Pairechallenge "Breathe" - To Have And To Hold (Peter/Claire, Heroes)
Title: To Have And To Hold
Word Count: 1,738
Rating: PG at worst
Genre: Family/Friendship/Comfort
Pairings: Peter/Claire,
Warnings: Nothin'.
Summary: The nightmares just wouldn't let up. They kept coming and coming, and Peter was sure that if it were possible for him to die he would have been dead three nights ago.
Other: Despite the title this was written to be completely familial, a kind of delving into their connection, but like almost anything Paire it's so on the line that it could lean in either direction so view it as you wish. :) It's kind of AU in season one, I guess, since I made it so more time passed between Claire arriving in New York and the bomb, but other than that it's canon.
Written for pairechallenge one-shot prompt "Breathe"
Peter awoke with a startling gasp, jolting upwards in his bed to stare blankly at the ceiling for a few seconds in shocked silence.
“What-”
The dream. The dream had happened again. Stifling a curse Peter ran a hand through his hair, cringing when he felt how slick with sweat he had become. The empath threw the covers off of his body, relishing the coolness of the air in the room as it hit him.
He didn’t understand. He was gaining control of his powers. He could use them at will - well, usually at least. Claude would smite him for life if he thought or believed he actually had control.
But it seemed like it was working. So why was he still having dreams of exploding? It didn’t make sense.
Peter shook his head, twisting his legs over the side of the bed and pushing himself to his feet shakily. Stumbling slightly in the dark he made his way down the hall of the family mansion to the closest bathroom. He flicked the light on, no longer feeling the need to recoil at the sight of the familiar ghost starting back at him.
His eyes were sunken, his face pale. If he hadn’t known he was indestructible he would have thought he was about to die. As it was he was only the face of death - not about to die himself, but he could probably scare someone else enough that they would.
Peter sighed slowly through his nostrils, leaning on the sink and dampening a cloth to dab over his face. Maybe he didn’t have enough practice. Maybe he didn’t have enough control. What if the bomb still went off, despite his attempts to stop it - to stop himself?
With a flick of his mind the water turned off and Peter slowly stood up from his bent over position. He scowled lightly to himself in the mirror for just a second until the lights went out around him.
Peter would have to continue his training, with or without Claude’s help.
---
Claire wasn’t usually a light sleeper, but she just wasn’t used to an overly soft bed. It was so... uncomfortable. Which was odd. When she had first felt the mattress she would have thought it would be the most perfect mattress in the world.
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Claire muttered lightly as she flipped herself over onto her stomach, stretching in a very cat-like way to try and work the kinks out of her spine. “Augh.”
Something clattered then somewhere in the house, sounding not quite far away but not quite close by either - she doubted she would have heard it had she been asleep. Claire couldn’t keep herself from jumping in surprise, bolting upwards and peeking out of the attic bedroom’s door to glance down the darkened stairs.
There was a light on where she knew the kitchen was located. She could distinctly see a shadow filtering in and out along the wall, moving jerkingly and frustratedly but also slowly and quietly at the same time.
Claire’s breath hitched, her face going pale. Oh, hell, no. This wasn’t good. No, in fact - this was anything but good. Her grip tightened on the doorframe, mind reeling with thoughts. Should she attack him? He couldn’t hurt her, of course, but she wasn’t particularly strong in any other sense... and Peter would probably kill her if she tried anything...
Should she get Nathan, then? No. Claire scoffed. She couldn’t rely on that man for anything. He wouldn’t be any help. Plus, he wasn’t invincible. It wouldn’t be fair to put him in harms way.
She could call the police, but what if it was Sylar? Would anything she did really ward him off? Could she really put all of those officers in danger of a super-powered serial killer?
Claire cursed softly to herself before reaching over to grasp the firm fire-poker that was sitting against the edge of the fireplace. This was something she herself had to do, despite anything Peter would’ve said. Even if it was (she swallowed thickly) the man who had tried to kill her at her homecoming.
Claire crept down the stairs slowly, chewing on her lip in anticipation. Her hands gripped the metal of the poker tightly, her knuckles whitening anxiously. At least she would have the element of surprise - as far as she knew Sylar only had the ability of moving things with his mind and cutting open peoples’ skulls... with scarily accurate precision. She could do this.
The bottom stair creaked as she stepped on it, and Claire froze for just a split second to watch the shadow of the man freeze as well before turning sharply towards the open doorway. She squeezed her eyes together tightly for just a split second before bounding forward, running into the room with wildly flailing arms, the poker jerking dangerously from side to side.
The man turned to face her full-front, eyes widening for just a split second before he flung out his hand and the metal object clattered harmlessly on the floor. For a second, neither of them moved - both simply stood there, watching each other warily.
Peter was the first to come to his senses, his glazed over eyes unclouding slightly as he saw her. “Claire?”
Claire gaped, her mouth hanging over awkwardly. “Peter? What- what are you-”
“I’m sorry,” Peter blurted, running a hand through his hair, “I didn’t think anyone was awake- I didn’t mean to- I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Peter, what are you doing?!”
Peter blinked at her, surprised at her outburst, before moving around the kitchen - the kitchen, Claire had just noticed, that was completely cleared out. Tables were pressed sideways against the walls, chairs were stacks precariously in the corner of the room. Objects were strewn randomly over the floor, some larger and some smaller - and some broken. He quickly picked them up by hand, setting them on the counters.
“I- I don’t know. I’m just... practicing, and... and yeah.” He broke off, mumbling only slightly under his breath, “Sorry I woke you up.”
“You didn’t,” Claire said softly, taking a step closer to him. She tilted her head to the side to try and see his face from under his bangs, only to wind up frowning as she did. “No offense, Peter, but you look like shit.”
“I know, I know- I can’t sleep. Too much is...” He gave her a panicked look before twisting his gaze almost painfully back to the objects he had apparently been using with his telekinesis. “I’ve got to do more- to much is at stake. I could hurt so many people. Kill them. I don’t want to- I can’t let myself do it.”
“What-” Claire’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment as Peter flickered in and out of visibility, the objects on the counter rattling almost dangerously. “Whoa, Peter.” She hurried towards him as he turned invisible completely, one of the pans clattering to the ground. She could hear his quick breaths, and she could almost swear she could feel his racing heartbeat. “Peter!”
Claire reached out, grabbing where she had last seen his hand. It turned out to be his upper arm, but it had the same affect as he suddenly filtered into her vision, pale and heaving as he leaned towards her.
“Breathe, Peter,” Claire implored, her eyes pleading. “Please - just breathe. Slowly.”
His eyes met hers, frightened and wide, and he could swear he felt time freeze. Just a moment, that couldn’t have been more than a few seconds in length, and he felt free from the visions that had been haunting him. Peter clutched at her, drawing Claire carefully to his chest and wrapping her in a warm embrace. He pressed his face into her hair, letting out shuddering silent sobs as she clung to him just as tightly.
“I’m so scared, Claire,” Peter admitted, “I- I don’t know what... what I would do if I let this happen.” He tightened his grip, letting his breathing slow down before he continued. He breathed deeply, relishing her warmth, before murmuring, “I don’t want to hurt you. I keep seeing you hurt.”
“You can’t.” Claire reminded him against his chest. “You’re still having your dream?” Peter stiffened for a second before nodding mutely. “And you’re afraid you’re still going to...”
“Explode?” Peter laughed sharply, “Yeah. Silly, isn’t it? The guy down the street is probably worrying about how he’s going to deal with his boss at work tomorrow, and here I am worrying about how to stop myself from going off like a nuclear bomb.”
“Our problems are a little different than most,” Claire agreed, half-heartedly smiling against him.
Peter laughed softly for a moment before shifting his head against her hair to rest his cheek against her crown. For a moment all was comfortable silence, problems and dangers far away, but it couldn’t last - Peter wasn’t sure if it ever would. “What should I do?”
“I don’t know,” Claire replied meekly, softly. “I’m only fifteen, Peter.”
“I know. Sometimes I forget that.” He grinned lightly, bopping her on the back of the head with a hand. “You’re such a squirt.”
“And you’re such an emo,” Claire countered, her hands gripping the cloth on the back of his shirt. “I don’t want you to keep hurting. I don’t like it. Not one bit.”
“I know. It’s not fair to you.” He pulled back then, his eyes boring earnestly into hers again, “Any suggestions?”
Claire tilted her head, gazing at him in silent assessment. He already looked better. He was still pale, and he still looked tired - but his color was returning. His eyes almost seemed to be smiling. Claire’s lips widened into a grin as she nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, I have an idea.” Before Peter could ask Claire pushed herself up to her tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before wrapping her arms around his neck. “Just breathe, Peter.”
“Breathe?” His voice could barely be called a whisper as he wrapped his arms loosely around her hips in return. Claire nodded, smiling into his shoulder.
“Yeah. Just breathe.”
Peter laughed, nodding, “I’ll try.” He tightened his grip around her waist, breathing deeply to his word before he frowned to himself. “Hey... Claire?”
“Mmmm?” She sounded tired and she shifted against him.
“Why did you try to attack me with the firepoker?”
Word Count: 1,738
Rating: PG at worst
Genre: Family/Friendship/Comfort
Pairings: Peter/Claire,
Warnings: Nothin'.
Summary: The nightmares just wouldn't let up. They kept coming and coming, and Peter was sure that if it were possible for him to die he would have been dead three nights ago.
Other: Despite the title this was written to be completely familial, a kind of delving into their connection, but like almost anything Paire it's so on the line that it could lean in either direction so view it as you wish. :) It's kind of AU in season one, I guess, since I made it so more time passed between Claire arriving in New York and the bomb, but other than that it's canon.
Written for pairechallenge one-shot prompt "Breathe"
Peter awoke with a startling gasp, jolting upwards in his bed to stare blankly at the ceiling for a few seconds in shocked silence.
“What-”
The dream. The dream had happened again. Stifling a curse Peter ran a hand through his hair, cringing when he felt how slick with sweat he had become. The empath threw the covers off of his body, relishing the coolness of the air in the room as it hit him.
He didn’t understand. He was gaining control of his powers. He could use them at will - well, usually at least. Claude would smite him for life if he thought or believed he actually had control.
But it seemed like it was working. So why was he still having dreams of exploding? It didn’t make sense.
Peter shook his head, twisting his legs over the side of the bed and pushing himself to his feet shakily. Stumbling slightly in the dark he made his way down the hall of the family mansion to the closest bathroom. He flicked the light on, no longer feeling the need to recoil at the sight of the familiar ghost starting back at him.
His eyes were sunken, his face pale. If he hadn’t known he was indestructible he would have thought he was about to die. As it was he was only the face of death - not about to die himself, but he could probably scare someone else enough that they would.
Peter sighed slowly through his nostrils, leaning on the sink and dampening a cloth to dab over his face. Maybe he didn’t have enough practice. Maybe he didn’t have enough control. What if the bomb still went off, despite his attempts to stop it - to stop himself?
With a flick of his mind the water turned off and Peter slowly stood up from his bent over position. He scowled lightly to himself in the mirror for just a second until the lights went out around him.
Peter would have to continue his training, with or without Claude’s help.
---
Claire wasn’t usually a light sleeper, but she just wasn’t used to an overly soft bed. It was so... uncomfortable. Which was odd. When she had first felt the mattress she would have thought it would be the most perfect mattress in the world.
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Claire muttered lightly as she flipped herself over onto her stomach, stretching in a very cat-like way to try and work the kinks out of her spine. “Augh.”
Something clattered then somewhere in the house, sounding not quite far away but not quite close by either - she doubted she would have heard it had she been asleep. Claire couldn’t keep herself from jumping in surprise, bolting upwards and peeking out of the attic bedroom’s door to glance down the darkened stairs.
There was a light on where she knew the kitchen was located. She could distinctly see a shadow filtering in and out along the wall, moving jerkingly and frustratedly but also slowly and quietly at the same time.
Claire’s breath hitched, her face going pale. Oh, hell, no. This wasn’t good. No, in fact - this was anything but good. Her grip tightened on the doorframe, mind reeling with thoughts. Should she attack him? He couldn’t hurt her, of course, but she wasn’t particularly strong in any other sense... and Peter would probably kill her if she tried anything...
Should she get Nathan, then? No. Claire scoffed. She couldn’t rely on that man for anything. He wouldn’t be any help. Plus, he wasn’t invincible. It wouldn’t be fair to put him in harms way.
She could call the police, but what if it was Sylar? Would anything she did really ward him off? Could she really put all of those officers in danger of a super-powered serial killer?
Claire cursed softly to herself before reaching over to grasp the firm fire-poker that was sitting against the edge of the fireplace. This was something she herself had to do, despite anything Peter would’ve said. Even if it was (she swallowed thickly) the man who had tried to kill her at her homecoming.
Claire crept down the stairs slowly, chewing on her lip in anticipation. Her hands gripped the metal of the poker tightly, her knuckles whitening anxiously. At least she would have the element of surprise - as far as she knew Sylar only had the ability of moving things with his mind and cutting open peoples’ skulls... with scarily accurate precision. She could do this.
The bottom stair creaked as she stepped on it, and Claire froze for just a split second to watch the shadow of the man freeze as well before turning sharply towards the open doorway. She squeezed her eyes together tightly for just a split second before bounding forward, running into the room with wildly flailing arms, the poker jerking dangerously from side to side.
The man turned to face her full-front, eyes widening for just a split second before he flung out his hand and the metal object clattered harmlessly on the floor. For a second, neither of them moved - both simply stood there, watching each other warily.
Peter was the first to come to his senses, his glazed over eyes unclouding slightly as he saw her. “Claire?”
Claire gaped, her mouth hanging over awkwardly. “Peter? What- what are you-”
“I’m sorry,” Peter blurted, running a hand through his hair, “I didn’t think anyone was awake- I didn’t mean to- I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Peter, what are you doing?!”
Peter blinked at her, surprised at her outburst, before moving around the kitchen - the kitchen, Claire had just noticed, that was completely cleared out. Tables were pressed sideways against the walls, chairs were stacks precariously in the corner of the room. Objects were strewn randomly over the floor, some larger and some smaller - and some broken. He quickly picked them up by hand, setting them on the counters.
“I- I don’t know. I’m just... practicing, and... and yeah.” He broke off, mumbling only slightly under his breath, “Sorry I woke you up.”
“You didn’t,” Claire said softly, taking a step closer to him. She tilted her head to the side to try and see his face from under his bangs, only to wind up frowning as she did. “No offense, Peter, but you look like shit.”
“I know, I know- I can’t sleep. Too much is...” He gave her a panicked look before twisting his gaze almost painfully back to the objects he had apparently been using with his telekinesis. “I’ve got to do more- to much is at stake. I could hurt so many people. Kill them. I don’t want to- I can’t let myself do it.”
“What-” Claire’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment as Peter flickered in and out of visibility, the objects on the counter rattling almost dangerously. “Whoa, Peter.” She hurried towards him as he turned invisible completely, one of the pans clattering to the ground. She could hear his quick breaths, and she could almost swear she could feel his racing heartbeat. “Peter!”
Claire reached out, grabbing where she had last seen his hand. It turned out to be his upper arm, but it had the same affect as he suddenly filtered into her vision, pale and heaving as he leaned towards her.
“Breathe, Peter,” Claire implored, her eyes pleading. “Please - just breathe. Slowly.”
His eyes met hers, frightened and wide, and he could swear he felt time freeze. Just a moment, that couldn’t have been more than a few seconds in length, and he felt free from the visions that had been haunting him. Peter clutched at her, drawing Claire carefully to his chest and wrapping her in a warm embrace. He pressed his face into her hair, letting out shuddering silent sobs as she clung to him just as tightly.
“I’m so scared, Claire,” Peter admitted, “I- I don’t know what... what I would do if I let this happen.” He tightened his grip, letting his breathing slow down before he continued. He breathed deeply, relishing her warmth, before murmuring, “I don’t want to hurt you. I keep seeing you hurt.”
“You can’t.” Claire reminded him against his chest. “You’re still having your dream?” Peter stiffened for a second before nodding mutely. “And you’re afraid you’re still going to...”
“Explode?” Peter laughed sharply, “Yeah. Silly, isn’t it? The guy down the street is probably worrying about how he’s going to deal with his boss at work tomorrow, and here I am worrying about how to stop myself from going off like a nuclear bomb.”
“Our problems are a little different than most,” Claire agreed, half-heartedly smiling against him.
Peter laughed softly for a moment before shifting his head against her hair to rest his cheek against her crown. For a moment all was comfortable silence, problems and dangers far away, but it couldn’t last - Peter wasn’t sure if it ever would. “What should I do?”
“I don’t know,” Claire replied meekly, softly. “I’m only fifteen, Peter.”
“I know. Sometimes I forget that.” He grinned lightly, bopping her on the back of the head with a hand. “You’re such a squirt.”
“And you’re such an emo,” Claire countered, her hands gripping the cloth on the back of his shirt. “I don’t want you to keep hurting. I don’t like it. Not one bit.”
“I know. It’s not fair to you.” He pulled back then, his eyes boring earnestly into hers again, “Any suggestions?”
Claire tilted her head, gazing at him in silent assessment. He already looked better. He was still pale, and he still looked tired - but his color was returning. His eyes almost seemed to be smiling. Claire’s lips widened into a grin as she nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, I have an idea.” Before Peter could ask Claire pushed herself up to her tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before wrapping her arms around his neck. “Just breathe, Peter.”
“Breathe?” His voice could barely be called a whisper as he wrapped his arms loosely around her hips in return. Claire nodded, smiling into his shoulder.
“Yeah. Just breathe.”
Peter laughed, nodding, “I’ll try.” He tightened his grip around her waist, breathing deeply to his word before he frowned to himself. “Hey... Claire?”
“Mmmm?” She sounded tired and she shifted against him.
“Why did you try to attack me with the firepoker?”