from all they've seen of adolesence torn
This isn't the first time Claire's held a gun in her hands. Once it became pretty clear that her life isn't just about the white picket fence and that the greatest oddity in her family isn't simply her mother's breeding of show dogs- once her world expanded past the borders of Odessa, guns entered the equation pretty quickly. They're heavier than she might have imagined, and although the smooth metal surface of the weapon always looks as though it'd be cool to the touch, it practically burns once shots have been fired. This gun is heavy, enough that she's not sure if the wavering and trembling of her grip is simply from nerves, although the weight helps on an emotional level as well.
This situation that she has in front of her, Peter Petrelli standing in front of her person with his hands all aglow, fear and resignation painted alike on his face, it isn't one that she wants to take lightly in any sense of the word. There are tears streaming down her face, just as warm as the gun is in her grip, but she doesn't have time to think about who her father has probably shot in the past hour, not right now. She can't afford that, right now. All she can do is aim at Peter with that gun, aiming for the back of his neck as her gaze instead rests on his face, the one that's able to make her feel safe with a crooked grin alone, except now.
"Do it," he urges, soft but sure.
Claire starts to shake her head.
"Do it," his voice calls out more insistently, a hint of desperation on his tongue. "You're the only one, Claire."
She can feel the eyes of people on her from all around. It's a sensation that she knows well by this point; football is popular at Union Wells, and there are few who would leave the bleachers while the half-time show goes on. But the blood doesn't normally rush to her head like this, leaving her dizzy and nauseated.
"Tell me there's another way," she pleads, voice halting as she ignores everyone else. In that moment, it feels like the population of New York hardly matters at all. It's not fair. It's not fair that Peter has to go, and her hand grips the weapon even more tightly, although the finger on the trigger remains loose, and shakes it with all of her frustration. "Please."
Even before he answers, Claire can feel her stomach dropping out from under her, sinking. "Shoot me," he replies. "There is no other way."
There's the slight rattle of metal before Claire's grip steadies. Her finger presses against the trigger, starting to squeeze, until a gust of wind blows her tears cool and she looks up into the face of the man who is her father, although he's never been her dad. "Yes there is, Claire," he tells her, and suddenly it's like she can't breathe anymore as his hand guides her arm down to rest at her side, Claire's fingers just tight enough to keep the weapon from falling and clattering on the pavement below. "The future isn't written in stone."
Peter burns more brightly now, even if there's no hint of romanticism or metaphor in it. The light simply reflects the inner turmoil, strengthening and waning with conflicting desires; Claire has to narrow her own eyes to keep watch on her uncle at all. "I took his power, Nathan," Peter calls out, bringing his brother to a pause. "I can't control. I can't... do anything."
"I'm not leaving you, Peter." The words are taken right out of Claire's mouth as her father walks over to Peter in spite of the blinding light, and although she watches Peter try to back away, she suspects that it won't be quickly enough. They're brothers. What more can one ask for than that? "There's another way to end this, and you know it."
Chest squeezing painfully, Claire chokes back more tears as she sees the same pleading in Peter's eyes, the lack of selfishness in every last bone of his body. "I can't let you die," the younger brother rasps.
"And I can't let everyone else," Nathan points out, slowly turning to meet Claire's gaze, her breath catching when she realizes that it might be the last time, but she can't even call together the strength anymore to protest. "You saved the cheerleader... so we could save the world."
"I love you, Nathan."
The seconds slip by like sand through an hourglass.
"I love you, too."
She shakes her head, strands of hair falling to frame her face, but her voice won't sound and her feet won't lift, eyes opened to capture every last moment in her memory. "You ready?" Nathan asks after turning to look at the sky. No, she thinks. She isn't. But it's not her decision to make.
"Yeah," Peter nods.
Not moments later, they're zooming off into the sky, a strong gust of air following that traces along the edge of her ear. Too quickly, it's become impossible to make out the details on their faces. Too late to commit their presences to memory. All she has is the distant parting of clouds and the approaching sound of sirens- somewhere, someone is bleeding, some families are being torn apart and others brought together, but Claire watches intently in the vain hope that they'll return just as quickly as they left, her father and her uncle. Her heroes. But then an explosion pans out across the sky like a sudden oil spill, blooming in its colors. And it's over.
Finally, she cries, eyes squeezing shut as she lets the grief wash over herself in full because she's too tired anymore to keep the dam up. Claire can't hear anything over the pounding in her ears and head, feeling cold as she stands there on her own, keeping the world around her dark as she sinks to her knees. But when the ground beneath her seems to give way, when there's no dangerous scrape of gun against ground and Claire's hands sink into sand in front of her, when a sudden sheet of rain soaks her to the bone, Claire's eyes blink open suddenly and she takes in a harsh breath. Almost as though trying to pull all that emotion right back in. It might all have been a dream, or maybe not- the shirt she's wearing is still stained with blood that slowly grows darker from a lack of oxygen. Seeing nothing but forest and ocean around her, Claire rushes to her feet, lungs fighting for air as she wheezes.
"Holy shit," she breathes, hands idly brushing away sand. In a moment of panic, she tucks the gun under the waistband of her trousers, not even daring to remove her blue blazer in an effort to keep the weapon hidden. It's all she has, now, to protect herself. Fortunately, the rain hides the salty streams down her face, but not being able to see around herself in full leaves Claire's heart beating as quickly as it had when she had that gun held and pointed at Peter. Licking her lip, Claire stumbles around and tries to squint into the distance, but with no idea where to go, no idea whether she can trust the shadows in the forest, all Claire manages is to make her way to the fringes of the brush, standing under a tree with broad leaves and hoping that the rain passes soon.
It's hard to know what to think.
[ Feel free either to find her mucking through rain and mud for a standard debut, or to find her all cleaned up and wandering around the rec room wearing this from the clothes box. If your pup is the type who'd try to take Claire's gun away, please don't have him/her notice (she'll hide it somewhere before going to the rec room). ST/LT always welcome! Claire's debut is open to new people until this sentence goes away. ]
This situation that she has in front of her, Peter Petrelli standing in front of her person with his hands all aglow, fear and resignation painted alike on his face, it isn't one that she wants to take lightly in any sense of the word. There are tears streaming down her face, just as warm as the gun is in her grip, but she doesn't have time to think about who her father has probably shot in the past hour, not right now. She can't afford that, right now. All she can do is aim at Peter with that gun, aiming for the back of his neck as her gaze instead rests on his face, the one that's able to make her feel safe with a crooked grin alone, except now.
"Do it," he urges, soft but sure.
Claire starts to shake her head.
"Do it," his voice calls out more insistently, a hint of desperation on his tongue. "You're the only one, Claire."
She can feel the eyes of people on her from all around. It's a sensation that she knows well by this point; football is popular at Union Wells, and there are few who would leave the bleachers while the half-time show goes on. But the blood doesn't normally rush to her head like this, leaving her dizzy and nauseated.
"Tell me there's another way," she pleads, voice halting as she ignores everyone else. In that moment, it feels like the population of New York hardly matters at all. It's not fair. It's not fair that Peter has to go, and her hand grips the weapon even more tightly, although the finger on the trigger remains loose, and shakes it with all of her frustration. "Please."
Even before he answers, Claire can feel her stomach dropping out from under her, sinking. "Shoot me," he replies. "There is no other way."
There's the slight rattle of metal before Claire's grip steadies. Her finger presses against the trigger, starting to squeeze, until a gust of wind blows her tears cool and she looks up into the face of the man who is her father, although he's never been her dad. "Yes there is, Claire," he tells her, and suddenly it's like she can't breathe anymore as his hand guides her arm down to rest at her side, Claire's fingers just tight enough to keep the weapon from falling and clattering on the pavement below. "The future isn't written in stone."
Peter burns more brightly now, even if there's no hint of romanticism or metaphor in it. The light simply reflects the inner turmoil, strengthening and waning with conflicting desires; Claire has to narrow her own eyes to keep watch on her uncle at all. "I took his power, Nathan," Peter calls out, bringing his brother to a pause. "I can't control. I can't... do anything."
"I'm not leaving you, Peter." The words are taken right out of Claire's mouth as her father walks over to Peter in spite of the blinding light, and although she watches Peter try to back away, she suspects that it won't be quickly enough. They're brothers. What more can one ask for than that? "There's another way to end this, and you know it."
Chest squeezing painfully, Claire chokes back more tears as she sees the same pleading in Peter's eyes, the lack of selfishness in every last bone of his body. "I can't let you die," the younger brother rasps.
"And I can't let everyone else," Nathan points out, slowly turning to meet Claire's gaze, her breath catching when she realizes that it might be the last time, but she can't even call together the strength anymore to protest. "You saved the cheerleader... so we could save the world."
"I love you, Nathan."
The seconds slip by like sand through an hourglass.
"I love you, too."
She shakes her head, strands of hair falling to frame her face, but her voice won't sound and her feet won't lift, eyes opened to capture every last moment in her memory. "You ready?" Nathan asks after turning to look at the sky. No, she thinks. She isn't. But it's not her decision to make.
"Yeah," Peter nods.
Not moments later, they're zooming off into the sky, a strong gust of air following that traces along the edge of her ear. Too quickly, it's become impossible to make out the details on their faces. Too late to commit their presences to memory. All she has is the distant parting of clouds and the approaching sound of sirens- somewhere, someone is bleeding, some families are being torn apart and others brought together, but Claire watches intently in the vain hope that they'll return just as quickly as they left, her father and her uncle. Her heroes. But then an explosion pans out across the sky like a sudden oil spill, blooming in its colors. And it's over.
Finally, she cries, eyes squeezing shut as she lets the grief wash over herself in full because she's too tired anymore to keep the dam up. Claire can't hear anything over the pounding in her ears and head, feeling cold as she stands there on her own, keeping the world around her dark as she sinks to her knees. But when the ground beneath her seems to give way, when there's no dangerous scrape of gun against ground and Claire's hands sink into sand in front of her, when a sudden sheet of rain soaks her to the bone, Claire's eyes blink open suddenly and she takes in a harsh breath. Almost as though trying to pull all that emotion right back in. It might all have been a dream, or maybe not- the shirt she's wearing is still stained with blood that slowly grows darker from a lack of oxygen. Seeing nothing but forest and ocean around her, Claire rushes to her feet, lungs fighting for air as she wheezes.
"Holy shit," she breathes, hands idly brushing away sand. In a moment of panic, she tucks the gun under the waistband of her trousers, not even daring to remove her blue blazer in an effort to keep the weapon hidden. It's all she has, now, to protect herself. Fortunately, the rain hides the salty streams down her face, but not being able to see around herself in full leaves Claire's heart beating as quickly as it had when she had that gun held and pointed at Peter. Licking her lip, Claire stumbles around and tries to squint into the distance, but with no idea where to go, no idea whether she can trust the shadows in the forest, all Claire manages is to make her way to the fringes of the brush, standing under a tree with broad leaves and hoping that the rain passes soon.
It's hard to know what to think.
[ Feel free either to find her mucking through rain and mud for a standard debut, or to find her all cleaned up and wandering around the rec room wearing this from the clothes box. If your pup is the type who'd try to take Claire's gun away, please don't have him/her notice (she'll hide it somewhere before going to the rec room). ST/LT always welcome! Claire's debut is open to new people until this sentence goes away. ]
