WOW! So I owe you all a HUGE apology.

I promised to post a new fanfic like, over a month ago. I suck, I know.

Let me explain!
So, the Boston Red Sox are my favorite baseball team. As many of you know, they won the World Series this year. My AMAZING boyfriend surprised me with tickets to every game of the ALCS, AND all four games of the World Series. I KNOW! AMAZING, right?!

So after I got back from that extended trip, I came down with the flu. FUN FUN FUN FUN! It had me sick in bed for a week.

THEN, I got a phone call from my sister saying that she needed me really badly, so I had to fly out to see her. She's a recovering alcoholic, and had a severe relapse, resulting in me having to check her into rehab. I stayed with her for a week and a half. Good news, she's out of rehab, and seems to be doing fine.

So now that you know WAY more about my life than you ever needed or wanted to know, I have GREAT news!

During all this crap, I was able to write a lot! YAY frequent updates! So, without further delay, I present my newest story. Read and review, lovers!

I'm beginning this story in a different manner than I ususally do, and I'm hoping that it won't require any explaining. Let me know if it's confusing to anyone.


Claire listened in on her father's phone conversations for weeks, desperately trying to figure out what he was up to.

He had promised her no more secrets, but she knew he was hiding something.

The most she could determine was that he was speaking to a professor, and that they were speaking about people with abilities.

Then one night, her dad got careless. He had his cell on speakerphone, and the door to his office was ajar.

A British sounding voice was rattling off names and locations of people with abilities, and when he was finished, he made an excited declaration. "There's one more thing. I've found Peter Petrelli."

Claire had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.

Her father was quiet for a second. "Where is he?"

"Ireland. A place called Cork. The Company is most anxious to capture him."

Noah sighed heavily. "We have to make sure that doesn't happen. How long before they send you to get him?"

The man on the other end sighed. "I can most likely stall them for another week. When I get there, I'll have to warn him. Then, I guess, I'll just tell the Company that he escaped. Are you going to tell your daughter? I know she and Peter were close…"

Noah cut him off. "No. I'm trying to help Claire have a normal life. That's not going to happen if she finds out Peter Petrelli is alive."

Anger burned within Claire as she heard her father say goodbye to the professor.

She climbed the stairs to her room two at a time, closing and locking the door behind her.

She pulled a duffle bag out of her closet and shoved a few days of clothes into it.

Rooting through her underwear drawer, she found her fake passport, and a wad of cash.

She shoved them into the pocket of her jeans, and opened the bedroom window.


The plane ride to Ireland seemed like an eternity.

Even worse, as she climbed into an Irish taxi and asked the driver to take her to Cork, she had no idea where in Cork Peter was.

The cab driver grunted. "I need a specific destination, lady."

She bit her lip. "I…I'm trying to find someone, but I don't know where to look."

The cabbie turned around in his seat a little. "If you're lookin' for someone in Cork, there's only one person to ask. She runs a pub with her brothers, knows everyone. If your friend has so much as taken a breath in Cork, she'll know 'em."

Claire gave him her biggest smile. "Could you take me to her?"


Claire stepped into the noisy pub and looked around.

She spotted a pretty young Irish girl flitting from table to table, refilling beer mugs and chatting up the customers.

As she walked further into the dimly lit room, most of the men in the room turned to stare. A particularly rude group of men whistled.

The Irish girl looked up and cocked an eyebrow at the pretty blonde, who stood in the middle of the room looking lost.

Her blue jeans, low-cut shirt, and thin jacket made it obvious she wasn't used to the chilly Ireland air.

"Can I help ya?"

Claire smiled timidly. "Uh, yeah. I'm looking for someone, and I was told a woman named Caitlin might be able to help me find him."

The girl smiled and motioned for Claire to follow her to the counter. "You're in luck. I'm Caitlin."

Claire's face lit up.

Caitlin put her hands on her hips. "Can I get ya a drink? Beer is half-price on Tuesdays."

Claire shook her head. "Just a water, please."

Caitlin nodded and filled a glass with water. "Now, who can I help ya find? Judgin' by your voice, I'm guessin' he's American."

Claire nodded. "He's about five foot nine, dark brown hair, brown eyes. His mouth curves down a little…"

Caitlin froze.

"His name is Peter Petrelli."

Caitlin dropped the beer mug she had been cleaning, and it shattered on the floor.

A door behind the bar opened. "Caitlin? You okay? I heard a crash…"

Claire gasped. "Peter?"


HAHA! I'm evil, I know. Want more? REVIEW!