Peter/Claude: Last two prompt fics
Titles: Can't Always Get What You Want, Trust Imagination
Author: lotus0kid
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: See anything you recognize? It's not mine.
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Claude, brief cameos by Angela, Claire, Noah, and Sylar
Table/Prompt: Table 3, Prompts 9 and 7 respectively
Word Count: 768, 401
Summary: Fics for prompt words Need and Always
Warning: Oblique spoilers for the S3 finale.
It’s been a long, long time since Peter ran across another eidetic memory. And even the first was second-hand, a forgery of Sylar’s stolen property. But it’s been long enough that when the power surges up from his fingertips and into his brain, he blacks out. Only for a couple of seconds, until everything settles again and he gets a grip on it. Still, he has to excuse himself as the fog lifts from his newly crystalized memories. He’s never really thought about how much he doesn’t think about the early days. How much he’s forgotten. Like the man’s name- it wasn’t... it wasn’t actually his, was it? That made it all the harder to remember when it started slipping away. The exact sound of his voice, foreign syllables drawing Peter’s attention all the more, keeping him close and listening to every word just in case he missed the meaning. Because he couldn’t risk that, even when he thought they had time...
Every detail rushes back, and, more to avoid the other memories roaring towards him like a tidal wave, Peter focuses on this manageable torrent. The sweep of a long, stained coat over fast, strong strides. Iron fingers around his neck, squeezing til spots danced in his vision. A pale, bearded face shrinking as it watched him fall, fall, fall. A laugh that came from his dreams, easy, mocking, free. And if it brought a petulant scowl to Peter’s face then, at least he could take pleasure in hearing his dream come to life. Now it’s just a playback, perfect and untouchable in his head and Peter can’t help but feel the years between it and today in his bones. He’s older than his teacher now. Become a teacher himself, and that realization makes him stop recoiling from the memories.
He never really forgave Claude for leaving. Never let himself understand why he did. It was easier, at the time, when everything was falling apart in his hands, to have someone to blame. Claude fit that role as well as he didn’t fit the role of teacher. Or what Peter expected from a teacher. The memories swirl and coalesce- Peter looks and sees the night Claude left. Sees the tense, desperate, terrified man circling the room like a trapped animal. Sees in his eyes the fear that had been comfortingly absent since Peter told him about his dream. You’ve no idea what you’ve done. The threat of nuclear incineration didn’t hold a candle to that of the Company, not to Claude. Why hasn’t Peter ever realized that?
Peter looks, and sees a derisive thumb jabbing backwards at a poster of Nathan. The usual ache his brother’s spirit calls up throbs gently, but he sets it aside to focus on the seeds sown on that chilly afternoon. How can you not punch that face every time you see it? He was quick to defend Nathan from Claude’s attack, but the true damage, possibly the intended damage, was done. The smile beaming from the poster had always seemed kind and warm, colored by Peter’s love. Under Claude’s criticism it turned flat, too even and white and practiced to be real. It was the first of the illusions Peter had about his family to crack. And none too soon... There’s a lot you don’t see.
Peter can almost roll his eyes now at how blind he’s been. Let himself be, just to hold on to the desperate hope that most of what came after Claude wasn’t his own damn fault. The memories mercifully don’t let him dwell on the weakness and stupidity of his younger self as they change gears and slingshot him forward in time. The faces of his students come to him, numbering in the dozens these days...
Gabriella, with the big family waiting anxiously at home- “You worry a lot about your people, you know?”
James, almost too scared to admit he was anything extraordinary- “Making it a conscious choice when you use it, that’s what makes it yours.”
Umeko, his first empath, both more and less of a challenge because of it- “I’m gonna teach you how to pull each ability out, okay? One at a time.”
All of them, at some point or another- “Remember to breathe.”
Oh god, did I actually quote him? Amusement pulls him out of the memories’ hold, and Peter laughs, shaking his head. Sobers as he wonders if his teacher is still alive. He wonders where he is, if he’s all right, what he would think of his student. Thank you, Claude. You taught me everything I needed to know.
***
When it’s all over, and Sylar lies dead at his feet while still wearing Nathan’s face, Peter catches his breath, wipes the sweat off his forehead, and goes home. He goes into his bedroom, closes the door, and doesn’t leave. He’s decided the black void behind his eyelids is preferrable to anything the world can offer him now.
It’s probably not very long before his bedroom door opens. A weight eases onto the side of his bed. The heat of a hand radiates near his skin, but it doesn’t touch him. He opens his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Peter,” Angela murmurs, “I did what I thought was best.”
He feels a tiny, wet flare of indignation half-heartedly sputter. She continues, talks about how she couldn’t bear to lose Nathan when this... opportunity presented itself. It’s very understandable for all its desperate insanity, and Peter does understand. But he’s too tired, far too tired. When Angela runs out of words, he closes his eyes and rolls onto his side. She reaches out, fingers stroking through his hair once before they slip away with the rest of her. He sighs into the silence, and only feels a slight curiosity as he returns to the void and finds it filling with dreams...
Peter wakes, and gets out of bed. Showers and changes, eats breakfast. Considers packing a bag- decides to stuff books in his coat pockets. He walks to Building 26, figuring he should get used to it.
There’s no one there when he stops outside the glass door. Aside from people entering the building- all of those people he has nothing in common with anymore. But they seem happy. Purposeful. They’ll be okay. He spots Claire standing far down the main hallway. She’s talking with Noah, conveniently enough. Everything about the pair tells him he’s doing the right thing. A second reflection appears beside him and he turns.
If Claude’s expression is anything to go on, he agrees about the Bennets. His gaze flicks over to Peter. “Had enough then?”
“How’d you guess?” An honest question.
“Told ya’ you were easy.”
Peter grins crookedly and nods, “You did.”
A beat passes as Peter’s eyes are drawn back inside. “So? You comin’ or not?” It’s gentler than the first time, and accompanied by a hand on his shoulder that slides down to twine with his own.
The two reflections fade away. “Sure. Let’s go.”
Author: lotus0kid
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: See anything you recognize? It's not mine.
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Claude, brief cameos by Angela, Claire, Noah, and Sylar
Table/Prompt: Table 3, Prompts 9 and 7 respectively
Word Count: 768, 401
Summary: Fics for prompt words Need and Always
Warning: Oblique spoilers for the S3 finale.
It’s been a long, long time since Peter ran across another eidetic memory. And even the first was second-hand, a forgery of Sylar’s stolen property. But it’s been long enough that when the power surges up from his fingertips and into his brain, he blacks out. Only for a couple of seconds, until everything settles again and he gets a grip on it. Still, he has to excuse himself as the fog lifts from his newly crystalized memories. He’s never really thought about how much he doesn’t think about the early days. How much he’s forgotten. Like the man’s name- it wasn’t... it wasn’t actually his, was it? That made it all the harder to remember when it started slipping away. The exact sound of his voice, foreign syllables drawing Peter’s attention all the more, keeping him close and listening to every word just in case he missed the meaning. Because he couldn’t risk that, even when he thought they had time...
Every detail rushes back, and, more to avoid the other memories roaring towards him like a tidal wave, Peter focuses on this manageable torrent. The sweep of a long, stained coat over fast, strong strides. Iron fingers around his neck, squeezing til spots danced in his vision. A pale, bearded face shrinking as it watched him fall, fall, fall. A laugh that came from his dreams, easy, mocking, free. And if it brought a petulant scowl to Peter’s face then, at least he could take pleasure in hearing his dream come to life. Now it’s just a playback, perfect and untouchable in his head and Peter can’t help but feel the years between it and today in his bones. He’s older than his teacher now. Become a teacher himself, and that realization makes him stop recoiling from the memories.
He never really forgave Claude for leaving. Never let himself understand why he did. It was easier, at the time, when everything was falling apart in his hands, to have someone to blame. Claude fit that role as well as he didn’t fit the role of teacher. Or what Peter expected from a teacher. The memories swirl and coalesce- Peter looks and sees the night Claude left. Sees the tense, desperate, terrified man circling the room like a trapped animal. Sees in his eyes the fear that had been comfortingly absent since Peter told him about his dream. You’ve no idea what you’ve done. The threat of nuclear incineration didn’t hold a candle to that of the Company, not to Claude. Why hasn’t Peter ever realized that?
Peter looks, and sees a derisive thumb jabbing backwards at a poster of Nathan. The usual ache his brother’s spirit calls up throbs gently, but he sets it aside to focus on the seeds sown on that chilly afternoon. How can you not punch that face every time you see it? He was quick to defend Nathan from Claude’s attack, but the true damage, possibly the intended damage, was done. The smile beaming from the poster had always seemed kind and warm, colored by Peter’s love. Under Claude’s criticism it turned flat, too even and white and practiced to be real. It was the first of the illusions Peter had about his family to crack. And none too soon... There’s a lot you don’t see.
Peter can almost roll his eyes now at how blind he’s been. Let himself be, just to hold on to the desperate hope that most of what came after Claude wasn’t his own damn fault. The memories mercifully don’t let him dwell on the weakness and stupidity of his younger self as they change gears and slingshot him forward in time. The faces of his students come to him, numbering in the dozens these days...
Gabriella, with the big family waiting anxiously at home- “You worry a lot about your people, you know?”
James, almost too scared to admit he was anything extraordinary- “Making it a conscious choice when you use it, that’s what makes it yours.”
Umeko, his first empath, both more and less of a challenge because of it- “I’m gonna teach you how to pull each ability out, okay? One at a time.”
All of them, at some point or another- “Remember to breathe.”
Oh god, did I actually quote him? Amusement pulls him out of the memories’ hold, and Peter laughs, shaking his head. Sobers as he wonders if his teacher is still alive. He wonders where he is, if he’s all right, what he would think of his student. Thank you, Claude. You taught me everything I needed to know.
***
When it’s all over, and Sylar lies dead at his feet while still wearing Nathan’s face, Peter catches his breath, wipes the sweat off his forehead, and goes home. He goes into his bedroom, closes the door, and doesn’t leave. He’s decided the black void behind his eyelids is preferrable to anything the world can offer him now.
It’s probably not very long before his bedroom door opens. A weight eases onto the side of his bed. The heat of a hand radiates near his skin, but it doesn’t touch him. He opens his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Peter,” Angela murmurs, “I did what I thought was best.”
He feels a tiny, wet flare of indignation half-heartedly sputter. She continues, talks about how she couldn’t bear to lose Nathan when this... opportunity presented itself. It’s very understandable for all its desperate insanity, and Peter does understand. But he’s too tired, far too tired. When Angela runs out of words, he closes his eyes and rolls onto his side. She reaches out, fingers stroking through his hair once before they slip away with the rest of her. He sighs into the silence, and only feels a slight curiosity as he returns to the void and finds it filling with dreams...
Peter wakes, and gets out of bed. Showers and changes, eats breakfast. Considers packing a bag- decides to stuff books in his coat pockets. He walks to Building 26, figuring he should get used to it.
There’s no one there when he stops outside the glass door. Aside from people entering the building- all of those people he has nothing in common with anymore. But they seem happy. Purposeful. They’ll be okay. He spots Claire standing far down the main hallway. She’s talking with Noah, conveniently enough. Everything about the pair tells him he’s doing the right thing. A second reflection appears beside him and he turns.
If Claude’s expression is anything to go on, he agrees about the Bennets. His gaze flicks over to Peter. “Had enough then?”
“How’d you guess?” An honest question.
“Told ya’ you were easy.”
Peter grins crookedly and nods, “You did.”
A beat passes as Peter’s eyes are drawn back inside. “So? You comin’ or not?” It’s gentler than the first time, and accompanied by a hand on his shoulder that slides down to twine with his own.
The two reflections fade away. “Sure. Let’s go.”