1.

Her apron is stained with spilled coffee and ketchup; her hair pulled up into a messy bun with a broken blue pen sticking out. She's put too much makeup on to cover the bags under her eyes. She may be indestructible, but she still needs sleep.

The diner isn't busy, after all, it's close to midnight and the town is a conservative one. No wild parties, no groups of teens out until all hours. The only patrons are older men with nowhere to go and nothing to do but keep ordering cups of coffee from a pretty young girl.

She wishes her father was there to walk her home, but he's away on an assignment, working with Parkman and Suresh to try to find the Petrellis. An empty home and microwave dinner wait for her back at the apartment, sounding more and more depressing with each passing second.

Her supervisor orders her to refill the coffee mugs so she obliges, ignoring the leers of one younger man. The last customer's face hides behind a menu, so she clears her throat and asks him, with just a trace of bitterness, if he wants a refill.

He slowly lowers the menu and her heart stops and her hands releases the pot. It shatters on the ground, leaving her standing in a puddle of boiling liquid and shards of glass.

"Peter," she breathes, scarcely believing he's real.

He smiles crookedly. "Claire," he says, quietly and fondly, in that way of his that makes her heart melt.

She moves to hug him but her supervisor appears, squawking and waving her arms about the mess. The supervisor goes to get the vacuum cleaner but Peter and Claire beat her to it, cleaning up the broken glass together with their bare hands.

2.

The fight rages on, burning as brightly as it had for the past two hours. Peter sits in the corner calmly while Claire and Bennet rage at each other.

He can almost feel Claire's anger, it radiates off of her in waves. He has never seen her so mad before.

"I am not a child, Dad! I'm coming with you and Peter," Claire screams, for the all the world looking like a lost little girl with tears streaming down her face and her hair in pigtails.

"You are seventeen years old," Bennet reasons, patiently folding his hands across his lap. Peter imagines that Bennet is used to dealing with fights. "I can still tell you what to do."

Claire's cheeks burn. "You're not my father," she bites out. "You can't tell me anything!"

Bennet starts. He removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose wearily. "You're right Claire," he says slowly. "I am not your father, and thus have no power over what you do and do not do. But, father or no, I love you, Claire bear, and I am trying to protect you. Make your own choice."

He gets up and moves out the room, his steps weary. Peter watches Claire's shoulder rise and fall as she breathes in and out raggedly. "What am I supposed to do, Peter?" she whimpers, biting her lip.

She looks so lost that he crosses to her and envelopes her in his arms, resting his chin atop her head. Her soft hair smells like cinnamon and vanilla. "Bennet only wants what's best for you. Claire, you've done so much. Maybe you should sit this one out. Have a normal few days, for a change."

She laughs, and his world brightens. "I'll never be normal," Claire says, punching his shoulder lightly. "But I guess I can give it a try."

3.

Bennet's up ahead, screaming something about idiocy into a phone. He's left Peter to deal with her body, Peter to watch as the mangled mess of limbs fixes itself.

Peter knows she can heal, knows there's no way she's dead, but still, it hurts him to look at her, blood matted into her blonde hair. Her body is contorted in every different direction, and Peter's so afraid that she'll never heal.

Yet sure enough her shattered leg comes together again, and her twisted arm twists back the right way. The open wounds along her stomach knit back together and he's too relieved to even look away.

"Peter?" she whispers, coughing up blood.

His eyes prickle with tears and he forgets to be gentle. He hugs her limp body to his with all the strength he can muster. "I thought you were dead," he says nonsensically, stroking her dirty hair.

"Peter, I told you. Dying's no big deal," Claire laughs, but she doesn't move from his grasp.

He pulls back and looks sternly into her eyes. "Listen to me, Claire. Don't ever pull a stunt like that again. We thought you were staying home! If I hadn't heard your thoughts…" He trails off, not wanting to think what might have happened to her if they had not arrived in time to save her from Sylar's grasp.

"I know," Claire says softly, nestling closer to him. "I'm really sorry, Peter. I just… I thought I could help."

"You can, you can. Just let me know next time, okay?"

She nods and Peter tells his conscious to fuck off as he kisses her on the lips.

4.

They've saved the world (twice now), yet they're still saddled with babysitting duty.

Nathan has a function to attend and the nanny is out of town, so he ropes his daughter into watching his sons. Claire waited five minutes before calling Peter, telling him that once again he needs to come to her rescue.

He arrives on the doorstep seconds later; his time travel has gotten immensely better. His face is contorted in a scowl and he raises an eyebrow at Claire when she opens the door. "You needed me?" Peter asks, folding his arms.

"Yes," says Claire solemnly, determined not to let him escape. "Nathan and Heidi are making me baby-sit the boys."

"And?"

Claire pouts. She knows he can't argue with logic. "They love you! You're their Uncle Peter! I can't keep them under control, but you sure can."

He sighs like she's knows he would and steps inside. The boys come running and Peter scoops them up in each arm, carrying them over his shoulder throughout the house. Claire closes the door and leans against it, laughing and watching Peter run about.

Later, when the boys are in bed, the pair pops in a DVD and sets up on the couch with blankets and popcorn. Claire leans her head on Peter's shoulder and gives him a kiss on the cheek for thanks. He turns to her and their eyes lock and Claire can't help but think that Peter may have saved her again, but he's causing her to tread in some very dangerous water.

5.

He shows up at her apartment with a packet of papers and an open bottle of gin.

Claire wraps her robe a bit tighter around her shoulders and ushers him in, placing him on the couch and putting on a pot of coffee to help clear his alcohol induced haze. Even in his pain, Peter is beautiful to her, and she wants nothing more than to smooth out the furrow in his brow.

"Can't believe it," Peter slurs, taking another swig of the bottle.

Claire intercepts his hand, wrenching the gin out of his grasp and depositing it matter-of-factly in the sink. "Can't believe what?"

"Read 'em," he says, handing her the papers.

She humors him and glances at the top of the stack, a birth certificate. Peter's birth certificate, to be exact. It's all in order until she looks at the parents.

"Peter," Claire says slowly, lowering the certificate. "These aren't your parents…"

He laughs bitterly. "Yes, they are. Guess what, Claire? I'm adopted. Just like you. Another little skeleton Angela's kept in her closet all these years."

Claire doesn't know what to say. Suddenly, she's not drowning anymore. She turns to Peter and smiles. She whispers his name and lets her robe drop to the floor.

6.

It's been a crazy couple of months.

It takes Peter a moment to remember where he is, and what he's doing. Angela's in the crowd, peering at him approvingly. Families, too many families, watch expectantly. His head pounds with anxiety.

Then, the music starts.

He turns and looks, and there she is. Floating down the aisle in a heavenly white dress. Peter forgets to breathe but not to smile.

There's Claire. And this time, she's saving him.