Author's Note: I'm sorry for the long hiatus. Things have been pretty hectic lately. I'm about to introduce a new character to the story, a minor arc before Samson makes his appearance. I'm doing this to give Claire more perspective, to give her character a deeper meaning. And to, eventually, bring her and Sylar even closer together. Sorry for the wait. Enjoy =]

She looked ridiculously cute when she was sleeping, Peter realized as he watched her. When she cried into his shirt, she told him what had happened. And why she didn't have any shoes on. It made his blood boil, but she assured him that everything would be okay if she just slept. She convinced him that Sylar would get over it by morning.

Was she trying to protect Sylar? Or was she trying to protect him from Sylar?

She had dozed off when he led her to the couch to cry on him. He woke her up, only to hand her a t shirt and a pair of baggy sweat pants. When she was finished changing, she climbed into his bed and fell asleep peacefully. He couldn't sleep, so he stayed out in the living room. Every once in a while, he'd peek in on her though, just to see if she was still there.

When she showed up at his doorstep at 3 in the morning, he thought the worst had happened. He felt panicked, and then she shocked him with her hug. Did she really feel the safest here? With him? It made his heart swell to think that when danger struck, the first person she'd come to was him. But how could he protect her from Samson? Or worse, how could he protect her from Sylar? He couldn't hold all of the abilities anymore, Sylar had much more in his arsenal then Peter did.

Her hair was spread out above her head over the pillow, like a golden wave. She was lying on her back, her head turned to the side. He hadn't seen her face so.. .serene before. She looked like a delicate angel, and he only wanted her to be safe. Peter went back out to the couch, spreading out, and trying to find a comfortable spot.

A few hours later, the sun was peeking over the horizon, and soft rays of light lit up the room. As the light danced over her eyes, Claire woke up. It took her a few minutes to recall where she was, and whose bed she was in. When she did remember, she bolted upright and looked around wildly. Where was Peter? Was he okay? She hoped Sylar didn't follow her here….

She stumbled to her feet, and peeked around the Chinese screen, spotting Peter on the couch. Tiptoeing over to him quietly, she peered down at him. He was sleeping so peacefully, and she knew he didn't get much of it these days. When she started to tiptoe back to the room, she heard him stir on the couch. She froze, like she was caught in an act, and he looked up at her, smiling sleepily.

His smile broke into a soft laugh as he gazed up at her. He sat up, and Claire tilted her head to the side. What was he laughing about? Staring down at herself, she couldn't help but to grin herself. It looked like his shirt swallowed her; it hung around her knees loosely. The sweat pants were baggy, and they threatened to fall right off of her bottom. She couldn't see it, but she had a feeling her makeup was smeared, and that her hair was fluffy and poofed out.

Her dark eyeliner was smeared just slightly, and her hair had the look of sex hair. If he were anybody else… he'd say she was sexy. Wearing his shirt, that was entirely way too big, and the smeared make up. She was a beautiful person, even when she woke up.

"I'm… sorry about last night Peter. I really shouldn't have woken you up." She hesitated before crossing the room to sit next to him on the couch. "I think it'll be okay if I go home now." Claire smiled slowly, and he sat quietly. He didn't want her to go back to that place; he didn't want her to go back to that monster. He felt helpless.

She was being cornered by a madman, and Sylar was the only one mad enough to take down the psycho.

And then the next few things happened so fast, it was like a blur.

His front door was thrown open, and Peter sprung to his feet. He yanked Claire behind him protectively, and stood in front of her as a man stepped through the door. His hair was blonde, and his eyes were a challenging blue. He was tall, his shoulders were broad and his cheek bones were prominent. If Peter would have guessed his age, he would have said he was a few years older than Claire.

The man ignored Claire completely, turning his hateful gaze on Peter. "Peter Petrelli."

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Peter asked hastily, ready to spring into action if this man attacked. He looked familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Something told him that this man was special, like him and Claire.

"My name is Andrew, and I'm here to avenge my father." He pulled a gun from his long, dark coat. Peter was fast to react, and he sped across the room. Andrew blinked, looking from left to right for Peter. He was on the other side of the room, how was that possible? He narrowed his haunted blue eyes, and aimed the gun for him again. When Peter moved again, he was standing beside Claire.

"Get out of here before I throw you out," Peter said lowly, threatening him. Claire looked back and forth between the man and Peter. Who was he? And who was his father? Andrew held the gun steady, pointing it at Peter's chest.

"That's all you can do. You can only threaten me. You can't kill me…" Andrew's voice was soft, he sounded so sure of himself. Then before Peter could react, he fired the gun. Claire sprung into action, and threw herself in front of him. Andrew's eyes widened, as if she had come out of nowhere.

"Claire!" Peter shouted, the shot rang through the air and it pierced her chest, burrowing through it until it caught on a bone and stopped. She began to fall back from the impact, and Peter reached out to grab her. He held her tightly to him; she was bleeding through his shirt. When she coughed, and pushed herself out of his arms, his heart clenched. He still couldn't forget that she wasn't like everyone else. She could recover from that.

When she pulled the bullet out of her chest, and it dropped to the floor with a soft clang, Andrew stared at her widely. "You…" He started, then his eyes dropped to her chest, where her skin was pulling itself together, healing. He took a step back, into the hallway of the apartment building, and out of Peter's home.

Without another word, he turn and ran. Claire turned, looking back at Peter. Her eyes sparked with confusion, and Peter shrugged. "I don't know who he was. Or why he thinks he should avenge his father through me." Claire reached for Peter, but satisfied herself by touching his arm gently. "We can chase him, we can find out."

Peter shook his head, sighing softly. "No, I'm not ready for a showdown yet. Thank you, Claire. You might have just saved my life." Smiling happily, she shrugged lightly, as if it were no big deal. "I guess I'm one closer to the countless number of times you've saved mine." She looked down at his shirt, frowning. "And now your shirts ruined…"

Peter laughed quietly, shaking his head at her random thought. "As if there aren't other things to be worrying about."