The Price of a Memory, Part 17/17
Title: The Price of a Memory (17/17)
Characters: Claude, Peter, Mohinder, special guest appearances by Molly and Nathan
Pairings: Peter/Claude eventually
Rating: R
Warnings: slash, AU
Spoilers: Through the end of Season One. AU after that but shares some parallels with certain elements from the new season.
Summary: A few months after the events of How to Stop an Exploding Man, Claude meets Peter again to find he’s not the person Claude once knew. Now Claude has to find out why.
Disclaimer: Heroes and the associated characters don’t belong to me.
Previous Parts: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen
The Price of a Memory
Part 17/17
“I bloody well kissed him, didn’t I?”
It was almost worth the indignity of having admitted such a thing aloud just to see Suresh’s usually composed expression slacken into a gape as his fork froze halfway between his plate and his mouth. He was able to school his features back into a look polite interest, but it took longer than normal and when he did the look he got instead was of the kind adults generally used on troubled kids prone to random outbursts.
“Oh?” he said with careful neutrality.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Claude said. “You said you wanted me to talk about it. I’m talking about it.”
In fact, if Claude recalled correctly, Suresh had orchestrated these faux family dinners for the sole purpose of getting Claude to open up about just how bereft he felt without the Boy Wonder around to keep him company. Claude would sooner have dropped dead than go anywhere near the idea that he might have missed Peter at all or been in any way affected by his absence in the three weeks since he’d been gone. But even he was not immune to the occasional need to unload and Molly had been telling a particularly boring story about a useless children’s show she’d been watching earlier in the day. It had seemed like the right time to finally confess.
“Okay,” Suresh said, his tone still one of patient tolerance.
Claude sighed, discontent. He poked at his food with his fork. Suresh was beginning to squirm just a bit.
“When was this?” Suresh asked. “The kiss, I mean.”
“The night he left,” Claude said. “In Isaac Mendez’s loft. It just sort of happened.”
“Do you love him?” Molly asked.
Leave it to a child to drop a question like that casual as can be, all eager enthusiasm like this was all just some kind of screwed up fairy princess story to her. Like things were ever that easy.
“Most days I don’t even like him,” Claude said.
“Does he love you?” Suresh asked a little too shrewdly.
“He didn’t pull away or slap me afterward,” Claude said. “Must count for something.”
Suresh hesitated. “But he did leave the city immediately thereafter.”
“Well,” Claude said. “Not immediately.”
Still, it was near enough the truth to say that he had. In retrospect, Claude really should have known better than to agree to leave Peter alone in Isaac Mendez’s loft to mull things over on his own after the kiss. But the moment they’d shared had left him feeling dazed and complacent. So much so that when he’d arrived at Suresh’s flat the next day to find nothing of Peter but a hurried phone message saying he’d gone to see his brother and not to worry or expect him back any time soon, he’d actually been surprised.
Naturally, Peter’s absence had alarmed him at first. And back then he’d thought the boy would only be gone for a few days. A week at most, depending on how long it took Nathan Petrelli to complete the unenviable job of having to break the news to Peter that the boy’s memory loss had been his own doing. Then he’d come back and they could pick up where they’d left off that night in the artist’s loft.
What Claude had forgotten was that no explanation from Nathan Petrelli came without a liberal dose of manipulative guilt and brainwashing to go with it. Three weeks gone, there was no telling what kind of damage Petrelli might have done. No telling what it was keeping Peter there except that maybe he didn’t have a compelling enough reason to come back. Not after everything that had happened.
And Claude knew he wasn’t the only one thinking it. Even Suresh had given up the illusion of optimism, a strategy he’d insisted on at first purely for Molly’s sake. But even she was smart enough to see right through his constant reassurances that Peter still loved them all despite the fact that he’d gone off to spend time with his real family. Loving them and being a physical presence in their lives were two entirely different things.
“Just as well, though,” Claude said. “That he left when he did, I mean.”
“Why is that?” Suresh asked.
“He had a girlfriend once,” Claude said. “Well, a sort of a girlfriend.”
“Simone Deveaux,” Suresh said. “Her boyfriend was the painter who saw the future.”
“Right,” Claude said, somehow unsurprised that Suresh knew this story. “At any rate, he pined after her for months, didn’t he? Then she slept with him and he was completely besotted with her, all doe-eyed and thinking they were in love. It was disgusting.”
“So?”
“So,” Claude said. “Clearly, Peter is an idiot.”
The leap in logic left Suresh temporarily lost but then he seemed to put two and two together. “And you’re not sure if you want to involve yourself with an idiot,” Suresh said. “Particularly one who flees the scene the moment you show him how you feel.”
“You don’t have to phrase it in such grandiose terms, you know,” Claude said. “I kissed him and he ran away. We all get the point.”
Suresh smirked. “Do you know what I think?” he asked musingly.
“Dare I ask,” Claude muttered.
“I think he remembered you,” Suresh said. “Over six months of his memories gone without a trace. All of it a complete blank to him except for a few scraps here and there. And one of those scraps is you.” He pointed his fork at Claude. “Not me. Not Simone Deveaux. Not even Nathan. He remembered you.” He twisted a piece of spaghetti onto his utensil, avoiding Claude’s eyes. “Even you have to admit that that must mean something.”
They settled back into a contemplative silence, finishing their dinner and moving all at once to clear their places. Trying to decide if it was his turn to do the washing up, Claude couldn’t help but begin to wonder when it was he’d managed to become so domestic. Before he could pinpoint the exact moment, a sound came from the hallway like the scraping of footsteps and the jangling of keys being inserted into the lock. He and Suresh exchanged quick looks before the door opened, revealing the unexpected visitor.
“Peter!” Molly cried, running up to him and wrapping herself around his waist in an unself-conscious display of affection possible only in pre-adolescent children.
“Hi,” Peter said, returning Molly’s eager embrace, freeing himself just enough to offer an awkward wave in Suresh and Claude’s direction.
“You’re home,” Suresh said, then flinched at his choice of words. “That is, you’re here,” he amended.
“Yeah,” Peter said, stepping away from the little girl, who beamed up at him. “Sorry. I would have told you I was coming but…” He trailed off. No knowing what exactly the “but” entailed.
“We’ve just finished dinner,” Suresh said. To Claude, he couldn’t have sounded more like someone’s housewife if he’d tried. “There was some left over if you’re hungry.”
“Maybe in a minute,” Peter said. “I, um, I actually came to talk to Claude.” He looked up for the first time since he’d come into the room and met Claude’s gaze square on, his expression unreadable except for the question in his eyes.
“Oh,” Suresh said with mild surprise.
“Yeah,” Claude said. “Oh.”
Peter cleared his throat in the awkward pause that followed. “Maybe we could go in Molly’s room?” he suggested.
It was that or the bathroom if Peter insisted on having a private chat without leaving Suresh’s place. Claude lifted his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. Confidence seeming to leak from him like a sieve, Peter moved toward the designated room and Claude followed close behind, throwing a glance at Suresh over his shoulder before closing the door between them.
“All right, let’s have it,” Claude said, still facing the door. “Sentimental farewells are not my forte--”
Whatever else he might have said, it was cut off when Peter’s hands came down on his shoulders, forcing him to turn around so they faced each other. Taken by surprise, Claude’s token resistance amounted to a muffled, half-hearted protest just as the boy leaned up and captured Claude’s mouth with his own with such power that all other thoughts vanished from Claude’s mind forthwith. He heard himself moan as Peter pressed against him, their stiffening cocks colliding through the barrier of clothing. Peter gasped at the friction while Claude took the opportunity to slip his hands underneath the boy’s shirt, running his fingers up and down Peter’s slim torso while Peter kept a firm grip on his backside.
It had been a long time. Otherwise, Claude might have employed something more like grace and tact when he propelled them both toward the bed in the middle of the room. Instead, all he felt was his own desperation to finish what they’d started three weeks ago, not sure if he would ever be given the chance to do so again.
He wasn’t even aware that Peter was trying to say anything until he attempted to push the younger man down onto the mattress only to be stopped by two hands laying themselves flat against his chest.
“Wait,” Peter said, breathless.
Claude nearly growled with frustration.
“Don’t,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. Dimly, he became aware that one of his hands was still holding the fly to Peter’s trousers and he let go of it with reluctance. Fucking tease.
“Don’t what?” Peter asked.
“ ‘I can’t do this,’” Claude said. “Don’t say it. Not now.”
Peter pulled his head back so that they could look each other in the eye. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
Claude blinked. “No?” he said.
“Not exactly,” Peter said, a smile on his swollen lips. “I mean…” He pressed himself against Claude to illustrate his point. Claude hissed a little at the spark of pleasure brought on by the brief contact. “Molly’s room probably isn’t the best place but, well…I’ve been waiting to do this for a couple of weeks now.”
Claude shook his head, wearing his own ironic smile. “Funny, because I’ve only just realized it, but I think I’ve been waiting for this since we first met.” He moved his lips to Peter’s neck. “Sheets can be washed, you know,” he added helpfully.
Peter laughed. “Claude,” he said. “Don’t you want to know what I was going to say?”
“I’m on tenterhooks, me,” Claude said. “But first thing’s first.” He reached for Peter’s fly again but Peter’s hands came down to stop him. He waited for Claude to meet his gaze, darkened now with lust, before saying,
“There’s something I need to show you first.”
Claude wasn’t sure, but this didn’t sound promising. Still, the sooner he let Peter do his show and tell, the sooner they could get back to more enjoyable versions of the same game and so he decided to indulge the boy.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Peter looked toward the window. Outside it, the fire escape was illuminated by borrowed light from nearby buildings and a few distant streetlights. The boy lifted the window with effort before climbing out of it. Confused, Claude followed him, the less than stable structure creaking somewhat under their combined weight. Shivering in the cool night air, he watched as Peter stepped toward the railing, first straddling it and then standing on the other side, only his firm grip on the rusty pole keeping him from plunging into the darkness of the alley below.
“Couldn’t you wait to kill yourself until after we’ve had sex?” Claude asked.
Peter snorted but didn’t say anything as, with an obvious effort of will, he made himself let go of the railing. Only his heels still balanced on the platform on which they stood and for a moment, it looked like the boy really was going to slip. Except before he had the chance to fall, he was deliberately stepping out away from the fire escape, one foot in front of the other into thin air.
Reacting purely on instinct, Claude dove to catch him but was brought up short when, instead of plummeting into a Dumpster, Peter stayed level with the fire escape. But it wasn’t until he moved out a few more steps that Claude recognized what he was seeing.
“Bloody hell,” he breathed in honest amazement.
“I’ve been practicing,” Peter said. “Nathan showed me. And then I started doing it without him around.”
“Interesting,” Claude said.
“The other day I got a paper cut while I was reading a magazine and it healed right in front of me,” Peter said. “As if it was never there. I also overheard someone else’s thoughts. And I found you just by thinking of you. I knew you were here.”
“That’s a new one,” Claude said.
Peter looked down at his feet, which continued to be supported by nothing. “You didn’t think I was coming back.”
Suddenly, Claude didn’t need to ask exactly whose thoughts Peter had overheard.
“Why did you?” he asked. “Come back, that is.” He paused. “Other than the promise of great sex, of course.”
Peter grinned at him, coming back toward the fire escape. He didn’t need help as he moved back over to the other side but Claude reached out anyway, grabbing him round the waist and holding him steady as the fire escape made another of its unhappy groaning sounds beneath them.
“Breadcrumbs,” Peter said and with their chests pressed together as they were, it took Claude a second to realize this was meant to be an answer to his question.
“Breadcrumbs,” Claude repeated. When Peter didn’t elaborate, he added, “I’m lost.”
“Exactly,” Peter said before capturing Claude’s lips with his own.
The kiss grew heated quickly and Claude got the feeling before long that they were giving the neighbors quite a show. But if the people watching from windows hadn’t died of shock from seeing Peter floating fifty feet above the ground, then this wouldn’t kill them either. Or if it did, Claude wasn’t in a position to care much as he wrapped Peter in his arms and reflected on the good fortune of second chances.
END
Optional Afterword (with speculation on the possibility of a sequel)
All the People We Used to Know (the sequel)
ETA: Oh, and also a bit of good news…
The Price of a Memory won an award for Best Claude Characterization at the Heroes Slash Fanfiction Awards! \o/ It was also the runner-up for Best Romance Fic. Needless to say, I am thrilled. A big, sloppy thank you to everyone who voted for me and congratulations to all the other nominees and winners!
Characters: Claude, Peter, Mohinder, special guest appearances by Molly and Nathan
Pairings: Peter/Claude eventually
Rating: R
Warnings: slash, AU
Spoilers: Through the end of Season One. AU after that but shares some parallels with certain elements from the new season.
Summary: A few months after the events of How to Stop an Exploding Man, Claude meets Peter again to find he’s not the person Claude once knew. Now Claude has to find out why.
Disclaimer: Heroes and the associated characters don’t belong to me.
Previous Parts: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen
The Price of a Memory
Part 17/17
“I bloody well kissed him, didn’t I?”
It was almost worth the indignity of having admitted such a thing aloud just to see Suresh’s usually composed expression slacken into a gape as his fork froze halfway between his plate and his mouth. He was able to school his features back into a look polite interest, but it took longer than normal and when he did the look he got instead was of the kind adults generally used on troubled kids prone to random outbursts.
“Oh?” he said with careful neutrality.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Claude said. “You said you wanted me to talk about it. I’m talking about it.”
In fact, if Claude recalled correctly, Suresh had orchestrated these faux family dinners for the sole purpose of getting Claude to open up about just how bereft he felt without the Boy Wonder around to keep him company. Claude would sooner have dropped dead than go anywhere near the idea that he might have missed Peter at all or been in any way affected by his absence in the three weeks since he’d been gone. But even he was not immune to the occasional need to unload and Molly had been telling a particularly boring story about a useless children’s show she’d been watching earlier in the day. It had seemed like the right time to finally confess.
“Okay,” Suresh said, his tone still one of patient tolerance.
Claude sighed, discontent. He poked at his food with his fork. Suresh was beginning to squirm just a bit.
“When was this?” Suresh asked. “The kiss, I mean.”
“The night he left,” Claude said. “In Isaac Mendez’s loft. It just sort of happened.”
“Do you love him?” Molly asked.
Leave it to a child to drop a question like that casual as can be, all eager enthusiasm like this was all just some kind of screwed up fairy princess story to her. Like things were ever that easy.
“Most days I don’t even like him,” Claude said.
“Does he love you?” Suresh asked a little too shrewdly.
“He didn’t pull away or slap me afterward,” Claude said. “Must count for something.”
Suresh hesitated. “But he did leave the city immediately thereafter.”
“Well,” Claude said. “Not immediately.”
Still, it was near enough the truth to say that he had. In retrospect, Claude really should have known better than to agree to leave Peter alone in Isaac Mendez’s loft to mull things over on his own after the kiss. But the moment they’d shared had left him feeling dazed and complacent. So much so that when he’d arrived at Suresh’s flat the next day to find nothing of Peter but a hurried phone message saying he’d gone to see his brother and not to worry or expect him back any time soon, he’d actually been surprised.
Naturally, Peter’s absence had alarmed him at first. And back then he’d thought the boy would only be gone for a few days. A week at most, depending on how long it took Nathan Petrelli to complete the unenviable job of having to break the news to Peter that the boy’s memory loss had been his own doing. Then he’d come back and they could pick up where they’d left off that night in the artist’s loft.
What Claude had forgotten was that no explanation from Nathan Petrelli came without a liberal dose of manipulative guilt and brainwashing to go with it. Three weeks gone, there was no telling what kind of damage Petrelli might have done. No telling what it was keeping Peter there except that maybe he didn’t have a compelling enough reason to come back. Not after everything that had happened.
And Claude knew he wasn’t the only one thinking it. Even Suresh had given up the illusion of optimism, a strategy he’d insisted on at first purely for Molly’s sake. But even she was smart enough to see right through his constant reassurances that Peter still loved them all despite the fact that he’d gone off to spend time with his real family. Loving them and being a physical presence in their lives were two entirely different things.
“Just as well, though,” Claude said. “That he left when he did, I mean.”
“Why is that?” Suresh asked.
“He had a girlfriend once,” Claude said. “Well, a sort of a girlfriend.”
“Simone Deveaux,” Suresh said. “Her boyfriend was the painter who saw the future.”
“Right,” Claude said, somehow unsurprised that Suresh knew this story. “At any rate, he pined after her for months, didn’t he? Then she slept with him and he was completely besotted with her, all doe-eyed and thinking they were in love. It was disgusting.”
“So?”
“So,” Claude said. “Clearly, Peter is an idiot.”
The leap in logic left Suresh temporarily lost but then he seemed to put two and two together. “And you’re not sure if you want to involve yourself with an idiot,” Suresh said. “Particularly one who flees the scene the moment you show him how you feel.”
“You don’t have to phrase it in such grandiose terms, you know,” Claude said. “I kissed him and he ran away. We all get the point.”
Suresh smirked. “Do you know what I think?” he asked musingly.
“Dare I ask,” Claude muttered.
“I think he remembered you,” Suresh said. “Over six months of his memories gone without a trace. All of it a complete blank to him except for a few scraps here and there. And one of those scraps is you.” He pointed his fork at Claude. “Not me. Not Simone Deveaux. Not even Nathan. He remembered you.” He twisted a piece of spaghetti onto his utensil, avoiding Claude’s eyes. “Even you have to admit that that must mean something.”
They settled back into a contemplative silence, finishing their dinner and moving all at once to clear their places. Trying to decide if it was his turn to do the washing up, Claude couldn’t help but begin to wonder when it was he’d managed to become so domestic. Before he could pinpoint the exact moment, a sound came from the hallway like the scraping of footsteps and the jangling of keys being inserted into the lock. He and Suresh exchanged quick looks before the door opened, revealing the unexpected visitor.
“Peter!” Molly cried, running up to him and wrapping herself around his waist in an unself-conscious display of affection possible only in pre-adolescent children.
“Hi,” Peter said, returning Molly’s eager embrace, freeing himself just enough to offer an awkward wave in Suresh and Claude’s direction.
“You’re home,” Suresh said, then flinched at his choice of words. “That is, you’re here,” he amended.
“Yeah,” Peter said, stepping away from the little girl, who beamed up at him. “Sorry. I would have told you I was coming but…” He trailed off. No knowing what exactly the “but” entailed.
“We’ve just finished dinner,” Suresh said. To Claude, he couldn’t have sounded more like someone’s housewife if he’d tried. “There was some left over if you’re hungry.”
“Maybe in a minute,” Peter said. “I, um, I actually came to talk to Claude.” He looked up for the first time since he’d come into the room and met Claude’s gaze square on, his expression unreadable except for the question in his eyes.
“Oh,” Suresh said with mild surprise.
“Yeah,” Claude said. “Oh.”
Peter cleared his throat in the awkward pause that followed. “Maybe we could go in Molly’s room?” he suggested.
It was that or the bathroom if Peter insisted on having a private chat without leaving Suresh’s place. Claude lifted his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. Confidence seeming to leak from him like a sieve, Peter moved toward the designated room and Claude followed close behind, throwing a glance at Suresh over his shoulder before closing the door between them.
“All right, let’s have it,” Claude said, still facing the door. “Sentimental farewells are not my forte--”
Whatever else he might have said, it was cut off when Peter’s hands came down on his shoulders, forcing him to turn around so they faced each other. Taken by surprise, Claude’s token resistance amounted to a muffled, half-hearted protest just as the boy leaned up and captured Claude’s mouth with his own with such power that all other thoughts vanished from Claude’s mind forthwith. He heard himself moan as Peter pressed against him, their stiffening cocks colliding through the barrier of clothing. Peter gasped at the friction while Claude took the opportunity to slip his hands underneath the boy’s shirt, running his fingers up and down Peter’s slim torso while Peter kept a firm grip on his backside.
It had been a long time. Otherwise, Claude might have employed something more like grace and tact when he propelled them both toward the bed in the middle of the room. Instead, all he felt was his own desperation to finish what they’d started three weeks ago, not sure if he would ever be given the chance to do so again.
He wasn’t even aware that Peter was trying to say anything until he attempted to push the younger man down onto the mattress only to be stopped by two hands laying themselves flat against his chest.
“Wait,” Peter said, breathless.
Claude nearly growled with frustration.
“Don’t,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. Dimly, he became aware that one of his hands was still holding the fly to Peter’s trousers and he let go of it with reluctance. Fucking tease.
“Don’t what?” Peter asked.
“ ‘I can’t do this,’” Claude said. “Don’t say it. Not now.”
Peter pulled his head back so that they could look each other in the eye. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
Claude blinked. “No?” he said.
“Not exactly,” Peter said, a smile on his swollen lips. “I mean…” He pressed himself against Claude to illustrate his point. Claude hissed a little at the spark of pleasure brought on by the brief contact. “Molly’s room probably isn’t the best place but, well…I’ve been waiting to do this for a couple of weeks now.”
Claude shook his head, wearing his own ironic smile. “Funny, because I’ve only just realized it, but I think I’ve been waiting for this since we first met.” He moved his lips to Peter’s neck. “Sheets can be washed, you know,” he added helpfully.
Peter laughed. “Claude,” he said. “Don’t you want to know what I was going to say?”
“I’m on tenterhooks, me,” Claude said. “But first thing’s first.” He reached for Peter’s fly again but Peter’s hands came down to stop him. He waited for Claude to meet his gaze, darkened now with lust, before saying,
“There’s something I need to show you first.”
Claude wasn’t sure, but this didn’t sound promising. Still, the sooner he let Peter do his show and tell, the sooner they could get back to more enjoyable versions of the same game and so he decided to indulge the boy.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Peter looked toward the window. Outside it, the fire escape was illuminated by borrowed light from nearby buildings and a few distant streetlights. The boy lifted the window with effort before climbing out of it. Confused, Claude followed him, the less than stable structure creaking somewhat under their combined weight. Shivering in the cool night air, he watched as Peter stepped toward the railing, first straddling it and then standing on the other side, only his firm grip on the rusty pole keeping him from plunging into the darkness of the alley below.
“Couldn’t you wait to kill yourself until after we’ve had sex?” Claude asked.
Peter snorted but didn’t say anything as, with an obvious effort of will, he made himself let go of the railing. Only his heels still balanced on the platform on which they stood and for a moment, it looked like the boy really was going to slip. Except before he had the chance to fall, he was deliberately stepping out away from the fire escape, one foot in front of the other into thin air.
Reacting purely on instinct, Claude dove to catch him but was brought up short when, instead of plummeting into a Dumpster, Peter stayed level with the fire escape. But it wasn’t until he moved out a few more steps that Claude recognized what he was seeing.
“Bloody hell,” he breathed in honest amazement.
“I’ve been practicing,” Peter said. “Nathan showed me. And then I started doing it without him around.”
“Interesting,” Claude said.
“The other day I got a paper cut while I was reading a magazine and it healed right in front of me,” Peter said. “As if it was never there. I also overheard someone else’s thoughts. And I found you just by thinking of you. I knew you were here.”
“That’s a new one,” Claude said.
Peter looked down at his feet, which continued to be supported by nothing. “You didn’t think I was coming back.”
Suddenly, Claude didn’t need to ask exactly whose thoughts Peter had overheard.
“Why did you?” he asked. “Come back, that is.” He paused. “Other than the promise of great sex, of course.”
Peter grinned at him, coming back toward the fire escape. He didn’t need help as he moved back over to the other side but Claude reached out anyway, grabbing him round the waist and holding him steady as the fire escape made another of its unhappy groaning sounds beneath them.
“Breadcrumbs,” Peter said and with their chests pressed together as they were, it took Claude a second to realize this was meant to be an answer to his question.
“Breadcrumbs,” Claude repeated. When Peter didn’t elaborate, he added, “I’m lost.”
“Exactly,” Peter said before capturing Claude’s lips with his own.
The kiss grew heated quickly and Claude got the feeling before long that they were giving the neighbors quite a show. But if the people watching from windows hadn’t died of shock from seeing Peter floating fifty feet above the ground, then this wouldn’t kill them either. Or if it did, Claude wasn’t in a position to care much as he wrapped Peter in his arms and reflected on the good fortune of second chances.
END
Optional Afterword (with speculation on the possibility of a sequel)
All the People We Used to Know (the sequel)
ETA: Oh, and also a bit of good news…
The Price of a Memory won an award for Best Claude Characterization at the Heroes Slash Fanfiction Awards! \o/ It was also the runner-up for Best Romance Fic. Needless to say, I am thrilled. A big, sloppy thank you to everyone who voted for me and congratulations to all the other nominees and winners!