Rating: PG
Author: Trekker
Pairing: Nathan/Peter/Claire, mainly Claire/Peter, Nathan/Peter, Nathan & Claire
Fandom: Heroes
Spoilers: Through "Powerless"
Warning: Fictional incest between fictional relatives; underage (Claire is sixteen); explicit sex; depression; some blood, gunshot wounds, and needles at the beginning in a non-sexual context

Healing

Claire pulled her knees up to her chest, pressing them into her aching belly and gasping against her raw, raspy throat. Her pillow was soaked and she wasn't even sure why she was crying so much, just that she couldn't stop. It was stupid, she'd hardly even known Nathan, and she really hadn't even liked him. But, oh god, Peter had been there, right there and he'd looked so shocked, so horrified, and she knew how that felt, because just yesterday--

She choked on another wet sob, and then, suddenly, heard a shout from downstairs.

"Out! Get out! I'll shoot you, I swear I will!"

And then lower tones, speaking in a pleading cadence, words she couldn't make out, but it didn't matter, she was off her bed, out of her room and down the stairs so fast her eyes were still blurred with tears when she reached the living room, shouting, "Mom! Mom, wait!"

Too late, because just as she rounded the corner, bursting through the archway into the living room, the gun went off, and she felt her insides wrench as Peter collapsed to the floor, only a foot away from the couch now holding Nathan's body.

For a second, no one moved, then Lyle crashed into her from behind, shouting, "What the heck--"

Her mom dropped the gun with a dull thud and fell to her knees. "Oh god. Oh god, what have I done?"

Claire finally felt her throat loosen enough to say, "It's okay."

Her mom was still shaking her head, staring at the dark, wet spot spreading across Peter's chest.

"It's okay," Claire said, again, crossing the floor, kneeling and taking her mother's hand. "Mom, it's okay. He's like me. It's okay."

And as though on cue, Peter coughed behind her. She turned her head, still holding her mom's hand, and watched him push himself up, cough again, then again, and catch the bullet in his hand.

"Mrs. Bennet--" he croaked, obviously still trying to explain himself, as though nothing had happened.

Then he blinked and focused his eyes on Claire, with that singular, you're-the-only-person-in-my-universe focus that always made her feel funny inside.

"Claire."

"Hey, Peter," she said, not sure what else to say, not sure how to say, 'Why aren't you dead? We thought you were dead! Why didn't you call me? Where were you?'

"Okay," snapped Lyle from the archway, "You are all a bunch of crazy freaks. I'm going to my room."

He stomped away, momentarily catching all the attention in the room.

When they all looked back at each other, her mom finally spoke again. "What is going on? Who the hell are you? Why is there a dead man bleeding on my couch?"

Peter coughed again, then said, "I'm Peter. Petrelli," he added, as though just realizing there were still people in the world who wouldn't know him by just his first name.

"He's my uncle," Claire said. "My... biological uncle, I mean."

Her mom pushed herself up to her feet then. Glancing up, Claire could see the resolve returning to her face. "All right. And this... gentleman?"

Peter stood up as well, just long enough to move to the couch and perch on the edge beside Nathan. "My brother."

"My father," Claire said, standing. "Nathan."

Now that things had settled down a bit, Claire couldn't look away from the man on the couch. One arm dangled down to the floor, wearing a watch. His white dress shirt was soaked and spattered with blood and bloody hand prints. His face, too, was marred with finger smudges in red, like demented fingerpaints. She noticed Peter's hands were bloody.

"All right," her mother said, in the tone she always used when she was pissed off and trying to be reasonable, "And you're here for?"

"Her," Peter said.

Claire snapped her head around to find him gazing at her again.

"No," her mother said.

"Why?" Claire said.

Peter didn't even spare her mother a glance. His disconcerting gaze didn't waver. "Your blood can fix him. I tried my blood, but it didn't work. I guess it has to be someone who has the power for real."

"Absolutely not," her mom said, but neither of them paid her any attention.

"It can work. It can heal him," Peter said, but she saw the way he turned his eyes away, just for a moment, the flicker of uncertainty, fear, of it-has-to-work.

That was what happened to her dad. Her blood.

"It works," she said, quietly. "What do you need me to do?"

"No!" her mother said, grabbing her arm. "Claire, you don't even know what--"

"Mom," she said, turning to her, putting her hand on her shoulder. "He's my father, okay? I... I have to try. It's just a little blood. I'll be fine. I can't be hurt. I'll be fine."

"Claire. You don't owe these people anything. You don't even know them."

"Peter saved my life. Nathan saved New York. The least I can do is save him."

Her mother looked about to speak again, but Claire cut her off, "And anyway... I know how it feels." She glanced briefly back at Peter, who was watching them, holding Nathan's hand. The tears pressed against her eyes again. "You do, too. I can help, Mom."

For a moment, their eyes locked, and then her mom let go of her hand. "All right. All right, honey. Do... what you need to."

Claire smiled as much as she could, then turned around to Peter. "How do we do this?"

***

Peter had her sit in the armchair with her sleeve rolled up. She watched him lay out a needle, a syringe, and a piece of gauze on the sidetable as he knelt in front of her. He'd washed his hands, but she could still see traces of blood in the creases of his knuckles. He was wearing one of Dad's T-shirts, to replace his own that was torn and bloodied.

She didn't think Dad would be coming home anytime soon to miss it.

"You know what you're doing," she said, just trying to break the silence. Her mother was standing a few feet away, watching them both intently.

Peter glanced up for a split second. "I was a nurse," he said.

"Oh," she said. That fit.

It was strange to see him without his hair in his eyes.

He laid a tourniquet on the table, then reached out and took her hand, turning it over so the underside of her arm faced up. She felt her breath catch. His hands were so gentle.

"Sorry, I forgot to bring gloves," he said. He seemed to be bothered by it, as he reached out with his other hand, still holding hers still, and softly touched the crook of her elbow, feeling for a vein. She could feel his hands shaking. Feel his finger against that soft part of her skin.

Uncle, she told herself. He's your uncle. But she didn't have any uncles, only one kinda zany aunt, and so that didn't really mean anything to her.

"It's okay," she said, trying to sound normal, "I mean, I don't think it'll matter to either of us."

"Yeah," he said, distracted, vague.

He let go of her to screw the needle onto the syringe. He wrapped the tourniquet around her upper arm and tied it with a quick efficiency, his fingers barely brushing her. She felt disappointed and then felt guilty for it. A moment later, though, he held her wrist again, moved her arm to a position more to his liking, and swiped a cool alcohol wipe across her skin.

She looked away when the needle went in, mostly out of habit, because it wasn't like she would ever be squeamish again. It didn't hurt, and a moment later, the tourniqet and then the needle were gone, and Peter was holding a syringe half-full of her blood. Peter walked away without a glance or a word, going to kneel beside Nathan.

She followed him over and stood behind his shoulder, watching him feel Nathan's arm the way he had hers. He felt for a long time, before he made a small sound of frustration and just pushed the new needle in. He checked something and then pulled the needle back out. Felt around again, then pushed the needle back in. And then repeated it all over again twice more. She could even see his hands shaking now, so she reached out and put hers on his shoulder. "Peter, what's wrong?"

He took a shaky breath. "I can't get a vein. It's... no blood pressure. I can't--"

He stood up roughly and almost shoved her out of the way, crossing back to his med kit. He returned a second later, holding a new needle, a much larger needle. "I think I'm gonna have to--Uh. You, you probably don't want to watch this." As he spoke, he screwed the needle onto the syringe of her blood and pulled the cap off.

That part of her that still stupidly hated needles cringed. "What are you going to do?"

Peter didn't answer. He unbuttoned a few buttons of Nathan's shirt and pulled it open. He had to peel it away from Nathan's skin and it was stiff with dried blood. With the shirt open, one of the bullet wounds was uncovered, dark with tacky blood and open, not closing the way Claire had come to expect them to.

"Really," Peter said, "You don't have to watch."

"I can take it," she said, too curious to stop looking, even though her stomach was tightening and twisting at the amount of blood and the stillness of Nathan's chest. It was different when it wouldn't change.

Peter rubbed his fingers over a spot on Nathan's chest, then pulled the arm holding the syringe back. For a second, he was motionless, holding the syringe up, needle pointed down. She saw and heard him take a few deep breaths, shutting his eyes. Then, suddenly, he opened them and slammed his arm down.

She jumped at the snap of the needle going deep into Nathan's chest. "Shit!"

Peter was pushing the plunger then, injecting her blood. "His heart," Peter said. "It's... it's easier to get to than his veins right now."

He pulled the needle out when the syringe was empty and just dropped it on the floor, staying there on his knees beside Nathan, watching, waiting. None of them breathed for a moment. Two. Three.

And then, she saw it, the now-familiar squirm of flesh rebuilding itself around the one exposed wound. Peter pushed forward, mumuring, "Yeah. Yeah, that's it, come on. Come on, Nathan."

He wrapped his arm around Nathan's side and pulled him towards him, rolling him up on his side. Still waiting, still murmuring encouragement, right up until Nathan flinched all over and then gagged, bringing up a clot of blood. Then Peter was pressing against him, holding him tight with both arms, speaking to him with his mouth near his ear, "Yeah, yeah. It's okay, you're okay, just keep coughing, you'll be fine."

And Nathan did, until finally he stopped and slumped back against the cushions, seeming exhausted. Claire watched his eyes move back and forth, beginning to take in his surroundings, and saw the moment he seemed to come back fully. His brow furrowed and he croaked, "Where are we?"

***

Her mom went to show Peter and Nathan up to the master bathroom to get cleaned up. Claire had stayed in the living room, staring at the wreck of the couch and the carpet. Blood everywhere. It was going to be really hard cleaning this up. If they even could.

She'd gotten pretty good at getting bloodstains out of stuff, but this was something else entirely.

Her mom returned as the shower went on upstairs. She sat down in the chair next to Claire's.

"So," Mom said. "Those are the Petrellis, then?"

"Yup," Claire said.

"I can tell. You know, that they're related to you."

"Really?" Claire said, peering at her.

"Just... something about them." Her mom smiled a bit.

Claire stood up and crossed over to her, climbing into the armchair with her, snuggling in and wrapping her arms around her. "I'm still glad I've got you," she said.

"And I'm glad I've got you," she replied, then, after a pause, added, "Somebody's gotta help me clean up this mess."

***

Claire watched them during dinner. Nathan was polite and charming, and it was a side of him she hadn't gotten to see before. He even had Lyle laughing and smiling. Peter seemed to be content to let him hold the spotlight. He was sitting and watching quietly like Claire. Sometimes their eyes would meet across the table and he'd give her a small smile.

She wanted a chance to talk to him, alone. Find out what had happened to him, where he'd been all that time. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to pry him away from Nathan, though. They hadn't left each other's side once yet, except when one or the other went to the bathroom. Even now, they were right next to each other, close enough that their knees had to be touching under the table, and Nathan's elbow brushed Peter's arm whenever he gestured.

Nathan must have really made an impression on her mom, because after dinner, she suggested they stay here for a few days and lay low. They made the appropriate polite objections, but Claire jumped in and asked them to stay, and they agreed.

Still, by bedtime, she hadn't gotten a chance to get Peter alone, and she would have felt weird talking to him in front of Nathan.

***

She woke up in the middle of the night, and couldn't get back to sleep. She slipped out of her room and crept down the stairs, turning towards the family room where Peter and Nathan were sleeping on the fold-out couch.

But they weren't sleeping. She could hear the low rumble of Nathan's voice, and it brought her to a stop in the archway. She pressed herself there, for some reason suddenly afraid of being seen. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, and she could vaguely make out the shape of them under the sheets. She'd gone very still, even slowed her breathing, trying to catch what Nathan was saying. He seemed to be leaning over Peter, close enough that he barely had to whisper to him, but she could just catch the sibilant edges of the words, just enough to make out, "... so much... always..."

And then Peter groaned, high and loud next to Nathan's whispers.

"Shh," Nathan hissed, but gently, not admonishingly. "... sweet... shh..."

Low and intimate and strange things for one brother to say to another. What were they... she squinted through the darkness, still barely moving or breathing. One of them shifted and the bed creaked and Peter sighed, and Claire felt her heart beating faster. No way were they--

But as she stared, she started to see they were moving, slowly but regularly. The old springs were beginning to mark out an easy, slow rhythm and Claire felt herself flush all over.

Oh, my God, she thought. Holy shit, they are. That's sick, that's wrong, that's--

"Nathan. Oh god, Nathan."

Her stomach dropped and her groin clentched. Peter's voice was low and urgent. She bit down on her lip and thought, I'm going to hell. This is so wrong. So wrong. She dug her fingers into the wood of the doorframe, but she didn't leave. She stared hard through the thick darkness, straining to see every motion, hear every murmur, every whispered, "I love you," "harder," "please."

And then, Peter turned his head, and even in the dark, she could see he could see her. She yanked her hand away from the wall and staggered back, stumbling towards the stairs. She dropped down on them and expected any moment for them to come out, find her, berate her.

But they didn't. The steady rustle of the sheets and creak of the springs didn't change. She stayed there, not moving. Sitting, she could feel how wet her underwear was. I'm such a freak.

Still, she didn't leave until she heard Nathan's choked-off cry and the sound of the sheets rustling as they resettled themselves.

***

The next morning, Claire talked her mother into letting her stay home from school. Her mom headed out to do some errands, and Nathan left to wire himself some money from some off-shore "emergency" account of his, and finally, she was alone with Peter. Just when she wasn't sure she dared to be.

Peter was sitting on the edge of the bed in the family room. It was neatly made, with no sign of what had gone on last night, but Claire still hesitated before walking into the room. Peter looked up and smiled at her, slightly, before the expression slid off his face. He looked tired.

She sat down on the very edge of the bed.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Then, Peter said, "Did I see you last night?"

Just say no, she thought, but then she realized he probably just heard her think that, so, quietly, she said, "Yeah," looking down at her hands, knotted in her lap.

"Sorry," he said.

That wasn't what she expected. She'd been the one spying on them, after all.

"Sorry?" she said.

"Yeah. You... you shouldn't have had to... see that. It's just--" He trailed off.

Claire finally risked a glance at him. "Just what?"

He shook his head and shrugged at the same time. "You probably think we're a pair of pretty sick fucks," Peter said.

"No!" Claire said, quickly, emphatically, and truthfully. She wasn't quite sure yet what she thought, but she knew it wasn't that.

They were silent again, then, and when she dared another glance over, Peter was staring down at the floor, his brow deeply furrowed.

She scooted over closer, watching him for any sign of trying to pull away, until she was right up against his side. Then, like she had with her mother yesterday, she wrapped her arms around him and just settled in.

For a while, he just sat there, motionless. She heard him swallow.

Then, finally, he put his arm around her shoulder in return.

She smiled and shut her eyes.

She'd thought she'd had so much to ask him, but somehow, this was all she really needed. He was warm and relaxing into their embrace, and he smelled nice... almost familiar. Every now and then, he'd stroke his finger through her hair.

And he was built, too. He was hard, pure muscle. He hadn't been like that before, but now... His bicep was heavy on her shoulder and her head was resting near the curve of his pecs, and there was no way to not notice.

"Peter?" she said, and she almost actually asked, 'Do you think it's genetic?' but, thank goodness, she didn't. Instead, she said, "Where were you?"

He took a deep breath, and that moved their bodies against each other in a way that was disconcerting enough that she sat up some, putting a bit of space between them, but keeping her arm around him.

"Company prison," he said. "Then Ireland. With amnesia. Then..."

He shook his head again, and pulled his arm away, curling it around his stomach. "Then fucking up royally at trying to save the world."

Claire took her own arm back, sensing he needed to be alone for a moment. "At least you were trying," she said.

He glanced at her, side-long. "That's what Nathan said."

He also said you were a sweet... something I couldn't hear, she thought. "Well, he's right. You should listen to him," she said.

"I love him," Peter said, abruptly. It was almost a non-sequitor, but not quite.

"Yeah," she said. "I know."

"I mean--"

"I know," she said. "I saw." She blushed after saying that.

He scooted further back on the bed and lay down on top of the covers, staring up at the ceiling. She twisted around to look at him, wondering what he was thinking.

Maybe he heard her, maybe he just knew what she was thinking, but he said, "I'm just--really tired."

She crawled over and laid down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. She wouldn't think about whether it was appropriate, or what it might mean, or how it didn't make her feel niece-ly. He just needed someone, and she just wanted to be close to him, and that was all she let herself care about.

***

She woke to the sound of the front door opening and closing. For a moment, sleep weighed her down, made her not care, but then it filtered through that someone was here, maybe Mom, and Mom might not understand--

She jerked awake and sat up before she'd even consciously thought about it, with a protest, an explanation, a this-isn't-what-it-looks-like-except-that-it-is right on her lips.

"Sorry," a deep, gravelly, just-barely-familiar voice said. "Did I startle you?"

Nathan, then. She twisted around to see him walk through the archway into the family room, loaded down with bags from some clothing stores she didn't think they actually had anywhere within a hundred miles or so. He set the bags down and walked around the end of the bed to Peter's side, apparently not even questioning her presence there. She watched him bend down and kiss Peter's temple, and heard him whisper, "I love you."

He sat down sideways on the side of the bed, feet on the floor, stroking Peter's cheekbone with the backs of his knuckles, staring down at him like he was trying to memorize him. She may as well not have existed. Peter was the only thing in the world to him right then.

She felt something tighten down low in her stomach, and a kind of twisted excitement mixed with a kind of fear. He wasn't even trying to hide it. Peter must have told him that she knew, or he just didn't care, or he somehow knew she'd understand, but it was still a defiance of everything she knew about right and wrong, because it was wrong, but how could a love like that--in his eyes, in his gentle hands--be anything but right?

She suddenly had about a million questions swirling in her mind: How did it start between you? How long ago? What does it mean? What are the rules?

There had to be rules.

Is there room for me?

She turned away suddenly, shutting down that line of thought. No. No, no, no.

She was looking away across the room, but there was a mirror there, so she could still see Nathan and Peter. "Peter told me--"

"I know," Nathan said. He didn't look up at first, but then he did, meeting her eyes in the mirror. He sighed. "I'm sorry, Claire."

She was about to protest, and say it was unnecessary, that she didn't mind, but he continued to speak, in a low voice, not waking Peter.

"--for everything, I mean. For what happened in New York, for the way I treated you, the way Ma treated you, the things I did. And after, too. I'm sorry."

She hadn't expected that at all, and suddenly her throat was tight and aching. She felt like she should say something, but she wasn't even sure what to say, so when she tried, all that came out was, "Uh, I--I--"

Nathan turned his eyes back to Peter. "I thought I'd had everything figured out. Everything all lined up, all the ducks in a row. And then--" He stopped and breathed in and out, shutting his eyes for a moment, bringing into sharp focus his long lashes. I got those from him, she thought. "Standing on that roof, with that helicopter right there--I realized none of it mattered. None of it, except for him. So I threw it all away."

His fingers were trailing through Peter's strangely short hair.

"Then when I woke up, he was gone, too."

Claire's eyes stung, and her throat was still hard and hurting. "But I lost him, too," she said, forcing the words out. "I know you probably don't get it, but I did. I know I didn't even know him, but he--"

"I know," Nathan interrupted. "I do know. I mean... for a time there, I wasn't in any shape to know anything. But I do get it, now. The world... starts to go insane, everything you know is suddenly wrong--up is down, black is white--and then he's there, and he takes your hand and looks you in the eye, and it's all okay, just for a second."

She felt the tears spill over--god she was sick of crying--but he was right, he did get it, and no one else ever had. It had always been 'Peter can't help you' and 'He doesn't even know you.'

But she'd seen him come back from the dead and she hadn't been alone anymore, and there was nothing in the world more profound or comforting or safe than that.

A thick, gentle thumb swept the tears off her cheek, and when she opened her eyes, Nathan was looking at her, though she couldn't see him well through her blur of tears.

"You really are my daughter," he said, and there was wonder in his voice.

She sniffed and tried to blink away the blur, to catch a glimpse of his expression, but then another key rumbled into the front door lock and he stood up, pulling his hands away from both of them.

Claire swiped the tears away with the back of her hand as Nathan crossed the room, saying "Let me help you with those bags," to her mother, giving Claire the time she needed to compose herself in private.

***

After they'd helped put the groceries away, Nathan went back to the family room and settled down on the bed with a book he'd picked out of her dad's office and Mom bustled off to do the laundry, admonishing, "Claire, honey, you should get some rest, you look exhausted," even though she looked about ready to collapse herself.

Claire glanced into the family room one more time. Nathan was sitting with his shoes off and his ankles crossed, his eyes tracking across the page silently. Peter slept on beside him, looking more dead than asleep. She even waited a moment to make sure she'd seen him breathe before she headed up the stairs to her room.

She laid down on her back in her bed, on top of the covers, thinking her mind was so busy she'd just stare at the ceiling, but in just a moment, she'd dropped off to sleep.

The next thing she knew, she was standing in the dark in Odessa, at the top of the concrete bleachers outside the high school. She didn't have to guess what night it was. The darkness pressed in around her and she almost screamed. No, no. Not again. I can't go through that again.

And then a warm palm slid along her own, and fingers laced through hers. Peter.

A shadow passed across the doorway down below and someone--her--came running out. A moment later, Peter followed, as she stumbled up the steps.

She clutched the hand holding hers tighter and glanced up. Peter was silently watching them ascend the stairs, his expression unreadable. His hair was cropped short and he was wearing a plain grey T-shirt.

They--the other they--reached the top, and she heard that Peter say, "Go," and saw herself run. Then Sylar was there, and then Peter grabbed him, and then they both went over the edge.

She gasped, even though she knew it would happen.

But she hadn't known Peter had been the one to take them over the edge.

Peter let go of her hand and walked to the railing, looking over. She joined him. Down below, Sylar was staggering to his feet, then limping towards the woods.

Peter was dead, in a spreading puddle of his own blood, everything broken and twisted and wrong.

Beside her, this older, quieter Peter said, "You're the only thing I did right."

She started to look at him, but movement caught her eye instead--herself, running out to Peter and falling to her knees beside him.

"Sometimes," Peter said, "I wish I'd just stayed--"

He didn't finish out-loud, but she heard the unspoken "dead" in her mind in his voice.

"No," she said, hard and emphatic, as if she could push it back into his mind. "Peter, no."

He looked down and she looked up and she saw his face struggling for a smile, even a small one, but he didn't manage it. She saw him give up, and instead just reach up and lightly tap the tip of her nose with his fingertip.

She felt her heart break. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he'd seen it happen. They looked at each other for a long moment.

Then, impulsively--because it was a dream and if she couldn't in a dream, when could she?--she pulled his head down...

And kissed him.

She felt his mouth move against hers and his arms come up and around her back, and then she woke up abruptly to her mother calling her down for dinner.

***

Peter emerged from the bathroom just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, his bangs damp from the water he'd splashed on his face. It hadn't helped much; he still looked like a zombie. Her insides twisted into a knot anyway, everything pulling tight and making even her lungs freeze for a moment, her hand still resting on the base of the banister.

He glanced sideways and met her eyes for just a moment before glancing quickly away, strangely shy for him.

Real, she thought, It was real. Was it real? Oh my god. Does it count? Do real-dream kisses count? Or is it just, like, symbolic?

"You okay?" Peter said, now looking at her kind of oddly.

"Fine!" she said, quickly, pulling herself together. "Just um. Just not quite awake yet, you know?"

He just raised his brows as if to say, 'Boy do I ever,' then headed for the dining room.

Claire, feeling like the stupidest stupidhead in stupidville, as Lyle liked to call her, followed.

Dinner that night was subdued, mostly due, Claire thought, to the fact that this evening Nathan wasn't putting on his charm-the-crowd show. He would answer politely if spoken to, but he wasn't pushing anything. Mostly, he ate quietly and kept sneaking glances at Peter, who was just silently pushing his porkchops and green beans around with his fork and making patterns in his mashed potatoes. He may have eaten a bite or two.

Claire looked at Mom, and saw her glance at Peter with concern.

Funny. Yesterday, Mom'd shot him. Today, she looked like she was about to go mother-hen on him. Claire smiled a bit, but hid it behind a bite of mashed potatoes. Peter had that effect on people.

Peter had a different kind of effect on her. Between one breath and the next, she could practically still feel that kiss. She could practically still taste it.

She took a quick gulp of water and tried, resolutely, to forget. But the next time she looked at Peter, he looked away quickly, like he was trying not to be caught looking. Like something had happened.

That made it kind of hard to forget.

***

After dinner, Nathan grabbed Peter's shoulder and cut him off from fleeing back to the bed, saying, "It's beautiful outside. Let's take a walk."

Peter seemed about to protest, so Claire chimed in, "Yeah, let's! The ocean's just a few blocks away, and I found this great spot to watch the sun set."

Outnumbered, Peter had given in, but without any sign of enthusiasm.

It was a beautiful day, warm with a light breeze and the air full of spring and the light smell of the ocean. It seemed odd that the weather could be so perfect, with all that had happened lately. Apparently the world didn't care about their personal tragedies.

They strolled along, Claire to Peter's right, Nathan on his left with his arm around his shoulders. After they'd turned the corner and gotten a bit further from the house, Claire noticed Peter slipping his arm around Nathan's waist, too. Claire watched them out of the corner of her eye.

Further on, the street dead-ended at a barricade in front of a cliff. The ocean spread out below.

"There's a way down to this place where you can sit," Claire said. It was the first time any of them had spoken since leaving the house.

Nathan responded with a distracted but affirmative grunt, so Claire led them along the twisting route down the rocky cliff to a small shelf that looked out over the ocean. She sat down on one of the flatter boulders and noted with disappointment that there were clouds covering the horizon and bearing down on them with the evening breeze. No sunset tonight.

Nathan and Peter didn't seem to care, though. Nathan had sat down on another rock and pulled Peter down to sit between his legs, his back to Nathan's chest. Something seemed to rush out of Peter and he went almost limp, slumping back against Nathan like he was absorbing something from him.

Nathan wrapped his arms around him and kissed the side of his face.

Claire looked back over the ocean, feeling like she should give them some privacy.

She didn't manage it for very long, though. The ocean was just the ocean, and the heavy silence coming from their direction was too intriguing to ignore.

She looked. They didn't notice.

There were these two friends she'd had, back in Odessa, who were dating. Anytime they were out of sight of adults, they'd cling to each other like horny barnacles and it didn't matter if there were other teens around to witness their dry humping.

She'd never thought adults would act like that, though.

Adults who were related to her. Adults who were related to each other.

They were kissing. Peter's head was leaned back on Nathan's shoulder and they were kissing. No, they were making out.

She felt that heat between her legs again and that panicked feeling that she should look away... but she didn't.

Nathan's hands were moving on Peter's torso, meandering and caressing, and Peter had one arm up, wrapped around the back of Nathan's head, keeping him close.

They're beautiful, she thought.

Peter huffed a sudden breath and rolled his head back, and Nathan leaned in and kissed up his throat, sliding his hands down to a spot low on Peter's belly and lacing them together there, holding him. Claire shuddered, feeling her nipples get hard. She told herself it was the cool breeze, but it wasn't and she knew it.

Curiousity overwhelmed her and she dared to look down. She'd thought it would be there, but she was still was startled by the obvious ridge in Peter's jeans. The way he was sitting, sprawled out with the denim cradled tightly around his crotch, she could make out the shape of his dick, even the bulge of his testicles, through the fabric.

She curled her arms around herself, feeling too many feelings twist in her stomach and prickle across her skin in delicate, hidden places.

I want him. Oh, god, it's so wrong but I really, really want him.

She wrentched her eyes up and away, focused on their faces and, because she couldn't stay silent and ignored any longer, blurted, "So, are you guys gay?"

Nathan looked a bit startled. Peter blinked languidly and looked at her.

At the same moment, Nathan said, "No," and Peter said, "I'm bi."

Peter suddenly grinned and tilted his head back to look up at Nathan. "Nathan's bi, too."

"I am not," Nathan said, disgruntled, but almost smiling.

Claire got the feeling it wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, and felt herself smiling a bit in response as well.

"Then," Peter said, eyes shining, "why do you like it when I--" the rest of the sentence was too low to hear over the next breeze, but Claire had a fairly good idea of the gist of it and blushed.

Nathan blushed, too, and muttered, "Because you're you."

"Oh, right. Right. Nothing at all to do with your love affair with my cock."

Claire giggled, shocked and scandalized and thrilled, still feeling the heat of blood in her cheeks. Peter was grinning and relaxed against Nathan.

"Peter," Nathan said, his tone disapproving, but his smile now not-at-all hidden.

Peter chuckled for a moment. Then, slowly, for no obvious reason, the smile slid off his face and out of his eyes. He slumped again, his gaze focusing out on some irrelevant spot in the water and his body deflating with a quiet, drawn-out sigh.

Claire looked up and Nathan did too, and their eyes met in a shared moment of understanding and pain.

Nathan shifted, then gently nudged Peter. "Lemme up."

Peter did, without much of a reaction, moving to sit on the ground with his back to the boulder. Nathan stood up and stretched and walked to the edge of the shelf, glancing down and then up.

Then he stepped off the cliff.

Claire's heart stopped for a moment.

Even when he reappeared, gliding low over the waves, her heart still kept pounding hard and some part of her mind kept saying he just jumped off a cliff. He jumped off a cliff! What's he doing?

She glanced over at Peter, whose eyes were tracking Nathan across the water. He smiled just a little and she looked back, finding Nathan upright a few feet above the tops of the waves, looking down, maybe watching something under the water.

A moment later, he looked up, and then shot up into the sky, vanishing into the low clouds in seconds, leaving no trace of his presence but a quickly-vanishing ring of ripples in the ocean.

He's playing, she realized, and that was... bizarre.

Or maybe it wasn't.

She glanced over at Peter again. He was just sitting now, with his arms curled around his knees and his eyes focused down on the dirt, like he was watching the ants.

Abruptly, impulsively, willing to do anything to try to snap him out of it, she said, "Fly with me, Peter."

He seemed doubtful, as though about to decline, so she quickly added, "Just out to that rock. Please?"

He looked out to the rock that protruded out of the ocean a hundred or so yards away, then back to her, then sighed and said, "Okay."

He stood up and she stood up and before she could even ask him how he wanted to do this, he'd bent down and scooped her up, one arm under her knees and one under her arms like a groom holding a bride. She squeaked when he launched them off the ground, suddenly enveloping them in roaring, cold wind, way faster than West had ever flown with her.

It was only a few seconds before he pulled up hard and landed on the rock with a jarring thud.

"Sorry," he said. "Landing's the... tricky part."

She laughed, breathless from the speed, and he swung her around and down, letting her feet down on the uneven rock.

He didn't let go after she'd found her balance, and she suddenly held her breath. His arms were wrapped around her stomach, holding her in place. Keeping her safe. She could feel the whole length of his body along her back, hard and warm, but she couldn't tell if he still had an erection.

A swell hit the rock with a roar, spraying her with foam and she shrieked, pressing back against Peter. She felt him laugh, just once.

"It's cold," she protested.

"You're the one who wanted to... you know," he said, trailing off.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, then fell silent, choosing to just feel him holding her, even if it wasn't like that, if it was just some protective uncle-instinct...

But was it? In the dream, he'd kissed her back, she was sure of it. And it was real. It seemed so real, anyway.

She raised her hands and touched his arms, circling the hard contours of his wrist bones with her fingertips and tracing the springy veins under the skin on the backs of his hands.

He held her a little tighter. Something hot and bright rushed through her and she shut her eyes. Yes. Please yes. Please, please, please. Oh god, Peter, I love you, I want you, I don't care how wrong it is, please.

She kept touching his bare arms, from his wrists to his elbows and then back down to the very tips of his fingers, feeling where they rested against the warm fabric of her shirt. Her eyes were still closed and all she cared about was every small movement his body made against hers, so she felt him tilt his head down and turn his face into her hair. She felt the tip of his nose brush the shell of her ear and she shivered and made one small sound, feeling so hot down there. She wrapped her hands around his arms and dug her fingers lightly into his rock-solid muscle and she was almost sure she felt his lips move against her earlobe.

And then there was a thump and her eyes flew open and Nathan was right there next to them, standing on the rock with his hands spread wide, palms out to catch the spray of the next swell.

He looked over at her and grinned, though he couldn't possibly have not noticed, and said, "Cool, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," Claire said, though her voice was way too small and shaky.

Nathan didn't react. He held his hand out to her and said, "Com'ere, let me show you something."

She leaned back to look up at Peter, who said, simply, "Go on," so she took Nathan's hand and stepped across the gap in the rock between them, until they were on the same spike of rough stone, standing close with their hands clasped to keep their balance.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you?" Nathan said.

Claire sniffed a chuckle. "He says to the girl he saw jump out a--what was it?--fourteenth story window?"

Nathan grinned again, seemingly relaxed and at ease. "Fifteenth, technically," he said, "Depending on whether or not you count the missing thirteenth floor."

"So, no," Claire said.

"Good," Nathan said, then glanced up at the sky, then down at her. "Hold onto my shoulders."

She did, and he hitched his arms under her butt, lifting her off the rock and saying, "Keep swallowing, it'll help with the pressure change. I'm gonna go up pretty fast so no one sees us."

And with no more preparation than that, he launched off the rock with a sudden jerk, going at what had to be a million miles an hour and all Claire could do was cling to him--and keep swallowing.

She had her eyes shut, but she felt a cool fog touched her skin and thought, Clouds. That's clouds.

They stopped just as abruptly and he said, "You okay?"

"Yeah. I think so. Maybe."

"Open your eyes."

It took her a moment to be able to do it. When she did, he shifted her in his arms, propping her on his hip, and then nodded forward.

She looked... and gasped. "Oh."

There was the sunset.

It was pink and gold all across the sky with a layer of clouds stretching out below, all touched by that golden light and gleaming. She'd seen sights like it once or twice from plane windows, but this was a whole different world. Seeing it through a tiny, scratched porthole had nothing on this--being surrounded by it, out in it, immersed in it, three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around. She could feel the breeze and the touch of warm sunlight on her skin.

"Oh my god, Nathan," she said.

And then she couldn't help but think: It's just pollution that makes it like that. I probably shouldn't even think it's beautiful.

Nathan started speaking, then. "I was a pilot in the Navy--actually, it was when I was in Flight Training in Kingston I met your mother--and this was always my favorite time of day to fly."

She hadn't known that, that he was a pilot, and she could feel herself latching onto the new information, drinking it in, filling in one more detail about him in the still-sketchy biography in her mind.

He continued, "There'd always be this little voice in my head, though, that kept saying it was all just water molecules and sunlight refracted through atmospheric particles. And I listened to it."

She glanced at him when he paused, wondering if he'd read her mind. His eyes were focused out on the view and he kept speaking. "Something I only figured out recently... is that sometimes you just have to tell that voice, 'Shut up. This is magic. This is the divine.'"

She looked again, and tried it. Just let herself see.

It was beautiful.

They stayed there until the sun had started to sink below the clouds, and then Nathan said, "I'm getting a little light-headed, so I'm gonna take us back down."

"Right," she said, dumbly, disappointed even though she was feeling the effects of the thin air, too.

He returned them to the rock in the ocean. Peter wasn't there. She noticed Nathan's gaze fixing on the spot on the cliff where they'd been sitting, and that was when she noticed the white smudge of Peter's T-shirt against the dark rock.

"I think my eyesight's improved with this flying thing," Nathan said.

"Fringe benefit," Claire said. It was a really inane comment, but that was okay, because it gave her the time she needed to collect herself enough to say, "Um, what you saw-- me and Peter-- that wasn't--"

"Claire--"

She stopped and waited, feeling guilty and freaked.

What he said, though, was nothing like what she expected.

"Peter needs all the love he can get right now."

She took a breath, trying to reorient herself, then said, "Everybody loves Peter."

He grimaced. "Everybody likes Peter. Everybody wants something from him." He paused, fixing his eyes across the water to his brother. "Not nearly enough of them love him."

She looked, too, even though she could barely make him out in the growing darkness. "I want something from him," she said.

Immediately, she blushed and wanted to recant it, unable to believe she'd just said that to his brother-her father-his lover.

But Nathan just smiled, his eyes still on Peter, and said, "That's okay, as long as you love him."

***

She couldn't even try to sleep that night. She just lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, until the lights went out in the hall and the house settled into the kind of quiet that meant Mom was in bed for the night. Lyle was spending the night at a friend's house.

She got up silently, and stood beside her bed for a long time, thinking, Should I? Can I? Maybe he didn't mean it like that. How could I think he meant it like that? I shouldn't. I'm wrong. It's wrong.

She began shivering in her thin nightgown and the nighttime coolness.

Finally she just gave up. I'm going. Screw it. I'm going.

She went. Down the stairs and into the foyer. The light in the hall bathroom was on and the door was standing open, making the whole downstairs just bright enough to see things.

She heard each of her steps as she walked to the archway to the living room. She was shivering hard now, and she didn't think it was just cold. She stopped where she had the night before, with her hand on the frame.

She closed her fingers on it tightly.

They weren't even under the sheet tonight. The dim light from the bathroom was plenty to see them: all of them. Nathan, mostly, since he was covering Peter's body with his own. Her fingertips felt numb and her head felt swirly. Peter had his face turned down, pressed into the pillow. He had one arm out, with his fist clenched around a handful of the sheets. He was moving in time with Nathan, with long, langorous rolls of his whole body. She couldn't breathe.

And then he turned his head and his eyes found her again. Nathan followed his gaze. She felt the urge to run, but she couldn't have, even if she had truly wanted to. Her body wasn't responding to her commands right then.

Maybe they'll tell me to leave, she thought. Maybe they'll call me a freak and tell me to get the hell out--

But they didn't. Instead, Nathan rolled them onto their sides, Peter facing her. In the half-light, she could see everything about him: his shadowed muscles, his erection, the trail of hair from his belly button down to his groin. Nobody spoke, but the invitation was clear.

Still numb, she barely felt the hem of her nightgown between her fingers when she took it and lifted it off over her head. The cool air brushed across her bare breasts as she walked to the bed, feeling like she was floating through a dream.

The sheets were warm. They felt good against her cool skin.

Peter, who pulled her into his arms, was warm, too. She pressed herself to him, but she didn't stop shivering.

"I've gotta--" Nathan said, and then he was moving again, nudging Peter against her every time he pressed into him.

She could feel Peter's sharp exhalations against her cheek. The top of his penis was hot and damp and nudged her bare belly. Through her panties, she could feel the hard length of it pressed against her groin. She bit her lip, hard. I want it in me. Right now.

But she didn't move to take her panties off. It was too much. She couldn't even think of it head on. She just pushed her arms around Peter, between his back and Nathan's chest, and held on as tightly as she could, just drowning in the feeling of all of his skin against almost all of hers. She realized she'd found their rythym and was moving her hips against him in time with it.

I love you. Peter, I love you.

She couldn't say it though. It would have taken more concentration than she had.

Instead, she just held onto him, and then he started kissing her. It was completely, unquestionably real. She wondered if it was possible to pass out just from this.

She wondered if it was possible to have an orgasm just from this.

But then Peter slid one hand down her stomach and into her panties and she didn't have to wonder anything anymore.

She bit down on her own hand hard enough to draw blood to hold in her cry as his fingers moved demandingly on her.

"Yeah. Oh, yeah. Claire--"

She came, digging her fingernails into his back and feeling the universe compress around her, her body turn inside out. His finger on her clitoris coaxed her through it, drawing it out, soothing her afterwords. He kissed her cheeks and her eyelids and wrapped his arms around her again, alongside Nathan's, which she hadn't realized he'd put around her back. She buried her face in Peter's neck and clung to him, hearing every small sound he made as Nathan--

Hearing everything Nathan was saying now. Not just pieces.

"I love you. I love you so much. You are perfect. Perfect."

She almost felt like crying, because she could feel Peter fighting it, tensing up, trying to wish it away because he didn't believe it. She wished she could say something but she still couldn't speak, she could only hold him tight and think, You are. He does. I do. Believe us, Peter.

"I'm gonna come," Peter said suddenly. "Claire--"

Nathan and Peter both let go of her and she pulled away, watching Peter fumble for the tissue box up by his pillow.

She watched from the side of the bed as Nathan reached down and put his hand around his cock, moving it fast as he kept moving slowly inside of him, saying, "Yeah, that's it. That's it. Come on, baby. Come on, sweetheart. You're so good, yeah."

Peter pressed his hand and the wad of tissues to himself and threw his head back, "Oh. Nathan. Nath--"

Seeing him come was amazing--that long moment of pure ecstasy transforming him in the midst of all the pain.

She pressed herself against him again the moment he'd wiped himself off and put the tissues aside, and she stayed there until they both felt Nathan come inside him.

After, she slipped away, picking up her nightgown and creeping back up the stairs. It took her hours to finally fall into an exhausted sleep.

***

Too early the next morning, after breakfast, Nathan gave her a quick glance and headed out into the backyard. Peter was still asleep in a tangle of sheets in the family room and Mom was going through her usual morning routine.

Claire joined Nathan at the picnic table. For awhile, neither of them spoke or made eyecontact. They watched the birds squabble at the bird feeder, looked up at the now-cloudless sky, listened to the neighbors' sprinklers hissing and sputtering.

Claire broke first. "Depression is physical," she said. "So... he should be able to fix it. I should be able to fix it. I think he's not letting himself."

Nathan nodded, looking down at his folded hands resting on the table. "Yeah," he said. "I know. I went through it. Couple weeks of pills and I was... not okay, but... better. Different. I could feel it." He shook his head. "I think you're right."

He took a deep breath then and sat up, finally meeting her eyes.

"So what do we do?" Claire said.

Nathan shrugged. "Keep telling him he's worth it." He paused, considering. "Convince him he can use his power to do good. That he's meant to. Like he used to believe."

They were both silent for a moment, then Nathan looked down again. "God, I miss that obnoxious optimistic little bastard."

"We're much better at being the sarcastic realists," Claire agreed, nodding.

Nathan chuckled.

After a pause, with both of them looking away, lost in their own thoughts, Claire said, "I was gonna go public, too."

He looked up. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I had all of Dad's old files together, ready to call a press conference or whatever."

"What happened?"

"Long story," she said, quickly. Then, after he'd waited for a moment, patiently, she began to tell it. "See, you know my Dad worked for that Company, right?"

She ended up telling it all, from the beginning, about the first time she'd hurt herself and healed to finding out what her Dad really did, to Sylar and Peter, Zach, Meredith, moving to Costa Verde, meeting West, Dad getting shot and then Dad coming back.

He listened through it all, and she realized she'd never really told anyone the whole thing, and it felt good to just get it out there and know that he'd believe her.

After she was finished, he said, "The first time I flew was in the middle of a car accident. My wife--my... ex-wife--Heidi was in the passenger seat. She ended up paralyzed."

He told her about Linderman, and his father and his suicide. About Peter apparently losing his mind, jumping off a building, jetting off to Texas to save a cheerleader. About getting a call from an old girlfriend he'd believed was dead. About the campaign and the FBI and his mother. About knowing Peter was alive, but having no way to be sure.

She'd known pieces of the story, but it was different all put together and in his words.

Then he said, "Your boyfriend could fly?"

He sounded a little jealous.

Claire grinned. "Yeah. But not like you. He flies like... a kite, kind of. Floaty, sorta. You and Peter fly like jets."

"Hm," Nathan said, as though considering whether that should mitigate the jealousy of not being the only flying human in the world or not.

The conversation sputtered to a halt again. Claire focused on a pair of sparrows that were squabbling over a certain perch on the feeder.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Nathan said, "Are you on birth control pills?"

Startled, she said, "Um, no. Why... would I be?"

"Wait," he said. "You mean you've never--you're not--"

"No..." she said, rolling the word out, feeling a flutter of nerves in her stomach, worrying this was going to ruin everything.

He stared at her. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," she said, carefully, clearly, emphatically.

"You don't have to."

"Yes, I do. For him," she said. "And I want to. I've never wanted anything like I want this. I want this. Please don't make us not do this."

He sighed. "I was thinking it would be best to get a hotel room somewhere. Something private. No distractions, and we won't risk... screwing things up for you with your mom."

She nodded, trembling inside. "Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea."

Oh, my god, we're going to do this. Again, on purpose, for real. We're planning it.

She jumped a bit when he took her hand in his. He squeezed gently, not saying anything or looking at her, but she could feel the implied thank you.

***

Nathan vanished for about an hour after that. When he returned, he headed straight for the family room and reappeared a few minutes later with a sleepy Peter in tow.

Claire had been trying to do homework, or read, or something, or anything, and failing utterly at concentrating on any of it. She'd finally ended up crashing in front of the TV and watching cartoons, because the bright colors and screechy voices were all that was simple enough to keep her attention. Peter dropped down on the floor next to her (the couch had been hopeless and they'd had it hauled off the to dump.)

"Hi," she said.

Nathan headed off to somewhere else.

"Hi," Peter said.

Peter zoned out instantly on the cartoons. She wasn't even sure what show it was or even what the basic plotline was. She could smell him. Feel the heat of his arm next to hers. He looked like a kid who'd been up past his bedtime, tossled hair and drooping eyelids.

She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Peter... you can fix this. You know you can."

She felt him take a breath. "I don't... deserve to."

"Yes, you do."

For a moment, he was suddenly passionate. "No. I don't." He pulled away from her, stood up and paced to the fireplace and back. "All I've done since this started is get people I love killed. Simone. Maybe Caitlyn. Nathan. I don't deserve any of this. I can't handle it. Nathan was right--I can't save the world."

Claire stood up. "Nathan doesn't believe that. He believes you can."

"He used to," Peter said. "And he was right. It's just a fantasy. A stupid... kid thing."

"No, it's not. Peter, we have these... powers... for a reason."

"No, we don't. It's evolution, it's random. It's just--bad luck. Evolution goes wrong sometimes. It went wrong with me."

"Everybody makes mistakes, Peter. You just have to move on. Learn from them. You can do these amazing things. It's just like learning to walk, you have to start slowly."

He shut his eyes and closed his hands into fists and said, "I can't. I can't. I'm not who you think I am."

"Yeah, you are," Nathan said, appearing suddenly in the archway.

Peter opened his eyes and focused on Nathan dispairingly. "No," he said, softly.

"Fine," Nathan said. "If you can't believe that... then at least believe we believe it. Believe we love you. Let us."

"It doesn't change anything."

"Maybe not. But let us, anyway. Just let us."

Peter's shoulders slumped and Nathan crossed the room, putting his hands on either side of Peter's neck and squeezing the muscle there gently, shaking him a bit until he met Nathan's eyes. When he did, though, he just shut his eyes abruptly and tightly and gasped wetly, halfway to a sob. "Nathan--" Then he threw himself against him, holding onto him like a bouy in a stormy sea. "I can't--I can't. It hurts."

"I know. God, I know, Pete. I want so much to make it stop. Please let us make it stop."

"I can't."

Claire suddenly shook herself and went to the center of the house, yelling up the stairs, "Mom! Me and Nathan and Peter are going to go see a movie!"

"Okay, hon! Dinner's at seven and don't forget you've got homework!"

She ran back into the room and before she could let herself overthink it, wrapped her arms around Peter from behind, joining in their embrace. "Peter, please. We love you. I love you. You saved me. You saved me in so many ways. Come with us."

"Where?" he said, wetly.

"Somewhere we can be together for awhile," Nathan said. "All of us."

"What?" Peter said. "We can't--"

"Yes, we can. If you want it. We want it," Claire cut in, before Nathan could even speak.

He didn't answer for a long time. She could feel him shaking.

Then he said, again, but differently and quietly: "Where?"

***

It was just a Comfort Inn, somewhere outside of LA off the freeway. Nathan had already booked the room, so they'd landed on the roof and taken the stairs down and straight to it. 522. No one saw them.

The room was just like any other hotel room anywhere. It smelled the same, looked the same, with the same bland artwork and the same beds with the same pastel comforters.

Nathan put the "Do Not Disturb" sign into the keycard slot and shut the door behind all of them. He threw the deadbolt and turned around. Claire had stopped in the middle of the room, with Peter standing across from her. She looked back at Nathan, who said, "We should probably all take showers. Just..." He shrugged, and Claire realized that he was actually unsure.

She suddenly understood why Peter had been so thrown off by that, when it happened back in New York.

Nathan crossed between the two of them and went to the nightstand between the beds, opening the drawer and pulling out a small, turquois cardboard box. He went to Claire and handed it to her.

"What's this?" she said, even as she was flipping it over to read the label.

"Spermicide," he said.

Peter had sat down on the end of the bed further from the door.

"Wait... aren't we gonna use, uh, condoms?" It was weird to say that word, in the actual proper context, but she had to ask, because if not, that was kind of a deal-breaker.

"Yeah," Nathan said. "Of course. But... let's just say that didn't prevent you. And given the circumstances--"

"Oh," Claire said, suddenly getting it. "Gotcha. Better safe than--Good thinking. Right."

"You should probably take the first shower," he said. "I think that stuff takes a little time to kick in."

He sat on the bed next to Peter, who immediately leaned into him.

"Right," Claire said, to no one in particular, and headed into the bathroom.

She read the directions for the stuff three times before she actually used it, then got into the shower and cleaned herself thoroughly, hyperaware that someone--two someones--would be seeing, touching and smelling pretty much all of her.

She spent the first half of the shower just thinking, over and over, I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm a total slut. I can't believe I'm doing this. By the time she shut off the water, though, she felt calm.

She dried off and put her clothes back on and walked back out into the room.

Nathan immediately got up from where he'd been lying alongside Peter and went to take his turn in the bathroom. Without saying anything, Claire crawled onto the bed and took his place, settling along Peter's side. She'd heard once of something--dolphins, maybe--doing something like this. Taking turns keeping a packmate warm and alive and afloat. It certainly felt almost like an animal instinct.

Peter lifted the hand of the arm he had under her shoulders and drifted his fingers lightly through her hair. She smiled, glad he was doing... anything. She stroked his chest in return. She could feel his heartbeat.

They lay together silently until she heard the water turn off. Then, she got up and walked to the table by the curtained window, sitting down there. She listened to the bathroom door open and the sound of Peter and Nathan's kiss, then to the bathroom door closing again, before she looked up.

Nathan was sitting with his back to her on the edge of the closer bed, naked. He was still ruffling a handtowel through his hair. She stared at his back for a moment, before she silently stood up and stripped down to her bare skin. She crossed the room--feeling the rough, low carpet under her bare feet--and sat across from him on the edge of the other bed. He didn't seem startled.

They regarded each other silently. There was no lewdness in the way he was looking at her bare body, just a sort of intense curiosity. She got that. She felt it, too, as she let her eyes wander, tracing the network of scars along his left side, the whorls of his body hair, the geography of his almost-too-lean muscled physique. She'd spent the last couple of days picking out the ways his face echoed hers, and now she was doing the same with his body.

The last place she was able to let her eyes go was his penis. It wasn't hard. She'd never, in her recollection, seen a soft penis. She'd only occasionally seen--and a couple of times touched--hard ones through clothing... and she'd seen Peter's.

She'd been adopted, and she'd known that about as long as she'd really been thinking about sex, so she'd never had to think about her parents doing that to create her. But Nathan had. Nathan and Meredith, sixteen--almost seventeen--years ago. He would have been younger then. Maybe he hadn't had those scars yet. Meredith would have been younger, too.

They were both beautiful people. That was probably what drew them to each other, she thought. Or maybe it was their powers. Latent, then, but... West had found her, hadn't he? It was like they were drawn to each other.

His penis, that she was looking at, had been inside Meredith's vagina--and then there'd been her.

Almost without thinking, she slid off her bed, coming down into a kneel between his bare feet on the carpet. She lifted her hand but stopped with it in midair. He shifted his knees just a bit further apart. Consenting. Inviting.

She touched his penis. Cupped it in the palm of her hand. It was warm and silky-soft. Malleable. Even after his shower, she could smell him, here. Nothing bad, just a musky, human smell. She flexed her hand and her fingertips brushed the wirey, hairy, warm sac of his testicles. She sucked in a breath when his penis twitched in her hand, suddenly warmer and alive, like a creature with a mind of its own.

"Sorry," he said, with a shaky breath, like he had any control over his own involuntary reactions. Like that wasn't, technically, the whole reason they were here.

"S'okay," she said, her own voice barely above a whisper, too.

She pushed her hand back in further, deeper, curling it around the soft weight of his balls, paranoidly careful not to squeeze to hard or catch his skin with a fingernail. Trapped by her own restrictions, all she could do was hold him, moving her free thumb just slightly against the shaft of his cock, feeling the small changes in it as it grew and lengthened slowly.

She startled when his hand slid into her hair, curling there just behind her ear.

"It's okay," he said, "You're not going to hurt me."

She shuddered and felt her insides clench. She was suddenly wet between her folds down there, freeing the skin to move and slide against itself, fiery and thrilling.

Experimentally, she rubbed him, pressing his cock up between his belly and the flat of her palm.

He made a sound, just a small grunt or groan, and shifted his hips and said, "Yeah. Yeah, that's it. Like that."

She felt his hand tremble against the curve of her skull.

Then another hand was on her shoulder, and then a body was kneeling alongside hers, pushing Nathan's legs open wider.

"Peter--" she said, as he leaned in and licked: Nathan's cock, her hand, both.

"Ah, Pete," Nathan said, as Peter took his cock away from Claire and slipped the head of it into his mouth. He held it shallowly, and she could see his shining, pink tongue sweeping around the reddening bulb of flesh at the top.

In seconds, Nathan was completely hard. The once-bunched skin was stretched taut and shiny and dark pink with blood and his hips were shifting constantly, restlessly, as Peter bobbed his head down and up, sometimes taking Nathan in almost to the top of Peter's hand, sometimes pulling off completely and licking down and up and around, always holding the base, sometimes pumping it with his hand.

Then, Peter pulled off completely for a second, a single strand of saliva still connecting him to Nathan, and he looked at her with half-closed eyes and said, "Kiss him."

"Um," she said, her cheeks almost as hot as her groin, "Uh, where?"

Peter smiled slightly. "His mouth. For now."

She got up on the bed and sat down beside Nathan, their bare hips pressed together. Nathan lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder and they looked at each other for a moment. Then Nathan's eyes shut and he hissed a breath through closed teeth, and she wasn't sure what Peter had done to him, but she felt like it was now or never, so she leaned in, feeling her breast press against his side, and she kissed him.

He kissed her back. He'd do anything, she thought, Anything he told him to.

So would I, she realized, as she opened her mouth for Nathan's tongue.

It went on, long enough that she forgot Nathan was her father, and that she was really just here for Peter. Long enough that she was pressed against him, one leg thrown over his thigh and tucked between his calf and Peter's chest. His hand was down between her legs, two fingers up inside her, moving now and then when he wasn't too distracted by Peter's mouth doing whatever it was doing down between his legs.

She broke away suddenly with a gasped, "Oh, my god. I can't--somebody please--"

"Yeah," Nathan said, "Yeah. Pete. Peter, I'm gonna come if you don't--I wanna fuck you. Hell, I wanna fuck both of you."

And her only reaction to that was Yes. Please. Oh, please. Now. Anything. Something. Please.

Then Peter rolled to his feet and Nathan moved back to the center of the bed, lying down with his head toward the pillows. Before Claire could move, Peter was beside her, catching her arms with his hands and turning her towards him, leaning in.

She opened her mouth under his instantly, desperately, shaking all over as he wrapped his arms around her back, still kissing her, and pulled her against him and then lay them both out flat on the bed, his perfect weight pressing her down into the covers.

"Peter. Oh, god, Peter." He tasted like Nathan and salt.

He whispered, "You taste like him."

Her legs were spread wide and she couldn't help but tilt her hips up. She gasped when she felt his bare erection brush against her, the shaft dragging between her wet lips.

"Shit," he said. "Oh." Then he was doing it intentionally, rubbing them together, sliding against her wetness, pressing and dragging against her clit. Yes. Yeah. Touching herself had never felt like this. Nothing like this. It couldn't come close to the totality of having his hot body against hers, damp and sticky with sweat, his hands in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, his smell all around her, filling her.

Then Nathan's voice broke through the haze, dark and chiding but gentle. "Hey. Pete." His hand worked between them, catching Peter's shoulder and pulling him away from her and both she and him moaned in protest. She clenched her arms around his back, trying not to let him go.

But he turned his head. Of course he did. It was Nathan, after all, and as much as Nathan (or Claire) would do anything for Peter, Peter would do anything for him.

Why is he taking him away? she thought, Is he jealous?

But it wasn't that. He just kissed Peter's cheek and reached down further between them, to where their bodies touched, still. She looked down, and saw him deftly rolling a condom over Peter's cock and thought, Oh. Yeah. Oh, my god. I wasn't even thinking about that.

Peter let out a shuddery breath and said. "Thanks. Shit. Thanks."

Then they kissed, seemingly far above her, quickly but deeply. Then Peter's whole soul was focused on her again.

"Is this okay?" he said.

"Yes."

"Good. It might--hurt. I'm sorry. I don't know. I've actually never, uh--"

Nathan was still sitting right beside them, his knees digging into Claire's side. She saw he had his hand on Peter's back. "It's okay," he said, "She'll be fine. She's fine. I--uh--checked."

Suddenly annoyed and sort of offended, Claire glared. "You checked?"

He shrugged, wide-eyed. "Sorry? I just didn't want us to--hurt you."

"Can't be hurt," she pointed out, huffily. "And anyway, I could have told you that I did a lot of gymnastics when I was a kid."

And then Peter was laughing. At first, she felt disconcerted and definitely offended. Then, as he said, "You two," she started to smile. Then grin. Then laugh.

She caught Nathan rolling his eyes and that just made her laugh harder. Peter had fallen down over her, pressing his forehead to her shoulder, helpless with laughter.

She hugged him tight and nestled her face against his, and then he turned his head and then she kissed him and then they were kissing again, and his tears were falling on her cheeks and neither of them were laughing anymore and she threw back her head and said, "Please. Peter, please."

"Wait," he said.

She groaned wildly. "Too much waiting."

"Just--" He moved off her, beside her, laying down on his side, facing her with Nathan sitting behind his back. He craned his head around and reached behind himself, grabbing Nathan's arm. "I want you, too. Think we can?"

"Yeah," Nathan said, touching Peter's side. "Yeah, I think so."

Nathan stretched out behind him, spooning up against him, even as he reached between them, rubbing himself with something. "You ready for this?" he said.

"I'm good," Peter said. "Really good. Go ahead."

Then both of them were closing their eyes. Peter's lips parted with a small moan, and Nathan shifted behind him. Peter drew up his top leg, feeling around for a moment with his foot until he'd managed to hook that leg between Claire's, cinching them close again. Claire, so distracted by watching their joining, was caught off-guard by the feeling of his erection against her again.

Nathan murmured nonsense against Peter's ear, and then Peter pulled Claire into his arms, kissing her face and washing away any of the cold tendrils of abandonment that had started to creep into her. He reached down and caught her top leg under the knee, pulling it up over his hip, bringing them perfectly into alignment, with his cock brushing against her again.

"Put me inside you," he whispered.

Her hand shook hard, but she managed to do it. She was watching Nathan kiss along Peter's shoulder, watching Peter lean his head back, eyes closed, expression ecstatic, lost in pleasure. His cock stretched and pushed her, but it felt good. So good. Better than anything else in the world.

Better than anything she'd felt before... until he started to move. That was even better. He wasn't moving fast. Just slow shifts of his hips, into her, then out and back, onto Nathan. Nathan's hand was suddenly on top of hers, both of them resting on Peter's ribs, and he clutched it tight, pained restraint written across his face.

Slow, so slow. Painfully, awfully slow, even as it felt so good. All so precarious. A couple times, Peter shifted back too quickly and slid out of her. Once Peter must have zigged when Nathan zagged and it made Peter cry out for a second in real pain.

But gradually, it changed. They began to figure it out, find a rhythm. She learned when to lift herself and follow him back, Nathan learned the right angle to match Peter's slow dance.

She whispered, "I love you."

She felt him shudder.

Then Nathan kissed him, just behind his ear, that bare spot where his hair ended and his throat began. "I love you, too."

Peter made a sound, like his pained groan earlier.

Claire pressed herself closer, canting her hips to take him all the way inside her, unexpectedly. "Yes, we do."

His hands curled into fists against her back. His eyes stayed tightly shut. He'd stopped moving, but now she was rocking her hips, fucking him. And Nathan--Nathan was doing the same, rolling behind his back, saying, "It's okay. It's okay. Just let it go. Just let go."

The movement was hard, physically. It taxed muscles she rarely used even in cheerleading to lift herself up and into him like that, but she wasn't about to stop, she basically couldn't stop, now that she'd found she could grind her clit against the base of his cock everytime she pushed him into her.

She could feel him fighting her, holding her out, and she said, "Let me in. Let me help. Please, Peter. Please. You're worth it, you deserve it, we love you. Please. I'm right here, just let me in."

Nathan was fucking him hard, now, ramming Peter's body against hers every time she rose up. She worried he might be hurting him, but nothing in Peter's cries, now rythmic and involuntary, sounded like pain.

"Let her," Nathan growled. "Let her, Pete. Come on. Stop this. Just let us help."

"Can't," Peter panted, "I can't, I can't."

Claire felt a sudden surge of anger, matching the arousal inside. "Yes you can. Don't say you can't, Peter fucking Petrelli. Don't tell me you can't. I know what you can do."

"Listen to her," Nathan said, urgently, fucking him even harder, making the bed rattle. "She's right. Stop acting like a spoiled kid, Pete. Grow up. The world needs you, you hippy little punk. Get with the program."

Peter whipped his head back and shoved his hips forward, catching Claire deep and sharp, but that was okay, the pain was okay, because he was coming, hard, and screaming it out, and all she and Nathan could do was hold on through it, forever through it, until finally he collapsed, quivering, between them.

Claire flopped onto her back, her own body screaming, so close and so unfufilled. She shoved her hand between her legs and started rubbing her clit frantically, but it wasn't enough, it wasn't the same. On the other side of Peter, Nathan sat up abruptly, swiping a towel over his groin, then climbing over Peter. Suddenly he was over her, ripping open a condom packet and then rolling the condom on, saying, "Yes or no?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, yes, yes. I'm gonna die if you don't."

And that was all he needed. He slammed into her, fucking her like he'd fucked Peter, hard, deep, fast and relentless, holding her legs up at an almost painful angle, and she vaugely knew she was shouting and clutching his shoulders and it seemed like it only took about ten seconds before she was coming like she'd never come before, wretching every muscle in her body and feeling a cry rip through her raw throat and a flood of wet between her legs.

Then he was coming, too. Pressed deep inside her, shuddering all over, not making a sound, just coming, lips twisted in a grimace of overwhelming feeling.

He fell away, panting, sweat rolling down his face into his hair.

She stretched, arching her back. For a moment, everything ached--then nothing did. That would be her ability, checking in again. Nathan wasn't looking at her. She rolled her head to the side and realized Peter's pale hand was resting in the center of Nathan's golden chest. She sat up and looked.

The first thing she saw was Peter's smile.

***

The arranged themselves into a comfortable cuddling position, with Claire in between the two men, all of them exhausted, drifting and dozing. They rested for about an hour, before Peter was up, saying, "Nathan, you have Hiro's number in your cell right? I should really call him."

Nathan, the only one of them who didn't have the benefit of genetic healing to help him recover from an orgy, groaned as he pushed himself more-or-less upright. "Right now?"

Peter shrugged, a why-not gesture, and went back to Nathan's pants, rooting through his pockets until he found Nathan's cellphone.

"Wait," Nathan said, still kind of groaning. "He can teleport. And he probably will, once he knows where we are. We should all put some clothes on first. And maybe... cover our tracks a bit. Okay?"

"I second that motion," Claire said, quickly. She wasn't a hundred percent sure who Hiro was, but she was a hundred percent sure she didn't want him to see all of this.

"Good point," Peter said.

So they all got up, got clean, and got dressed. They straightened up the room a bit, Nathan went down and checked them out, then they all returned to the roof of the building. The sun was starting to slant towards the horizon, making the sky orange and pink, and a cool breeze was blowing. The skyscrapers of LA were visible in the hazy, smoggy distance. Peter stopped and stared, and the look on his face was one of pure awe.

It made her smile, and then it made her sad. She went over and took his hand. "So, this means you'll be leaving now, right?"

He smiled and stroked her cheek. "I can teleport. I'll visit, I promise. No matter what." Then he seemed to consider that, and added, "Unless I get amnesia again."

"You should get all your identifying information tattooed on your arm," she said.

"Can't," he said, "Tattoos don't stick for us."

"What? Oh man," Clair said. So much for that butterfly she'd secretly been saving up for. "That sucks."

He grinned, then left her to go get Nathan's cellphone back from him. She stood by Nathan and they watched him talk to Hiro--"... Yes. Yes, Hiro, I swear, I do want to use my powers for good. Really. ... Yes, I'm mending my villinous ways."--until suddenly, with a small 'snap,' Hiro appeared on the roof with them.

Peter hung up, and Hiro hugged him enthusiastically, then turned to Claire and said, "You! You're The Cheerleader!"

"Er," said Claire, "Yeah? I guess?"

"He likes to name people based on attributes," Nathan said, driely. "I'm--"

"Flying Man!" Hiro cut him off. He hugged Nathan, too. Nathan bore the affectionate assault stoicly.

They all ended up sitting on the cement wall around the roof as the three men discussed strategies and world-saving. Claire stayed out of the conversation.

At some point, Peter said, "You could come with us, Claire."

But she'd made the decision she'd figured out she had to and said, "I can't. I mean--I'm not ready. You know? I need to... figure some stuff out and things. And, like, graduate from high school.

"But," she added, "You guys have to promise to call me if you need me for anything."

Shortly after that, everybody was ready to go and it was almost time for dinner. Nathan flew her home. Just outside the house, he squeezed her shoulder and said, "You made the right choice. I'm proud of you."

It didn't seem like it should have mattered so much, but it did. She blinked away a tear and then threw her arms around him. They hugged, then she kissed his cheek and stepped away. "Take care of him, okay?"

"I will. Count on it," he said, and then he was six hundred feet up and rising.

She went in.

Mom was almost done with dinner. She looked up when Claire came in. "Hi, honey. Where're the amazing flying Petrelli brothers?"

"Destiny called," Claire said, as she snagged a french fry from the baking sheet. She chewed, swallowed, and said, "They answered."

Mom arched a brow at her. "And you were able to resist the siren call of destiny?"

"Well," Claire said, "I have a math test on Tuesday."

***

The next evening, Mom called her downstairs: "Claire! Come see this! Quick!"

She ran down to find a breaking news bulletin on the TV. A line of guys in all black were kneeling on the pavement outside of a bank, and a guy in a beige trenchcoat and a green ski mask was standing in front of them. He said, "Put all your weapons on the ground," and, as though hypnotized, the guys in black did it. Then another guy in beige and a blue ski mask flew past picking all the weapons up. The commentator cried out in amazement, forgetting for a second his running narration of the events.

Claire felt herself grinning ear-to-ear as she realized what was happening.

The police swept in and rounded up the now-unarmed criminals, and once they were out of the way, four men gathered in the center of frame, all of them wearing various colors of ski masks and matching beige trenchcoats. She could recognize Hiro, Nathan, and Peter, but she wasn't sure who the fourth man in the green was.

It didn't matter though.

She caught a glimpse of Peter's crooked grin behind his red ski mask, just before Hiro and the other man touched and vanished, and Peter and Nathan joined hands and shot up into the sky.

The End

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