Heroes fic: Empty; Muddled Moment
Title: Empty
Characters: Peter/Mohinder
Word Count: 199
Rating: PG
Spoilers: through 1.20, "Five Years Gone"
Written for prompt: future!Mohinder/future!Peter - broken glass in peter_mohinder's drabblethon
Eyes closed, tie trailing over gray, he lay on the cold floor as though sleeping. His glasses had fallen away from his face, frames bent and cracked like broken limbs, a fissure blooming over one lens as frost would over a windowpane. When Peter rested his hand on Mohinder’s cheek, he felt the emptiness emanating from dark skin; and when he placed Mohinder’s head in his lap and touched the curls, the emptiness moiled in his own chest.
Peter reached down and took the spectacles from the floor, folding them up as best he could and slipping them into his pocket. He let his head fall against the gray wall at his back and stared vacantly into the room. Hiro lay dead in the shadows. Sylar and Matt lay dead beyond the mangled door, their bodies nearly unrecognizable. Nathan lay dead somewhere in the dark recesses of the world outside. And Mohinder lay dead, here, in Peter’s arms.
Sirens rang overhead, and footsteps gathered past the door. But Peter squeezed his eyes shut until the noises ceased and the air stopped ticking, taking Mohinder’s hands in his own and holding them, waiting, waiting for the emptiness to fade away.
---
Title: Muddled Moment
Characters: Nathan, Peter
Word Count: 129
Rating: G
Spoilers: through 2.11, "Powerless"
Written for prompt: melancholy
This feels strange, this hazy drift of peace of mind - so different from nearly six months ago,
(funny how time will fleet like a feathery dream but then hold you, trap you, muddle you through a moment like this one)
when cloudbursts carried him away. In those days he murmured melancholy in search of a face unfound: but in this moment he fears not, for the face fills his gaze like tears.
So strange, this sense of softness - his eyes are foggy, like frosted glass, and he says not to worry,
(don’t cry, Pete, we found each other again and that’s what counts, right? time belongs to us now, just us, our own little muddled moment)
but his lips are tired, and the words fall asleep in his throat.
---
Happy holidays, everyone :)
Characters: Peter/Mohinder
Word Count: 199
Rating: PG
Spoilers: through 1.20, "Five Years Gone"
Written for prompt: future!Mohinder/future!Peter - broken glass in peter_mohinder's drabblethon
Eyes closed, tie trailing over gray, he lay on the cold floor as though sleeping. His glasses had fallen away from his face, frames bent and cracked like broken limbs, a fissure blooming over one lens as frost would over a windowpane. When Peter rested his hand on Mohinder’s cheek, he felt the emptiness emanating from dark skin; and when he placed Mohinder’s head in his lap and touched the curls, the emptiness moiled in his own chest.
Peter reached down and took the spectacles from the floor, folding them up as best he could and slipping them into his pocket. He let his head fall against the gray wall at his back and stared vacantly into the room. Hiro lay dead in the shadows. Sylar and Matt lay dead beyond the mangled door, their bodies nearly unrecognizable. Nathan lay dead somewhere in the dark recesses of the world outside. And Mohinder lay dead, here, in Peter’s arms.
Sirens rang overhead, and footsteps gathered past the door. But Peter squeezed his eyes shut until the noises ceased and the air stopped ticking, taking Mohinder’s hands in his own and holding them, waiting, waiting for the emptiness to fade away.
---
Title: Muddled Moment
Characters: Nathan, Peter
Word Count: 129
Rating: G
Spoilers: through 2.11, "Powerless"
Written for prompt: melancholy
This feels strange, this hazy drift of peace of mind - so different from nearly six months ago,
(funny how time will fleet like a feathery dream but then hold you, trap you, muddle you through a moment like this one)
when cloudbursts carried him away. In those days he murmured melancholy in search of a face unfound: but in this moment he fears not, for the face fills his gaze like tears.
So strange, this sense of softness - his eyes are foggy, like frosted glass, and he says not to worry,
(don’t cry, Pete, we found each other again and that’s what counts, right? time belongs to us now, just us, our own little muddled moment)
but his lips are tired, and the words fall asleep in his throat.
---
Happy holidays, everyone :)