Disclaimer: If you recognise it, I don't own it.

AN: Thanks to reviewers! Time to meet our latest set of Heroes buddy cops… Thanks to MS as usual for her help, any errors left are my own.

20

Noah gets back on Sunday afternoon. By this time Bob's moved Ma to a suitably equipped room at the Company's New York offices and Nathan, Claire, Sylar and Peter have been living at the Company, only coming back to the house to sleep. Sleep. That's a laugh. That's why Nathan finally agreed to let Sylar stay at the house – Gabriel, Peter's got to remember to call him Gabriel. Yes. Because none of them really sleep, not much, not often. Not anymore. Doesn't matter that Gabriel's sleeping in the same house as Nathan, as Claire – because no one's really sleeping. Peter's always listening for her scream. For his quiet footsteps. All through the night.

Noah looks as tired and careworn as Nathan when he arrives. Claire goes to him without a word, and he hugs her tight. "Hey, baby." He says quietly.

And Peter aches for her. She's tried for comfort from Nathan, but that doesn't really work for either of them yet, not the way it does for Noah and his daughter. Claire's needed her dad, these past couple days. She hasn't had anyone else. Peter knows why he can't be there for her himself, he knows damn well, and the right thing hurts, but Gabriel six years gone was wrong. Peter always has to hold back from Claire. He has to. Even if it hurts. Even if it hurts her – which is so much harder.

Agreeing to leave her in that hospital room with Sylar was almost impossible. Trust her. Easier said than done. But that broken girl with the dark ponytail, the dark eyeliner, that insane girl taunts him with glimmers of her feline eyes in Claire's green gaze. Peter knew he wasn't going to sleep. And when she screamed his name, that desperation shattered the chains holding him to the lumpy couch. A nightmare. Hers. The way she clung to his arm. The way she let go.

"Is Mom okay?"

"Yeah. She's okay."

"And Lyle?"

"And Lyle, and Mr Muggles. They're all okay."

Noah lets her go, and Claire looks calmer than she has for days. She nods slightly. They're all okay – so, he's found all the missing paintings. They can't discuss this in front of him. Gabriel. His presence is still a shadow hanging over them. But now Noah's back they'll have a plan for this nightmare guy, and in the absence of any buddy system Gabriel can get the hell out of the house. Peter catches Nathan's gaze. Huh. Great minds do think alike.

"Are you okay?" Noah asks Claire.

She makes a good attempt to smile. "I'm okay. So's Angela."

"Which is just as well," Bob says, coming into the room with Elle behind him. "She's stable. And well protected. She can spare you girls for your first assignment."

"First?" Claire says.

At the same time, with the same incredulity, Elle says, "Girls?"

"First assignment together." Bob clarifies. "Say hello to your new partner, Elle."

This is not good. Bob hands the girls a folder each, and after an electric glare at one another they flip them open.

"High school?" They say in unison. Glare again.

Glare at Bob.

Who accepts it with equanimity. "Angela wanted you to continue your education, Claire, and St. Anne's is a very prestigious school. She also wanted you to begin your training in a low-risk environment. I hear they have a good cheerleading team." He adds, off-hand. "You are Claire Bennet, illegitimate daughter of Nathan Petrelli. You took four months off school for clinical depression after your best friend was murdered. Claire Butler no longer exists. Elle, you are Claire's cousin on her mother's side. You'll be living in Angela's house. That'll simplify things."

"No! Not again. Not with her. I'm too old for high school, Daddy." Elle protests.

Bob surveys her dispassionately. "You're looking a little tired," he concedes. "We'll have you held back a year. We've had quite the windfall acquiring Claire – she'll never look too old for this kind of assignment."

His casual cruelty reminds Peter of his own father.

"Daddy – "

"Talk to me again when you've actually graduated, Elle."

Elle looks away, her mouth trembling. Noah's arms are folded. He stares disapprovingly at Bob. Peter was sure Claire was going to protest too when Bob brought up the issue of high school, but after seeing what happened to Elle she sets her shoulders. Scans her folder.

"Marie Landry. Possible nuclear ability. Like Ted Sprague?"

Claire's deflecting attention from Elle. Noah gives her a small smile.

"Read the file. Your books and your uniforms are in my office. You start Monday. You have no idea, the strings we had to pull to get you girls in this soon. Don't screw this up."

"No, Daddy." Elle whispers.

Gabriel's watching all this with detached interest. Peter doesn't want him knowing Elle's weakness. He doesn't want him to have seen this. Elle pushes out of the room without looking at Claire, and Peter can hear the fast click of her heels retreat down the hall.

"The nightmare man – " Claire begins hesitantly.

"Is no longer your responsibility." Bob says. "The killers aren't interested in you. They want Company founders. Angela and I are very well guarded, and I'm contacting those founders who remain. Now, if you'll excuse me."

When the door's shut behind him Nathan leans back against the wall. "What a dick."

Peter's surprised into a laugh. It's really not funny.

"How could he treat her like that? In front of everyone." Claire asks Noah.

Noah smiles. It's not a nice smile. "You'd be surprised."

Peter doesn't know what he means. But he seems to be implying that this is hardly the worst way Bob's treated Elle. Peter doesn't want to know.

"So. You're the man with the plans." Nathan says, dismissing the subject of Bob's dickery.

"Buddy system's over. He wants Company founders, like Bob said. Angela's guarded round the clock. You," Noah turns to Gabriel, "get your stuff out of the house. Report back to Bob at ten tomorrow. We've got an assignment of our own, you and I."

He looks kind of happy at the prospect. Pleased, anyway. Gabriel's eyes narrow and Bennet smiles. That really can't be anything good – not for Gabriel, anyway. Still. Whatever keeps him away from Nathan and the girls.

"And me and Nathan?" Peter asks.

"The two of you rest up. We're going to need you to bring these guys in."

"What about me and Elle? High school, Dad?"

Noah smiles. "We'll talk about it at home." He promises. "At the house."

Nathan's house isn't his home. Their home, Peter guesses, and it isn't really his either, come to that. Or Gabriel's. But with Dad gone, with Heidi and the boys gone, with Ma here and in the hospital the house has felt less and less like home every day, and having the Bennets there – yes, and Gabriel – it was starting to feel less huge. Less cold. But Sandra and Lyle left, taking their dog. Noah went on assignment. Gabriel's not going to be overshadowing them much longer. People are leaving the house again, and Peter figures it must be his turn.

"I'll come too. I want to get my stuff."

"Why?" Claire asks.

"I should be getting back to my own place."

"Come on, Peter. Stay." Nathan says, startled. "You're not going to leave me with those girls? They're going to bitch up the house worse than Ma and Heidi."

"You'll manage." Peter says dryly. Nathan claiming he can't handle a couple of women is like… well, there's actually nothing to compare it to.

He kisses Ma goodbye automatically. Claire follows him into the hall, and by mutual agreement they outpace Noah and Gabriel.

"Why?" She asks again, quietly.

"I can't keep doing it. Living a lie. Not in the same house."

"It's not a lie. We're doing the right thing."

How's that working out for you?

"I want to keep on doing the right thing. It's – " Peter breaks off. Shakes his head. "It's a lie. But it's right. I want to go on telling it."

Claiming only to love her the way he should, the way a good uncle would love his niece – keeping his distance, being her friend, being her family. It's a lie. When Peter risks a glance at her, Claire's touching the helix. She doesn't seem to know she's doing it. At Bob's door she nods. Takes a deep breath.

"Okay."

"Okay." He wants to touch her. Just to hug her. Just to touch her arm. Her hair.

Claire picks up the garment bag hanging on the doorknob. Peter picks up the box of books. The door's shut. Elle must have taken hers already – or she's in there, crying, while Bob tears her down again.

"A uniform, Dad? Seriously?" Claire asks Noah, catching up to them.

"I told you. We'll talk at home."

They don't really talk on the way back. Gabriel packs up the meagre possessions he's brought to Nathan's house. He's been unusually quiet, and Peter's worried. He doesn't know Gabriel well, but what he does know of him suggests that this silence doesn't bode well for anybody. Peter meets him on his way out.

"You know why you can't stay." Peter says awkwardly. Almost apologetically. The guy's his brother, after all, and he's being kicked out of the house.

Gabriel gives him a bemused look. "Everyone hates me because I kill people?" He guesses.

Okay. Yeah. "Everyone's adjusting, because you used to kill people." Peter says.

Gabriel stares at him for a moment. Peter doesn't know what to say.

"You consistently amaze me." Gabriel tells him. And leaves.

Peter doesn't really know what to make of that exchange, but it feels like progress. Not that he wants progress with the man who hurt Claire – he wants to tear him apart, bloodily, messily – but his brother, six years gone, is a man Peter can't just forget. He wishes he had the luxury of just hating him, like Nathan does. But then, Nathan's always been more like Dad. Things have always been clearer for Nathan.

Peter knocks on Claire's door. "He's gone."

"Come on in." Noah calls.

They're sitting on the bed with a sheaf of papers strewn between them. Claire doesn't look irritated and put out by the assignment anymore – well, not quite so much. She's not exactly enthusiastic, either.

"Your real assignment?" Peter guesses.

Claire hands him a photograph. It's a teenage girl, long, black Bettie Page hair, cheerful grey eyes, voluptuous figure under the navy school blazer and prim white shirt. "Felice Guderian."

"What does she do?"

"Head cheerleader. Straight A student. Parties pretty hard, by all accounts. And she's a fledgling coercer." Noah says.

Peter frowns. "A coercer? What does that mean?"

"She can make you do things. Think things. Want things. Without you even knowing she's doing it, if she's any good, if she feels like being careful about it. It's one of the rarest and most dangerous abilities, one with an unthinkable potential for abuse. We need to get her onside. Train her. Help her. It's a scary ability to have."

"Dad thinks she can help Angela."

"What, she can just tell Ma to wake up?" Peter's not sure about this. Felice Guderian sounds far too dangerous. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Noah understands immediately what he's getting at. "I'll destroy her brain myself before I let Sylar get his hands on it."

Claire doesn't echo his own instinctive revulsion for the thought. She looks grim. Peter guesses Noah's already discussed this with her.

"You're okay with this?" Peter asks her.

"Killing one to save thousands? No. I'm not okay with it."

"We may not have a choice." Noah reminds her.

Claire smiles bitterly. "Sylar has a way of taking our choices from us, doesn't he."

Peter's fists clench. Gabriel. He has to remember to think of him as Gabriel. And he has to forget the girl who tore her choices back from Gabriel, who learned his trick of taking other people's choices away.

"I guess you got it in hand." Peter says, with difficulty. "I better get going."

"Need any help with your bags?" Noah asks, trying to break the tension.

"No, I didn't bring anything much. Thanks."

He's on autopilot as he gathers his things and leaves the house. Claire didn't say anything to him when he left. But he's left her with Noah, and that's the best comfort she can hope for now. Peter hopes to God that it's enough.

X

It's midnight. He might not be awake. "Peter."

"Claire."

She closes her eyes. It's so good to hear his voice. It's too good. It takes her a moment to say what she needs to. "It's a lie."

This happy families charade is a lie. The reality is – the truth is too much. The truth will tear them apart. But some part of Claire desperately needs to tell the truth right now.

"I know." Peter says, and the comfort she feels then is like sunlight. Behind her closed eyes Claire imagines him on the phone in his apartment – Peter, with his luminous eyes. Golden and green and warm, dark brown. Peter, who draws the light to him. Whose smile warms her. Whose touch sets her afire. Peter is light and heat and everything the scared, cold darkness in Claire craves, and must have if she's going to survive. Claire can survive a nuclear explosion.

But she can't survive the sun going out.

"Peter."

"I'm here."

He knows what she needs. She just needs to know he's here. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Claire."

At two she sends him a text. Peter.

I'm here.

At four-thirty she sends him another. Peter.

I'm here.

At six the house is stirring. Claire can hear Dad and Nathan talking in the kitchen. Someone's running a shower somewhere. Must be Elle.

Peter. I love you.

She doesn't send this one. Just knows what he would say. And it's almost enough.

Claire leaves her sidekick on the nightstand. Showers. Dresses in the unfamiliar uniform of St. Anne's – the green kilt, the white shirt, the navy blazer. It feels scratchy and uncomfortable. When she comes down to breakfast the first thing she sees is Elle, looking perfectly at her ease perched on a stool by the counter, nibbling at a muffin. She seems unconscious of Nathan's admiring gaze.

"Morning." Claire says coldly.

Nathan's appreciation quickly turns into confusion as he notices Claire in the doorway wearing the exact same thing as the schoolgirl he's just been perving on. Well – not the exact same thing. Not exactly. Elle's blazer is crumpled on the counter beside her, for one thing. And for another, her shirt's half tucked in, her collar's askew and her skirt's rolled up to flash a few extra inches of her black tights. She's wearing a black alice band in a mocking attempt at prep school primness. And Nathan's gaze keeps straying to the black ballet flat she's swinging carelessly on the toes of her stockinged foot. Elle is clearly an old hand at this high school thing.

"Morning." Elle says chirpily. She smiles.

Claire elects to just have coffee for breakfast. Something about Elle takes away her appetite. When Dad takes them down to the school Claire's over-caffeinated and jumpy. Dad's the one who gets them sorted out with the principal. She's dealt with Angela before, but sadly Angela's unwell – a bad case of the flu, Dad says, straight-faced. Principal Andrews believes him. Dad asks about the cheerleading team here, and Principal Andrews is very enthusiastic about Claire trying out. It's late, the team's chosen, but she might still make the reserves and then – who knows? Claire wonders how much money Bob and Angela threw at this school.

She tries not to think about cheerleading. That's not her life anymore. Sylar ended that life the night she was supposed to be crowned Homecoming Queen. Killed a part of her, sure as he killed Jackie. Claire digs her nails into the backs of her thighs, concealed by the kilt, by her chair, but there's nothing. Might as well claw at the chair for all the good it does. She's an agent now. And like an agent – like her dad – Claire pulls herself together. Smiles at Dad. Hugs him bye. And sets out with Elle to face St. Anne's, outwardly calm and unflappable as Dad ever was.

St. Anne's is not like Texas. It's not even like California. The boys and the girls are separated, for a start – the boys go to Archbishop Grenfell, a school in a building next door that shares a small quadrangle and connecting corridors with its sister school. They all seem tall and arrogant with their rolled-up shirtsleeves and their expertly tousled bangs. The girls are far worse. If they're not already beautiful, a combination of cunning, art and sacks of Daddy's money help them do their best to fake it. They're all so perfectly groomed and coiffed, and their made-up eyes are all so perfectly bored as they scan Claire and Elle from blonde heads to black toes.

"You get used to it." Elle says. It might be the first halfway decent thing she's ever said to Claire. Before Claire can muster a reply, she's off down the hall. "Hi! Oh my God, I'm so lost. I'm in Mrs Taylor's homeroom? I think? I'm Elle, this is my cousin Claire. She's my half-cousin." Elle says rapid-fire, adding the illogically stupid 'half-cousin' in an annoying attempt at distance. She rolls her eyes for good measure.

The girl she's addressing looks as stunned as Claire feels. It takes Claire a moment to process the familiar green eyes and long red hair, to figure out where she's seen them before. Then she realises Elle has somehow instantly located Marie Landry. The radioactive girl. "Yeah. Okay, yeah. I'm Sunny. Hi."

She has a British accent. That throws Claire off. Marie Landry's staring at her necklace.

"Homeroom?" Elle reminds her.

"Yeah, of course. Right. I've got Mrs Taylor too."

When they get into the small classroom Sunny takes her books out of her bag. Claire sees the helix scrawled on her notebook. She remembers drawing that same helix on her textbooks. Obsessively doodling that simple shape, long before she'd heard of a little book by Chandra Suresh. Long before she'd seen the logo of Arthur Petrelli's law company. Sunny notices her staring.

"I like your necklace."

Claire's fingers graze the familiar sweep of skin-warm metal. "My uncle gave it to me."

Oh, God. Why are you so stupid? It just came out without her meaning to say it, came and swiped at Elle and left her looking far too interested. That necklace, the one the Haitian used to wear, Claire remembers saying to her Dad in some other life. Stupid.

"Oh, so your… " Sunny says vaguely, looking at Elle.

"Oh God no," Elle says, with a tinkling little laugh. "Her mom's my mom's half sister, whole other side of the family. I mean, she's probably my mom's half sister, if you know what I mean – that whole side of the family's a little… skanky."

Elle says this last with a pointed look at Claire.

Half-cousin. Right. The only thing Claire can still thank the Lord for is the fact that Elle isn't related to her for real.

After that, school is depressingly… school. Elle has different classes from Claire after homeroom, abandoning her to the tender mercies of St. Anne's. Some things really are just a replay of California. School is boring and girls are bitches. Same old, same old. Other things are different – this uniform, Claire can't get used to it, she feels like a child in it. The jacket doesn't sit right. The tights itch. And every class is all girls. That's the weirdest part, to look around a full classroom and see only girls, no gangly boys with their long legs and loud voices.

Of course, the girls are loud enough themselves. When they want to be.

"Senator Petrelli, that's right."

"Didn't he have a mental breakdown?"

Claire flushes and tries to pass the girls like she hasn't heard. It's lunch and she can't find Elle anywhere. Doesn't want to find Elle. But she doesn't want to be in these halls by herself, either.

"The brother was in rehab for like six months. I heard he tried to kill himself, and Senator Petrelli found the body and went crazy."

"I heard the whole family's crazy. I heard this girl Claire went nuts when her mom was murdered."

"Oh my God, are you kidding?"

Claire has to get out of here. It's only when she's running cold water over her hands in the bathroom that she starts to cool off, to find the funny side to all this. Stupid bitches, what do they know? And a wry thought comes to her: the truth, for starters. Far more interesting and scandalous than anything the St. Anne's rumour mill has come up with.

Still can't find Elle. Claire's trying to avoid meeting anyone's eyes, trying to be invisible, when she realises her random wanderings have led her past the door of the surprisingly spacious gym.

5, 6, 7, 8!

Something in the back of her soul leaps at the sound. She goes back. Stands in the doorway. Can't help it.

"One, two, three, four – stop. Stop! Phil, why are you calling it? Ada's calling it." The stunt comes down lamely, the flyer hopping off. A magnificent girl with long black hair puts her hands on her hips. "Whole front row, stretch. I wanna see you guys go again. And this time, Ade, I want to be able to hear you. Okay? Lauren can't hear you. Go again."

Felice Guderian watches the stunt group reload. Claire can just barely hear a tentative voice calling it. A woman she assumes is the coach stands off to the side, watching Felice with a bemused smile. And despite everything she's told herself – over and over for four long months – Claire feels a stab of longing so intense it hurts to be one of those girls. To work as a team, with strength, precision, using momentum and timing to hit and hold –

"Nice." Felice says approvingly. "Try it a couple more times, and Phil? Keep your whore mouth shut."

One of the girls basing rolls her eyes but doesn't bother to say anything. Claire checks to see how the coach is taking this, but the woman's talking to a student with an ankle brace and doesn't seem to have noticed.

"Hi. Claire Petrelli?" Felice says, turning to look at her.

"Bennet. Claire Bennet."

"Sorry." Felice comes over to her. She's smiling. "Principal Andrews said you might be stopping by. You want to see these idiots go from the top?"

No.

"Yeah. Yes. Thanks."

With a dazzling smile, Felice turns away, rousing half the group from their stretches and idle conversations. They spread into formation. The coach cues the music.

Oh, this.

Yes.

Something crushed in that hallway is coming alive again in Claire, something vital and necessary, something twisted up in Peter's voice and his eyes and the way sunlight feels on her face. Just something innocent. Hers. Something so far removed from guns and Gabriel and strange, bloodstained kisses that Claire almost believes she can still be saved.

Cheerleading.

Claire leans against the doorframe, defeated.

Still the cheerleader.