Heroes Fic: and so this gets sacrificed
and so this gets sacrificed
claire; peter/claire- pg
1274 words
the hard part spoilers
never was a cornflake girl
thought that was a good solution
tori amos| cornflake girl
-
“It’s really not so bad,” he says to her, passing her for the bathroom instead of a stop.
Claire’s still sixteen, still wide-eyed, and still believes that the walls are caving in. Her grandmother’s not exactly the biggest help and she’s more than aware that she should’ve let this whole real parents thing go awhile back. Nowadays, it’s about trying to find where she stopped and should’ve stayed.
Her legs dangle off the bed.
“Yeah,” she’s idle, “I guess.”
-
She buys a postcard at a newspaper stand, creasing it in half where the large Paris! curls across the glossy picture.
Peter’s job, today, is to keep her out of the house.
“You’d like Heidi,” he murmurs.
He’s gentle and she almost smiles, re-nursing that crush on him from time to time. There’s nothing she can do, you know, no inherent sidestep of the obvious. But what she knows, what she grasps, is that Peter was the only (is, Claire, is) one that really pushes to keep her grounded.
She changes the subject. “How’s your head?”
He buys Time for Nathan’s picture, his fingers curling over the stapled spine. He kept the glass and she cut herself twice- for luck, she guess. Each time a reminder slips, he grabs this odd look for his face and never really brings himself to answer the question.
He shrugs. She’s used to it.
-
“You’ll warm to the idea.”
Her grandmother has hard eyes, a lined smile, and she misses Mom’s I’m not trying to be your best friend speeches more than she expects.
“I’m sure,” Claire shoots bitterly.
-
So the world’s going to end.
Or well, New York’s going to explode (continues reminder like a skipping record- Claire’s been practicing the metaphor all week) and she’s still sixteen, still miles away from where she wants to be and off to Paris because she’s been completely written off in this family.
It’s late and she can’t sleep, her eyes peeled to the ceiling and listening to the city. There was going to be a class trip here, next year, she remembers. Jackie (oh god, Jackie) had been bragging about getting her parents’ permission to do some really high-end shopping. Or somethin’ like that- Claire keeps those memories locked now, untainted because she wants something to fallback on. It’s insurance, in case, in case she really loses her mind
You can’t blame her, okay, Claire is sixteen going on seventeen and too many miles away. She subjects herself to repetition to survive.
She jumps though when there’s a click and her door squeaks a sigh as it opens. She shifts up, her legs tangling with the sheets again.
Peter leans against the frame. “Can’t sleep.”
Her lips purse. “It’s going around.”
He nods, stepping inside and shutting the door. She shifts again and tucks her knees to her chest as if to make herself smaller. Every girl’s got that moment anyhow, a desire to disappear just for a little bit. The problem is that Claire knows she’s got to inevitably face the viciousness of the outcome anyway.
“I want to stay.”
She doesn’t recognize her own voice, the husky appeal for reason. So she says it again, peering up at him. “I want to stay. I want to help.”
He says nothing.
“Peter-”
He moves instead, to the side of the bed, sitting by her knees and the mattress moaning under his weight. His palms press against his thighs and he rubs his legs, up and down, not looking at her once.
“You need to stay,” he says firmly.
She blinks. “Then why am I going?”
She can answer her own question in parts, touching everything from her status as the illegitimate daughter of Nathan to the fact that everyone seems to be too wary of her Grandmother and what she can do. But she’s not entirely useless or stupid- her visions of family are far from this though. It’s funny, admitting that she’s homesick.
“I’m taking care of it.”
He interrupts her and she blinks, turning her gaze away.
Liar, she thinks.
-
There’s an argument in the kitchen, before breakfast.
A door slams, her Grandmother’s hand squeezes her shoulder as she disappears, and it’s just her and Daddy-dearest and the cereal boxes.
“You’ll like Paris,” he says quietly. But doesn’t look at her.
Her fists clench instead.
-
She imagines everything else instead.
Peter tries to talk to her, tries to get her alone, but it’s clear how much the opposition outweighs possible talks of destiny and understanding. She needs that ample restoration, the sense of guidance, and it’s clear it’s never going to come.
It’s a spectacle in the kitchen.
“You’ll be fine,” he says at dinner.
Nathan and Grandmother look between them and Claire starts to realize, she’s holding her breath. Her shoulders slump.
“Fine.” It’s all she can humor them with.
She picks at dinner and underneath the table, her knees are pressing against his thigh. She thinks about pressing harder, but dives back into the blur of conversation that’s trying to cover all of this. It’s almost funny how this family was made for politics.
Peter’s hand grazes her elbow. I’m sorry, he should say.
-
Claire’s got bags and books, but no goodbyes.
It’s after one when she finishes packing, fingering a new sweater and then scrapping off the price tag of her luggage.
“I’m sorry.”
Here’s how this is suddenly harder: Peter’s nothing but genuine and Claire finds improbability hard to grasp when she talks to him. He’s the one that she connected to, the one that she- This could go on and on, different layers unearthing the fundamental point.
She doesn’t want to go.
“It’s fine,” she replies. She’s not up to talking.
His hand brushes against her back and she turns around. A part of her wants to know why and the other doesn’t. She’s trying disassociate herself with this sense of loneliness that she’s had since she’s known or been semi-conscious of the fact that things were going to change. She could deal with it better surrounded by familiarity and now, now, she feels herself closing off.
His hand drops to her hip. “No,” he says, “it’s now.”
She shakes her head. Her lips part, but his other hand rises and his palm presses against her cheek. He drops his forehead against hers. He’s resigned and she’s the mirror image; the control is an illusion.
“Maybe, I’ll come after you.”
She laughs thickly, shaking her head as his fingers curl in her hair. Her hands brush against his chest and releases herself for the moment.
“Right,” she murmurs. “You-”
And Peter kisses her. They both have nothing else.
His mouth is heavy with remorse, slowly brushing against hers over and over and over again. She doesn’t want to stop him- this is toe curling like the movies- and for a moment, she forgets and kisses him back. She’s clumsy and unsure because this shouldn’t be happening and she should stick to some semblance of rationality. Peter’s embrace is too warm, too welcomed, and she wants to be selfish for once. So she slides her tongue against his lip, stops kissing with her teeth, and breathing right back into him.
For just a little bit.
When they break away- they is important, they makes her think about possibility more than she should, more than she needs to- Peter peers down at her and then kisses her forehead.
This is a goodbye.
-
In Paris, her grandmother removes all the televisions in the new house.
“You have a city to discover,” she lies with a smile.
end.
claire; peter/claire- pg
1274 words
the hard part spoilers
never was a cornflake girl
thought that was a good solution
tori amos| cornflake girl
-
“It’s really not so bad,” he says to her, passing her for the bathroom instead of a stop.
Claire’s still sixteen, still wide-eyed, and still believes that the walls are caving in. Her grandmother’s not exactly the biggest help and she’s more than aware that she should’ve let this whole real parents thing go awhile back. Nowadays, it’s about trying to find where she stopped and should’ve stayed.
Her legs dangle off the bed.
“Yeah,” she’s idle, “I guess.”
-
She buys a postcard at a newspaper stand, creasing it in half where the large Paris! curls across the glossy picture.
Peter’s job, today, is to keep her out of the house.
“You’d like Heidi,” he murmurs.
He’s gentle and she almost smiles, re-nursing that crush on him from time to time. There’s nothing she can do, you know, no inherent sidestep of the obvious. But what she knows, what she grasps, is that Peter was the only (is, Claire, is) one that really pushes to keep her grounded.
She changes the subject. “How’s your head?”
He buys Time for Nathan’s picture, his fingers curling over the stapled spine. He kept the glass and she cut herself twice- for luck, she guess. Each time a reminder slips, he grabs this odd look for his face and never really brings himself to answer the question.
He shrugs. She’s used to it.
-
“You’ll warm to the idea.”
Her grandmother has hard eyes, a lined smile, and she misses Mom’s I’m not trying to be your best friend speeches more than she expects.
“I’m sure,” Claire shoots bitterly.
-
So the world’s going to end.
Or well, New York’s going to explode (continues reminder like a skipping record- Claire’s been practicing the metaphor all week) and she’s still sixteen, still miles away from where she wants to be and off to Paris because she’s been completely written off in this family.
It’s late and she can’t sleep, her eyes peeled to the ceiling and listening to the city. There was going to be a class trip here, next year, she remembers. Jackie (oh god, Jackie) had been bragging about getting her parents’ permission to do some really high-end shopping. Or somethin’ like that- Claire keeps those memories locked now, untainted because she wants something to fallback on. It’s insurance, in case, in case she really loses her mind
You can’t blame her, okay, Claire is sixteen going on seventeen and too many miles away. She subjects herself to repetition to survive.
She jumps though when there’s a click and her door squeaks a sigh as it opens. She shifts up, her legs tangling with the sheets again.
Peter leans against the frame. “Can’t sleep.”
Her lips purse. “It’s going around.”
He nods, stepping inside and shutting the door. She shifts again and tucks her knees to her chest as if to make herself smaller. Every girl’s got that moment anyhow, a desire to disappear just for a little bit. The problem is that Claire knows she’s got to inevitably face the viciousness of the outcome anyway.
“I want to stay.”
She doesn’t recognize her own voice, the husky appeal for reason. So she says it again, peering up at him. “I want to stay. I want to help.”
He says nothing.
“Peter-”
He moves instead, to the side of the bed, sitting by her knees and the mattress moaning under his weight. His palms press against his thighs and he rubs his legs, up and down, not looking at her once.
“You need to stay,” he says firmly.
She blinks. “Then why am I going?”
She can answer her own question in parts, touching everything from her status as the illegitimate daughter of Nathan to the fact that everyone seems to be too wary of her Grandmother and what she can do. But she’s not entirely useless or stupid- her visions of family are far from this though. It’s funny, admitting that she’s homesick.
“I’m taking care of it.”
He interrupts her and she blinks, turning her gaze away.
Liar, she thinks.
-
There’s an argument in the kitchen, before breakfast.
A door slams, her Grandmother’s hand squeezes her shoulder as she disappears, and it’s just her and Daddy-dearest and the cereal boxes.
“You’ll like Paris,” he says quietly. But doesn’t look at her.
Her fists clench instead.
-
She imagines everything else instead.
Peter tries to talk to her, tries to get her alone, but it’s clear how much the opposition outweighs possible talks of destiny and understanding. She needs that ample restoration, the sense of guidance, and it’s clear it’s never going to come.
It’s a spectacle in the kitchen.
“You’ll be fine,” he says at dinner.
Nathan and Grandmother look between them and Claire starts to realize, she’s holding her breath. Her shoulders slump.
“Fine.” It’s all she can humor them with.
She picks at dinner and underneath the table, her knees are pressing against his thigh. She thinks about pressing harder, but dives back into the blur of conversation that’s trying to cover all of this. It’s almost funny how this family was made for politics.
Peter’s hand grazes her elbow. I’m sorry, he should say.
-
Claire’s got bags and books, but no goodbyes.
It’s after one when she finishes packing, fingering a new sweater and then scrapping off the price tag of her luggage.
“I’m sorry.”
Here’s how this is suddenly harder: Peter’s nothing but genuine and Claire finds improbability hard to grasp when she talks to him. He’s the one that she connected to, the one that she- This could go on and on, different layers unearthing the fundamental point.
She doesn’t want to go.
“It’s fine,” she replies. She’s not up to talking.
His hand brushes against her back and she turns around. A part of her wants to know why and the other doesn’t. She’s trying disassociate herself with this sense of loneliness that she’s had since she’s known or been semi-conscious of the fact that things were going to change. She could deal with it better surrounded by familiarity and now, now, she feels herself closing off.
His hand drops to her hip. “No,” he says, “it’s now.”
She shakes her head. Her lips part, but his other hand rises and his palm presses against her cheek. He drops his forehead against hers. He’s resigned and she’s the mirror image; the control is an illusion.
“Maybe, I’ll come after you.”
She laughs thickly, shaking her head as his fingers curl in her hair. Her hands brush against his chest and releases herself for the moment.
“Right,” she murmurs. “You-”
And Peter kisses her. They both have nothing else.
His mouth is heavy with remorse, slowly brushing against hers over and over and over again. She doesn’t want to stop him- this is toe curling like the movies- and for a moment, she forgets and kisses him back. She’s clumsy and unsure because this shouldn’t be happening and she should stick to some semblance of rationality. Peter’s embrace is too warm, too welcomed, and she wants to be selfish for once. So she slides her tongue against his lip, stops kissing with her teeth, and breathing right back into him.
For just a little bit.
When they break away- they is important, they makes her think about possibility more than she should, more than she needs to- Peter peers down at her and then kisses her forehead.
This is a goodbye.
-
In Paris, her grandmother removes all the televisions in the new house.
“You have a city to discover,” she lies with a smile.
end.