My heroes have always been ...really attractive and screwed up
So I'm just picking a number at random. I wanted to post the best first (prove I could do this) - but I'm not really feeling any of them. (ahhh - the paranoia inherent in starting a new fandom.)
More to come, don't give up on me until you've read a few.
Title: Five Cities They Never Lived in (and One Where They Almost Died.)
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Paire
Disclaimer: Not mine, I shouldn't even be playing with them.
Summary: Slightly angsty, (set in a 5 years Gone alternative universe). The bomb blew, but Claire waited. Five years on the run can be complicated.
A/N: Okay, I have four Heroes fics written. This is the longest and is the least dark and twisty. We shall see what you think.
+
In Sarasota they were Michelle and Eric Moss. Brother and sister.
They found a small house to rent, on the outskirts of town - a two bedroom/one bath, place to sleep, made of Michigan brick and rotting wood.
Claire got a job at the local newspaper, making coffee and answering phones. Her days were spent listening to complaints about late morning papers and missing weekend coupons.
Her nights were spent listening to Peter tinker with the pipes, listening to Peter talk about his job waiting tables at a restaurant downtown, listening to Peter breathe steadily in his sleep - in, out, and then in again.
In Sarasota, she was jealous of how easily he could fall asleep, how deeply he forgot.
Their neighbors looked at them with pity, the small empathetic smiles of the lower middle class. Those smiles that seem to say - "times are bad all over." Claire told them their parents died in New York City. The first time they asked.
They never asked again.
The world around them kept turning - but in Sarasota, Claire and Peter stood very still.
+
In Portland, Maine not Oregon, she dyed her hair red.
Peter cut his to an almost buzz cut and started wearing a lot of camo. People assumed he was just out of the army, just back from Iraq, and forgave him for not being that talkative as a result.
The new falsified Driver's license proclaimed her name to be Lisa, stated she was twenty and an organ donor. Every time Claire got carded buying cigarettes it made her laugh.
Made her remember that night on the autopsy table a lifetime ago, made her wonder what her heart in someone else's body could do.
In Portland, Peter became Marcus - a house painter who did dry wall installation on the side. He came home to their loft apartment in splattered coveralls, exhausted each night, and slowly began to remember.
He told all the guys he worked with that they were placed together by an agency, just two people looking to share space and cut down the cost of living.
Claire took a six month accelerated course to become a nursing assistant. Peter quizzed her before all the tests. She was insanely proud of the diploma, the accomplishment, even if didn't count.
Even if she couldn't keep it.
It was a year, a year of stolen peace - and Portland almost made her feel safe.
+
In New Orleans, her adopted father knew a guy, and she got to experience a momentary period of truth.
There was the occasional dinner, pointless get togethers, when they got to be them, without worrying about saying too much or not enough.
His name was Victor, and he was special too, hiding as well. He could manipulate paper, turn post-it notes into Social Security cards and confetti into twenty dollar bills. He joked about Primatech being Disneyland to a guy like him and paid their utilities in monopoly money.
In New Orleans, they didn't make friends, didn't even share nods with the mail carrier. Peter kept the blinds closed and Claire ordered groceries online.
They cooked simple dinners they ate in front of the TV while watching the man who called himself Nathan Petrelli lead a campaign against their kind.
It was a few months of laying extremely low, no jobs, no backstory. Claire was Claire and Peter was Peter.
If Portland was almost normal, the Big Easy certainly wasn't. Every morning she expected to get the package telling them to leave, every night she was surprised but unrelieved when they didn't.
They stopped speaking to each other out loud, Peter's returned telepathy doing double time to make their conversations two sided and perfectly silent.
Leaving didn't give her hope, but New Orleans made Claire feel less alone.
+
In San Francisco, they once again had the same last name. O'Henry.
Claire laughed and laughed, until tears ran down her face and Peter looked concerned. She hugged him and said that no one would ever think he was Irish.
For some reason it seemed like a good idea to say they were married.
Claire bought a new wardrobe comprised of A-line skirts and classy dresses, there she began a love affair with high heels.
Jenna O'Henry was twenty three and a newly wed, the costume made Claire feel the part.
Peter found work at a bookstore, an unassuming job that gave him all the time in the world to think. He'd call her on his lunchbreak, tell her everything that had gone through his mind since breakfast. Everything from the color they should paint the living room wall to what take out he was going to bring home for dinner.
People thought it was cute, because in San Francisco people were in their life again.
Claire poured coffee at the nearest Starbucks, obscuring her new bob - flat ironed bone straight - with funky hats she bought at open air markets on her off days.
Vicky, the night manager, thought Tommy was "the greatest," sitting on one of the overstuffed couches in the corner downloading pop songs off iTunes as he waited for his wife to end her shift.
Peter never let her walk home alone. He started holding her hand and smiling again, a lot more than he had since ...
They had been together for years at that point, but San Francisco made them a couple.
+
Vegas was a mistake, but it was one of those inevitabilities life throws only when a person stops expecting it.
The first night there Claire cried, wept like the seventeen year old she hadn't been for four years, the one she never got to really be.
She cried for Jenna, the first girl she became that she ever really liked.
Peter held her and promised her that it would be over soon, that this was there last stop.
That only made her cry harder.
In Vegas, she didn't stop crying until Peter kissed her. There she latched onto him until she was completely sure he wouldn't let go.
"You'll be Claire again soon." He whispered, frantically, hand under her shirt, against the small of her back, pulling her as close as she could get.
"What if I don't want to be?" She has asked, almost certain that she already knew the answer.
Claire had a dead father and an uncle she couldn't touch, friends in constant danger and the whole world's distrust.
But underneath the scar, the aliases, Peter was the same person. A hero looking for a weakness, in an enemy he believed they could defeat.
It was over before it started, and Vegas could only give her a glimpse of what she could never have.
+
New York City looked the same as the day she left it. The day Claire Bennett and Peter Petrelli became refugees, strangers in a strange land.
She spent three weeks in the rubble, living like a cockroach in toxic fumes, safe in the knowledge that no one else would find her, no one else could look.
Peter's rebirth took time. It took longer for him to remember who he was, what he'd done, what they both could do.
That was then, this is now.
The news predicts decades of fallout. In New York City, Claire knows nothing will ever be the same.
It feels like yesterday when Hiro and Ando appear. A yesterday their plan's success will erase.
Michelle. Lisa. Jenna. Eric. Marcus. Tommy. Here today, gone tomorrow.
Claire knows its for the best, knows the future requires sacrifice - the same as the past. She tries to believe that she's not losing anything.
And in the blink of an eye, in New York City, time shifts and none of it ever happened.
More to come, don't give up on me until you've read a few.
Title: Five Cities They Never Lived in (and One Where They Almost Died.)
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Paire
Disclaimer: Not mine, I shouldn't even be playing with them.
Summary: Slightly angsty, (set in a 5 years Gone alternative universe). The bomb blew, but Claire waited. Five years on the run can be complicated.
A/N: Okay, I have four Heroes fics written. This is the longest and is the least dark and twisty. We shall see what you think.
+
In Sarasota they were Michelle and Eric Moss. Brother and sister.
They found a small house to rent, on the outskirts of town - a two bedroom/one bath, place to sleep, made of Michigan brick and rotting wood.
Claire got a job at the local newspaper, making coffee and answering phones. Her days were spent listening to complaints about late morning papers and missing weekend coupons.
Her nights were spent listening to Peter tinker with the pipes, listening to Peter talk about his job waiting tables at a restaurant downtown, listening to Peter breathe steadily in his sleep - in, out, and then in again.
In Sarasota, she was jealous of how easily he could fall asleep, how deeply he forgot.
Their neighbors looked at them with pity, the small empathetic smiles of the lower middle class. Those smiles that seem to say - "times are bad all over." Claire told them their parents died in New York City. The first time they asked.
They never asked again.
The world around them kept turning - but in Sarasota, Claire and Peter stood very still.
+
In Portland, Maine not Oregon, she dyed her hair red.
Peter cut his to an almost buzz cut and started wearing a lot of camo. People assumed he was just out of the army, just back from Iraq, and forgave him for not being that talkative as a result.
The new falsified Driver's license proclaimed her name to be Lisa, stated she was twenty and an organ donor. Every time Claire got carded buying cigarettes it made her laugh.
Made her remember that night on the autopsy table a lifetime ago, made her wonder what her heart in someone else's body could do.
In Portland, Peter became Marcus - a house painter who did dry wall installation on the side. He came home to their loft apartment in splattered coveralls, exhausted each night, and slowly began to remember.
He told all the guys he worked with that they were placed together by an agency, just two people looking to share space and cut down the cost of living.
Claire took a six month accelerated course to become a nursing assistant. Peter quizzed her before all the tests. She was insanely proud of the diploma, the accomplishment, even if didn't count.
Even if she couldn't keep it.
It was a year, a year of stolen peace - and Portland almost made her feel safe.
+
In New Orleans, her adopted father knew a guy, and she got to experience a momentary period of truth.
There was the occasional dinner, pointless get togethers, when they got to be them, without worrying about saying too much or not enough.
His name was Victor, and he was special too, hiding as well. He could manipulate paper, turn post-it notes into Social Security cards and confetti into twenty dollar bills. He joked about Primatech being Disneyland to a guy like him and paid their utilities in monopoly money.
In New Orleans, they didn't make friends, didn't even share nods with the mail carrier. Peter kept the blinds closed and Claire ordered groceries online.
They cooked simple dinners they ate in front of the TV while watching the man who called himself Nathan Petrelli lead a campaign against their kind.
It was a few months of laying extremely low, no jobs, no backstory. Claire was Claire and Peter was Peter.
If Portland was almost normal, the Big Easy certainly wasn't. Every morning she expected to get the package telling them to leave, every night she was surprised but unrelieved when they didn't.
They stopped speaking to each other out loud, Peter's returned telepathy doing double time to make their conversations two sided and perfectly silent.
Leaving didn't give her hope, but New Orleans made Claire feel less alone.
+
In San Francisco, they once again had the same last name. O'Henry.
Claire laughed and laughed, until tears ran down her face and Peter looked concerned. She hugged him and said that no one would ever think he was Irish.
For some reason it seemed like a good idea to say they were married.
Claire bought a new wardrobe comprised of A-line skirts and classy dresses, there she began a love affair with high heels.
Jenna O'Henry was twenty three and a newly wed, the costume made Claire feel the part.
Peter found work at a bookstore, an unassuming job that gave him all the time in the world to think. He'd call her on his lunchbreak, tell her everything that had gone through his mind since breakfast. Everything from the color they should paint the living room wall to what take out he was going to bring home for dinner.
People thought it was cute, because in San Francisco people were in their life again.
Claire poured coffee at the nearest Starbucks, obscuring her new bob - flat ironed bone straight - with funky hats she bought at open air markets on her off days.
Vicky, the night manager, thought Tommy was "the greatest," sitting on one of the overstuffed couches in the corner downloading pop songs off iTunes as he waited for his wife to end her shift.
Peter never let her walk home alone. He started holding her hand and smiling again, a lot more than he had since ...
They had been together for years at that point, but San Francisco made them a couple.
+
Vegas was a mistake, but it was one of those inevitabilities life throws only when a person stops expecting it.
The first night there Claire cried, wept like the seventeen year old she hadn't been for four years, the one she never got to really be.
She cried for Jenna, the first girl she became that she ever really liked.
Peter held her and promised her that it would be over soon, that this was there last stop.
That only made her cry harder.
In Vegas, she didn't stop crying until Peter kissed her. There she latched onto him until she was completely sure he wouldn't let go.
"You'll be Claire again soon." He whispered, frantically, hand under her shirt, against the small of her back, pulling her as close as she could get.
"What if I don't want to be?" She has asked, almost certain that she already knew the answer.
Claire had a dead father and an uncle she couldn't touch, friends in constant danger and the whole world's distrust.
But underneath the scar, the aliases, Peter was the same person. A hero looking for a weakness, in an enemy he believed they could defeat.
It was over before it started, and Vegas could only give her a glimpse of what she could never have.
+
New York City looked the same as the day she left it. The day Claire Bennett and Peter Petrelli became refugees, strangers in a strange land.
She spent three weeks in the rubble, living like a cockroach in toxic fumes, safe in the knowledge that no one else would find her, no one else could look.
Peter's rebirth took time. It took longer for him to remember who he was, what he'd done, what they both could do.
That was then, this is now.
The news predicts decades of fallout. In New York City, Claire knows nothing will ever be the same.
It feels like yesterday when Hiro and Ando appear. A yesterday their plan's success will erase.
Michelle. Lisa. Jenna. Eric. Marcus. Tommy. Here today, gone tomorrow.
Claire knows its for the best, knows the future requires sacrifice - the same as the past. She tries to believe that she's not losing anything.
And in the blink of an eye, in New York City, time shifts and none of it ever happened.