as he hands her the key to Peter's room. She doesn't think about it then but when she revisits it later she wonders how she could've possibly missed it.

Maybe all her attention's focused on turning the old fashioned key in the lock, opening the door, peering inside to check he's okay. She cranes her neck as she steps over the threshold, closes the door quietly behind her. Stares into the gloom; the blinds are drawn, would've doubted her sense of him being there if not for one thing.

He's snoring softly, cadence rising then falling which for some reason is funny, really funny and the more she listens to the odd half-snorting, half-snoring sound he makes in sleep the more she wants to laugh or giggle because it's just so silly. They've been through so much together and now he's snoring like there's no tomorrow. As she tiptoes closer the mundane picture completes; his dark hair flies randomly and rather unattractively in every direction, his body splayed and tangled in the comforter, one leg sticks out and dangles bizarrely over the edge of the bed, uncovered enough so she can just see that her uncle wears boxers, not briefs.

She smiles in the darkness but can't quite manage a giggle, not yet. It'll come though, and until then she's content to sleep, and wait and dream.