Always with me -- Prompt #3 DREAM -- (Heroes, Claisaac)
Title: Always with me
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: References to .07% but the time line is messed up anyway, so for the most part it shouldn't be too bad.
Pairings: Claire/Isaac
Characters: Isaac, Claire
Genre: Romance, angst
Warnings: Underageness, character death
Summary: Prompt #3 - Dream. Claire hgets a surprise visitor on a frustrating day.
Disclaimer: Noooo I don't own it!
AN: Continuity is butchered in this. It's very AU.
--
Always with me
She slammed the palm of her hand against the door in a futile expression of rage, before turning and collapsing against it with a sigh. She never expected to be locked in her room by her own uncle. Especially not over a boy she was going out with. Her father--the one in Texas, not the one in his study trying his hardest to pretend she didn't exist--would have never put up with it.
Of course, it might have helped her case if the boy in question were actually a boy. And if he were something more of an upstanding member of society. And if her uncle didn't hate him with quite such a fiery vigor.
It couldn't have hurt to wear jeans instead of a mini skirt, too.
But still. It wasn't as if it was any of his business anyway. She was an adult (almost), and it wasn't as if she could get hurt in any case. Honestly, he was acting as if she'd turned up arm-in-arm with that serial killer.
Not that she'd turned up anywhere arm-in-arm. She mostly just went to his place and shacked up.
Her cheeks warmed self consciously. Boy, did that sound worse than it was.
She gave a frustrated groan and got up from the floor to storm over to her bed and throw herself down on it. (She was not throwing a fit...she was...expressing her chagrin. Her very intense chagrin.)
He just didn't understand. None of them did. She wasn't trying to rebel against her family for attention--that kind of attention she did not want.
It was just...
She just...
"You look about 14 with your lip jutting out like that."
She did not squeal when she jumped up. That was the bed. She did however throw the book at the man leaning against her balcony doorway. Right at his head, too. Maybe she should have been the quarterback instead of the cheerleader.
To her surprise--and perhaps a bit of disappointment...it was a good throw, after all--her unexpected guest was able to duck the projectile without much difficulty, smirking back at it as it crashed to the floor behind him.
"Expecting someone else?" His demeanor, his posture, his entire being seemed to radiate the relaxed smugness of his smirk. Unruly dark hair spilled across his shoulders and over his faded blue denim jacket. His arms were crossed, letting the jacket hang open to show a worn off-white shirt, and his legs were crossed in a rather feminine manner, that probably wasn't as easy as it looked in ripped jeans.
She tilted her head slightly to match the angle he stood at. "How'd you get here?"
"I flew."
She rolled her eyes, and got up from the bed, to strike a stern pose. "I don't suppose dad gave you a jelly muffin before giving you that lift, did he?"
"Wasn't hungry."
She masked her amusement in a sigh. "If Peter finds you here he's going to kill you."
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Wouldn't be the first time he's tried."
"I don't think I used the word try."
He snorted, righting himself, and taking a step forward. "I could leave, if you want."
She swallowed, looking up at him as he continued his approach--completely contrary to his statement. "I...you don't wanna trip and break your neck."
She must have been picking up his precognition, as she tripped over the bed (she hadn't realized she'd been backpedaling). She'd barely regained her breath before he was leaning over her, hands pinning her wrists over her head, and a cocky smirk dominating his expression.
"Careful, Claire."
"It's not like I can break."
He glanced up and down her a moment, before leaning low enough that his freely hanging hair tickled her cheeks, and his breath danced across her skin. It smelled like a strawberry milkshake--he drank milkshakes?
"That's yet to be discovered, isn't it?"
She did not flush. It was just...hot in the room. Probably a buggy thermostat. Neither had her breath sped up all that much, because that wouldn't be very dignified, would it? Noo...that'd be playing right into his hand.
"Someone might overhear..."
"Let them."
Her breath caught momentarily when his lips descended upon hers, eyes closing against her will, and she chastised herself mentally for being so easy.
"Claire?"
Her eyes snapped open at the sound of her uncle's voice--heart thudding in her chest as she leapt up.
Her uncle stood in her doorway, a confused look on his face...and her phantom lover was nowhere to be seen.
"Are you alright, Claire?"
"I'm fine." Her eyes fell to her hands, and she nodded softly, reality of the situation weighing down on her with crushing certainty. "I can't break, remember?"
"Claire..."
She shook her head, not looking up at him. "Leave me alone."
"Claire, let me help you..."
She glared up at him then, concern was written in his features, as he stood frozen in indecision at the doorway. "I don't need your help, Peter. I think you helped me enough already."
"You couldn't have helped him even if you were there, you know that. He would have only killed you, too." He sighed, giving her a pleading look.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
She chose not to answer him, instead moving to pick up the picture on the desk next to her bed. It was a digital snapshot of a painting. Two people sat at a cafe, smiling across the table at each other.
He'd painted it the day before they met, and a month before he was gone. She had no idea where the original was anymore, a man named Linderman had taken it with the rest of his gallery when they'd cleaned out his loft. Her father was only able to get her a picture of it.
He was silent for a few moments. "You know you have to let go one day, Claire."
This time, her aim didn't miss.
END
---
AN: Ergh. It did it again without permission. I intended it to be pretty fluffy, but it just didn't work with Need prompt, so I switched it to Dream, and then before I knew it, it was this. >.>
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: References to .07% but the time line is messed up anyway, so for the most part it shouldn't be too bad.
Pairings: Claire/Isaac
Characters: Isaac, Claire
Genre: Romance, angst
Warnings: Underageness, character death
Summary: Prompt #3 - Dream. Claire hgets a surprise visitor on a frustrating day.
Disclaimer: Noooo I don't own it!
AN: Continuity is butchered in this. It's very AU.
--
Always with me
She slammed the palm of her hand against the door in a futile expression of rage, before turning and collapsing against it with a sigh. She never expected to be locked in her room by her own uncle. Especially not over a boy she was going out with. Her father--the one in Texas, not the one in his study trying his hardest to pretend she didn't exist--would have never put up with it.
Of course, it might have helped her case if the boy in question were actually a boy. And if he were something more of an upstanding member of society. And if her uncle didn't hate him with quite such a fiery vigor.
It couldn't have hurt to wear jeans instead of a mini skirt, too.
But still. It wasn't as if it was any of his business anyway. She was an adult (almost), and it wasn't as if she could get hurt in any case. Honestly, he was acting as if she'd turned up arm-in-arm with that serial killer.
Not that she'd turned up anywhere arm-in-arm. She mostly just went to his place and shacked up.
Her cheeks warmed self consciously. Boy, did that sound worse than it was.
She gave a frustrated groan and got up from the floor to storm over to her bed and throw herself down on it. (She was not throwing a fit...she was...expressing her chagrin. Her very intense chagrin.)
He just didn't understand. None of them did. She wasn't trying to rebel against her family for attention--that kind of attention she did not want.
It was just...
She just...
"You look about 14 with your lip jutting out like that."
She did not squeal when she jumped up. That was the bed. She did however throw the book at the man leaning against her balcony doorway. Right at his head, too. Maybe she should have been the quarterback instead of the cheerleader.
To her surprise--and perhaps a bit of disappointment...it was a good throw, after all--her unexpected guest was able to duck the projectile without much difficulty, smirking back at it as it crashed to the floor behind him.
"Expecting someone else?" His demeanor, his posture, his entire being seemed to radiate the relaxed smugness of his smirk. Unruly dark hair spilled across his shoulders and over his faded blue denim jacket. His arms were crossed, letting the jacket hang open to show a worn off-white shirt, and his legs were crossed in a rather feminine manner, that probably wasn't as easy as it looked in ripped jeans.
She tilted her head slightly to match the angle he stood at. "How'd you get here?"
"I flew."
She rolled her eyes, and got up from the bed, to strike a stern pose. "I don't suppose dad gave you a jelly muffin before giving you that lift, did he?"
"Wasn't hungry."
She masked her amusement in a sigh. "If Peter finds you here he's going to kill you."
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Wouldn't be the first time he's tried."
"I don't think I used the word try."
He snorted, righting himself, and taking a step forward. "I could leave, if you want."
She swallowed, looking up at him as he continued his approach--completely contrary to his statement. "I...you don't wanna trip and break your neck."
She must have been picking up his precognition, as she tripped over the bed (she hadn't realized she'd been backpedaling). She'd barely regained her breath before he was leaning over her, hands pinning her wrists over her head, and a cocky smirk dominating his expression.
"Careful, Claire."
"It's not like I can break."
He glanced up and down her a moment, before leaning low enough that his freely hanging hair tickled her cheeks, and his breath danced across her skin. It smelled like a strawberry milkshake--he drank milkshakes?
"That's yet to be discovered, isn't it?"
She did not flush. It was just...hot in the room. Probably a buggy thermostat. Neither had her breath sped up all that much, because that wouldn't be very dignified, would it? Noo...that'd be playing right into his hand.
"Someone might overhear..."
"Let them."
Her breath caught momentarily when his lips descended upon hers, eyes closing against her will, and she chastised herself mentally for being so easy.
"Claire?"
Her eyes snapped open at the sound of her uncle's voice--heart thudding in her chest as she leapt up.
Her uncle stood in her doorway, a confused look on his face...and her phantom lover was nowhere to be seen.
"Are you alright, Claire?"
"I'm fine." Her eyes fell to her hands, and she nodded softly, reality of the situation weighing down on her with crushing certainty. "I can't break, remember?"
"Claire..."
She shook her head, not looking up at him. "Leave me alone."
"Claire, let me help you..."
She glared up at him then, concern was written in his features, as he stood frozen in indecision at the doorway. "I don't need your help, Peter. I think you helped me enough already."
"You couldn't have helped him even if you were there, you know that. He would have only killed you, too." He sighed, giving her a pleading look.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
She chose not to answer him, instead moving to pick up the picture on the desk next to her bed. It was a digital snapshot of a painting. Two people sat at a cafe, smiling across the table at each other.
He'd painted it the day before they met, and a month before he was gone. She had no idea where the original was anymore, a man named Linderman had taken it with the rest of his gallery when they'd cleaned out his loft. Her father was only able to get her a picture of it.
He was silent for a few moments. "You know you have to let go one day, Claire."
This time, her aim didn't miss.
END
---
AN: Ergh. It did it again without permission. I intended it to be pretty fluffy, but it just didn't work with Need prompt, so I switched it to Dream, and then before I knew it, it was this. >.>