Heroes Fic: All These Years Unforgotten
Title: All These Years Unforgotten
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Peter
Rating: PG
Prompt: 36 Smell
Word Count: 939
Summary:
Peter had once heard that a person’s sense of smell was closely associated to their memory. He never put much stock in it, never even thought about it seriously until he found himself alone; until he caught a whiff of strong perfume in a bar and turned around expecting to see her. As his eyes scanned the room for her he caught himself, startled by the memories swirling in his mind - the feel of her hand on his shoulder, the sound of her voice as she whispered in his ear. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to slip into those memories, so long since he had remembered the feel of her body against his. He walked out of the bar, stood in the night and told himself to just forget about her.
When he took Claire’s power she had warned him that he may not want it. When it happened, it had been years since the last time, long enough for him to still feel surprise and amazement as his skin knitted itself back together or his bones slid back into place. It had also been long enough for Claire to grow weary of her static existence. “It’s a curse,” she had whispered in the dark. But he had been on the brink of death, and he hadn’t cared, he just grabbed her hand and felt the electric jolt of her power coursing into him. Later when he thought about it, he would realize that when she pulled away, Claire had looked like Adam. After all of this time, he could almost understand Adam’s motivations, almost understand how a clean slate could have seemed appealing to someone so tired of the status quo, so tired of seeing the same things happen over and over again. But only almost. The only thing immortality had not robbed him of was his respect for human life. To him it became even more sacred, knowing how little time those around him had, while he could live forever and ever.
A diner door opened and there was a sudden scent of fir trees. Peter closed his eyes and recalled Christmas mornings as a child, wide-eyed with anticipation, his brother teasing him and his mother smiling. He blinked, his brother’s laugh resounding in his mind. Nathan… Nathan who he hadn’t seen in decades upon decades, Nathan who had died long ago but in that moment seemed like he could be just beside him. They had their differences, and sometimes Peter had felt that he would have been better off if he could have just cut Nathan out of his heart. But in the end, he was always grateful that he had forgiven Nathan before he lost him.
Peter shook his head, trying not to think on such things. His existence these days left him with too much idle time, he decided. He was a wanderer, a vagabond never staying in one place for very long. His driver license was forged and he couldn’t even recall what he had listed for his birth date. Maybe he would pick someplace and settle down for a while, make some memories to dwell on so he could discard the old ones.
A lifetime after he took this power, Claire had told him that all she saw was death. Everyone they had known from when their powers were new, from when there was discovery and the thrill of their new existence were dying. There were those who died young, long before, but others who managed to live into old age. He had avoided eye contact with Claire during Hiro Nakamura’s funeral; avoided also looking around and noting how many of them weren’t there. It was difficult to watch them go, even more difficult to know that he would never join them. He had been raised Catholic, and had been comforted in the past by his faith that there was something after this life. But his abilities… his immortality, they questioned everything he believed, and he couldn’t quite reconcile the two. He hoped that they all went to a better place, whatever it may be, even if he would never go there.
On a rainy April day Peter had met a woman who was vibrant and happy and light. He had felt alone for a long time, and she reminded him what it felt like to really live again. Claire warned him that it would only end badly, either she would die or she would grow old without him. He ignored Claire; ignored the foreboding he felt and dove in headfirst. And for a while, he was happy. They both were. Abilities and time and mortality seemed to hold no power over them, and sometimes he would forget that it was all doomed from the start. He lost her on a cold November night, and sometimes Peter could still hear the crackling of the flames, and the smell of the smoke that had enveloped them.
The world had changed. And Peter was one of two people who recalled the way it had been. Forgetting hadn’t worked, for it stuck in his mind more than his most recent lifetimes. He supposed that horrid solitude had pushed him to call her, to arrange to meet her. And so he stood in the airport, and watched, waiting for the moment when she would see him. She finally caught his eyes, and crossed the space between them in four quick strides. As he wrapped his arms around Claire he smelled grapefruit shampoo and he closed his eyes, because the only memory that brought back was the distinct feeling of being home.
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Peter
Rating: PG
Prompt: 36 Smell
Word Count: 939
Summary:
Peter had once heard that a person’s sense of smell was closely associated to their memory. He never put much stock in it, never even thought about it seriously until he found himself alone; until he caught a whiff of strong perfume in a bar and turned around expecting to see her. As his eyes scanned the room for her he caught himself, startled by the memories swirling in his mind - the feel of her hand on his shoulder, the sound of her voice as she whispered in his ear. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to slip into those memories, so long since he had remembered the feel of her body against his. He walked out of the bar, stood in the night and told himself to just forget about her.
When he took Claire’s power she had warned him that he may not want it. When it happened, it had been years since the last time, long enough for him to still feel surprise and amazement as his skin knitted itself back together or his bones slid back into place. It had also been long enough for Claire to grow weary of her static existence. “It’s a curse,” she had whispered in the dark. But he had been on the brink of death, and he hadn’t cared, he just grabbed her hand and felt the electric jolt of her power coursing into him. Later when he thought about it, he would realize that when she pulled away, Claire had looked like Adam. After all of this time, he could almost understand Adam’s motivations, almost understand how a clean slate could have seemed appealing to someone so tired of the status quo, so tired of seeing the same things happen over and over again. But only almost. The only thing immortality had not robbed him of was his respect for human life. To him it became even more sacred, knowing how little time those around him had, while he could live forever and ever.
A diner door opened and there was a sudden scent of fir trees. Peter closed his eyes and recalled Christmas mornings as a child, wide-eyed with anticipation, his brother teasing him and his mother smiling. He blinked, his brother’s laugh resounding in his mind. Nathan… Nathan who he hadn’t seen in decades upon decades, Nathan who had died long ago but in that moment seemed like he could be just beside him. They had their differences, and sometimes Peter had felt that he would have been better off if he could have just cut Nathan out of his heart. But in the end, he was always grateful that he had forgiven Nathan before he lost him.
Peter shook his head, trying not to think on such things. His existence these days left him with too much idle time, he decided. He was a wanderer, a vagabond never staying in one place for very long. His driver license was forged and he couldn’t even recall what he had listed for his birth date. Maybe he would pick someplace and settle down for a while, make some memories to dwell on so he could discard the old ones.
A lifetime after he took this power, Claire had told him that all she saw was death. Everyone they had known from when their powers were new, from when there was discovery and the thrill of their new existence were dying. There were those who died young, long before, but others who managed to live into old age. He had avoided eye contact with Claire during Hiro Nakamura’s funeral; avoided also looking around and noting how many of them weren’t there. It was difficult to watch them go, even more difficult to know that he would never join them. He had been raised Catholic, and had been comforted in the past by his faith that there was something after this life. But his abilities… his immortality, they questioned everything he believed, and he couldn’t quite reconcile the two. He hoped that they all went to a better place, whatever it may be, even if he would never go there.
On a rainy April day Peter had met a woman who was vibrant and happy and light. He had felt alone for a long time, and she reminded him what it felt like to really live again. Claire warned him that it would only end badly, either she would die or she would grow old without him. He ignored Claire; ignored the foreboding he felt and dove in headfirst. And for a while, he was happy. They both were. Abilities and time and mortality seemed to hold no power over them, and sometimes he would forget that it was all doomed from the start. He lost her on a cold November night, and sometimes Peter could still hear the crackling of the flames, and the smell of the smoke that had enveloped them.
The world had changed. And Peter was one of two people who recalled the way it had been. Forgetting hadn’t worked, for it stuck in his mind more than his most recent lifetimes. He supposed that horrid solitude had pushed him to call her, to arrange to meet her. And so he stood in the airport, and watched, waiting for the moment when she would see him. She finally caught his eyes, and crossed the space between them in four quick strides. As he wrapped his arms around Claire he smelled grapefruit shampoo and he closed his eyes, because the only memory that brought back was the distinct feeling of being home.