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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It was only June, and already it was disgustingly hot in the City. Peter wore his lightest cotton shirt and he still emerged from the cab feeling sweaty.

He was going over to Claire's. She'd thawed out toward him some since he moved back, and they'd been seeing each other more and more often. Peter had bought a video for babies that he saw some doctor recommending on CNN, and was taking it over for Daniel.

He pushed his hair off of his forehead with frustration. He was tired of it falling in his face, sick of it feeling hot and damp on his scalp in the summers.

So before he went into Claire's building, he walked over to the small hair place a block away for a trim. Well, more than a trim. He cut a good four inches of his hair off.

Claire nearly died when he showed up at her door, still brushing the dregs from his collar. She told him that she loved it, that she'd been wanting him to cut his hair for years.

He laughed and said really? He hadn't noticed.

She punched his arm and had a huge smile on her face.

Claire whistled as she moved around her apartment, danced a little as she wiped down the counters of her kitchen while Peter played with the baby. She decided to make an almond cake, she said. His favorite.

He was back in her good graces from then on. Peter didn't know why – it couldn't be just because of some dumb haircut. But he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

That afternoon she complimented his new look over and over again, till he finally told her to give it a rest or he was going to get an ego problem.

-----

Daniel Noah Petrelli was fun. Seriously fun. At ten months he was already the darling of the family, with a good temper and an easy laugh.

Claire starting calling him Danny, and said that he was going to eat her out of house and home when he was a teenager, if his appetite remained this big.

The Bennet's were more than enamoured, and constantly pestered Claire with plane tickets and guilt trips to bring Danny out for a visit. And she did visit fairly often, was much more outgoing than during her pregnancy.

Nathan's boys loved to perform all sorts of mock-falls, just to see Danny's chubby cheeks bunch up and hear the throaty baby chuckle that exploded out of him. Danny loved to laugh – loved to clown around for the funny big people that were always so concentrated on him.

Claire was still going to NYU online, and ostensibly she still had her 'job' as well. But no one ever asked about her job. No one really wanted to know, is what Heidi thought. And that was more than fine. Claire seemed happy and healthy and well taken care of.

That was what mattered.

Heidi had long ago (pretty much) accepted that the father of Claire's child was most likely a married man, one who had a lot of money and had a reputation to lose if it ever got around that he'd fathered the child of a twenty-year-old college student. A blonde twenty-year-old college student.

It wasn't an ideal situation, but certainly not an uncommon one. Especially in Heidi and Nathan's circle, my god! It happened every day, it seemed like. Heidi thought it didn't mean that it was acceptable, but it certainly wasn't unheard of. She just hoped that Claire was taking him to the cleaners properly in exchange for her silence.

Anyway, Danny had plenty of people to love him. If his father didn't want to be involved, then that was his loss. And there were plenty who would take his place and do as fine a job. Better, probably.

Take Peter. Peter was…well, crazy about Danny. He visited Claire's place constantly, and was often the first face Danny saw when he woke up from his nap. Danny's eyes would always widen with pleasure when he saw Peter. His feet would excitedly stamp up and down and his hands would rise, asking to be picked up.

He got his way, usually. If Danny was in the same room as Peter, then Danny was in Peter's arms. Danny loved to be tossed in the air and caught, and would stand on Peter's open palm, clutching onto his other hand for balance.

Claire would laugh at the acrobatics, and she took a million pictures every day, it seemed like. It was like she didn't want to miss a single frame of her son's life.

When Claire would come to visit Heidi and Nathan, she'd spread a little blanket over the floor and set Danny down with a few toys. He was content to amuse himself or to be played with, alternately.

Which is where Danny currently was. It was Claire's birthday, and Heidi had outdone herself on a huge meal with all of Claire's favorite foods. The Bennet's had flown in from Texas for the occasion, and now they had retired to the parlour with glasses of wine.

Peter and Nathan were in the den room at the moment, attempting to fix the Xbox for Lyle and the boys. But it was okay. Heidi could handle the Bennet's on her own. Sure it was a little odd, but there was a semi-comfortable relationship between the two families at this point. Conversation wasn't like pulling teeth anymore.

Besides, they all had something in common now.

Danny was sitting on his blanket babbling in his gruff little voice as he studied his toys. Claire was growing his hair long, dark waves over his forehead. He had kept those luminous Petrelli eyes, somewhere between brown and gold.

Such an agreeable child, said Mrs. Petrelli, which was really very high praise from her indeed. Daniel - never Danny when it came to Mrs. Petrelli - certainly reminded her of Peter as a baby. He'd been an exceptionally happy infant as well

Claire nodded and quietly said that she hoped Danny would someday turn out as well as Peter.

Heidi leaned over and squeezed Claire's shoulders. Claire was such a sweetheart. Everyone in the room smiled.

Noah Bennet didn't though.

He watched his daughters face. Carefully, and inconspicuously, as was his way.

-----

It was about a week after Claire's birthday when Peter was awoken by the ringing of his phone. It was pitch black outside, and for a minute he was confused.

He looked at the clock by his bed. It was a little after 1 a.m.

Peter groaned but he hopped out of bed and grabbed his cell phone from its charger on the dresser.

He didn't recognize the number but he answered anyway.

Whoever it is on the other line was already yelling when Peter pressed the talk button. He didn't even get a chance to say hello.

The screaming was mostly a stream of slurred, incoherent cuss words – big, nasty ones. Peter thought it was probably some poor drunk S.O.B. who dialed the wrong number. Peter was about to hang up when he heard the guy on the line call him by name.

Peter listened silently for a few minutes, and felt his stomach drop into his feet.

He pressed the disconnect button, and then hurriedly got dressed.

-----

The doorman at Claire's building knew Peter by sight, and nodded gravely at him as he opened the door. Peter tapped his foot nervously during the elevator ride, which was always long, but this time it seemed infinite.

When he finally reached Claire's apartment, he could see the light streaming out from under her front door. Still, he knocked softly, just in case.

No time at all passed before Claire swung the door open. She was wearing pajama pants and a tank top, and her hair was loose and tousled.

She held her cell phone up to her ear, and didn't seem surprised to see Peter, not at all. She wiggled her finger at him, inviting him in. He stepped in and grabbed the door to shut it when she stayed his hand and motioned to Danny's room, put her fingers to her lips.

So Peter nudged the door shut softly, and leaned against it.

Claire still hadn't said a word to whoever was on the other line. She paced across the living room.

Finally she spoke, said u-huh and I know and I'm sorry you're mad, but what do you want from me? And then she sighed, and Peter could hear the frantic screaming from the caller.

Peter was frozen in the spot where he had first entered Claire's apartment. He leaned his head back against the door and stared at the ceiling.

Claire's voice finally grew cold. She said she was tired and didn't want to be yelled at anymore and that he should call her tomorrow and they can do it all over again. Then there were a few more minutes of her silence, punctuated by a loud well I'm not sorry and goodnight.

And then she snapped her phone shut.

Peter's eyes felt a little moist – air conditioning tended to do that to him.

"Hi," she said, as she turned to him, a smile on her face.

Peter didn't say anything for a minute. "How can you be smiling?"

Claire sighed and sat down heavily onto her couch. He still had not moved away from the steadying presence of her front door at his back.

Finally he spoke. "Your dad," he said, the words nearly choking in his throat. "Your dad said some things to me on the phone."

Claire nodded slowly. "Sorry he woke you up."

And that's all she said. He waited, prayed for a denial to fall from her lips, for her to tell him that it wasn't true, but neither came.

Peter's head lolled on the wall as he continued to look up at the ceiling. And then he bit the words out.

"I know it didn't happen, that…no way did it happen. But I have to ask you. Just because."

Peter's eyes were watering more, and he wiped them quickly.

"I have to know, right now, and when you tell me that it's not true, I will never, ever say anything about it ever again."

Claire's arms were folded in front of her, and she met his gaze freely.

"Is there…any possible way that Danny is my son?" Peter's voice quivered.

Claire looked at him calmly, for awhile. It was the same look she'd given him when she'd told him that Danny was her business, all those months ago.

And she never answered him.

Peter started to shake, the tremors beginning somewhere behind his stomach.

Claire's phone started to ring again, and she tersely turned it off.

Peter spoke in a broken voice. "I've never slept with you. I've never been drunk enough to do that in my whole life."

Claire rolled her eyes like it was a joke. "Well, thanks a lot."

He slammed his fist against the door and told her to stop fucking around.

She was silent.

He didn't say anything for a minute, and then he felt the truth wash over him, relief that felt sweet and cool over his face. He spoke the words to her as he thought them. "No. No. Danny's not my son...I never had sex with you. I've never even kissed you."

She stood, slowly, and walked over to him. Stood in front of him and looked at him in a way she never, ever had before.

"You're right," she said. "We've never slept together. But, Danny is your son. Can you understand that?"

He just stared at her, uncomprehending.

She sighed. "How do I even start to explain?"

A million memories, doubts, fears, and desires coursed through Peter's brain. Rampant what ifs – what if they I had /I done it and then he had his memory wiped? What if Claire had done it with Candice posing as him? What if Claire was Candice right now? What if this was all some horrible hallucination cooked up by someone, Sylar, someone worse than Sylar? What if he was still asleep in his bed, and this was just a terrible nightmare?

"I can guess where your mind is going, Peter. I swear to you that this is the real me." She paused, her eyes darting up into his. "You got a parking ticket in front of my place two weeks ago. It rained the day we went to Goners together.

That was true enough. He relaxed a little.

"I also know that you have a mole right there," she said, and her hand trailed toward his right hip, before he shifted away from her.

She paused. Then spoke softly. "I know you grit your teeth when you come."

"Shut up," said Peter in a strangled voice.

She smiled with a little pity behind her eyes, and reached for his chin. But he jerked away from her touch like she was made of hot metal.

"Peter, you don't have to be afraid, or shy. I know you well, so well. You don't have to pretend with me." She smiled at him comfortingly, and it looked like she was trying very hard to put him at ease.

"What. What are you talking about?" said Peter shakily.

"Listen. Just listen. I'm going to try and explain it to you the way he told me to."

"Who?" asked Peter.

She looked down at the floor, and Peter thought for a minute that she wasn't going to answer him. But then she did.

"You," said Claire.