To Find Fault
Title: To Find Fault
Author: puckkit
Rating: G
Pairing/Character: Peter/Claire (kinda future)
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the show Heroes, therefore all of this is false and made up from my charmingly eccentric imagination.
Author's Notes: I can't help but be drawn to angsty pairings, although I don't usually stray from my slashy routes. But yet, here we are. Spoilers for Parasite. My first attempt with a Claire voice so tell me what you think. Cut-text lyrics from Fiona Apple's Tymps (The Sick In The Head Song).
It isn’t her fault.
She hadn’t known, hadn’t chosen to know. So what if they were related, how was she supposed to be aware of that? How could she inform her heart that it didn’t understand about the moral and cultural (and biological) issues involved when it just didn’t care?
That’s what she tells herself whenever she knocks on his door, walking in when she finds his apartment empty with only the faint humming of a distant radio to hint at anyone being home.
That’s what she tells herself when he’s brushing the hair back from her face, resting her cheek against his chest so she can hear the steady thrumming of blood through his veins, shared blood, the blood that binds as well as curses.
She can ignore the implications with him, or she could if he could as well. But of course he can’t, how could he? That’s not the way Peter works- not anymore at least. Maybe before the world changed, before she was a part of his destiny, before she was his destiny.
Maybe if they’d met before she’d learned of her roots, and how he was part of the same tree she was bound to.
But she hadn’t and they hadn’t, so things are as they have to be. Secrets and lies building up until she can’t tell if she’s the same Claire she used to be or if she’s been replaced by some dark substitute who doesn’t care for rules and cares too much for the wrong people.
Who loves without abandon when abandon would be the best idea.
Still, the blame for their love can’t be placed on her. She’s young, perhaps too young, and her future has never been her own. Sometimes she finds her anger growing until she can’t even decide what she’s angry at. Maybe it’s their future, their fate, their endless battles that morph into one another, into day after day of something that is physically and mentally so hard that it shouldn’t be so easy to feel.
She knows few things now, but what she does know she clings to. Peter, her mother and father and brother, the few friends she still sees on a bi-weekly basis, the simplicity of a daily routine that involves those few things. But simplicity is a heady drug and although she desires it she can’t quite reach it.
Peter always stands in the way.
What she does know is that Peter’s hands are so gentle on her, running down her arms and pulling her close. She wants to cry when he noses through her hair and breathes in deep, as if he could never get close enough, and she reciprocates almost desperately with strength she never knew she had.
As beautiful and pure as she feels when she’s inside their love, basking in it away from suspicious eyes, she knows that real fairy tales (like the one she lives in) are warped and twisted in their truest sense. She feels the appeal of a metaphor, a cruel story that can explain this all away.
Sometimes Peter comes to her exhausted, barely holding himself together, snapping at her in frustration, and she knows that this is their future. This is the existence they’ve planned out for themselves.
There’s an easier route somewhere, with someone else, in some other place, but she can no more picture herself taking it than she can bleed to death, and the resignation of both truths feels the same. On those days she’ll hold him if he accepts her and leave him alone if he doesn’t.
There is something painfully bitter about loving him.
And something intrinsically cruel about the fact that she can’t stop.
Author: puckkit
Rating: G
Pairing/Character: Peter/Claire (kinda future)
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the show Heroes, therefore all of this is false and made up from my charmingly eccentric imagination.
Author's Notes: I can't help but be drawn to angsty pairings, although I don't usually stray from my slashy routes. But yet, here we are. Spoilers for Parasite. My first attempt with a Claire voice so tell me what you think. Cut-text lyrics from Fiona Apple's Tymps (The Sick In The Head Song).
It isn’t her fault.
She hadn’t known, hadn’t chosen to know. So what if they were related, how was she supposed to be aware of that? How could she inform her heart that it didn’t understand about the moral and cultural (and biological) issues involved when it just didn’t care?
That’s what she tells herself whenever she knocks on his door, walking in when she finds his apartment empty with only the faint humming of a distant radio to hint at anyone being home.
That’s what she tells herself when he’s brushing the hair back from her face, resting her cheek against his chest so she can hear the steady thrumming of blood through his veins, shared blood, the blood that binds as well as curses.
She can ignore the implications with him, or she could if he could as well. But of course he can’t, how could he? That’s not the way Peter works- not anymore at least. Maybe before the world changed, before she was a part of his destiny, before she was his destiny.
Maybe if they’d met before she’d learned of her roots, and how he was part of the same tree she was bound to.
But she hadn’t and they hadn’t, so things are as they have to be. Secrets and lies building up until she can’t tell if she’s the same Claire she used to be or if she’s been replaced by some dark substitute who doesn’t care for rules and cares too much for the wrong people.
Who loves without abandon when abandon would be the best idea.
Still, the blame for their love can’t be placed on her. She’s young, perhaps too young, and her future has never been her own. Sometimes she finds her anger growing until she can’t even decide what she’s angry at. Maybe it’s their future, their fate, their endless battles that morph into one another, into day after day of something that is physically and mentally so hard that it shouldn’t be so easy to feel.
She knows few things now, but what she does know she clings to. Peter, her mother and father and brother, the few friends she still sees on a bi-weekly basis, the simplicity of a daily routine that involves those few things. But simplicity is a heady drug and although she desires it she can’t quite reach it.
Peter always stands in the way.
What she does know is that Peter’s hands are so gentle on her, running down her arms and pulling her close. She wants to cry when he noses through her hair and breathes in deep, as if he could never get close enough, and she reciprocates almost desperately with strength she never knew she had.
As beautiful and pure as she feels when she’s inside their love, basking in it away from suspicious eyes, she knows that real fairy tales (like the one she lives in) are warped and twisted in their truest sense. She feels the appeal of a metaphor, a cruel story that can explain this all away.
Sometimes Peter comes to her exhausted, barely holding himself together, snapping at her in frustration, and she knows that this is their future. This is the existence they’ve planned out for themselves.
There’s an easier route somewhere, with someone else, in some other place, but she can no more picture herself taking it than she can bleed to death, and the resignation of both truths feels the same. On those days she’ll hold him if he accepts her and leave him alone if he doesn’t.
There is something painfully bitter about loving him.
And something intrinsically cruel about the fact that she can’t stop.