Fic: Just One Kiss
Title: Just One Kiss
Author:
kathrynthegr8
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2599
Warnings: Canon incest, Swearing, Spoilers through season 2, Speculations for season 3
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes or anything associated with Heroes.
A/N: Written for
heroes_contest, the prompt: Not to Blame. Thanks to the usual suspects for beta help and putting up with my whining. This is my first attempt at fluff, I won't be trying it again anytime soon.
Comments are a kindness, I might not deserve them, but they are nice to reminder that I'm not talking to myself.
It took him a long time to realize that Nathan wasn’t bleeding. He checked his pulse repeatedly; it was normal. If anything, it looked like his brother was fast asleep, not shot repeatedly in the chest. Peter continued to press his hand over the bullet holes, closed his eyes and hoped for yet another miracle.
That miracle had already happened although he didn’t know it until the ambulance stopped at the airport and Nathan sat up and pulled his shirt off, revealing a police issue bullet proof vest. He grinned at his brother. “Sorry, Pete; had to look real. Thanks for the vest, Matt.”
Peter had never been so pissed off and happy at the same time in his life. Nathan and Matt led the way through the airport to a private jet and before he could think to ask, Nathan was explaining that Lindeman’s death had left an empire of transportation, real estate, and muscle for hire up for grabs. The Petrellis, of course, knew when to grab.
Within moments, the three men where on their way to New York in the posh comfort that only an obscene amount of money could buy. Peter tried to relax; he envied when Matt settled into a seat and promptly started snoring. Nathan talked incessantly on his cell phone, his voice lower than normal, snatches of one-sided conversations that Peter couldn’t make out.
Finally his brother ended his call and put his phone away. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.” He poured two glasses of whiskey into cut crystal glasses and offered one to Peter. It burned like liquid fire as it slid down his throat, then settled in his belly and warmed him from the inside out.
“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” He was tired of waiting for Nathan to explain things in his own time. At this rate they’d be in New York before he had any answers about what had just happened.
“You saw what happened. I was shot.” Nathan paused and finished his drink, closing his eyes and tipping his head back at the last of it, obviously enjoying the taste. When he opened his eyes and focused them on Peter again, they were clear and focused, but he looked tired too. “Earlier today I got a call from Noah Bennet. The Company put a hit out on me. He advised me to wear a bullet proof vest and let them think their mission was accomplished.”
“So who shot you?” Peter asked, pushing his drink aside.
“If I had to guess? Noah Bennet. He’s a good shot.” Nathan rubbed his chest and sighed before continuing. “The Company doesn’t want their dirty laundry aired in public. If we are going to bring it down, it will have to be from the inside.”
“Are you going to tell me your plan?”
“Don’t worry, little brother. We’ll need your help soon enough. In the mean time, you need to get your life back.” Nathan reached over and hugged Peter’s neck; Nathan’s stubble scratched Peter’s chin before he pulled away. “Why don’t you take a nap; you look like shit.”
He hated when his brother dismissed him like he was staff rather than family, but trying to make Nathan talk when he didn’t want to was an exercise in futility. Peter sat back in the plush seat and closed his eyes. He prayed he wouldn’t dream.
New York was the same as when he left it; busy and crowded and loud. Peter took a taxi to his apartment, jingling the keys that his brother handed him in the airport. They felt foreign to his fingers. How was he supposed to ‘get his life back’? What did that even mean? He didn’t have a job to go back to, and even if he did, he wasn’t sure he wanted it back.
His apartment door creaked open in greeting when he opened it. Home sweet home, only not. The living room was trashed with liquor bottles strewn about, and shards of glass glittered across the floor. Someone had been here while he was away; upon further inspection he noted that his bed had been slept in, and the refrigerator was full of cartons of old Chinese food. Nathan was the only one that had a spare key to his place, but Peter didn’t want to think of the implications of his brother staying here. He must have been out of his mind with worry. And what about Heidi? She wouldn’t let Nathan wallow in a whiskey bottle.
Even though his brother didn’t talk about his problems, his stay in Peter’s apartment spoke volumes. Something had happened between Nathan and Heidi, and he knew it would be like pulling teeth to get Nathan to talk about it. He could probably get the story from their mother, nothing happened in the Petrelli family with out her knowledge, but he cringed at the thought of broaching the subject with her. His best chance of getting an honest answer would come from Heidi herself. Peter made a mental note to give her a call in the next few days.
Peter sighed and began the mindless task of cleaning up after his brother. The familiar motions of sweeping the floor and loading the dishwasher lulled him into a feeling of normalcy. Finally, he showered several days of grime off his body and fell into his freshly made bed, where sleep eluded him until morning.
The sound of his alarm clock startled him from a light doze that had finally resembled sleep. His mind was a jumble of memories he thought forever lost. Images of Simone and Isaac swam in and out of his consciousness, as did Hiro, Claude, and Adam. But one face haunted him more than all the others, her green eyes looked to him with trust. She had called him her hero, and he had saved her in hopes of saving the world. What had happened to the cheerleader? Where was Claire?
Sheets of rain beat against his windows in the morning, but Nathan’s stay had left him with no coffee and caffeine was needed to face this day or any day for that matter. Peter grabbed a light jacket for protection from the downpour and mused at the things he missed without really knowing he had missed them. Things like gray rainy days and the view from his living room windows.
He was enjoying his first sip of coffee at his favorite neighborhood place when he found the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. It took him a few moments to unfold it and smooth it out one handed before he could make out his own cramped handwriting.
Reasons NOT To Love Her
1. She’s my niece.
2. She’s too young.
3. She deserves better than me.
4. Nathan would kill me.
5. SHE’S MY NIECE!!
Peter’s heart began to race with the realization of the truth he had been hiding from himself. He was hopelessly in love with Claire. Had been from the first moment he bumped into her in the school hallway. He was her prisoner, helpless when she smiled, entranced by her innocence. It was lust and longing and every song he heard on the radio was about her.
And then there was the guilt. Guilt is a funny thing, it hides in dark corners and attacks when you least expect it. Peter had tried everything to assuage his. It wasn’t his fault that they were related, but they were. He couldn’t help who he loved, but she was so much younger than him. He had repressed his feelings, hoping they would go away. Even if she felt the same way about him, nothing would come of it if he did nothing, said nothing. Brilliant plan.
And then losing his memory had done just that. Now he remembered everything. The sudden rush of emotion nearly brought him to his knees.
He managed to lean against the counter as his chest constricted in his heart. It had been months. In all likelihood she thought he was dead. Was she okay? Where was she now? Was she safe? Surely Nathan would have said something if any harm had come to her.
“Are you okay, sir?” the girl behind the counter asked with concern. “You don’t look good.”
Peter managed to smile at her and stand upright. “Is there a phone I can use?”
The girl raised a pierced eyebrow in surprise. “You don’t have a cell?”
“It exploded.” He shrugged and smiled at her hopefully.
“You can use mine.” She winked at him before grabbing a tiny pink phone from her back pocket and handing it over.
“Thank you; I owe you one.” He quickly punched in the numbers for Nathan and held his breath when it started to ring.
Nathan’s voice was brusque when he answered. “Yes?”
“Nathan, I have to ask you something. Is Claire- Is she safe?” He hoped he sounded calm and not as panicked as he felt.
“She’s fine. Bennet moved his family to Costa Verde, California. What’s this about?” As always, Nathan sounded annoyed when confronted with family situations that made him uncomfortable.
Peter looked surreptitiously around him; he was trying to keep his voice down as the girl he'd borrowed the phone form watched him with interest from behind the espresso machine. “Did she- Does she think I’m dead? Has anyone told her that I’m alive, that you’re alive? I mean, hell, Nathan, half the world saw the shooting on live TV!”
“Claire is fine. She is a big girl and can handle herself. The longer people think I may be dying, the more time I have to work on destroying the Company unseen. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
“Jesus, Nathan. She’s your daughter.” He was always amazed at what lengths his brother would go to when he wanted something done. Nathan had no intention of talking to Claire, as always he’d use emotional distance as a weapon and not care who got hurt in the process.
“Peter, you have always had a problem with priorities. Let me explain this to you; Claire knowing about any of this right now is unimportant. We have work to do.” Nathan’s voice hadn’t changed, but there was no denying the emphasis behind his words. “Meet me at the house in an hour.”
Peter ended the call, placed the phone on the counter and walked out of the shop.
A few minutes later he was on the roof of his apartment building, arms spread wide, eyes closed. How could he have forgotten her; it shouldn’t have been possible. The only explanation was that he hid Claire and his feelings for her from himself. Now that he finally remembered everything, he knew his moral compass was broken.
He took a deep breath and took to the air as fast as he dared. His brother’s wrath, that she was younger than him, that they were related; none of it mattered now. All he could think of was Claire. It was time to set things right.
Costa Verde was warm and sunny, almost like a dream. It wasn’t hard to find the Bennets in the small coastal town; a quick trip to the local library and Peter was on his way to their house. He didn’t have a plan or any idea what he was going to say to her, he only knew that he had to see her.
Without much thought, Peter phased through the front door and turned invisible. No one appeared to be home, but he moved quietly up the stairs and looked for Claire’s room, the whole time telling himself that this was crazy. What was he going to do? Appear out of nowhere and yell, ‘Surprise! I’m not dead!’?
Her room was easy to pick out from the rest and he spent long moments looking at everything; the pictures on the walls, the books on her desk, the teddy bears that covered her bed. His mouth suddenly went dry when he considered the gravity of his actions. He was intruding in a young girl’s life, when he knew he shouldn’t. He froze when he heard a door from downstairs open and close. Peter could make out the sound of someone singing quietly as they walked up the stairs and headed his way.
Claire walked down the hallway, humming quietly to herself before closing the door and tossing an armload of school books on her bed. Peter held his breath and waited for something, he wasn’t sure what. He watched silently as she sat at her desk and slipped off her shoes. She remained still for a moment before glancing around her room suspiciously.
It was now or never.
Peter made himself visible and waited. He didn’t have to wait too long. “Oh my god! Peter!” Claire covered her mouth as if to stifle a scream as her eyes bulged in disbelief.
He stepped forward and opened his arms. “It’s me, Claire. I’m alive.”
Claire ran the few feet that separated them, and Peter closed his eyes in anticipation of holding her once again. When her fist connected with his mouth, the impact split his lip and the shock forced him to the ground. Stunned, he looked up at her in disbelief.
“You’re alive! That’s just great.” Claire towered over him and crossed her arms as her whole body shook. “I watched my father die last week. We had a funeral. Nathan was shot on national TV and no one in your family will return my calls. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. I had to leave my high school, my friends, so that my family would be safe. But I had to deal with all of this alone; you know why? Because we watched you explode. I thought you died. I mourned for you!” Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and her face was bright red with emotion.
Peter touched his mouth gingerly as he sat up. The pain was already gone and the wounds were healed. “I’m sorry. I- I don’t know what to say. I had amnesia. I was in Ireland. I haven’t been myself is a long time.”
Claire kneeled down beside him and wiped her eyes. “Dammit, Peter. I needed you.”
“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say and braced for the worst.
“Why are you here now?” She leaned over him as she wiped the tears off her face.
“You make my stomach hurt.”
“Wha-?”
“Whenever I look at you, think about you; my stomach hurts. It reminds me of what happens just before I fly. I get nervous and excited all at the same time and I shake inside. Only it goes away once I’m in the air, you get used to it. With you it never goes away.”
He reached for her hands and pulled her into his arms. “Because I realized something; I never kissed you. And I really wanted to.” Peter nuzzled her neck and ran his lips lightly over her pulse point and then he touched her face with his fingertips, trying desperately to memorize her beauty through touch. “Close your eyes, Claire. I’m not going anywhere.”
Finally he pressed his lips to hers, gently at first and then with more pressure when she opened to him, velvet soft and sweet. Loving her was never going to be easy. It was probably not the right thing. But Peter didn’t want to be anywhere else with anyone else.
Author:
kathrynthegr8
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2599
Warnings: Canon incest, Swearing, Spoilers through season 2, Speculations for season 3
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes or anything associated with Heroes.
A/N: Written for
heroes_contest, the prompt: Not to Blame. Thanks to the usual suspects for beta help and putting up with my whining. This is my first attempt at fluff, I won't be trying it again anytime soon.
Comments are a kindness, I might not deserve them, but they are nice to reminder that I'm not talking to myself.
It took him a long time to realize that Nathan wasn’t bleeding. He checked his pulse repeatedly; it was normal. If anything, it looked like his brother was fast asleep, not shot repeatedly in the chest. Peter continued to press his hand over the bullet holes, closed his eyes and hoped for yet another miracle.
That miracle had already happened although he didn’t know it until the ambulance stopped at the airport and Nathan sat up and pulled his shirt off, revealing a police issue bullet proof vest. He grinned at his brother. “Sorry, Pete; had to look real. Thanks for the vest, Matt.”
Peter had never been so pissed off and happy at the same time in his life. Nathan and Matt led the way through the airport to a private jet and before he could think to ask, Nathan was explaining that Lindeman’s death had left an empire of transportation, real estate, and muscle for hire up for grabs. The Petrellis, of course, knew when to grab.
Within moments, the three men where on their way to New York in the posh comfort that only an obscene amount of money could buy. Peter tried to relax; he envied when Matt settled into a seat and promptly started snoring. Nathan talked incessantly on his cell phone, his voice lower than normal, snatches of one-sided conversations that Peter couldn’t make out.
Finally his brother ended his call and put his phone away. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.” He poured two glasses of whiskey into cut crystal glasses and offered one to Peter. It burned like liquid fire as it slid down his throat, then settled in his belly and warmed him from the inside out.
“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” He was tired of waiting for Nathan to explain things in his own time. At this rate they’d be in New York before he had any answers about what had just happened.
“You saw what happened. I was shot.” Nathan paused and finished his drink, closing his eyes and tipping his head back at the last of it, obviously enjoying the taste. When he opened his eyes and focused them on Peter again, they were clear and focused, but he looked tired too. “Earlier today I got a call from Noah Bennet. The Company put a hit out on me. He advised me to wear a bullet proof vest and let them think their mission was accomplished.”
“So who shot you?” Peter asked, pushing his drink aside.
“If I had to guess? Noah Bennet. He’s a good shot.” Nathan rubbed his chest and sighed before continuing. “The Company doesn’t want their dirty laundry aired in public. If we are going to bring it down, it will have to be from the inside.”
“Are you going to tell me your plan?”
“Don’t worry, little brother. We’ll need your help soon enough. In the mean time, you need to get your life back.” Nathan reached over and hugged Peter’s neck; Nathan’s stubble scratched Peter’s chin before he pulled away. “Why don’t you take a nap; you look like shit.”
He hated when his brother dismissed him like he was staff rather than family, but trying to make Nathan talk when he didn’t want to was an exercise in futility. Peter sat back in the plush seat and closed his eyes. He prayed he wouldn’t dream.
New York was the same as when he left it; busy and crowded and loud. Peter took a taxi to his apartment, jingling the keys that his brother handed him in the airport. They felt foreign to his fingers. How was he supposed to ‘get his life back’? What did that even mean? He didn’t have a job to go back to, and even if he did, he wasn’t sure he wanted it back.
His apartment door creaked open in greeting when he opened it. Home sweet home, only not. The living room was trashed with liquor bottles strewn about, and shards of glass glittered across the floor. Someone had been here while he was away; upon further inspection he noted that his bed had been slept in, and the refrigerator was full of cartons of old Chinese food. Nathan was the only one that had a spare key to his place, but Peter didn’t want to think of the implications of his brother staying here. He must have been out of his mind with worry. And what about Heidi? She wouldn’t let Nathan wallow in a whiskey bottle.
Even though his brother didn’t talk about his problems, his stay in Peter’s apartment spoke volumes. Something had happened between Nathan and Heidi, and he knew it would be like pulling teeth to get Nathan to talk about it. He could probably get the story from their mother, nothing happened in the Petrelli family with out her knowledge, but he cringed at the thought of broaching the subject with her. His best chance of getting an honest answer would come from Heidi herself. Peter made a mental note to give her a call in the next few days.
Peter sighed and began the mindless task of cleaning up after his brother. The familiar motions of sweeping the floor and loading the dishwasher lulled him into a feeling of normalcy. Finally, he showered several days of grime off his body and fell into his freshly made bed, where sleep eluded him until morning.
The sound of his alarm clock startled him from a light doze that had finally resembled sleep. His mind was a jumble of memories he thought forever lost. Images of Simone and Isaac swam in and out of his consciousness, as did Hiro, Claude, and Adam. But one face haunted him more than all the others, her green eyes looked to him with trust. She had called him her hero, and he had saved her in hopes of saving the world. What had happened to the cheerleader? Where was Claire?
Sheets of rain beat against his windows in the morning, but Nathan’s stay had left him with no coffee and caffeine was needed to face this day or any day for that matter. Peter grabbed a light jacket for protection from the downpour and mused at the things he missed without really knowing he had missed them. Things like gray rainy days and the view from his living room windows.
He was enjoying his first sip of coffee at his favorite neighborhood place when he found the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. It took him a few moments to unfold it and smooth it out one handed before he could make out his own cramped handwriting.
Reasons NOT To Love Her
1. She’s my niece.
2. She’s too young.
3. She deserves better than me.
4. Nathan would kill me.
5. SHE’S MY NIECE!!
Peter’s heart began to race with the realization of the truth he had been hiding from himself. He was hopelessly in love with Claire. Had been from the first moment he bumped into her in the school hallway. He was her prisoner, helpless when she smiled, entranced by her innocence. It was lust and longing and every song he heard on the radio was about her.
And then there was the guilt. Guilt is a funny thing, it hides in dark corners and attacks when you least expect it. Peter had tried everything to assuage his. It wasn’t his fault that they were related, but they were. He couldn’t help who he loved, but she was so much younger than him. He had repressed his feelings, hoping they would go away. Even if she felt the same way about him, nothing would come of it if he did nothing, said nothing. Brilliant plan.
And then losing his memory had done just that. Now he remembered everything. The sudden rush of emotion nearly brought him to his knees.
He managed to lean against the counter as his chest constricted in his heart. It had been months. In all likelihood she thought he was dead. Was she okay? Where was she now? Was she safe? Surely Nathan would have said something if any harm had come to her.
“Are you okay, sir?” the girl behind the counter asked with concern. “You don’t look good.”
Peter managed to smile at her and stand upright. “Is there a phone I can use?”
The girl raised a pierced eyebrow in surprise. “You don’t have a cell?”
“It exploded.” He shrugged and smiled at her hopefully.
“You can use mine.” She winked at him before grabbing a tiny pink phone from her back pocket and handing it over.
“Thank you; I owe you one.” He quickly punched in the numbers for Nathan and held his breath when it started to ring.
Nathan’s voice was brusque when he answered. “Yes?”
“Nathan, I have to ask you something. Is Claire- Is she safe?” He hoped he sounded calm and not as panicked as he felt.
“She’s fine. Bennet moved his family to Costa Verde, California. What’s this about?” As always, Nathan sounded annoyed when confronted with family situations that made him uncomfortable.
Peter looked surreptitiously around him; he was trying to keep his voice down as the girl he'd borrowed the phone form watched him with interest from behind the espresso machine. “Did she- Does she think I’m dead? Has anyone told her that I’m alive, that you’re alive? I mean, hell, Nathan, half the world saw the shooting on live TV!”
“Claire is fine. She is a big girl and can handle herself. The longer people think I may be dying, the more time I have to work on destroying the Company unseen. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
“Jesus, Nathan. She’s your daughter.” He was always amazed at what lengths his brother would go to when he wanted something done. Nathan had no intention of talking to Claire, as always he’d use emotional distance as a weapon and not care who got hurt in the process.
“Peter, you have always had a problem with priorities. Let me explain this to you; Claire knowing about any of this right now is unimportant. We have work to do.” Nathan’s voice hadn’t changed, but there was no denying the emphasis behind his words. “Meet me at the house in an hour.”
Peter ended the call, placed the phone on the counter and walked out of the shop.
A few minutes later he was on the roof of his apartment building, arms spread wide, eyes closed. How could he have forgotten her; it shouldn’t have been possible. The only explanation was that he hid Claire and his feelings for her from himself. Now that he finally remembered everything, he knew his moral compass was broken.
He took a deep breath and took to the air as fast as he dared. His brother’s wrath, that she was younger than him, that they were related; none of it mattered now. All he could think of was Claire. It was time to set things right.
Costa Verde was warm and sunny, almost like a dream. It wasn’t hard to find the Bennets in the small coastal town; a quick trip to the local library and Peter was on his way to their house. He didn’t have a plan or any idea what he was going to say to her, he only knew that he had to see her.
Without much thought, Peter phased through the front door and turned invisible. No one appeared to be home, but he moved quietly up the stairs and looked for Claire’s room, the whole time telling himself that this was crazy. What was he going to do? Appear out of nowhere and yell, ‘Surprise! I’m not dead!’?
Her room was easy to pick out from the rest and he spent long moments looking at everything; the pictures on the walls, the books on her desk, the teddy bears that covered her bed. His mouth suddenly went dry when he considered the gravity of his actions. He was intruding in a young girl’s life, when he knew he shouldn’t. He froze when he heard a door from downstairs open and close. Peter could make out the sound of someone singing quietly as they walked up the stairs and headed his way.
Claire walked down the hallway, humming quietly to herself before closing the door and tossing an armload of school books on her bed. Peter held his breath and waited for something, he wasn’t sure what. He watched silently as she sat at her desk and slipped off her shoes. She remained still for a moment before glancing around her room suspiciously.
It was now or never.
Peter made himself visible and waited. He didn’t have to wait too long. “Oh my god! Peter!” Claire covered her mouth as if to stifle a scream as her eyes bulged in disbelief.
He stepped forward and opened his arms. “It’s me, Claire. I’m alive.”
Claire ran the few feet that separated them, and Peter closed his eyes in anticipation of holding her once again. When her fist connected with his mouth, the impact split his lip and the shock forced him to the ground. Stunned, he looked up at her in disbelief.
“You’re alive! That’s just great.” Claire towered over him and crossed her arms as her whole body shook. “I watched my father die last week. We had a funeral. Nathan was shot on national TV and no one in your family will return my calls. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. I had to leave my high school, my friends, so that my family would be safe. But I had to deal with all of this alone; you know why? Because we watched you explode. I thought you died. I mourned for you!” Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and her face was bright red with emotion.
Peter touched his mouth gingerly as he sat up. The pain was already gone and the wounds were healed. “I’m sorry. I- I don’t know what to say. I had amnesia. I was in Ireland. I haven’t been myself is a long time.”
Claire kneeled down beside him and wiped her eyes. “Dammit, Peter. I needed you.”
“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say and braced for the worst.
“Why are you here now?” She leaned over him as she wiped the tears off her face.
“You make my stomach hurt.”
“Wha-?”
“Whenever I look at you, think about you; my stomach hurts. It reminds me of what happens just before I fly. I get nervous and excited all at the same time and I shake inside. Only it goes away once I’m in the air, you get used to it. With you it never goes away.”
He reached for her hands and pulled her into his arms. “Because I realized something; I never kissed you. And I really wanted to.” Peter nuzzled her neck and ran his lips lightly over her pulse point and then he touched her face with his fingertips, trying desperately to memorize her beauty through touch. “Close your eyes, Claire. I’m not going anywhere.”
Finally he pressed his lips to hers, gently at first and then with more pressure when she opened to him, velvet soft and sweet. Loving her was never going to be easy. It was probably not the right thing. But Peter didn’t want to be anywhere else with anyone else.