Clandestiny (The Sleeping Through Time Remix) [Heroes; Peter, Claire; PG]
Title: Clandestiny (The Sleeping Through Time Remix)
Author: meinterrupted
Summary: When you wake up, come and find me. Claire Bennet. Remember that. Please remember...
Rating: PG
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Claire Bennet
Spoilers: Through 1x11: Fallout
Title, Author and URL of original story: Clandestiny by Mnemosyne (literarylemming)
Notes: Many, many thanks to my last-minute, ever-so-helpful beta, roguewords. Much love to you, babe! Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Peter was drowning. The liquid around him was dark, a thick, viscous mass pressing against his lungs, sucking all the air out of his body. He fought against it, arms and legs flailing fitfully, but he couldn't seem to make his muscles obey. His mind felt sluggish, as if the cold water was siphoning his life out. He felt himself sinking, unable to slow his descent. The darkness pulled him down, sucking away his desire to fight.
A low hum penetrated the liquid surrounding him, a gentle, familiar buzz. The noise triggered his lax survival instinct, and he fought closer to the surface, inching his way toward the sound. It was Nathan's voice, hardly frantic, but with a thick undercurrent of worry nonetheless. Peter calmed slightly, floating lazily near the surface, ears perking to hear what was being said.
As his body still moved upward, some of the words filtered through. Hospital. Coma. Dying?
Silence.
Dying? Was he dead? The thought made him fight even harder to reach the surface, kicking and clawing his way to the top. He couldn't die. He wouldn't. He cared about too many people to just let go: Nathan, his mother, Simone. And the cheerleader. He'd saved her life, and now he had to ensure that had in fact saved the world, not die in a Texas hospital.
The liquid wasn't giving. Peter was no longer sinking, he knew that much. But the freezing water, the coma, he realized, wouldn't allow him to rise. His efforts kept him near the surface, near enough to hear, but not close enough to wake. He struggled fruitlessly for what felt like hours, but could have been years, for all he could tell of time in this place. Nothing seemed normal here. Finally, he heard another voice slipping through the darkness.
Hey.
The one word piqued his interest, and held him in place. It wasn't Nathan, and she--the voice was definitely feminine--didn't sound like a nurse. This girl was…
Claire. The girl you saved?
The cheerleader. She had found him, and here she was. His hand was suddenly warmer, and the heat slowly began to creep up his arm. The water suddenly didn't seem quite so chokingly thick.
I'm sorry you're here. I know it's because of me. You wouldn't be here if you hadn't come to save me. You know, it's really crappy feeling guilty for being alive.
Her words were like a blanket that continued to wind itself around him as she spoke, warming him from the inside out. The sentiment of her wry comment stung him, even as the black humor made him want to laugh, if that was even possible in this place. He'd saved her to save the world, but he couldn't forget that she was a human being and a special young woman. He felt a connection to her, one stronger and deeper than that of rescuer and damsel in distress, and yearned to know more.
Look, this… guy came to see me a few hours ago.
He listened to her, his mind reeling from the information. She told him of the man who worked with her father, who knew of him and other people like he and Nathan; of other people like Claire. Her father and his people knew he could mimic other's powers, a fact he had only lately come to realize. He wondered if they knew the full extent of what he could do.
He - the Haitian, that's what he calls himself - he said you've got to learn control. You've been around too many people like us; people with power. Your brain doesn't know how to process it all, so it shut itself off.
Peter felt his heart skip a beat. This coma was all a product of his mind? If that was true, he should be able to pull himself out of it, if only he could find the way to control it. It was ironic, he thought, that he needed to learn to manage this on his own, when there were people out there who understood his powers far more intricately than he did. Perhaps this Haitian should try to erase the misconceptions he was sure he had, and let him start over.
As he continued to listen to Claire speak, he felt the water slipping away from his skin. The warmth of her words spun a cocoon around him, and he knew he didn't have to fight the coma anymore. He was no longer struggling to keep from going under. He simply listened, absorbing what she had learned.
Suddenly, Peter realized that her tone was getting more and more hysterical. He wished he could fold her in his arms, stroke her hair, and reassure her that everything would be okay. Even more than his, her life had been turned upside down and sideways. Her father had tried to erase her memory, and had taken away the people who cared about her. A sharp pain lanced through his chest at the thought. The cheerleader who couldn't die was suddenly and completely alone, and she knew it.
Claire needed him to learn to control this. She needed him to be there, even if they never met again, so that someone, somewhere, would know that she wasn't insane. Peter felt more of a purpose than he had since he first heard "save the cheerleader, save the world." Averting the apocalypse had just gained a human face.
Peter took a deep breath for the first time since he'd found himself in this place. It was still dark, but the cold had seeped away with the water. He felt weightless, his body suspended somewhere between standing and sitting. Claire's words still clung to his skin like a warm layer of clothing, and he closed his eyes, taking her words to heart. Not only would he not die, but he would find a way to fix himself. He rarely took care of patients with a chance to recover, so he would be the first. Physician, heal thyself echoed through his head. A nurse, he thought wryly, would have to be close enough.
Another sound floated down through the inky emptiness. It sounded like footsteps, and Nathan's voice. He could feel the tension in Claire's next words. She was putting all her hopes and fears into a single sentence, betting everything she had on him.
When you wake up, come and find me. Claire Bennet. Remember that. Please remember…
Claire Bennet. He had saved her life, but she'd lost everything in the process. Peter would not let her down. He would save himself, for her.
And he would remember.
Author: meinterrupted
Summary: When you wake up, come and find me. Claire Bennet. Remember that. Please remember...
Rating: PG
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Claire Bennet
Spoilers: Through 1x11: Fallout
Title, Author and URL of original story: Clandestiny by Mnemosyne (literarylemming)
Notes: Many, many thanks to my last-minute, ever-so-helpful beta, roguewords. Much love to you, babe! Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Peter was drowning. The liquid around him was dark, a thick, viscous mass pressing against his lungs, sucking all the air out of his body. He fought against it, arms and legs flailing fitfully, but he couldn't seem to make his muscles obey. His mind felt sluggish, as if the cold water was siphoning his life out. He felt himself sinking, unable to slow his descent. The darkness pulled him down, sucking away his desire to fight.
A low hum penetrated the liquid surrounding him, a gentle, familiar buzz. The noise triggered his lax survival instinct, and he fought closer to the surface, inching his way toward the sound. It was Nathan's voice, hardly frantic, but with a thick undercurrent of worry nonetheless. Peter calmed slightly, floating lazily near the surface, ears perking to hear what was being said.
As his body still moved upward, some of the words filtered through. Hospital. Coma. Dying?
Silence.
Dying? Was he dead? The thought made him fight even harder to reach the surface, kicking and clawing his way to the top. He couldn't die. He wouldn't. He cared about too many people to just let go: Nathan, his mother, Simone. And the cheerleader. He'd saved her life, and now he had to ensure that had in fact saved the world, not die in a Texas hospital.
The liquid wasn't giving. Peter was no longer sinking, he knew that much. But the freezing water, the coma, he realized, wouldn't allow him to rise. His efforts kept him near the surface, near enough to hear, but not close enough to wake. He struggled fruitlessly for what felt like hours, but could have been years, for all he could tell of time in this place. Nothing seemed normal here. Finally, he heard another voice slipping through the darkness.
Hey.
The one word piqued his interest, and held him in place. It wasn't Nathan, and she--the voice was definitely feminine--didn't sound like a nurse. This girl was…
Claire. The girl you saved?
The cheerleader. She had found him, and here she was. His hand was suddenly warmer, and the heat slowly began to creep up his arm. The water suddenly didn't seem quite so chokingly thick.
I'm sorry you're here. I know it's because of me. You wouldn't be here if you hadn't come to save me. You know, it's really crappy feeling guilty for being alive.
Her words were like a blanket that continued to wind itself around him as she spoke, warming him from the inside out. The sentiment of her wry comment stung him, even as the black humor made him want to laugh, if that was even possible in this place. He'd saved her to save the world, but he couldn't forget that she was a human being and a special young woman. He felt a connection to her, one stronger and deeper than that of rescuer and damsel in distress, and yearned to know more.
Look, this… guy came to see me a few hours ago.
He listened to her, his mind reeling from the information. She told him of the man who worked with her father, who knew of him and other people like he and Nathan; of other people like Claire. Her father and his people knew he could mimic other's powers, a fact he had only lately come to realize. He wondered if they knew the full extent of what he could do.
He - the Haitian, that's what he calls himself - he said you've got to learn control. You've been around too many people like us; people with power. Your brain doesn't know how to process it all, so it shut itself off.
Peter felt his heart skip a beat. This coma was all a product of his mind? If that was true, he should be able to pull himself out of it, if only he could find the way to control it. It was ironic, he thought, that he needed to learn to manage this on his own, when there were people out there who understood his powers far more intricately than he did. Perhaps this Haitian should try to erase the misconceptions he was sure he had, and let him start over.
As he continued to listen to Claire speak, he felt the water slipping away from his skin. The warmth of her words spun a cocoon around him, and he knew he didn't have to fight the coma anymore. He was no longer struggling to keep from going under. He simply listened, absorbing what she had learned.
Suddenly, Peter realized that her tone was getting more and more hysterical. He wished he could fold her in his arms, stroke her hair, and reassure her that everything would be okay. Even more than his, her life had been turned upside down and sideways. Her father had tried to erase her memory, and had taken away the people who cared about her. A sharp pain lanced through his chest at the thought. The cheerleader who couldn't die was suddenly and completely alone, and she knew it.
Claire needed him to learn to control this. She needed him to be there, even if they never met again, so that someone, somewhere, would know that she wasn't insane. Peter felt more of a purpose than he had since he first heard "save the cheerleader, save the world." Averting the apocalypse had just gained a human face.
Peter took a deep breath for the first time since he'd found himself in this place. It was still dark, but the cold had seeped away with the water. He felt weightless, his body suspended somewhere between standing and sitting. Claire's words still clung to his skin like a warm layer of clothing, and he closed his eyes, taking her words to heart. Not only would he not die, but he would find a way to fix himself. He rarely took care of patients with a chance to recover, so he would be the first. Physician, heal thyself echoed through his head. A nurse, he thought wryly, would have to be close enough.
Another sound floated down through the inky emptiness. It sounded like footsteps, and Nathan's voice. He could feel the tension in Claire's next words. She was putting all her hopes and fears into a single sentence, betting everything she had on him.
When you wake up, come and find me. Claire Bennet. Remember that. Please remember…
Claire Bennet. He had saved her life, but she'd lost everything in the process. Peter would not let her down. He would save himself, for her.
And he would remember.