After-Hours
Title: After-Hours
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Claire
Rating: G
Warnings: AU Set 10 years before what we're used to. Un-beta’ed.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the stories I write.
Summary: Peter's shift is over, but he doesn't feel any sense of accomplishment. At least not yet. Written for pairechallenge's One-Shot Challenge #17 "Alternate Universe."
Word Count: 1447
~
His feet tingled with pinpricked soreness. His legs wobbled beneath him like Jell-O. His back ached no matter what posture he assumed. His arms were dead weights at his sides. His fingers stung and pulsed in tandem with his weary heart. His neck cracked anyway he turned it. His left eye was forming an annoying twitch. Every coherent thought that ran through his mind made it seem as though his skull was shrinking.
In short, he was tired.
When he had suggested volunteering at the nearby hospital, he did so partly to fulfill his community service requirement for school and partly as a subtle form of rebellion. His grandfather was a lawyer, his father was a lawyer, and his older brother Nathan was a lawyer. Himself? Not even inclined to study law or the judicial system, nor interested in joining his high school's debate team. He didn't want to spend his life fighting people to make a point or to prove himself worthy.
His family knew what he was doing by obviously choosing hospital volunteer work rather than the internship at the governor's office. His father was disappointed in his choice. Nathan was proud of the backbone his younger brother was growing. His mother ...
His mother had been remarkably enthusiastic in her own subdued way.
"You'll reach many people," she said, her hand pressed to his cheek. "You'll help save them all."
He believed her and had held on strongly to that belief when he donned the white vest with the hospital's emblem proudly displayed over his left breast.
Then he discovered that he was to be assigned to do clerical work--filing, helping out at the receptionist counter, running errands. His numerous paper cuts, blurred vision, and sore feet were only a few of the battle scars he sported from his endeavors.
Running a shaking hand through his dark hair, he sighed as the employee's locker room came into view. It was nearly eight o'clock and his supervisor had dismissed him early to get a head start on the evening rounds. He didn't complain or even suggest that he help out in reminding lingering well-wishers that visiting hours were over. He was just too tired to care anymore about the patients he would never get the chance to "reach" and "help."
He was resting his forehead against the door, trying to summon enough strength to turn the knob, when a wheelchair collided with his side.
"Oh! Sorry."
He looked down at the wheelchair's occupant and found himself staring into the jade green eyes of a young girl. She offered an apologetic smile that dimmed the gold of her hair, maneuvering her chair back and angling the wheels in an attempt to side-step him.
"Do you need help getting back to your room?" The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He didn't know why, but the sad little smile she gave him had tugged at his heartstrings. What kind of person would he be if he let a small sad girl make the long trek back to her room all by her lonesome with only her own arms to guide her?
Green eyes avoided brown. "I can get there on my o--whoa!"
The teenage volunteer could only offer a lopsided grin as he watched the young blonde turn in her seat to get a good look at him. He had stepped behind the wheelchair and taken control while she had been busy looking away from him, continuing down the hall before making a left.
"Pediatrics, right?" he assumed. He had only been to the pediatric ward once, but he passed by it often enough to know how to get to there. Who cared if it was on the other side of the hospital and completely out of his way or that his feet were already killing him? He’d live. At least long enough to pass out on his own bed.
Hopefully.
"Yeah," replied the girl, her white-knuckled grip on the armrests not going unnoticed.
"Are you okay?" he questioned. If anyone should be clutching anything with a vice grip, it should be him to fight off the growing aches in his body.
"Of course I'm not. I wouldn't be here if I was," she said.
He stopped the wheelchair at the dark, rueful tone and slowly walked to the front of the mobile chair. His knees protested as he kneeled, but he wanted to be level with her, wanted to remove the sorrow that clung to her young eyes, lips, and voice. He could do no such thing if he made himself out to be above her, physically or mentally.
From the moment he lowered himself to the linoleum, the girl averted her gaze to the side and pulled her hands into her lap. Her head tilted forward just enough that her golden curls curtained around her. Each and every one of her actions effectively withdrew herself from his presence.
"It gets better," he whispered, making sure he spoke just loudly enough so she could hear him and gentle enough so she didn't think he was scolding her.
"What?" Hesitant, yet curious eyes peeked out from behind a curtain of hair.
"Life after your time here in the hospital," he specified once he knew he had her attention. "It gets a lot better."
The curtain of blonde curls fell back to the reveal the girl's young inquisitive face, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side in interest. A sparkle had appeared amongst the dark shadows of her ash green eyes.
"Everyone in this hospital is trying to make sure that happens."
"Including you?" The question was spoken softly, a lilt akin to the spark in her eyes brightening the tone.
He gave her another lopsided grin. "Especially me."
Her response was a rosebud of a smile, just beginning to bloom out of the somber curve it had once been.
They continued on their journey in an amicable silence, only breaking it the few times the tired chauffer was corrected by the young female patient towards the right direction of her room. The silence was finally completely shattered when the teen volunteer opened the girl's door and led her inside.
"Will you be able to get into bed on your own?" he asked, more out of concern than politeness or protocol.
"I'll be fine," she declared, words heavy with determination and double meaning.
"Good night, then." He let go of the wheelchair and stepped back, his smile widening at the girl's resolve.
"G'night," she replied, wheeling herself closer to her bed.
The young man turned towards the door, but called over his shoulder, "I'll see you tomorrow."
Blonde curls whipped around the girl's round face as she fought to turn and meet his gaze. "Tomorrow," she breathed out like the first chords of a song, full of hope and promise.
The door closed behind him then, an audible click signaling his leave. With the light buzz of the florescent lights above, he began to retrace the steps he took to reach the pediatric ward, alone this time.
"Hey!"
He turned. What greeted him was the door that he let fall shut now wide open and the girl he had left in a wheelchair now standing on trembling legs with tired strength keeping her body from toppling over.
"What's your name?"
"Peter," he rasped out in surprise at the forcefulness in which the question was asked and at the frail little girl it had been delivered from.
"I'm Claire," was Peter's reward, along with a smile that set Claire's whole face aglow.
During the walk back to the employee locker room, Peter couldn't help the grin Claire placed on his face. He felt alight with hope that his mother's words of unexpected encouragement were not misplaced or misleading. He foresaw Nathan's pride growing as Peter himself continued to forge his own path. His father might always be disappointed in him, but Peter knew that someday the Petrelli patriarch would come to respect his youngest son's decisions.
Tomorrow Peter would talk to his supervisor, and if all went well, he would be interacting with more patients. If Peter's planned talk landed him a dismissal from his volunteer work at the hospital, he would not be disheartened. If nothing changed, Peter would prove himself worthy of his ambitions.
Regardless, he now knew that he could reach people and help them. He was a part of something that he hadn't taken seriously before, hadn't been aware that he could be part of. How strange that his calling, though prophesized by his mother, would be confirmed by a girl with a sad little smile.
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Claire
Rating: G
Warnings: AU Set 10 years before what we're used to. Un-beta’ed.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the stories I write.
Summary: Peter's shift is over, but he doesn't feel any sense of accomplishment. At least not yet. Written for pairechallenge's One-Shot Challenge #17 "Alternate Universe."
Word Count: 1447
~
His feet tingled with pinpricked soreness. His legs wobbled beneath him like Jell-O. His back ached no matter what posture he assumed. His arms were dead weights at his sides. His fingers stung and pulsed in tandem with his weary heart. His neck cracked anyway he turned it. His left eye was forming an annoying twitch. Every coherent thought that ran through his mind made it seem as though his skull was shrinking.
In short, he was tired.
When he had suggested volunteering at the nearby hospital, he did so partly to fulfill his community service requirement for school and partly as a subtle form of rebellion. His grandfather was a lawyer, his father was a lawyer, and his older brother Nathan was a lawyer. Himself? Not even inclined to study law or the judicial system, nor interested in joining his high school's debate team. He didn't want to spend his life fighting people to make a point or to prove himself worthy.
His family knew what he was doing by obviously choosing hospital volunteer work rather than the internship at the governor's office. His father was disappointed in his choice. Nathan was proud of the backbone his younger brother was growing. His mother ...
His mother had been remarkably enthusiastic in her own subdued way.
"You'll reach many people," she said, her hand pressed to his cheek. "You'll help save them all."
He believed her and had held on strongly to that belief when he donned the white vest with the hospital's emblem proudly displayed over his left breast.
Then he discovered that he was to be assigned to do clerical work--filing, helping out at the receptionist counter, running errands. His numerous paper cuts, blurred vision, and sore feet were only a few of the battle scars he sported from his endeavors.
Running a shaking hand through his dark hair, he sighed as the employee's locker room came into view. It was nearly eight o'clock and his supervisor had dismissed him early to get a head start on the evening rounds. He didn't complain or even suggest that he help out in reminding lingering well-wishers that visiting hours were over. He was just too tired to care anymore about the patients he would never get the chance to "reach" and "help."
He was resting his forehead against the door, trying to summon enough strength to turn the knob, when a wheelchair collided with his side.
"Oh! Sorry."
He looked down at the wheelchair's occupant and found himself staring into the jade green eyes of a young girl. She offered an apologetic smile that dimmed the gold of her hair, maneuvering her chair back and angling the wheels in an attempt to side-step him.
"Do you need help getting back to your room?" The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He didn't know why, but the sad little smile she gave him had tugged at his heartstrings. What kind of person would he be if he let a small sad girl make the long trek back to her room all by her lonesome with only her own arms to guide her?
Green eyes avoided brown. "I can get there on my o--whoa!"
The teenage volunteer could only offer a lopsided grin as he watched the young blonde turn in her seat to get a good look at him. He had stepped behind the wheelchair and taken control while she had been busy looking away from him, continuing down the hall before making a left.
"Pediatrics, right?" he assumed. He had only been to the pediatric ward once, but he passed by it often enough to know how to get to there. Who cared if it was on the other side of the hospital and completely out of his way or that his feet were already killing him? He’d live. At least long enough to pass out on his own bed.
Hopefully.
"Yeah," replied the girl, her white-knuckled grip on the armrests not going unnoticed.
"Are you okay?" he questioned. If anyone should be clutching anything with a vice grip, it should be him to fight off the growing aches in his body.
"Of course I'm not. I wouldn't be here if I was," she said.
He stopped the wheelchair at the dark, rueful tone and slowly walked to the front of the mobile chair. His knees protested as he kneeled, but he wanted to be level with her, wanted to remove the sorrow that clung to her young eyes, lips, and voice. He could do no such thing if he made himself out to be above her, physically or mentally.
From the moment he lowered himself to the linoleum, the girl averted her gaze to the side and pulled her hands into her lap. Her head tilted forward just enough that her golden curls curtained around her. Each and every one of her actions effectively withdrew herself from his presence.
"It gets better," he whispered, making sure he spoke just loudly enough so she could hear him and gentle enough so she didn't think he was scolding her.
"What?" Hesitant, yet curious eyes peeked out from behind a curtain of hair.
"Life after your time here in the hospital," he specified once he knew he had her attention. "It gets a lot better."
The curtain of blonde curls fell back to the reveal the girl's young inquisitive face, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side in interest. A sparkle had appeared amongst the dark shadows of her ash green eyes.
"Everyone in this hospital is trying to make sure that happens."
"Including you?" The question was spoken softly, a lilt akin to the spark in her eyes brightening the tone.
He gave her another lopsided grin. "Especially me."
Her response was a rosebud of a smile, just beginning to bloom out of the somber curve it had once been.
They continued on their journey in an amicable silence, only breaking it the few times the tired chauffer was corrected by the young female patient towards the right direction of her room. The silence was finally completely shattered when the teen volunteer opened the girl's door and led her inside.
"Will you be able to get into bed on your own?" he asked, more out of concern than politeness or protocol.
"I'll be fine," she declared, words heavy with determination and double meaning.
"Good night, then." He let go of the wheelchair and stepped back, his smile widening at the girl's resolve.
"G'night," she replied, wheeling herself closer to her bed.
The young man turned towards the door, but called over his shoulder, "I'll see you tomorrow."
Blonde curls whipped around the girl's round face as she fought to turn and meet his gaze. "Tomorrow," she breathed out like the first chords of a song, full of hope and promise.
The door closed behind him then, an audible click signaling his leave. With the light buzz of the florescent lights above, he began to retrace the steps he took to reach the pediatric ward, alone this time.
"Hey!"
He turned. What greeted him was the door that he let fall shut now wide open and the girl he had left in a wheelchair now standing on trembling legs with tired strength keeping her body from toppling over.
"What's your name?"
"Peter," he rasped out in surprise at the forcefulness in which the question was asked and at the frail little girl it had been delivered from.
"I'm Claire," was Peter's reward, along with a smile that set Claire's whole face aglow.
During the walk back to the employee locker room, Peter couldn't help the grin Claire placed on his face. He felt alight with hope that his mother's words of unexpected encouragement were not misplaced or misleading. He foresaw Nathan's pride growing as Peter himself continued to forge his own path. His father might always be disappointed in him, but Peter knew that someday the Petrelli patriarch would come to respect his youngest son's decisions.
Tomorrow Peter would talk to his supervisor, and if all went well, he would be interacting with more patients. If Peter's planned talk landed him a dismissal from his volunteer work at the hospital, he would not be disheartened. If nothing changed, Peter would prove himself worthy of his ambitions.
Regardless, he now knew that he could reach people and help them. He was a part of something that he hadn't taken seriously before, hadn't been aware that he could be part of. How strange that his calling, though prophesized by his mother, would be confirmed by a girl with a sad little smile.