Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Like most family crises, the Petrelli's (and the Bennet's) got over it. Nathan had a new theory on Claire's recent influx of cash flow. He figured that the father of Claire's baby had given her some money and she, for some ungodly reason, had decided to keep the details from the rest of them.
It was bad though, said Nathan darkly. Very bad. Something very fishy was going on, and he didn't like it. Didn't like her sneaking around and keeping secrets.
Nathan said 'secrets' like it was a dirty word.
Peter thought it wasn't particularly a bad idea on Claire's part to refrain from oversharing with her volatile father. And he was glad that she had the money, though he would have happily given her some, if she needed it.
Peter would've still liked to strangle the asshole that did this to Claire, that forced Daniel to live with a half-blank birth certificate. Money or not.
As for Nathan's theory about the money…well, on the day Claire moved, Peter had helped her get her stuff packed up and into the movers boxes. The movers were showing up at Nathan's house at 8 a.m. on the dot, and the lady on the phone had warned ominously that they wouldn't wait around.
Claire was no morning person, and Peter was, so he was happy to help get it all in order. He was in town for the weekend and it just made sense.
It didn't take long. She didn't have much stuff. When she paid the movers on the stoop of Nathan's house, he saw her pull a thick roll of money from her little purse. Fifty-dollar bills. The wad of money was ridiculously round, to mobster movie proportions.
She'd peeled off seven of them and stuck the rest back in her purse as she started to hail a cab. That's when he put his hand on her arm and insisted on driving her.
She shrugged and said okay…but it wasn't necessary.
Well it certainly was necessary in Peter's mind. That much money in her purse, alone? He wasn't going to take the risk, and he kept thinking about it as he drove both her and Daniel over to the new place.
Besides, he wanted to see the place, was the first of her family to do it, he knew. It seemed safe enough when he pulled up to the front. It had a doorman and there were families walking along the tree-lined streets. The neighborhood was quiet and clean.
She shook her purse before they got out of the car and asked if Peter would mind carrying Daniel in. And then she smiled at him teasingly and asked unless he'd prefer to carry her purse?
Peter chuckled and for a minute it all seemed okay – like it was back to normal between them. How it used to be. He carried Daniel carefully up the steps, following closely behind Claire.
Claire rummaged through her purse and found the key, the one that the agent had dropped off yesterday. She unlocked the door and took Daniel from Peter's arms, shushing the baby as he fussed. Which was rare. He was generally a very easy baby, content to just look around at his surroundings.
The movers had done a good job of not mashing the boxes too close together, it seemed like. There was a brand new couch, and some dining room chairs still covered in plastic. The bassinette was set up under the sunny window in the living room.
It was odd, really, for Peter to watch Claire be, well, a mother. She rocked the baby gently, pressed her lips to her son's forehead, and hummed softly in the back of her throat. She deftly held the baby in one hand and arranged the blanket in his bassinette with the other.
She laid Daniel into the bassinette, and lightly rocked the corner of it with her finger. It didn't take long for the baby to quiet, and before long the only sound in the room was Claire's soft murmurs.
Claire was a wonderful mother. He hadn't expected any less.
They walked through the apartment together while the baby slept, their shoes squeaking on the highly polished wooden floors.
It really was a nice place. It had tall ceilings and large windows, crown molding and a fireplace. Peter was surprised to see not just one bedroom door but two. He peeked in the first bedroom. It was painted sage green, and was small-ish. Cozy. Perfect for a baby.
The kitchen was amazing too – marble counters and stainless steel appliances. She was very excited, and eagerly pointed out little details, admonishing him to pay attention to the color of the tile in the bathroom. Her enthusiasm made him want to smile, but he didn't. Instead he gravely gave his opinion on the number of towel racks, like she'd asked.
The master bedroom was painted a soft yellow with white trim, and Claire sighed when they stepped into it. She raised her arms and twirled in the room before plopping onto the bed. This, she said, is my favorite.
It had a beautiful view, and a little balcony. Damn. Peter felt his face growing darker, and he tried to relax it into a pleasant expression, but….
This apartment was huge, by New York standards, and Peter knew a place like this, in a neighborhood like this, wouldn't rent for a penny less than four or five thousand a month. No matter how good a deal she said she got on it.
How was she affording this? She had said that she'd already paid first and last months rent as well as a deposit – the sum of which was probably akin to the price of a modestly equipped car.
Where would she get that kind of money? He'd long suspected that Daniel's father was just some broke college kid that Claire knew at William and Mary. He was obviously wrong.
College kids, no matter how rich their parents were, generally didn't have $15,000 lying around. And she was smart about money – she wouldn't have gotten this place if she didn't think the cash was going to keep coming in.
He frowned. Peter hadn't bought into the reckless paranoia that Nathan had, the suspicion that something Very Bad was going on with Claire.
But now all he could think about was that fat roll of cash in her purse.
She asked him what was wrong when he didn't say anything.
He kind of blurted it out in a matter-of-fact manner. That he knew she didn't have a job, and could they stop pretending that she was earning the money for the apartment herself? How was she affording this? How? And then his words faded away.
She recoiled from him visibly, tucked her feet up under her on the bed. A brand new bed, Peter noted, a king size by the looks of it. Why did Claire need such a big bed? Peter felt odd, like he was being paranoid or something, finding suspicion in everything.
He ordered his mind not to go there, not to think about Dateline specials featuring teenage call girls. He looked at his niece, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, her eyes looking a little wary at the moment. She was still the same Claire, the same girl he had met on a cool September night in a high school in Texas.
Claire wouldn't have done that. She wouldn't do that. Wherever she was getting this money from wasn't that. Or anything like that.
He waited for her answer, though. For a while he thought he wasn't going to get one.
And then she cleared her throat delicately and stood up from the bed. She spoke softly, and said that she had already given the only explanation that she was prepared to give.
After that she shut him out, and answered him with one-word responses till he finally gave up and left.
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Babies grow quickly. Peter had never realised just how. He was getting tired, so tired of his maniacal plane trips and the traveling. Not only for him and Mohinder's 'business', but also back and forth to New York every weekend. Mohinder still had him running all over the world with him, and Peter himself was picking up powers at a rapid rate.
Peter knew it was important, that his abilities really sped the process but…he needed to be in New York. He would be happy to keep on helping, but New York needed to be his home base.
Of course it all would've been bearable if he could move about the globe like Hiro did. He knew he was capable of it – he'd done it when Claire was about to give birth, much to his shock and surprise. It had been easy that time. He'd been so panicked and he'd just…done it.
But it didn't seem to work now – Peter couldn't seem to focus correctly. It had only worked when he'd heard the scared little hitch in Claire's voice.
He hadn't thought about it. Just pinched his eyes shut, and he was there. Maybe he had to be panicked for it to work?
It probably didn't help that he was worn down, and tired, now. It was just before Daniel turned four months old, and Peter was really glad that Mohinder didn't try to guilt trip him into keeping on. Peter told him that he just couldn't do it anymore, didn't want to for that matter. Couldn't someone else pick of the slack?
Mohinder was very polite, of course, very apologetic that he'd asked Peter to help him so much already. Of course he understood that he must leave. Family came first.
Family did come first, in Peter's mind, but it was more than that. Peter had made a promise. To Claire, and to Daniel, and to himself. He was going to keep it. Had to keep it.
So Peter moved home. He packed up his stuff from the hotel that he was staying at, and Mohinder dropped him off at the airport in Sao Paulo. Mohinder thanked him genuinely for all of his help, and shook his hand through the car window.
Peter felt a little guilty, but all that disappeared as the plane circled around La Guardia. He'd forgotten how good it felt to say that he was officially a New Yorker. Again.
He was going to stay with Nathan, much to the chagrin of his mother. But there was more space at Nathan's. It just made sense.
It was temporary, just until he found an apartment. That was the hard part of course – it's easy enough to find a place in New York, if you don't mind getting ridiculously overcharged.
But he wasn't in any hurry, was perfectly content to wait for the right one. A couple weeks, or even months, if that's what it took.
Nathan picked him up from the airport, and nearly broke his ribs when he hugged him, told him how happy he was that Peter got smart and decided to move back.
Heidi made a special dinner and Peter made a joke about the fatted calf. Claire came but stayed only a few minutes. She said that Daniel wasn't feeling well and that she wanted to get him home.
She kissed the air near Peter's ear when she said her goodbyes, and wouldn't look him in the eyes when she said welcome home.
Damn it.
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After three glasses of scotch too many (blame Nathan and his love of rambling toasts), Peter stumbled up the stairs to the room he was staying in. Claire's old room.
He pushed the door open slowly, and a waft of air from inside the room blew over him. She'd moved out three months ago, and it still smelled like her perfume.
He exhaled slowly. He'd seen her spray it on herself many times. It came in a round, clear glass bottle edged in apple green.
Peter knocked his head against the wall, and sighed. The whole room smelled like Claire. His niece, Claire.
He slept on the couch in the den that night.
Peter stayed at Nathan's for two days. Then he found a place – it was overpriced and there weren't enough windows for his liking, but it was vacant and had a same-day move-in. Whatever. Peter signed a six-month lease.
