Heroes: As the World Falls Down (Claire, Zach) PG
Title: As the World Falls Down
Author: Shealynn88
Characters/Pairings: Claire, Zach shippy if you squint
Spoilers/Warnings: mild spoilers for 'The Fix'
Word Count: ~650
Rating: PG
Summary: Claire's new knowledge makes her question everything.
Zach's chattering a mile a minute and Claire adjusts the phone against her ear, listening to the cadence of his voice like music. It's soothing and heartening and she doesn't ever want him to stop, but if he asked her a question right now about whatever he's saying, she couldn't answer it.
It's enough to know that, underneath this benign talk, he knows what she is. He's seen it, too. It adds the weight of reality to her secret; it's a shared burden now. Even when they're talking about everyday things, she knows she's real.
There's a book on manatees shoved to the edge of the bed. She's shut it now that her father's gone for the day. Working on a weekend-no surprise there. She'd always wondered what was so vital about paper processing that he had to be on call.
Now she knows.
It's disturbing enough that she almost thinks she'd be better off not knowing…except that she's one act of mercy away from just that, and the idea of someone rummaging through her head is way more disturbing than knowing that her whole life has been a lie.
Well, maybe not. But she knows now, and she's not ever going to jinx it by letting herself think that ignorance would be bliss.
All her memories feel brittle, and she wonders if the man who let her keep her memory has secrets he's not telling her. It wouldn't exactly come as a surprise.
Does she really remember the time when her father taught her how to ride a bike? Or the time she skinned her knee playing t-ball and he cleaned the wound for her and chucked her under the chin?
Maybe it's all been planted there, somehow. Maybe the man who takes memories can spin new ones like fairy tales and make you think that's your life…
And what if he didn't? What if it all was true? What if all those memories were just the way it had happened? That wasn't comforting, really, either.
All the times her father had told her, 'You're a good girl, Claire,' or 'You did the right thing,' what did that mean exactly?
He'd been her measuring stick her whole life. At first she'd measured herself against his knee, his hip; she'd measured her hand, palm to palm, against his. And then, as she'd gotten older, he'd been her gold standard for compassion and decency.
She thought she'd done well. She'd been happy with the person she'd become.
And now she realizes that her measuring stick is a figment of her imagination. And maybe, in her search to be a better person, she's become someone like him. And maybe that's not such a good thing.
"Am I a good person?" she says softly.
Zach's end of the conversation comes stumbling to a halt. "What?"
She shifts the phone on her shoulder and gives a little laugh. Awkward. "Nevermind," she says, pretending it was nothing.
There's silence again, and she's searching for something to say when he finally speaks.
"Yes."
Pause.
"Claire, you're the best friend I've ever had. I know that's sad, since we've only known each other a week- Well, that I can remember." He takes a deep breath. "But you are a good person. Whatever we find out about your dad, whatever your real family is like…it doesn't change that."
She takes a deep breath. "Thanks."
She wants to tell him she feels the same. That he makes her feel real. That she feels closer to normal when she's with him. That she's less afraid and less unsure of her entire existence when he's there.
But she doesn't know how to say it without sounding totally lame. So she just keeps him talking, because she can't stand being alone in a house where no one really knows her.
"So," she asks, trying to sound perky, "Did you do that Algebra assignment?"
Author: Shealynn88
Characters/Pairings: Claire, Zach shippy if you squint
Spoilers/Warnings: mild spoilers for 'The Fix'
Word Count: ~650
Rating: PG
Summary: Claire's new knowledge makes her question everything.
Zach's chattering a mile a minute and Claire adjusts the phone against her ear, listening to the cadence of his voice like music. It's soothing and heartening and she doesn't ever want him to stop, but if he asked her a question right now about whatever he's saying, she couldn't answer it.
It's enough to know that, underneath this benign talk, he knows what she is. He's seen it, too. It adds the weight of reality to her secret; it's a shared burden now. Even when they're talking about everyday things, she knows she's real.
There's a book on manatees shoved to the edge of the bed. She's shut it now that her father's gone for the day. Working on a weekend-no surprise there. She'd always wondered what was so vital about paper processing that he had to be on call.
Now she knows.
It's disturbing enough that she almost thinks she'd be better off not knowing…except that she's one act of mercy away from just that, and the idea of someone rummaging through her head is way more disturbing than knowing that her whole life has been a lie.
Well, maybe not. But she knows now, and she's not ever going to jinx it by letting herself think that ignorance would be bliss.
All her memories feel brittle, and she wonders if the man who let her keep her memory has secrets he's not telling her. It wouldn't exactly come as a surprise.
Does she really remember the time when her father taught her how to ride a bike? Or the time she skinned her knee playing t-ball and he cleaned the wound for her and chucked her under the chin?
Maybe it's all been planted there, somehow. Maybe the man who takes memories can spin new ones like fairy tales and make you think that's your life…
And what if he didn't? What if it all was true? What if all those memories were just the way it had happened? That wasn't comforting, really, either.
All the times her father had told her, 'You're a good girl, Claire,' or 'You did the right thing,' what did that mean exactly?
He'd been her measuring stick her whole life. At first she'd measured herself against his knee, his hip; she'd measured her hand, palm to palm, against his. And then, as she'd gotten older, he'd been her gold standard for compassion and decency.
She thought she'd done well. She'd been happy with the person she'd become.
And now she realizes that her measuring stick is a figment of her imagination. And maybe, in her search to be a better person, she's become someone like him. And maybe that's not such a good thing.
"Am I a good person?" she says softly.
Zach's end of the conversation comes stumbling to a halt. "What?"
She shifts the phone on her shoulder and gives a little laugh. Awkward. "Nevermind," she says, pretending it was nothing.
There's silence again, and she's searching for something to say when he finally speaks.
"Yes."
Pause.
"Claire, you're the best friend I've ever had. I know that's sad, since we've only known each other a week- Well, that I can remember." He takes a deep breath. "But you are a good person. Whatever we find out about your dad, whatever your real family is like…it doesn't change that."
She takes a deep breath. "Thanks."
She wants to tell him she feels the same. That he makes her feel real. That she feels closer to normal when she's with him. That she's less afraid and less unsure of her entire existence when he's there.
But she doesn't know how to say it without sounding totally lame. So she just keeps him talking, because she can't stand being alone in a house where no one really knows her.
"So," she asks, trying to sound perky, "Did you do that Algebra assignment?"