What You Hold Sacred

Winter 2010:

Peter: In the months following my return, Claire continued to be distant. Not only from me, but everybody; she skipped our regular Christmas celebrations without reason. Then, whenever she was around her mood was always abrasive. I wanted to help, but decided it was better not to force the issue. She was incredibly fragile and I wanted to make sure that even though she continued to push me away I would be there for her. No matter what. My only hope was that the turning point was coming soon.

The noise was piercing. Peter Petrelli opened his eyes, but could see nothing. Again, the shrill of his cell phone rang out in the darkness. Groaning, he stretched out and fumbled his hand across the bedside table. No phone. He sat up and focused his eyes into the pitch black. He threw back the covers and picked up his trousers. He reached into the pocket and withdrew his phone. The light illuminated his face, as he peered at the caller display.

"Claire?"

"Peter?" The loud noise in the background could not distort the panic in her voice. "I need . . . "

"Claire, I can barely hear you. Where-"

The noise died suddenly and Peter could hear the sound of footsteps. Claire's footsteps.

"Pete, can please you come get me," she pleaded.

"What? What's happened? Where are you?"

"I don't know . . . " More footsteps. "Ah, I'm-"

His mind raced as he visualised the location. He interrupted her. "The South Bronx? Jesus, Claire what are you doing there? . . . Never mind, don't move. I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up, hurriedly pulling on his black winter jacket.

"Who was that?" The bed covers stirred.

"My Niece." No more explanation given. In another minute he was flying high over the city. On any other night, he would have marvelled at the spectacular view. He flew out over the water, light from the city shimmering on the surface. He slowed, thankful he could instantly recall an image of the area and knew exactly where he was going. He hit the ground running. In the distance, he could make out a solitary figure huddled up against a street light. She was wearing a tight black mini dress and knee high boots. The dress was torn.

Claire was jumpy. She looked genuinely scared. Her eyes were bloodshot, mascara streaking down her cheeks. He moved quickly, wrapping his coat around her shoulders. The sudden warmth against her skin was a relief, yet she trembled when he put his arms around her. He held her quietly for a few seconds.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt in anyway?" She stiffened as he moved his warm hands through her hair and cupped her face. His brown eyes were dark, filled with concern.

"I'll be okay. Just get me outta here." She let him lead her around the corner, where they could be sure they wouldn't be seen.

Peter scooped her up effortlessly and propelled himself away from the street. Together, they soared high above the city. Claire buried her head in his chest and let the tears come. As she sobbed, she became aware of the softness of his shirt against her cheek. A sweet aroma filled her nostrils. It was a mixture of aftershave and perfume. His heartbeat pounded in her eardrums. It was instantly the most comforting sound she had ever heard.

Eventually, the wind that whipped her hair died down. Peter slowly released her. They were on the street outside his apartment.

"Get in." He gestured towards the Jeep parked at the curb. "I'm taking you back to your place."

"Can't I just stay here tonight?" she asked.

"No."

Claire peered over his shoulder and up towards his apartment. "Have you got a girl in there?" A sly grin crept across her face.

Peter frowned at her. "I don't see how that's relevant."

"I was only asking," she whined.

"What were you doing out in the South Bronx tonight?"

She scowled at him.

"Hey, I was only asking!" He mimicked and watched as her eyes narrowed. "Get in the car!"

"Alright." She slammed the door. "How dare he?"

They rode in silence for several miles. Claire fidgeted in her seat. "I need a cigarette."

"What?"

"I need a cigarette. Can we stop please?"

Peter glanced at her sideways. "You're joking right?"

She sighed, but said nothing. Nervously, she raised a black fingernail to her lips.

Peter spoke first. "What's going on with you, Claire?"

"Nothing." The fingernail edged back and forth across her bottom lip.

"It doesn't seem like nothing."

Her hand flew away from her mouth in an exaggerated gesture. "Just give it a rest, okay."

"We only want to help you."

Her eyes widened, pupils dilating. "We? Nathan and Heidi? Oh, God, you're not going to tell them about this are you?"

Peters jaw stiffened and he checked the rear view mirror. "No." It was against his better judgement, but it would only create more tension within the family. "They only care about you."

"Whatever. They only care about the baby," she spat the words angrily from her mouth.

"That's hardly fair. They've been though some rough patches. You should be happy for them."

"Happy? Yeah, happy like they are; now they've got a replacement for their defective daughter."

"That's it." He pushed his foot down hard against the brake pedal forcing Claire to brace herself against the dash as the Jeep came to an abrupt halt.

"What did you do that for?"

"Because I want you to stop playing games, Claire."

"Nothing is wrong, okay. How many times do I have to say it?"

Peter shrugged. "Only ten or twelve more times." He gunned the engine and pulled back onto the road.

She folded her arms. A familiar scowl etching itself on her face. They continued in silence for the rest of way drive. The Jeep had barely come to a stop when she flung open the door and jumped out. Peter flinched as he felt the door slam. He watched her stomped away the car.

"Claire . . ." Peter lowered the passenger window and called after her. "C'mon Claire. Don't leave it like this." He hit his hand against the steering wheel. "Damn it." He hung his head, searching his mind, wondering if there was anything else he could have said or done.

A knock at the drivers window startled him. He stared at her as she motioned for him to lower the window.

Her eyes searched his face. "I forgot my cell phone." She held out her hand impatiently.

Peter never let his eyes leave hers. Blindly, he reached down to the seat beside him and grabbed her cell phone. Gingerly, he placed it in the palm of her hand. Their hands hovered, lingered and revelled in the electrifying closeness of the other. Instantly, the denied feelings between them resurfaced, undaunted by the passage of time. Claire blinked, a puzzled look on her face. She took a deep breath and turned to go, but Peter caught her wrist with his left hand.

"Don't touch me," she screeched, wildly pulling to get away.

"You can't push people away forever," he retorted. A certain calmness in his voice.

"Let go of me," she pleaded, tears in her eyes.

"No. Not this time." He held her firmly by the wrists. Brown eyes firmly implanted on hers. Heart pounding wildly in his chest as he watched her struggle.

Claire glared at him. Anger rising through her pulsing veins.

"Why did you call me tonight?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she sobbed.

"But me? Why did you call me?" he repeated forcefully.

"I don't know," she yelled.

Peter opened his mouth and then closed it suddenly. His eyes focused on a silver sparkle at her throat. He used his right hand to pull back the collar around her neck. His suspicions confirmed, he released her. She stumbled back a few steps and reached for her necklace. It was the locket Peter has given her for her Eighteenth birthday. She tucked it inside the neck of her dress, aware of his eyes on her.

Peter cleared his throat. "Look. I'm sorry. You can be whoever you want to be." He started the engine. "But . . . "

"I . . . I don't who I am anymore," she stammered and moved back toward the Jeep.

"But, I know you." Peter whispered. "And this . . ." He moved a lock of hair from her eyes and ran his hand softly across her cheek. "This isn't you." He didn't wait for her reply. "Goodbye, Claire." He slowly accelerated into the night.

She pulled on the coat and wrapped her arms around herself. "I called. . . because I need you, Pete," she murmured, alone in the moonlit street.

A few weeks later . . .

Claire Bennet padded softly across the wooden floor on the second story of the magnificent mansion. Her father, Nathan caught sight of her as she moved past the open doorway.

"Claire . . ."

Her sullen, dark haired frame reappeared in front of him. "I came to return Peter's coat. He told me he'd be here today." She suddenly sensed that she had been duped.

Nathan's brown eyes were cold as he locked onto her face. "He's outside with the boys. Come in for a moment." His tone was ominous.

She moved slowly to a chair and sat down. "I'm running late."

He ignored her. "Claire, I had a call from anacademic adviserthis morning. She told me your grades have slipped a lot this semester."

Claire rolled her head to the side avoiding his steely gaze. She fidgeted with the collar of Peter's coat.

"Apparently, this has followed on from poor results in you last round of exams."

"I can't talk about this right now." Claire pushed herself away from the chair.

"No, Claire. We do need to talk about this. Now." Nathan was barely managing to keep his voice down.

"Please. Not now." Her eyes pleaded with him as she turned and scurried from the room. He followed close behind.

"What is going on with you? Skipping classes? Failing Papers? This isn't like you, Claire. I know things have been rough for you lately, but throwing away your education? No. This is where it stops."

"God. Why can't you all just leave me alone?" she screamed as she turned back to face him. Her pale face abruptly turning a dark pink.

"Because I'm the one who is paying for the education you seem so ready to throw away!"

"So what? Just because you hold the purse strings that means I'm supposed to take this from you?"

"This is your life, Claire," he begged. "Once an opportunity is gone you can never get it back. I'm your Father and I don't want you to have any regrets."

"You're not my father. You never have been. You're just a name on a cheque." Her words hung in the air as they eyed each other up. So involved in their verbal tirade, neither had noticed the figure coming up the stairs.

"Excuse me, Mr Petrelli."

"Not now, Rena." Nathan phrased his words as politely as he could when addressing his long serving housekeeper.

"No. It's important. A phone call. It's the hospital."

"What?"His brain churned wildly for a few seconds as her words sunk in. "I'll take it in the office." He moved swiftly across the landing and disappeared through the doorway.

Claire stood still, unsure if it was wise to take the opportunity to retreat, but a sudden dread in her heart told her not to go. Instead, she floated in doorway of Nathan's office. She was just in time to see him replace the phone into its cradle.

"That was the hospital."

Claire frowned as he repeated the obviously in a steady voice.

"There's been an accident. Mom and Heidi . . . they-"

"Are they okay?" she cut him off.

He raised his shell shocked eyes to meet hers. "I don't know."

"Oh, God," her voice trembled as visions of Peter and her brothers flashed across her mind. She could hear their distant laughter,picture them wrestling for the soccer ball. Innocent, carefree and blissfully unaware of the nightmare that was about to be thrust upon them.

A/N: This was an incredibly hard chapter to write. Especially considering I had been planning this for months! So I hope this fits with the story I'm trying to weave. The next chapter, however, is already under way and flowing nicely. Resolution for (some of) the inner torment is on its way. Thanks for reading.

In the Next Chapter of Volume Four: The Fallen: A desperate dash to the hospital and Claire finds redemption in the most unlikely person.