All Those Fires and Floods, Heroes, Peter/Claire, PG
Title: All Those Fires and Floods
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Rating: PG
Notes: My not so triumphant return. Really rough, but if I don't post it before I see the premiere tonight, it will never see the light of day.
It's after she tells her dad, after Jackie dies, after the world and her role in it is starting to make sense and fall apart at the same time-that’s when she starts to feel it. If her dad knows, if someone like Peter Petrelli exists, then she's not just a glitch in the system.
And for five minutes, even in the wake of tragedy, even with everything spinning out of control, she can breathe easy. She feels okay for the first time in her life. She closes her eyes and revels in the feeling of not alone, no secrets, no secrets ever again. And behind her eyelids she sees dark hair and an easy grin. She sees the thrill of meeting someone else with these abilities mirrored in brown eyes.
It's only when they take Lyle that she wakes up. Then Zach. Then her mother, and she can't trust anyone, not even her dad, her dad who would always listen, no matter what.
The secrets are back, and some part of her knows the only person who can help her understand them is Peter.
***
She is the key and always has been, even before he knew who she existed, starting with the dreams tickling in the back of his brain of passing rooftops and cold air whipping against his face. And every time Nathan tells him to dismiss them, they push further until he's on a train, the world frozen around him, and his destiny is handed to him: a web of people he doesn't even know, each with a role to play.
The Painter. The Cop. The Congressman.
And her. The Cheerleader.
He finds her in Isaac's loft, paint on canvas, scared eyes and towering shadows. She is real to him in that moment, as is his journey, and every step he takes just brings him closer to her.
***
When she dreams of running away, it's always to him, even once they're in the same house, with blood and not just everything else binding them together. She wraps the unfamiliar blankets tighter around her body to keep it from treading softly through the dark hallways to Peter's room and finding safety beside him.
***
She's the first person he seeks out when he comes back, and how he comes back is still a mystery to him, just knows that he wakes up, sore and whole in darkness. And a brain still full of cracks and gaps manages to form one clear picture among all the half-formed voices and void: Claire, beautiful and fragile, calling him her hero.
He calls Nathan from a phone booth in Florida, knows that he is fine somehow because Nathan is always fine.
"Help me find her."
"Peter?"
He ignores the relief and anguish that reduces his brother's voice to gravel. "You can find her. I know you can. Tell me where she is."
She's in a small town in California, and he still feels like he's on fire, his body screaming. Regeneration can only do so much; he's alive, but imperfect. Whole but scarred.
"I thought you were..." she whispers when he finds her at her new school leaving cheerleading practice. She doesn't have a new life like he expected, but the old one, slightly rewritten. She reaches up one hand toward his face, like she needs to check that he's real. But she stops, and her hands fall to her sides.
"Officially, I am," he jokes, remembering what Nathan told him. "I'm supposed to keep low for a while. Coming back from the dead requires a lot of paperwork."
She doesn't laugh. She doesn't smile. Something in her eyes makes him wonder if she's forgotten how, and he has to swallow away the roughness in his voice.
He walks with her. She tells him about school, about the new house, and he can hear how the words are rehearsed. "I really like it here," she concludes.
"Really?" he asks even though he knows the answer.
She stops and turns to him, her eyes and cheeks wet. He reaches out and wipes them away with his knuckles without thinking.
"It's like it never happened," she says. She keeps her voice low even in this suburban street that is the perfect picture of safety and solitude. "I don't know what's happened to any of the others, and my dad won't talk about it. I was beginning to think I had dreamed it all." She catches his hand against her cheek and holds it there as she takes a few calming breaths, and he remembers how young she is. How scared.
He wraps his arms around her small shoulders and rests his chin on top of her head.
"Everything is so fucked up," she says, and he laughs when she curses because he forgets that maybe sixteen isn't so young, not when you've already died.
***
She’s lived with secrets all her life from disappearing scars and bruises to the months of memories the Haitian was supposed to have taken from her to the girl from Odessa that she’s not allowed to be anymore. The lies come like breathing when she knows they shouldn’t, and she’s beginning to forget what’s real.
But Peter is here, his arms around her, and she still doesn’t know how and that should be important shouldn’t it? How someone is able to survive exploding? He isn’t completely healed yet, pale scars marking his skin, a tremble in his hands that she knows all too well. The healing comes naturally; ignoring the pain as you mend takes practice.
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Rating: PG
Notes: My not so triumphant return. Really rough, but if I don't post it before I see the premiere tonight, it will never see the light of day.
It's after she tells her dad, after Jackie dies, after the world and her role in it is starting to make sense and fall apart at the same time-that’s when she starts to feel it. If her dad knows, if someone like Peter Petrelli exists, then she's not just a glitch in the system.
And for five minutes, even in the wake of tragedy, even with everything spinning out of control, she can breathe easy. She feels okay for the first time in her life. She closes her eyes and revels in the feeling of not alone, no secrets, no secrets ever again. And behind her eyelids she sees dark hair and an easy grin. She sees the thrill of meeting someone else with these abilities mirrored in brown eyes.
It's only when they take Lyle that she wakes up. Then Zach. Then her mother, and she can't trust anyone, not even her dad, her dad who would always listen, no matter what.
The secrets are back, and some part of her knows the only person who can help her understand them is Peter.
***
She is the key and always has been, even before he knew who she existed, starting with the dreams tickling in the back of his brain of passing rooftops and cold air whipping against his face. And every time Nathan tells him to dismiss them, they push further until he's on a train, the world frozen around him, and his destiny is handed to him: a web of people he doesn't even know, each with a role to play.
The Painter. The Cop. The Congressman.
And her. The Cheerleader.
He finds her in Isaac's loft, paint on canvas, scared eyes and towering shadows. She is real to him in that moment, as is his journey, and every step he takes just brings him closer to her.
***
When she dreams of running away, it's always to him, even once they're in the same house, with blood and not just everything else binding them together. She wraps the unfamiliar blankets tighter around her body to keep it from treading softly through the dark hallways to Peter's room and finding safety beside him.
***
She's the first person he seeks out when he comes back, and how he comes back is still a mystery to him, just knows that he wakes up, sore and whole in darkness. And a brain still full of cracks and gaps manages to form one clear picture among all the half-formed voices and void: Claire, beautiful and fragile, calling him her hero.
He calls Nathan from a phone booth in Florida, knows that he is fine somehow because Nathan is always fine.
"Help me find her."
"Peter?"
He ignores the relief and anguish that reduces his brother's voice to gravel. "You can find her. I know you can. Tell me where she is."
She's in a small town in California, and he still feels like he's on fire, his body screaming. Regeneration can only do so much; he's alive, but imperfect. Whole but scarred.
"I thought you were..." she whispers when he finds her at her new school leaving cheerleading practice. She doesn't have a new life like he expected, but the old one, slightly rewritten. She reaches up one hand toward his face, like she needs to check that he's real. But she stops, and her hands fall to her sides.
"Officially, I am," he jokes, remembering what Nathan told him. "I'm supposed to keep low for a while. Coming back from the dead requires a lot of paperwork."
She doesn't laugh. She doesn't smile. Something in her eyes makes him wonder if she's forgotten how, and he has to swallow away the roughness in his voice.
He walks with her. She tells him about school, about the new house, and he can hear how the words are rehearsed. "I really like it here," she concludes.
"Really?" he asks even though he knows the answer.
She stops and turns to him, her eyes and cheeks wet. He reaches out and wipes them away with his knuckles without thinking.
"It's like it never happened," she says. She keeps her voice low even in this suburban street that is the perfect picture of safety and solitude. "I don't know what's happened to any of the others, and my dad won't talk about it. I was beginning to think I had dreamed it all." She catches his hand against her cheek and holds it there as she takes a few calming breaths, and he remembers how young she is. How scared.
He wraps his arms around her small shoulders and rests his chin on top of her head.
"Everything is so fucked up," she says, and he laughs when she curses because he forgets that maybe sixteen isn't so young, not when you've already died.
***
She’s lived with secrets all her life from disappearing scars and bruises to the months of memories the Haitian was supposed to have taken from her to the girl from Odessa that she’s not allowed to be anymore. The lies come like breathing when she knows they shouldn’t, and she’s beginning to forget what’s real.
But Peter is here, his arms around her, and she still doesn’t know how and that should be important shouldn’t it? How someone is able to survive exploding? He isn’t completely healed yet, pale scars marking his skin, a tremble in his hands that she knows all too well. The healing comes naturally; ignoring the pain as you mend takes practice.