A/N: For Jessah. First part of a massive fic rec from her. You better get to watching those shows, hun.

Peter hates this suit. He really, really, really hates this suit. He hates this suit in a way he's never hated any non-living thing before.

"Oh, c'mon, Pete," Sighs Nathan, adjusting his brother's tie just so. "I know you hate 'dressing up', but you know how important this gala is to my campaign. Chin up, it's only for a few hours."

"Only." Pete snorts, taking the bowtie in his hands and undoing all of the careful work Nate had just done. It now lay crooked on his neck, a small sign of defiance from the disgruntled individual. Too tired to protest, Nathan simply shakes his head and pats Peter on the back, stalking out of his bedroom and down to where the limo is waiting to take them to the festivities.

He goes, but he still hates that freaking suit…

The ballroom is certainly something to behold, glittering with the laughter and pseudo-jolliness of it's partygoers. Nathan immediately heads with Heidi to greet some fancy-looking man in a suit, leaving Peter standing amongst a sea of sequined politicians and upper-crust townsfolk.

He decides he really, really needs a drink. And he also really, really needs to get out of this damn suit.

It's ambling over to the bar that he sees her, standing with a fluke of champagne and talking to some schmuck with shellacked hair. Claire sips her drink and laughs politely at something he says, not paying any attention to the way his eyes always seem to drift down the cleavage of her blue dress.

"Claire?" Peter says, deciding it's about time he put a stop to this. He joins them, placing one hand on a pale shoulder. Schmuck looks at him wearily, nostrils flaring as if he can smell competition in the air.

"Oh! Peter," Claire smiles daintily, setting her drink down and turning around to give him a quick, friendly hug. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight. This is Henry Charley." A gesture to Schmuck. "Henry, this is my uncle, Peter Petrelli."

At the word 'uncle', Henry's defensive mode deflates completely (and Peter can swear he sees most of it whoosh out his hair). He settles back in closer to Claire smugly, not paying attention to her 'uncle's' hand still resting on the small of her back.

"Good to meet you, Henry."

"You, too."

"Oh, I'm glad I caught you, Pete." Claire pats his chest with her open palm, like she's trying to remember something. "I need to talk to you real quickly, in private. Do you mind, Henry?"

"Not at all."

"Alright. Peter?" He follows her out of the ballroom without question, barely containing a smile when she gets on her tiptoes to whisper "I really, really love that suit."

Yeah, so does he

Peter really, really loves this suit. Loves it like a brother, a friend, a lover. He wants to die in this suit and be buried in it. He will wear this suit on his wedding day, on his children's wedding days, and possibly every day in between.

He adjusts his bowtie in the bathroom mirror and gets a good view of Claire as she fishes her panties out from one of the stalls, the back of her dress hanging open in a mind-boggling manner.

Yeah. Yeah, he and this suit were made for each other.