fresh feeling (peter/claire, heroes)
Title: Fresh Feeling
Author: missaliceblue
Pairing: Peter/Claire.
Rating: G. AU after Fallout. Peter and Claire are not related.
Status: 3/3. 4000 words. COMPLETE!
Summary: Claire’s got a crush. Tender and fluffy, with a dash of angst.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
-------------
“Really, this is getting ridiculous.” Her mom threw her fork onto her plate, and Claire winced at the scraping noise. Her dad kept on calmly eating green beans.
“She hardly ever comes out of her room! She mopes around here and I know you love her, but she’s a teenage girl, for heaven’s sake! When are you going to let her out of the house?” Her mother started clearing the dinner table with vigor.
“Claire, honey, what did you do to make your father so mad?” asked her mom.
“Nothing, I told you,” said Claire. She rolled her eyes and looked at her dad.
He caught her look, and sighed softly. “Sandra, I’ve told you too. She didn’t do anything. I’m just…concerned about the crime around here lately.”
“Oh, please. She should stop living her life because of a couple junkie shootings?”
Claire kept her eyes on her dinner plate.
“See, and she just takes it! I don’t understand.”
“Can I please be excused,” said Claire tightly.
“Of course, baby,” said her dad.
“Wait, Claire!”
Her mother called her but Claire just pounded up the steps to her room.
------
Five kisses.
Five kisses in five months. That’s what he gave her.
The thought was so utterly depressing. Every night she imagined what it would be like to kiss him - really kiss him. Not a peck or a light little flutter, but a real one. His kisses were a lot like trying to touch a cloud, but that was nothing compared to him.
“You seem mad. What’s up?” she asked him one night, when his brows were knotted over his brown eyes (she loved his eyes more than anything on this planet, swear to god).
He shook his head at her, and smiled at her again, but his mouth looked a little strained. She was starting to notice these things.
“I’m not mad. Why would I be?” said Peter.
She shrugged. She was sitting in the middle of her bed, Indian style. “I don’t know. You don’t ever tell me things like that,” said Claire softly.
“Nothing to tell,” he said. A lie. That was a lie, and she knew it.
When he looked in her eyes, she realised he knew that, too.
-----
She’d been hinting about this movie for weeks. And she did want to see it, but not as badly as she was hinting - like it was going to be the best movie ever, and she couldn’t wait to see it. He was either not getting it or pretending not to get it, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask him directly, because what if he said no?
Please, she thought. Just ask me.
Oh, she wanted a date. Sitting with him twice a month was all very well and good and nice and she loved to be with him no matter what, but she wanted to go out with him. Not in Odessa or even Midland because someone might see them and then there would be bad questions. But he could fly them somewhere.
She wanted to hold hands with him in a movie theater. She wanted her fingers to be sticky with butter while she did it, and she wanted the other girls in the theater to see her with an older boy.
Not that she would know the girls or that she even cared that he was older or anything, but still. She wanted to show him off. Was that so wrong? She was proud of him. He was beautiful and funny and dressed well and was smart and charming and kind and she really, really could sit there all day and say nice things about him.
But he never asked her to go the movie. So they didn't go.
-----
“Claire. You’ve got to eat something.” Her mom shook her head at her dinner plate.
“I’m not very hungry. Sorry. It’s good though.” Claire toyed with her chicken.
Her mother cast a dark look at her dad. “This has got to stop, Noah. She’s like a sick little ghost.”
Claire laughed at that - at the image of that in her mind. “I’m not a sick ghost, Mom. Swear.”
-----
He never took her flying anymore. She had loved it the few times they’d done it, and she wanted nothing more than to do it again. Again and again and again.
She asked once and he looked up at the ceiling with one eye crunched closed, like he was thinking about it. “Eh. It’s kinda cold, don’t you think?”
“I have jackets,” said Claire, and she stood up.
“Nah,” said Peter. “Nah, I really don’t feel like it.”
She felt her face droop.
“Not tonight, at least,” he said, and he smiled at her. “Maybe next time I come?”
But she didn't ask. She wanted him to bring it up, but he didn’t and they never went.
-----
“Ugh, Claire. Just…snap out of it!” Zach twitched his fingers in her face at lunchtime.
Claire pulled her straw out of her mouth. “Hmm?”
“You’ve been drinking that soda for like, half an hour,” said Zach distastefully. “You’re always out of it.”
She nodded. Zach was right, and Zach was a good friend, and she had been annoying and emo lately. “I’m sorry,” she said, and slurped down the rest of her Sprite. “I know I’ve been stupid. Sorry.”
“Nah, not stupid,” said Zach, as he ate yogurt out of a little cup.
It was awhile before he talked again - the companionable silence with Zach was something she loved best about him. “Hope you know though…you can talk to me about stuff if you need to,” he said simply.
“How do you know if a boy is your boyfriend, d’you think?” she blurted out in response, amazed that that had come out of her mouth, and so quickly.
Zach’s eyes widened but he answered her coolly. “Is this about Mr. Secret Boyfriend Man?”
She looked at him, startled. She hadn't thought he’d known.
“Oh, come on Claire. You moon around here and I never see you any more out of school.” Zach ate another spoonful of yogurt. “Of course it’s a boyfriend.”
She looked at Zach and she felt her eyes water a little - why she should cry at this lie compared to all the others, she didn't know. “I’m sorry Zach, I…didn't mean to keep it from you. I just…”
Zach raised his hands. “Hey, its fine. I’m all for keeping love life private.”
He made her laugh at that. He smiled at her and poked her knee. “I’d like to meet the boyfriend sometime, though.”
She shook her head. “Not a boyfriend. But I want him to be.”
“So ask him.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just say, ‘Hey, you want to be my boyfriend’?”
Zach nodded. “Yeah, like that.”
“You serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” asked Zach.
Her eyes grew wide. “I can’t just do it like that!”
Zach shrugged. “Then you won’t ever know.”
-----
Peter came the next week. She was bouncing on her bed. Antsy. Trying new strategies. He was sitting on her floor, his back against the closet. “Let’s go somewhere,” she said brightly.
He leaned his head back against the closet, and looked at her through hooded eyes. “Where?”
“Dunno. A walk?”
He gave her that calm expression again. “Why do you want to go on a walk?”
“I’m bored.” She looked at her fingernails. “And I want to go on a walk with you.”
He didn't say yes but he didn't say no either. “We could walk by the river, here,” said Claire.
Peter shook his head. “Don’t think that’d be good.”
She pressed on; couldn’t stop herself. “Let’s go somewhere no one knows me then. Fly us somewhere.”
“That wouldn’t be a good thing, either.” He shook his head again, and changed the subject with that same little smile on his face.
She cried into one of her teddy bears that night, because she didn't want to leave tearstains on her pillow for her mother to find. So she carefully soaked each appendage of her dark brown teddy bear from Seattle. First his arm, then his leg, and so on. She cried silently in her bed, until she was tired and spent and could finally think about sleeping.
Claire faced the truth that was burning in her mind and, worst of all, in her heart, where she couldn’t deny or explain or excuse it away.
-----
“Woah, kiddo. You look wrecked,” said Peter, as he climbed into her room. He’d stayed away for two weeks this time.
She shook her head and didn't say anything. She was sitting on her bed, holding a pillow to her torso.
He looked at her. “Seriously, Claire, what’s up?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled after a long pause.
“Looks like something,” he said lightly. He was still smiling, but she thought she saw some strain around his eyes.
“It’s not anything,” said Claire, her tight, angry voice echoing in her ears.
He started to say her name, but she cut him off with a wave of her little hand. “I think you should go, Peter.”
He wasn't smiling anymore. “Talk to me, Claire.”
“No,” she said, and grasped the pillow tighter.
“What’s going on? Is someone hurting you?” asked Peter.
“Of course not,” she said forcefully. “Just…you.”
She could feel tears quivering at the corners of her eyes, but she was going to get through this without crying if it killed her.
“You never - you never talk to me,” she said miserably. “You hardly ever come visit. And you don’t want to go out with me.”
Peter was staring at her.
She sniffed deeply, but she wasn’t crying, was not going to. “I always feel so stupid around you. All I want to do is be around you and be with you and I hate that you don’t feel the same way about me.”
She rubbed her eye with her fist. “I hate that I don’t matter to you. Not like you do to me.” Two hot tears rolled down her cheek, but that was all she was going to let happen. She pushed them off tersely with her hand.
“You don’t want to be my boyfriend, and that’s okay, but…” She covered her mouth, and fought down the sob in her throat. “But it’s like you’re ashamed of me. Like you don’t want to be seen with me.”
Peter was looking at her like she’d grown another head.
“I’m sorry I’m just a stupid kid, but I do…I did try not to be. Anyway,” she said lamely, “I can’t stand this anymore, it’s driving me crazy. I feel sick and I hate myself and feel insecure all the time and I just…I don’t want to do it anymore.”
She waited, stared at the floor while she did. He just looked at her. “Okay. Well I’m gonna go. Bye.” She flopped the pillow onto her bed and got up, steadily avoiding his gaze and him as she went out of her room.
Claire walked past her mother and didn't say anything when she asked her what was wrong. She marched straight into the laundry room by the kitchen and she sat on the washer with her knees to her forehead and cried.
She cried and she tried to be quiet about it. She cried for a long time. The light through the little window in the laundry room burned bright and then dulled to a soft orange. Her mother knocked three times but she said to go away, please. She just wanted to be alone.
Finally her dad walked in, when the light in the window was soft and blue-ish in color. He had a peanut butter sandwich on a plate, and he set it down next to her. A soft sheen of rain started to fall against the window. Rain. It hardly ever rained in Odessa. It seemed fitting for this crappy day.
“I’m sorry, baby. I don’t know what it’s about,” said her dad, and his hand trailed over her hair. “But whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
She leaned against her father’s chest, and pinched her eyes together. “Oh, Daddy. It’s - it’s just a crush.”
“Well…that’s why they call ‘em crushes, sweetie.”
He held her tight, for a while, and kissed her on the top of her head. And then he told her that everything was going to be okay.
Eventually she ate the sandwich and combed her hair. She splashed water on her face and did her biology homework at the kitchen table. She played Mario Kart with her brother and after that she couldn’t think of any more excuses, so she went upstairs.
The door to her bedroom was open a bit, but of course he was gone.
-----
Crying always made her tired, and she felt drained that night, both her body and her spirit. She felt lethargic as she pulled her clothes off and tossed them haphazardly onto the floor - something she’d stopped doing in case Peter came, but she had no reason to stop now.
It was still raining when Claire spread a soft, fluffy quilt that her Grandma had made over her bed. She changed into her oldest, most comfy pajamas -baggy knit pants and a loose tank top. She snuggled into her sheets and reminded herself that the time for crying was over.
Sleep claimed her quickly - easily lulled by the soothing pings of rain on her window. When she opened her eyes it was dark and her clock said 2:54. It was still raining.
There it was, again. The sound that had roused her. She sat up.
It was a persistent knock on her window. Her heart skipped a few beats and her thighs were shaking as she slipped out from under her covers.
Peter was there. He pointed emphatically at the lock on her window, and without thinking she flipped it up and pushed her window open.
“Peter, what are you - it’s raining!” she whispered tersely as he crawled in through the window.
He was not smiling - the easy, pleasant look on his face was completely gone, like it had never been there to begin with. His hair was stringy and straight as it hung wetly on his forehead. He pushed it out of his eyes, and looked at her.
“I’ll get you a towel,” said Claire, and she stepped toward her door.
“No.” He caught her arm, held her fast. She looked up at him as he held her other arm then too, steered her to stand right in front of him.
“I’ve got something to say to you, and I shouldn’t have to even say this, because this is crazy.” He shook her arm a tiny bit.
He seemed mad. Her eyes widened “Your little speech earlier, about how I don’t care about you…was that a joke? Were you trying to be funny or did you just get tired of this and want an easy way to blow me off?”
“W-What?” Claire stammered.
“Just answer me!” He spoke low and furious.
“I don’t - I don’t know what you want me to say! It was neither. It was the truth!” said Claire.
He released her arms, and shook his head at her, incredulously. “Claire, how the - how can you even think that?”
Claire felt her chin tremble and a frown pass over her lips. “I don’t need you making fun of me.”
“I’m not! I’m just trying to understand how you could possibly think that I don’t care about you!” Peter took a step closer to her. There were droplets of water on his cheeks and eyelashes and chin.
“I know you do,” she said. “But not…not how I want you to care. That’s what hurt.”
“For the- Geez, Claire. I - “ Peter pressed his fingertips to his temple. “I don’t know how I could possibly care about you more, more than I already do.”
Claire swallowed, hoisting up her courage from every corner of her body. “I want you to love me.”
“I do,” said Peter shortly.
“No, like a girl. A girl and a boy kind of love,” explained Claire.
“Claire. I do.”
Her mouth dropped open.
He laughed at her - not the kind sort of laughing that he had always done with her, every time he had seen her. It was a sarcastic kind of laugh. “Why are you surprised? I think I was pretty obvious. God, I was here all the time!”
“Once a month!” Claire interjected.
“Once a week, more like,” he said. “And that’s too much, really. You think I didn't want to come more?”
“Why didn’t you then?” Claire said heatedly.
“I- do you understand the danger you’re in right now? Do you have any idea how many people are working to keep you safe? Your dad, me? Add that to what I’ve got going on and- people want our powers, Claire. They want to hurt us.”
He raised his hands to her shoulders, settled them there softly. “I can’t let them. Do that, I mean. I…can’t let you get hurt, okay? I couldn’t handle it.”
“But I thought you…I thought you were busy and just didn’t…” she trailed off.
“No. I wanted to be here with you, Claire.” His hands slid from her shoulders to her back. “I don’t like being away from you, but do you understand? I can’t attract the attention to you. I won’t risk coming unless I’m absolutely sure it’s safe.”
He drew her closer to him. She pressed her fingers against his chest, and he looked down at her. “Plus I’m 26 and you’re 16…and you shouldn’t be scared. You deserve some happy, innocent things in your life, you know? I tried to be that while I was here, for you. Happy. Smiling.”
She thought of that pleasant, easy expression he’d always had on his face, every time he came to her. The smiling lips, nonchalant expression and careless teasing. Those were gone now, replaced with a semi-frown and intense, dark golden eyes.
She found she preferred the latter.
He trailed his hands up her back, and through her hair. “Don’t think for a second that I didn't want you, Claire. I did. I do. I’ll always want you. I’ve known that since the day in the jail.”
That was the day she knew it too.
“You’re in my bones and I tried to rip you out, but I couldn’t. And when I couldn’t I tried to pace myself with small doses of Claire.” His hands slid over her neck, and he cupped her face. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I guess it wasn’t and I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, okay? I love you. God. I love you-”
And then he kissed her, really kissed her. It wasn’t a peck and it wasn't a soft flutter, it was how she’d imagined he might kiss, only better. His lips were firm and he was soaking wet, but he still felt warm to her when he let go of her face and pulled her close to him.
She threw her arms around his neck, rocking against him so hard that he had to steady them. He kissed her again.
Finally, a hug from him - he wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressed his body against and over her so completely. She didn't even mind that he was sopping wet, and so was she, now. It was perfect and it was Peter and she never wanted it to be any other way.
“Ashamed of you? Dork,” said Peter softly. “How could you even think that?”
She snuggled into his neck and shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now, I’m so-“
“Wait.” She pulled away from him a tiny bit, “I do know that I love you back. Big time.” She didn't even trip over the words, though it was the first time she’d said them to someone besides her dad and mom and grandparents. “I love you,” she repeated insistently.
He smiled down at her (a real smile, this time - she could tell the difference now), and he kissed her softly.
She kissed him back, returning each of his kisses with one with her own. When he asked, she gave, and when she thought she might faint from all the beautiful, wonderful, perfect feelings that were shaking through her, he held her fast.
He was always saving her.
-----
“Happy Singles Awareness Day,” scowled Zach, as he sat down next to her in English. It was sixth period, and the teacher had given up all semblance of a lesson. All the kids were too hyped over Valentines Day - stuffed full of chocolate and conversation hearts and the lure of potential hookups.
“I like Valentines Day,” said Claire defensively.
“You would,” said Zach. “Got plans tonight with Mr. Secret Boyfriend Man?”
Claire smiled. “Maybe.”
Zach shook his head. “It’s retarded that I’ve never met him.”
“Someday,” said Claire quietly. “When the timing’s better.”
“Boyfriend?” Thalia Partridge, who brought new meaning to the word ‘unpleasant’ interrupted rudely. “Did you say Claire Bennet has a beardfriend?”
The a couple kids giggled, and Claire frowned as she saw Zach roll his eyes. “Thalia, would you shut up?” said Claire nastily.
Thalia opened her ugly mouth to speak, but was interrupted to by the sound of the classroom door creaking open.
“Lookin’ for ah…Claire Bennet,” said a bored-sounding voice.
The voice came from behind a huge cluster of walking roses - at least a few dozen. They were bright pink and wrapped in cellophane.
“That’s her!” said Zach, and pointed his finger in her face.
Claire felt herself color faintly, and ignored the weary glance her teacher shot her. She skipped to the door and took the flowers from the gum-snapping deliveryman.
There was a small, white note tucked into the front. She slid her nail under the seal hurriedly.
I’ll always want you.
Thalia wouldn’t look at her as Claire strutted back to her desk, a hugely satisfied smile on her face.
-----
“I hate it-” She spit her hair out her mouth in mock frustration. “I hate it when you don’t tell me when you’re gonna do that!”
One minute she’d been late to seventh period, swiftly running through the empty halls. The next, a strong arm had hooked under her knees while another held her across the back. And then she was being lifted up and over her school, her town…everything.
He just laughed as they flew higher into the sky. It was a cool sort of day, but the afternoon sun was peeking through the clouds. She curled her arm tighter around his neck as she juggled her huge bouquet of flowers.
“You like them?” His face swam in front of hers, and then the rest of him was there, too. Smiling at her as he cuddled her closer.
A ray of sunlight fell over his face, turning his eyes that beautiful golden color that she liked so much.
She pushed a piece of his hair out of his eyes, letting her fingertips trail just a bit. She leaned over her pink roses to kiss him. “Better than like. Love.”
She felt him smile against her lips.
fin
a/n - ugh, so much fluff, but i needed to write something bright and innocent after my dirtybad petrellicest fic. writing fluff makes me uncomfortable, and i’d never have done it were it not for eowyn_girl (again) who adores fluff and egged me on (again).
here’s some missing pieces to the plot, in case you were wondering. it wouldn’t have been appropriate to put them in the story as it couldn’t have come through claire’s pov. it roughly follows canon - sylar escaped from primatech and started stalking the heroes including claire and peter (which is why her father grounds her, and why peter is so paranoid about her safety, to the point of him not daring to come visit her for fear of sylar finding out about it). obviously both men chose not to tell Claire because they believed it in her best interest not to worry about it. silly boys.
on a personal note, i dropped comp sci, so i’ll have more time to write this semester. yay.
Author: missaliceblue
Pairing: Peter/Claire.
Rating: G. AU after Fallout. Peter and Claire are not related.
Status: 3/3. 4000 words. COMPLETE!
Summary: Claire’s got a crush. Tender and fluffy, with a dash of angst.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
-------------
“Really, this is getting ridiculous.” Her mom threw her fork onto her plate, and Claire winced at the scraping noise. Her dad kept on calmly eating green beans.
“She hardly ever comes out of her room! She mopes around here and I know you love her, but she’s a teenage girl, for heaven’s sake! When are you going to let her out of the house?” Her mother started clearing the dinner table with vigor.
“Claire, honey, what did you do to make your father so mad?” asked her mom.
“Nothing, I told you,” said Claire. She rolled her eyes and looked at her dad.
He caught her look, and sighed softly. “Sandra, I’ve told you too. She didn’t do anything. I’m just…concerned about the crime around here lately.”
“Oh, please. She should stop living her life because of a couple junkie shootings?”
Claire kept her eyes on her dinner plate.
“See, and she just takes it! I don’t understand.”
“Can I please be excused,” said Claire tightly.
“Of course, baby,” said her dad.
“Wait, Claire!”
Her mother called her but Claire just pounded up the steps to her room.
------
Five kisses.
Five kisses in five months. That’s what he gave her.
The thought was so utterly depressing. Every night she imagined what it would be like to kiss him - really kiss him. Not a peck or a light little flutter, but a real one. His kisses were a lot like trying to touch a cloud, but that was nothing compared to him.
“You seem mad. What’s up?” she asked him one night, when his brows were knotted over his brown eyes (she loved his eyes more than anything on this planet, swear to god).
He shook his head at her, and smiled at her again, but his mouth looked a little strained. She was starting to notice these things.
“I’m not mad. Why would I be?” said Peter.
She shrugged. She was sitting in the middle of her bed, Indian style. “I don’t know. You don’t ever tell me things like that,” said Claire softly.
“Nothing to tell,” he said. A lie. That was a lie, and she knew it.
When he looked in her eyes, she realised he knew that, too.
-----
She’d been hinting about this movie for weeks. And she did want to see it, but not as badly as she was hinting - like it was going to be the best movie ever, and she couldn’t wait to see it. He was either not getting it or pretending not to get it, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask him directly, because what if he said no?
Please, she thought. Just ask me.
Oh, she wanted a date. Sitting with him twice a month was all very well and good and nice and she loved to be with him no matter what, but she wanted to go out with him. Not in Odessa or even Midland because someone might see them and then there would be bad questions. But he could fly them somewhere.
She wanted to hold hands with him in a movie theater. She wanted her fingers to be sticky with butter while she did it, and she wanted the other girls in the theater to see her with an older boy.
Not that she would know the girls or that she even cared that he was older or anything, but still. She wanted to show him off. Was that so wrong? She was proud of him. He was beautiful and funny and dressed well and was smart and charming and kind and she really, really could sit there all day and say nice things about him.
But he never asked her to go the movie. So they didn't go.
-----
“Claire. You’ve got to eat something.” Her mom shook her head at her dinner plate.
“I’m not very hungry. Sorry. It’s good though.” Claire toyed with her chicken.
Her mother cast a dark look at her dad. “This has got to stop, Noah. She’s like a sick little ghost.”
Claire laughed at that - at the image of that in her mind. “I’m not a sick ghost, Mom. Swear.”
-----
He never took her flying anymore. She had loved it the few times they’d done it, and she wanted nothing more than to do it again. Again and again and again.
She asked once and he looked up at the ceiling with one eye crunched closed, like he was thinking about it. “Eh. It’s kinda cold, don’t you think?”
“I have jackets,” said Claire, and she stood up.
“Nah,” said Peter. “Nah, I really don’t feel like it.”
She felt her face droop.
“Not tonight, at least,” he said, and he smiled at her. “Maybe next time I come?”
But she didn't ask. She wanted him to bring it up, but he didn’t and they never went.
-----
“Ugh, Claire. Just…snap out of it!” Zach twitched his fingers in her face at lunchtime.
Claire pulled her straw out of her mouth. “Hmm?”
“You’ve been drinking that soda for like, half an hour,” said Zach distastefully. “You’re always out of it.”
She nodded. Zach was right, and Zach was a good friend, and she had been annoying and emo lately. “I’m sorry,” she said, and slurped down the rest of her Sprite. “I know I’ve been stupid. Sorry.”
“Nah, not stupid,” said Zach, as he ate yogurt out of a little cup.
It was awhile before he talked again - the companionable silence with Zach was something she loved best about him. “Hope you know though…you can talk to me about stuff if you need to,” he said simply.
“How do you know if a boy is your boyfriend, d’you think?” she blurted out in response, amazed that that had come out of her mouth, and so quickly.
Zach’s eyes widened but he answered her coolly. “Is this about Mr. Secret Boyfriend Man?”
She looked at him, startled. She hadn't thought he’d known.
“Oh, come on Claire. You moon around here and I never see you any more out of school.” Zach ate another spoonful of yogurt. “Of course it’s a boyfriend.”
She looked at Zach and she felt her eyes water a little - why she should cry at this lie compared to all the others, she didn't know. “I’m sorry Zach, I…didn't mean to keep it from you. I just…”
Zach raised his hands. “Hey, its fine. I’m all for keeping love life private.”
He made her laugh at that. He smiled at her and poked her knee. “I’d like to meet the boyfriend sometime, though.”
She shook her head. “Not a boyfriend. But I want him to be.”
“So ask him.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just say, ‘Hey, you want to be my boyfriend’?”
Zach nodded. “Yeah, like that.”
“You serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” asked Zach.
Her eyes grew wide. “I can’t just do it like that!”
Zach shrugged. “Then you won’t ever know.”
-----
Peter came the next week. She was bouncing on her bed. Antsy. Trying new strategies. He was sitting on her floor, his back against the closet. “Let’s go somewhere,” she said brightly.
He leaned his head back against the closet, and looked at her through hooded eyes. “Where?”
“Dunno. A walk?”
He gave her that calm expression again. “Why do you want to go on a walk?”
“I’m bored.” She looked at her fingernails. “And I want to go on a walk with you.”
He didn't say yes but he didn't say no either. “We could walk by the river, here,” said Claire.
Peter shook his head. “Don’t think that’d be good.”
She pressed on; couldn’t stop herself. “Let’s go somewhere no one knows me then. Fly us somewhere.”
“That wouldn’t be a good thing, either.” He shook his head again, and changed the subject with that same little smile on his face.
She cried into one of her teddy bears that night, because she didn't want to leave tearstains on her pillow for her mother to find. So she carefully soaked each appendage of her dark brown teddy bear from Seattle. First his arm, then his leg, and so on. She cried silently in her bed, until she was tired and spent and could finally think about sleeping.
Claire faced the truth that was burning in her mind and, worst of all, in her heart, where she couldn’t deny or explain or excuse it away.
-----
“Woah, kiddo. You look wrecked,” said Peter, as he climbed into her room. He’d stayed away for two weeks this time.
She shook her head and didn't say anything. She was sitting on her bed, holding a pillow to her torso.
He looked at her. “Seriously, Claire, what’s up?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled after a long pause.
“Looks like something,” he said lightly. He was still smiling, but she thought she saw some strain around his eyes.
“It’s not anything,” said Claire, her tight, angry voice echoing in her ears.
He started to say her name, but she cut him off with a wave of her little hand. “I think you should go, Peter.”
He wasn't smiling anymore. “Talk to me, Claire.”
“No,” she said, and grasped the pillow tighter.
“What’s going on? Is someone hurting you?” asked Peter.
“Of course not,” she said forcefully. “Just…you.”
She could feel tears quivering at the corners of her eyes, but she was going to get through this without crying if it killed her.
“You never - you never talk to me,” she said miserably. “You hardly ever come visit. And you don’t want to go out with me.”
Peter was staring at her.
She sniffed deeply, but she wasn’t crying, was not going to. “I always feel so stupid around you. All I want to do is be around you and be with you and I hate that you don’t feel the same way about me.”
She rubbed her eye with her fist. “I hate that I don’t matter to you. Not like you do to me.” Two hot tears rolled down her cheek, but that was all she was going to let happen. She pushed them off tersely with her hand.
“You don’t want to be my boyfriend, and that’s okay, but…” She covered her mouth, and fought down the sob in her throat. “But it’s like you’re ashamed of me. Like you don’t want to be seen with me.”
Peter was looking at her like she’d grown another head.
“I’m sorry I’m just a stupid kid, but I do…I did try not to be. Anyway,” she said lamely, “I can’t stand this anymore, it’s driving me crazy. I feel sick and I hate myself and feel insecure all the time and I just…I don’t want to do it anymore.”
She waited, stared at the floor while she did. He just looked at her. “Okay. Well I’m gonna go. Bye.” She flopped the pillow onto her bed and got up, steadily avoiding his gaze and him as she went out of her room.
Claire walked past her mother and didn't say anything when she asked her what was wrong. She marched straight into the laundry room by the kitchen and she sat on the washer with her knees to her forehead and cried.
She cried and she tried to be quiet about it. She cried for a long time. The light through the little window in the laundry room burned bright and then dulled to a soft orange. Her mother knocked three times but she said to go away, please. She just wanted to be alone.
Finally her dad walked in, when the light in the window was soft and blue-ish in color. He had a peanut butter sandwich on a plate, and he set it down next to her. A soft sheen of rain started to fall against the window. Rain. It hardly ever rained in Odessa. It seemed fitting for this crappy day.
“I’m sorry, baby. I don’t know what it’s about,” said her dad, and his hand trailed over her hair. “But whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
She leaned against her father’s chest, and pinched her eyes together. “Oh, Daddy. It’s - it’s just a crush.”
“Well…that’s why they call ‘em crushes, sweetie.”
He held her tight, for a while, and kissed her on the top of her head. And then he told her that everything was going to be okay.
Eventually she ate the sandwich and combed her hair. She splashed water on her face and did her biology homework at the kitchen table. She played Mario Kart with her brother and after that she couldn’t think of any more excuses, so she went upstairs.
The door to her bedroom was open a bit, but of course he was gone.
-----
Crying always made her tired, and she felt drained that night, both her body and her spirit. She felt lethargic as she pulled her clothes off and tossed them haphazardly onto the floor - something she’d stopped doing in case Peter came, but she had no reason to stop now.
It was still raining when Claire spread a soft, fluffy quilt that her Grandma had made over her bed. She changed into her oldest, most comfy pajamas -baggy knit pants and a loose tank top. She snuggled into her sheets and reminded herself that the time for crying was over.
Sleep claimed her quickly - easily lulled by the soothing pings of rain on her window. When she opened her eyes it was dark and her clock said 2:54. It was still raining.
There it was, again. The sound that had roused her. She sat up.
It was a persistent knock on her window. Her heart skipped a few beats and her thighs were shaking as she slipped out from under her covers.
Peter was there. He pointed emphatically at the lock on her window, and without thinking she flipped it up and pushed her window open.
“Peter, what are you - it’s raining!” she whispered tersely as he crawled in through the window.
He was not smiling - the easy, pleasant look on his face was completely gone, like it had never been there to begin with. His hair was stringy and straight as it hung wetly on his forehead. He pushed it out of his eyes, and looked at her.
“I’ll get you a towel,” said Claire, and she stepped toward her door.
“No.” He caught her arm, held her fast. She looked up at him as he held her other arm then too, steered her to stand right in front of him.
“I’ve got something to say to you, and I shouldn’t have to even say this, because this is crazy.” He shook her arm a tiny bit.
He seemed mad. Her eyes widened “Your little speech earlier, about how I don’t care about you…was that a joke? Were you trying to be funny or did you just get tired of this and want an easy way to blow me off?”
“W-What?” Claire stammered.
“Just answer me!” He spoke low and furious.
“I don’t - I don’t know what you want me to say! It was neither. It was the truth!” said Claire.
He released her arms, and shook his head at her, incredulously. “Claire, how the - how can you even think that?”
Claire felt her chin tremble and a frown pass over her lips. “I don’t need you making fun of me.”
“I’m not! I’m just trying to understand how you could possibly think that I don’t care about you!” Peter took a step closer to her. There were droplets of water on his cheeks and eyelashes and chin.
“I know you do,” she said. “But not…not how I want you to care. That’s what hurt.”
“For the- Geez, Claire. I - “ Peter pressed his fingertips to his temple. “I don’t know how I could possibly care about you more, more than I already do.”
Claire swallowed, hoisting up her courage from every corner of her body. “I want you to love me.”
“I do,” said Peter shortly.
“No, like a girl. A girl and a boy kind of love,” explained Claire.
“Claire. I do.”
Her mouth dropped open.
He laughed at her - not the kind sort of laughing that he had always done with her, every time he had seen her. It was a sarcastic kind of laugh. “Why are you surprised? I think I was pretty obvious. God, I was here all the time!”
“Once a month!” Claire interjected.
“Once a week, more like,” he said. “And that’s too much, really. You think I didn't want to come more?”
“Why didn’t you then?” Claire said heatedly.
“I- do you understand the danger you’re in right now? Do you have any idea how many people are working to keep you safe? Your dad, me? Add that to what I’ve got going on and- people want our powers, Claire. They want to hurt us.”
He raised his hands to her shoulders, settled them there softly. “I can’t let them. Do that, I mean. I…can’t let you get hurt, okay? I couldn’t handle it.”
“But I thought you…I thought you were busy and just didn’t…” she trailed off.
“No. I wanted to be here with you, Claire.” His hands slid from her shoulders to her back. “I don’t like being away from you, but do you understand? I can’t attract the attention to you. I won’t risk coming unless I’m absolutely sure it’s safe.”
He drew her closer to him. She pressed her fingers against his chest, and he looked down at her. “Plus I’m 26 and you’re 16…and you shouldn’t be scared. You deserve some happy, innocent things in your life, you know? I tried to be that while I was here, for you. Happy. Smiling.”
She thought of that pleasant, easy expression he’d always had on his face, every time he came to her. The smiling lips, nonchalant expression and careless teasing. Those were gone now, replaced with a semi-frown and intense, dark golden eyes.
She found she preferred the latter.
He trailed his hands up her back, and through her hair. “Don’t think for a second that I didn't want you, Claire. I did. I do. I’ll always want you. I’ve known that since the day in the jail.”
That was the day she knew it too.
“You’re in my bones and I tried to rip you out, but I couldn’t. And when I couldn’t I tried to pace myself with small doses of Claire.” His hands slid over her neck, and he cupped her face. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I guess it wasn’t and I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, okay? I love you. God. I love you-”
And then he kissed her, really kissed her. It wasn’t a peck and it wasn't a soft flutter, it was how she’d imagined he might kiss, only better. His lips were firm and he was soaking wet, but he still felt warm to her when he let go of her face and pulled her close to him.
She threw her arms around his neck, rocking against him so hard that he had to steady them. He kissed her again.
Finally, a hug from him - he wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressed his body against and over her so completely. She didn't even mind that he was sopping wet, and so was she, now. It was perfect and it was Peter and she never wanted it to be any other way.
“Ashamed of you? Dork,” said Peter softly. “How could you even think that?”
She snuggled into his neck and shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now, I’m so-“
“Wait.” She pulled away from him a tiny bit, “I do know that I love you back. Big time.” She didn't even trip over the words, though it was the first time she’d said them to someone besides her dad and mom and grandparents. “I love you,” she repeated insistently.
He smiled down at her (a real smile, this time - she could tell the difference now), and he kissed her softly.
She kissed him back, returning each of his kisses with one with her own. When he asked, she gave, and when she thought she might faint from all the beautiful, wonderful, perfect feelings that were shaking through her, he held her fast.
He was always saving her.
-----
“Happy Singles Awareness Day,” scowled Zach, as he sat down next to her in English. It was sixth period, and the teacher had given up all semblance of a lesson. All the kids were too hyped over Valentines Day - stuffed full of chocolate and conversation hearts and the lure of potential hookups.
“I like Valentines Day,” said Claire defensively.
“You would,” said Zach. “Got plans tonight with Mr. Secret Boyfriend Man?”
Claire smiled. “Maybe.”
Zach shook his head. “It’s retarded that I’ve never met him.”
“Someday,” said Claire quietly. “When the timing’s better.”
“Boyfriend?” Thalia Partridge, who brought new meaning to the word ‘unpleasant’ interrupted rudely. “Did you say Claire Bennet has a beardfriend?”
The a couple kids giggled, and Claire frowned as she saw Zach roll his eyes. “Thalia, would you shut up?” said Claire nastily.
Thalia opened her ugly mouth to speak, but was interrupted to by the sound of the classroom door creaking open.
“Lookin’ for ah…Claire Bennet,” said a bored-sounding voice.
The voice came from behind a huge cluster of walking roses - at least a few dozen. They were bright pink and wrapped in cellophane.
“That’s her!” said Zach, and pointed his finger in her face.
Claire felt herself color faintly, and ignored the weary glance her teacher shot her. She skipped to the door and took the flowers from the gum-snapping deliveryman.
There was a small, white note tucked into the front. She slid her nail under the seal hurriedly.
I’ll always want you.
Thalia wouldn’t look at her as Claire strutted back to her desk, a hugely satisfied smile on her face.
-----
“I hate it-” She spit her hair out her mouth in mock frustration. “I hate it when you don’t tell me when you’re gonna do that!”
One minute she’d been late to seventh period, swiftly running through the empty halls. The next, a strong arm had hooked under her knees while another held her across the back. And then she was being lifted up and over her school, her town…everything.
He just laughed as they flew higher into the sky. It was a cool sort of day, but the afternoon sun was peeking through the clouds. She curled her arm tighter around his neck as she juggled her huge bouquet of flowers.
“You like them?” His face swam in front of hers, and then the rest of him was there, too. Smiling at her as he cuddled her closer.
A ray of sunlight fell over his face, turning his eyes that beautiful golden color that she liked so much.
She pushed a piece of his hair out of his eyes, letting her fingertips trail just a bit. She leaned over her pink roses to kiss him. “Better than like. Love.”
She felt him smile against her lips.
fin
a/n - ugh, so much fluff, but i needed to write something bright and innocent after my dirtybad petrellicest fic. writing fluff makes me uncomfortable, and i’d never have done it were it not for eowyn_girl (again) who adores fluff and egged me on (again).
here’s some missing pieces to the plot, in case you were wondering. it wouldn’t have been appropriate to put them in the story as it couldn’t have come through claire’s pov. it roughly follows canon - sylar escaped from primatech and started stalking the heroes including claire and peter (which is why her father grounds her, and why peter is so paranoid about her safety, to the point of him not daring to come visit her for fear of sylar finding out about it). obviously both men chose not to tell Claire because they believed it in her best interest not to worry about it. silly boys.
on a personal note, i dropped comp sci, so i’ll have more time to write this semester. yay.