------------------------

"Our siblings. They resemble us just enough to make all their differences confusing, and no matter what we choose to make of this, we are cast in relation to them our whole lives long."
Susan Scarf Merrell

Chapter 2

She stood at the window of JFK Airport, frowning with disgruntlement, still refusing to accept the sinking feeling that Nathan did a foolish thing and went against her wishes. No-one ever dared defy Angela Petrelli, not even her cherished sons. Yet in the eleventh hour of their escape to Paris when they were about to board their private jet, her eldest decided to take an antithetical stand, told her that he needed to make a quick stop, kissed her on the cheek and left.

She waited restively, checking her watch every minute but her fears were confirmed when she saw the mushroom cloud high above the city rather than on the ground where it should have been.

Goddamn you! You've ruined everything

But it hadn't been Nathan she thought of while the contemplation coursed through her mind.

Her jaw clenched in disgust, fingernails digging into the leather of her purse, she indignantly whirled around on her stiletto heels and commanded that she be taken back to the mansion.

Linderman's pilot expressed confusion but uttered not a single word, acquainted with complying with Lady Petrelli's every whim for he knew how unwise it was not to. She strutted ahead of him in a huff, head held high and hell-bent to shout at someone. The problem was there was no-one to yell at. Nathan was gone. Peter would be missing. But she would find him. And there would be hell to pay.

------------------------

Dave dreamt that he was glowing. He didn't understand why but it disturbed him immensely. Men shouldn't glow, men shouldn't be glowing and hot. Not hot in the same context that Elle referred to him as being but burning like fire, like molten lava, like a bomb scorching the landscape. This made him toss and turn until he felt someone shaking him awake, calling him Dave. The name was known yet wrong.

Nevertheless he jolted awake, hazel eyes gaping in terror as they surveyed the odd room. Then his eyes found Elle and, recognizing her, he calmed and his breathing evened out.

"Are you all right?" she inquired.

"I think so. I just had the wildest dream."

"What about?"

"I'm not really sure. I think, I think I was going to…explode."

"Probably all of that vodka you didn't drink in your coffee coming back to haunt you. You kicked me. Hard. Several times."

He passed her a sheepish look.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was doing. The dream…it felt so real."

"Maybe it's a clue to who you are," she offered.

His thick eyebrows knitted in contemplation.

"Why would I explode?"

Elle offered her signature shrug.

"Maybe it was symbolic."

"Maybe."

"Then again, how could you heal the way you did?"

His lissome form quaked as if he was cold.

"Are you OK?" she inquired, noticing his tremulous behavior.

"No. I'm afraid. I don't like not knowing who I am. What if someone's worried about me? What if someone wants to hurt me?"

"If is a powerful word, Dave. If may never be. In your position you need to take things as they come. There is just no other way for you to handle it. Go back to sleep. There's nothing you can do about anything right now."

"I know you're right but I can't help it. It's awfully debilitating to not even know your own name."

Elle sighed.

"Awww, Dave!" she expelled softly. "I know this is hard on you. I'm sorry for that. I can't relate to what you're going through but, for what it's worth, you do have me. I've only known you for a few hours but I care about you. And it isn't because you're a total hottie either. You're sweet. I get a good vibe around you and I want to help you."

Dave felt her hand slip over his and gently squeeze. Accepting the solace, he flipped his palm over to interlock their fingers then squeezed back.

"Thanks," he told her. "That means a great deal to me."

"No problem, Dave." Peeking over his shoulder at the digital alarm clock exhibiting the large red numbers 3:23, she yawned. "We've still got a few more hours before Alex comes home. Try to go back to sleep."

She quietly coaxed him down on his back again. To his surprise, she warmed up to him by nestling against his body. Strangely enough, having her within intimate proximity pacified him further and his heart beat gradually steadied. Her body was warm and the beach scented her hair; he shut his eyes to savior it.

"I don't know if I can," he yawned.

Yet she held a sort of soporific effect on him as he already was groggy. With an arm drawing his lovely savior close, he managed to find peace in sleep again.

------------------------

Somewhere over the continental United States, Grace was too pissed off to sleep. Her darkened skies steadily transferred from black to dark blue and the toddler sitting in front of her refused to sit back in his own seat. The boy's parents were both out cold and the little brat was taking full advantage.

Grace never liked children. The only one that had ever mattered to her was her brother. Children tend to block women from what they want in life; her career always came first and there was no room for the interference of her own children. It was bad enough that after she moved to Hollywood Gabriel became so drastically introverted that he severed all contact with her. Given that he was the only family she cared about having, several attempts were made at reaching him but he never returned her calls. She sacrificed everything for her fame and in hindsight the result cost more than she was willing to lose. Gabriel meant the world to her and she let him slip away.

Now the only thing outside of her career that she valued was taken away from her. Nothing could be done to change it. Gabriel, the shy watchmaker, skilled with time but unable to turn back that precious commodity to correct their mistakes. His last words to her resonated in the halls of her tortured memory:

Time waits for no-one, Grace. It passes away and we can't get it back. We must make the most of it while we have it. You didn't. You left me for goldbrick streets and Astroturf. At least our relationship was real, not like that silly town you chose to live in. I will always love you but I don't know you any more. Good-bye, Grace.

Thinking of what he said fueled her rage so that her body prickled with electrical sensations. The dimmed cabin lights brightened.

Now isn't the time to be irate! she reprimanded herself.

An underhanded thought pierced through her clouded mind like the lightning that charged inside her body. There was one outlet she could vent her anger on.

"Hey, little guy," she muttered to the little boy leaning over and staring rudely into her face. "Want to see a cool magic trick?"

The child nodded and currents of electricity buzzed within the palm of her hand.

------------------------

By the time Angela Petrelli arrived back at the mansion, dark circles of unrest crept beneath her high maintenance eyes. Her exhaustion overwhelmed her so that she thought she was seeing a mirage when the limousine parked outside the front door. The chauffeur came around to open the door for her but upon realizing that her eyes were not playing tricks the matriarch already had the door open and was exiting the car without assistance.

"Claire!" she addressed stiffly. "What are you doing here at this ungodly hour? I assumed you would be on a plane back to Texas."

"I couldn't leave," the petite blonde responded. "I had to stay."

"Where is Mr. Bennet?"

"You mean my dad?" she corrected firmly.

"Yes, your…dad, as you call him."

"He's back at the hotel. He wanted to catch the red-eye back to Texas."

"But you convinced him otherwise."

"He doesn't know I'm here. I told you. I couldn't leave. I refuse to go without knowing what happened to Peter."

Angela sighed, her jaw tightening again. She had no time for these things.

"Come with me," she instructed curtly. "We'll discuss this matter inside."

Claire shadowed her estranged grandmother into the elaborate mansion she'd only visited a few times and into the sumptuous yellow sitting room where Mohinder Suresh had lately delivered a very dead Peter after a lethal encounter with Sylar. The teen stared longingly at the white and blue patterned chaise lounge where her beloved uncle's body had lain that day, not because she wanted confirmation of his current impending death but because she desired to see him regenerated and smiling affectionately at her as he had on that day after she removed the shard of glass from the back of his skull. Memory of his warm smile brought a tear down one of her eyes which she furtively wiped away in fear that her grandmother would persecute her for being emotionally weak.

"You should've left, Claire. There's nothing you can do for him."

"With all due respect, you're wrong. I can be here and that's enough for him."

"He influenced you with his turbid day dreams of greatness and talks of family unity, didn't he?"

"Better to be a dreamer with big hopes for the world than to be hopeless and watch it all crumble to ash," the cheerleader said pithily through clenched teeth.

"Don't be unreasonable, my dear, you know perfectly well that he cannot die."

"He can't physically die but you left him to die a worse kind of death. An emotional, moral death. You know how sensitive he is and yet you still sentenced him to survive with the guilt of uncontrollably killing millions. He was your son and for all of the Petrelli solidarity you and my father preached you both exploited and deserted him."

Angela took the young woman's accusations into stride with the poise of her breeding. Holding her chin high, she peered down at Claire in haughty scorn.

"How dare you speak to me in that tone? You haven't an inkling of what's going on and you have the audacity to think that you can waltz in here and dictate how I run my house? You have got a lot to learn, young lady." Pausing to take a deep breath, she persisted in a genial voice: "I adored Peter. He was my son, my baby boy. I have genuine love for him that goes beyond the typical maternal bond. That is something you have yet to understand. But Peter was always the weak link in the family. God knows he meant well but that was the trouble with him. He reacted with his heart rather than thought with his head."

Claire flinched when she noticed that Peter was being referenced to in the past tense.

"So because you believe Peter's caring nature is an imperfection you'd rather leave him out there seriously wounded to fend for himself."

"Peter was resilient and resourceful. If he's alive he'll find his way back to us."

"What if he can't?"

Claire stood horrified and tearful while the older woman remained unresponsive and as immobile as a statue.

"You don't want him to, do you?" the girl inquired, a sickened feeling swelling her stomach. "You hope he's gone for good."

"Don't be ridiculous, Claire, even in death he'll still be a part of this family."

"But he's the weakest part. You said so yourself. You hoped that you could rid yourself of him in one form or another, that's why you weren't concerned about him exploding." The ghastly realization made her mind swoon. "My god, what kind of a family is this? You're all monsters and Peter's the exception to your rules so he's expendable."

"I don't appreciate your accusations, young lady. You aren't the only one who's lost someone precious tonight. As a matter of fact, it's clear you've forgotten your father who was an equal loss. Nathan is dead, Claire, and he isn't coming back."

The girl shook her head to clear it.

"I can't place more value on one than on the other," Claire replied through clenched teeth. "But my father had a choice. Peter didn't."

A brief, uncomfortable pause ensued in which Claire wanted to shift her eyes to anything other than her orgulous grandmother. Nor did she wish to be in the same room as her and regretted seeking her out.

"Why don't you sit down? Take a few deep breaths to calm yourself then we'll discuss this further. But I won't allow you to question my motives or my feelings for Peter. What's done is done and cannot be changed. We'll move forward, not backwards."

True, Claire desired to flee from the mansion and never do so much as glance back over her shoulder but concern for Peter kept her in place. There was, of course, worry about her father but his fate appeared to be certain. Can't resurrect the dead unless they were like her and Peter. While she shed many tears tonight for Nathan Petrelli, she needed to focus her energy on the one who could be saved, especially since it seemed like she was the only one who really cared about his welfare.

Nodding obedience, she slid down into a cushy chair and rubbed her tired, gritty eyes. Unconcerned by her appearance, she hadn't bothered to apply any make up prior to leaving the hotel because she wanted to reach the mansion as quickly as possible. It was childish of her to expect Peter would be waiting and all she would have to do was pluck out another shard of glass from that certain spot in the back of his head then he would be fine. If only life was that easy. Alas, it rarely was.

"Then we can look for Peter?" she pressed, suspicious of her grandmother's intent.

Angela's saccharine sweet smile reminded Claire of one given by a fairy tale witch.

"Of course we can, dear. We'll bring Peter home very soon, safe and sound."

------------------------

As he neared the front of his building, Alex Miasnikov spotted his sister's Versa parked on the street opposite the complex. Great, he thought, I'll have to deal with petty drama before going to bed! Dawn lightened the sky and laborious work packing meat in Manhattan all night rendered him as useless as jelly. The only time Elle visited in the night was if Amber was being insufferable. At the moment he didn't want to hear the paltry complaints of females, he just wanted to sleep. Yet she was still his sister and there was a necessity for loyalty between them. He knew that if he needed to he would sacrifice sleep entirely to make sure everything was good again.

Usually he ascended the stairs to his apartment two at a time but in knowing what awaited him he trudged up them singly, fumbled with his keys after he reached the door, dropped them as he tried to unlock it, then at last managed to get the door open. Softly shutting it behind him, he called to Elle. There was no answer and she was not on the sofa where she customarily slept while waiting for him to return.

Tossing his keys to a random place he knew he would later forget, he walked into the kitchen expecting her to be there but found it empty, as was the bottle of vodka on the table. This was definitely going to be one hell of a ride; he considered running back out to purchase more vodka for himself in anticipation of the event.

"Elle!" he called vaguely louder, walking back through the apartment.

She was standing in the hallway leading to the bedroom, fully clothed and already shushing him.

"Be quiet, dorkus!" she whispered urgently. "He's sleeping!"

This statement upset Alex.

"He? What do you mean he?"

"OK, that's what I need to talk to you about. Don't be mad at me…"

"Did you bring a guy in here? Where is he? In my bed?! Elle, please tell me you did not have sex with some guy in my bed!"

"Eeewww! No! No! How old do you think I am, for Christ's sake? Will you shut up and listen?!

"I'm listening. You'd better have a goddamned good explanation for what I'm hearing."

"You have to sit down for this one."

"Are you serious?"

"I almost got into a car accident because of it."

"What?!"

"Sit down, damn it!"

Elle shoved Alex down onto the sofa but remained standing and began pacing before him.

"Why did you drink all of my booze?" griped Alex sourly.

"Did you hear about what happened in Brighton tonight?" Elle ignored her brother's question.

Alex gazed at her cautiously. "No, I've been working all night. You know I can't…"

"I was walking along the beach when something fell out of the sky. It was like a meteor or something. It crashed and fell on top of this guy. I went to help him but he was so fucked up, Alex. He was dead. Or at least I thought he was dead. But he wasn't. He was like a burnt husk or something. This dude as big as the Hulk carried him to my car so I could drive him to the emergency room. I was driving as fast as I could. Then suddenly he breathed…and when I looked in the mirror he was mint like nothing happened!"

Alex listened in pure skepticism as Elle imparted her tale about the miracle man who apparently was in the bedroom sound asleep in his bed. At first he fumed with rage that his sister would bring some stranger into his home in his absence. By the time she finished, Alex's intrigue accrued until he was suffocated with curiosity to see this person.

"This man is sitting on the beach," Alex recapped, "when a meteor falls on him. He gets fucked up to the point of not being recognizably human. He starts to breathe so someone helps you carry him to your car. You're driving him to the hospital when suddenly he sits up and he's perfectly fine."

"Yeah!"

"He looked like nothing happened."

"Yeah!"

"Are you sure you didn't hit that vodka sooner?"

"This happened before I came over, Alex! Come with me."

"Where?"

"You want to see him. I know you do."

Alex conceded by rising from the sofa and merely trailing Elle into the bedroom. To their surprise the stranger, a handsome young man with longish dark bangs that fell into his enormous eyes, already sat perched at the edge of the bed waiting for them.

"Dave!" Elle squealed. "You're awake!"

"Yeah," the guy apparently named Dave responded, pushing the bangs back from his eyes. "I already couldn't sleep well as it was and when I heard you talking…"

"Sorry."

"You must be Elle's brother Alex. I wish I could tell you my name but I have no idea what it is. Elle's just been calling me Dave."

Alex nodded, feeling highly territorial.

"Well…Dave…I wish I could say that I'm pleased to meet you but I'm slightly confused. I come home to find you lying in my bed with my sister and she fabricates this bizarre story about how you miraculously healed after pretty much rising from the dead."

"I know it sounds crazy…"

"Crazy's not the word, my friend."

Tension mounted as Alex became more confrontational.

"I know what it must look like," Dave said, mechanically standing to meet the challenge. "But I swear to you, I'm not that kind of a guy. I didn't touch your sister."

"I'm thinking that you did more than just touch her. How do you know you're not that kind of guy if you have no memory? With this whacky story she's coming up with it seems like you fed her an illegal substance of some type."

"Christ, Alex!" complained Elle. "Think about that! Why in the hell would he bring me back to your place if that was true? You'd kill him."

"Damn right I would."

"I might not know who I am," Dave stated, "but I know in my heart that I would never do something like that to anybody…"

Without warning, Alex lashed out with closed fists at Dave who was prepared enough to duck. Elle shrieked for her brother to desist his attack as Alex rushed toward Dave with the aim of pinning him against the wall and pummeling him senseless. Or he would've if Dave didn't somehow fade away until he vanished from sight.

"What the fuck?!" exclaimed Alex in surprise, scanning the room. "Where did he go?!"

"Ah-I don't know!" Elle stammered, surveying around the vicinity with wild eyes.

"Did you see that?! He just disappeared!"

Elle screeched in surprise as Dave suddenly reappeared beside her from out of thin air, appearing equally baffled.

"Did you see what I can do?!" Dave asked excitedly. "How did I do that?!"

More enraged that he was tricked by this miracle man, Alex assailed again, this time catching Dave off guard, his fist striking the statuesque young man square in the face. Taking advantage of this, Alex toppled Dave over and began a full onslaught, Elle trying her best to pry him off. Then in mid-swing Alex's offending fist stopped and he couldn't bring it back down against Dave's livid, bloodied face.

"Get the fuck off of him, Alex!" demanded Elle.

"What the hell are you doing, you freak?!" wailed Alex with conviction. "I can't move my hand! I can't move it!!"

An unseen force held Alex's fist away from Dave's face and regardless of how much effort he put into moving it wouldn't budge at all. Alex strained against the force with anguished cries but to no avail.

"Dave!" called Elle in a mystified tone. "Your face!"

Dave freed one of his hands from beneath a stunned Alex who watched as his victim touched that hand to his bloody lip. He gawked at the crimson that came off onto his fingertips but he felt what was happening without even seeing it first hand. The split lip was sealing back up.

"See?" Elle whispered like a child saying I-told-you-so to her brother. "I told you he could heal fast!"

Alex was finally able to drop his fist and his jaw dropped with it.

------------------------

By the time the plane landed in LaGuardia, Grace was quite satisfied with herself after successfully winning a peaceful flight by showing the little brat in front of her a science trick involving what happens when electricity is touched. The little monster never knew what hit him but nonetheless he was quiet for the remainder of the flight, leaving her at last undisturbed.

With only her carry-on and no luggage to hinder her continuance, she made one quick trip to freshen up in the ladies' room where she signed an autograph for a girl who identified her in spite of her dark sunglasses and make up free face. Not feeling that she was in the immediate position to play diva, Grace gave her what she wanted. The girl, no older than sixteen, prattled on for an endless minute about her favorite movie Grace starred in, all the while the actress did her best to keep cool through gritted teeth. As she stepped out of the airport, she hailed a taxi and gave the driver the co-ordinates to where she needed to go, then sank down low into the dingy back seat.

Here she took a time-out in the stale darkness behind the Plexiglas barrier to reflect once more on her darling Gabriel. The day she unveiled her special secret to him was fresh in her memory as if it was recent. Since the beginning she had known she was capable of creating and manipulating electricity; mother said the power was discovered when she was a toddler. She managed to get her toys to operate sans batteries or unplugged and once, when she did the normal experimentation with wall sockets, she attracted the volts and remained unscathed. Her father was petrified of what he'd spawned and abandoned Grace, the newborn Gabriel and their mother. Fear of added rejection forced Virginia Gray to bottleneck her daughter's ability, counseling her to keep the secret or suffer dire consequences. Mrs Gray unequivocally frightened her child with those doom sayer threats which made her hide herself even from Gabriel.

Except on that particular day when Gabriel attempted to reconstruct an experimentation of Thomas Jefferson and was failing miserably. Virginia was supposed to be helping him as she promised she would earlier in the week yet when Gabriel approached her about it she barked at him, insisting that she did not offer her assistance. However, in their mother's defense, she lost her job that day and was worried sick about how she was going to manage to feed her family; she'd locked herself in her bedroom and left her children to fend for themselves for a few days. Thankfully, Grace was twelve and Gabriel was eight at that time so they were able to watch out for each other fairly well without her.

Loss of an income was no excuse to snap at Gabe, Grace grudged. He was but a child, what did he understand? All he knew was that his world was this science project which was due and his mother, who arranged to help, yelled at him for expecting her to waste her time on it. Reluctant to share her secret with him for fear of their mother's fatidic warnings of persecution even by Gabriel, she had a greater need to cheer up her little brother. Seeing how devastated her younger sibling was, she broke her latent talent to him by illuminating one of his light bulbs simply by holding it with her finger tips.

And Gabriel didn't run away terrified and screaming as mother predicted. Nor was he vindictive with name calling or finger-pointing accusations. Rather, he gawked at her in wonder, mouth open and glasses askew. He thought it was a magic trick.

"Do it again, Grace!" he requested, clapping his tiny hands.

So she did. She did her trick as often as he wanted her to and progressively showed him more. With age came Gabriel's unearthing that the magic she performed for him was not magic at all, that his sister was like a comic book character. In an effort to identify with her he bought and read stacks of numerous comics. The siblings bonded through Superman, Spiderman, Batman, and any other hero who tickled their fancy, sitting in his room at night reading them to each other before going to bed. Often, when their mother worked the night shift at the latest diner, the brother and sister would fall asleep in each other's arms during these readings which neither minded because they did not want to be alone any way.

And now Grace was the one who was alone. Poetic justice in that she initially left Gabriel to his own devices, just as she was left behind now. Remorse caused her heart to sting. She missed him badly!

"Here you are, miss," the driver announced as the cab pulled up in front of an apartment complex and stopped.

She scrabbled inside her purse, gave the appropriate fare plus tip, thanked the driver and climbed out of the car. It drove away and left her standing sullenly before the structure. This was the building that her mother had lived in, the apartment she moved into after Gabriel left home, the same apartment where she was rumored to have been murdered. Perhaps she would be able to find some sort of a clue inside as to what happened to her family.

With no key in her possession, she needed to use her gift to enter the security door. Checking to make certain that nobody was watching, she raised her hand to the box that contained all of the doorbells for each individual apartment. First her hand issued a blue light that glowed dimly but grew increasingly potent before tiny bolts of lightning danced between her fingers. Static crackled over the intercom system and Grace double checked the vicinity before touching her finger tips to the box and allowing the volts of electricity from her body to intensify. The currents spidered across the box, the static screeched louder and smoke billowed from the contraption before sparks sailed through the air and fire erupted, melting the circuitry. Shorted out, the security door clicked open and the tortured young woman stepped inside, not entirely prepared to witness what awaited her inside.

------------------------

There was a dreadful pounding in Claire's head, probably from lack of sleep, but she guessed that it couldn't be for that reason because she was asleep. It ended up being someone knocking at the front door. Cracking open her eyes, she at first was disoriented then comprehended that she was still in the chair inside the sitting room at the Petrelli Mansion, a blanket covering her reposed form. The clack of the butler's shoes against the floor as he went to answer the door filled her ears; she perked up when she heard Noah Bennet's desperate voice asking for her.

"Dad?" she called, her voice scratchy from sleep. "I'm in here!"

"Claire?"

The relieved countenance Noah Bennet heralded when his eyes located his daughter was priceless as the two met half-way and embraced furiously. Claire swore that if she hadn't been indestructible then her ribs would've been crushed by the devoted arms that surrounded her. But his respite transformed into parental reproach when he freed her, grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and sternly advised: "What were you thinking?! Leaving the hotel to traipse around Manhattan in the middle of the night, not even leaving a note?! I didn't take you for being so irresponsible, Claire! Don't ever leave like that again, young lady! Is that clear?"

"I'm sorry, dad, I am, but I couldn't bring myself to leave." Then in a lower voice: "Peter needs me and I'm the only one who cares about what happens to him."

"What makes you think that his own mother doesn't care?"

"Just a hunch…"

"What good could you possibly accomplish by coming here, Claire? It isn't your business any more."

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she peered at her dad, astounded at his unsympathetic reaction. Of all people, she expected him to understand. She understood that she was wrong by frightening him with her disappearance but did Peter deserve to reap the repercussions of his family's bad intentions?

"Dad! How could you say that? Peter is my uncle. That might not mean much to you but it means a lot to me. He isn't like the others and you know it. He saved my life. I owe it to him to return the favor."

"I understand your loyalty; you two have been through a great deal together but there is nothing we can do…"

"Mr Bennet, we were expecting you," Angela Petrelli interrupted as she entered the room with the grace of a stalking panther. "Our dear Claire has yet again found her way back home to us Petrellis. It seems she is destined to stay put."

Noah seethed inwardly.

"If given an option I somehow don't think that staying here with you will be the choice she'd make," he caviled.

Angela raised a supercilious eyebrow.

"My Peter seems to be her anchor," she disclosed. "They've formed quite the bond to each other."

"So it seems," Noah accredited. "I appreciate you taking her in last night. I also appreciate everything that Peter had done for her. The Bennets will always be indebted to him for that. But she's had a very traumatic experience and needs to be in more familiar surroundings with the people who raised her."

"I'm not going anywhere," Claire obstinately persevered.

"Don't be irrational, Claire-Bear."

"I've called members of the press," Angela informed. "They should be here at any moment. We will release statements and a photograph of Peter that will be broadcasted over the television and in the papers. If Peter is alive and has healed enough to be coherent then someone is bound to recognize him. He'll be home before you know it."

Claire peered at her grandmother with newfound hope in her eyes.

"Can I say something to them?" she requested.

Angela made another attempt to smile reassuringly at her granddaughter but the girl equated it to the grin of a piranha. There always seemed to be an ulterior motive in this household.

"I don't see why not," she answered.

Claire smiled an authentic smile.

"Thanks!" she breathed, then turned to her dad and said, "I have to stay. At least for a while. I want to say what I have to say without complication."

Noah sighed, briefly thought it over then concededly nodded.

"I'll have to call home and inform your mother we'll be later than planned."

"Thanks, dad. It means a lot to me."

"I know it does, sweetheart."

The first of the gaggle of reporters arrived within the half hour. Noah chose to remove himself from the fray but stood within the doorway inside the next room, his keen eye trained profoundly upon his adopted daughter and her biological grandmother. Claire did not belong to the Petrellis. She shared their DNA and that was all. The entire argument for nature vs. nurture favored nurture in Claire's case, for she was nothing like the back-stabbing, two-faced Petrelli clan. A powerful family built on old money and shady politics, Peter was the sole member who strayed from its predestined legacy and they made certain that they punished him for it every chance they got.

Peter was the one who Claire took after despite who actually helped conceive her. Even though the two had never known each other until a few weeks ago, from mere observation it was apparent that she'd inherited the same compassion and sweet disposition that her idealist uncle possessed. Where Peter managed to ascertain all of those things from was a mystery, for no other member of his immediate family was like him. Except for Claire.

He realized that she wasn't being truculent, she simply loved her uncle. He watched as Claire spoke with the reporters, an expression of sick worry across her lovely face, her body language animate in true Italian fashion. Angela's previous stony expression crumbled before the cameras, putting on quite the worried-mother spectacle for the public eye. It was interesting to witness the contrast when he knew the truth. Removing himself from the dog and pony show, he stepped outside to make his phone call to Texas.

------------------------

Dave, Elle and Alex sat in a booth at the Eammons Avenue Roll n Roaster at lunch time, trying to figure out the strange events that were taking place. Elle and Dave, sitting beside each other, picked half-heartedly at cheese fries while Alex stared blankly at the lemon submerged in his lemonade.

"Maybe you're an extraterrestrial," suggested Elle before shoving a couple of fries into her mouth.

This revelation annoyed Alex who finally shifted in his seat.

"That's ridiculous, Elle, for fuck's sake! How could he be an alien?"

Elle shrugged.

"I dunno," she retorted. "How can he heal himself, turn invisible and stop you with his mind?" Something else occurred to her. "Hey! What if you didn't get hit by what fell from the sky? What if you were what fell from the sky?!"

"Elle, your imagination is out of control," scolded Alex. "And please keep your voice down!"

Alex inspected the cafeteria-like room for any possible eavesdroppers and, satisfied that there were none, kicked her lightly underneath the table.

"Again," Elle started, ignoring the abusive kick, "if he can do all of what he can do then why couldn't he be an alien?"

"Then where's my space ship?" asked Dave, tracing a fry through the cheese impassively.

"I dunno. Maybe you fell off while doing repairs." Alex made a noise of irritated amusement in his throat and Elle passed him an incredulous glare. "Well, do you have any bright ideas, then?" she asked with conviction.

"I can't think of anything outside the illogical either," Dave spoke up. "No normal human being can do what I've done. Maybe I am an alien. I mean, at this point, isn't it reasonable to say I'm…not like everybody else?"

"Great," Alex mumbled acrimoniously. "I leave the house for one minute, Elle, and you bring home an alien."

Elle rolled her eyes before focusing her attention back to the man in question.

"Hey, Dave, what else can you do?"

Dave gaped at her, stunned. "I don't know. I didn't even know I could do what I did until I did it. I guess it must be instinctual."

"I want to take you someplace secluded and experiment with you."

"See, that's why I didn't want to go to the hospital."

"Your instincts warned you not to go. Hey! Maybe you're psychic! Aliens are supposed to be telekinetic, aren't they? They can communicate with their minds by using psychic powers and stuff! Here! Tell me what I'm thinking right now!"

"I'm not psychic." Then, with a contemplative expression, "At least I don't think I am. And I suspect it wouldn't take one to know what you're thinking."

Elle slapped his thigh playfully.

"The realm of possibilities is wide open for you, Dave."

"He's not an alien," Alex broke his vow of silence suddenly.

"Yeah, and he's not my lover either," Elle disdainfully wrote off, referring to Alex's earlier implication. Then looked at Dave with a sneaky smile and added, "Not yet, any way."

Dave was about to say something in response to her innuendo but was cut off by Alex.

"No, Elle, I mean it. He's not an alien."

He pointed to the booth across the aisle from them where a newspaper was left strewn across the table. The front page headlines boldly screamed CONGRESSMAN'S BROTHER MISSING! with a full color portrait of Dave standing with another handsome man beneath.

Alex stared at the so-called extraterrestrial he shared the booth with in astonishment and concluded: "He's Peter Petrelli."

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Author's Note: Life's been keeping me far too busy lately (as I'm dealing with some really tough personal issues – hence, my neglect in posting at my LJ) but I did manage to edit the next portion of My Brother's Keeper as an escape-from-reality route. Hope you enjoyed; more to come, of course!