It didn't seem fair that the world was collapsing around her and she got to (had to?) survive it. There seemed to be no honor among thieves (or super heroes or innocent citizens) anymore. Everyone was betraying (killing) everyone else and if she had to take much more of it, she was going to explode (not that it would hurt her).

It was better, now, though. She'd met her parents (and her grandparents and, unfortunately, was reacquainted with her uncle) and she was safe. Dad had done his best, and now her grandmother and father and (unfortunately) her uncle were going to protect her in his place. Still. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to have to watch the world shatter (hear it, smell it, taste it, feel it) but she couldn't stop it (she couldn't help it).

And yet she could (would she?).

Funny (or, rather, not so funny), but she hadn't sat down and seriously considered suicide until she lost the tapes of the attempts that she and Zach had made (oh, Zach, she missed him so much). As a child (back when she didn't know she couldn't die, childhood had a very definite line for her), there was never any consideration on whether or not suicide was really an option. But now (now that she knew she was invincible, indestructible), suicide was a constant thought (almost as constant as that of survival.). And of course she'd thought it out (it all became so clear when Peter died) and she knew what to do. Simply lodge a bullet in her brain (or a piece of glass, perhaps? How poetic) and demand that no one remove it. As though there was a possibility they might respect her 'final' wish. She would do it as many times as it took. For a while there (certainly not much more than a week but still so regretfully long) suicide was more constant then life. Her heart beat to the mere thought of release (su-i-cide, su-i-cide, su-i-cide) and her head was clouded with it. She was sure she had been stripped of everything important to her (for a while she had forgotten Mom and Dad and Lyle as she sat in her room and cried and cried and cried) and after that life didn't matter anymore, did it?

Nathan didn't help. In moments of weakness (extraordinary weakness, of course, these days she was always weak) she would call him, looking for comfort and reassurance (and lies, lies that her family didn't know to tell her).

"Listen, Nathan, he can regenerate, can't he? And nothing actually blew up, so nothing would have been lodged in him so how is it even possible that he's dead?"


"Nathan, were you still over New York when you dropped him? 'Cause if so, doesn't that mean that he should still be somewhere in New Y-"

"Claire, please!" Click.

"Nathan, look, my dad says The Company has a fantastic tracking system - he says it just finds you, no strings attached - couldn't we ask The Company to look for h-"



"He's dead, Claire. I watched him blow up. He's not coming back."

"But he can regenerate, Nathan! I can regenerate and he knows me, so he can regenerate!"

"He told me once that he had to be thinking of the person with the power he needed to use in order to use their powers. Face it, Claire; his last thoughts were not of you. Just move on. I have - why can't you?"