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She's lost track of how many times they've saved each others lives.
Such an amazing occurrence that was quickly losing it's shine after so much time. She never thought she'd begin to take such a simple gift for granted, but death was no longer a scary thought, and staying alive was. Such was her life now, and she almost hated it.
Almost.
The familiar routine of staying in one location and then picking up and moving at a seconds notice was now ingrained and she didn't hesitate, didn't groan, didn't complain that this was the fourth time this month. It was getting harder to stay in the one spot; harder to stay hidden and safe.
Sylar had outed 'Nathan' as one of them all those months ago, and according to Peter, had gone into hiding. The man who stepped into his place as President was leading the witch hunt, and condemning all of those with special powers at an alarming rate. Claire was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Nathan was dead, killed by Sylar. Replaced by Sylar.
It explained a few things, and left more questions lying open and unanswered on the imaginary table in her mind. Questions that would not be answered any time soon, because no one around her had the answers.
Sometimes she just wanted it all to stop; other times she wished time would move faster.
So many friends, family members, all dead. Both her fathers were dead, and she had not had time to grieve - no one had. When Peter returned from his fight with Sylar, looking as though he'd picked a fight with a freight train in a snowstorm, the defeat in his eyes had broken her heart. And when he told her of Nathan's death, she'd been so concerned with consoling him, that she'd pushed everything aside to be the brave one.
After that they didn't speak about it.
She heard whispers of the Resistance, a group of people like themselves, fighting back against the government. They were labeled terrorists, and Claire supposed that it was an apt description for a group who specifically targeted high-profile government members to get their point across. On the surface she was appalled; she had abhorred bloodshed - of anyone - and still did, even while her head reasoned that sometimes it was necessary. Particularly if you wanted to stay alive.
She never asked Peter if he was a member of the Resistance.
He disappeared at night, knowing better than to think she didn't notice. After she went to bed at night, he'd stick his head around the door to say goodnight, and even in the darkness she could see that he was fully dressed. He was always back in the morning, looking like he hadn't slept, but alive and well, and that was all that she could ask for. She didn't want to know what he did when he went out.
In her mind Peter was perfect, and she didn't want that to change. He was what she clung to, pinning all her hope on the idea that one day they would get through all this together.
He was all the family she had left.
Huddled underneath the blankets in one of the bed that Sam had provided for them when they had relocated, she was still fully clothed, sans her shoes which she'd kicked off before climbing beneath the covers. She wasn't tired or cold, but she felt defeat in her very bones and it shook her.
It was dark before she saw Peter again, and she hadn't moved. Sitting upright, surrounded by sheets and blankets, she watched the world outside the window. The dark blue of the sky, and the even darker silhouette's of the trees were foreign and far away.
"Hey."
Her eyes moved in the direction of the door, though her head did not. Peter took that as an invitation to walk into the room and find a spot on the bed next to her. One arm snaked around her shoulders and pulled her towards him, and she left herself fall. His shoulder was bony underneath his jacket, but the gesture was so full of warmth that her mind played tricks on her and told her it was comfortable.
She sighed, and held back a sob. "You're going out tonight, aren't you?"
Peter didn't answer, his eyes locked on the same outside world that had captivated her for the better part of the evening. The tightening of his arm across her shoulders was the only sign that he'd even heard her.
"Don't go."
She wouldn't beg him to stay; she still had enough dignity left for that. But she just wanted this one little piece of comfort. The security of knowing that Peter was right there, while she slept in this new place.
He pressed a kiss onto her forehead and pulled her closer.
"I'm not going anywhere."