This Love
Title: This Love.
Fandom: Heroes.
Characters: Peter/Claire implied, Claire/West.
Rating: PG for brief mention of sexual activities.
Word Count: 1,208.
Spoilers: None really. It's AU-ish. Set in season two, or there abouts.
Summary: Nathan didn’t understand. Every time they talked he’d tell Peter that he was crazy. “Come home,” he’d say, a paternal tone to his voice. “You don’t belong there.”
Author's Note/Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nadda. Zip, zero. Goose egg. It's completely unbeated, so there are possible mistakes. Those are mine. All mine. And, though this is currently a oneshot, I may do a sequel to it. Not sure yet. But for now, it's finished.
It was hard for him to keep his hands to himself. He even tried shoving them beneath his legs, but it didn’t help. He moved, squirmed, to try to keep himself distracted. He stared at the television, but didn’t see anything. All he could think about was her. Her, her, her. The way her blonde hair caught the sunlight when they went for a walk or the look she gave him when he said something crazy. Or the way she laughed when she was amused by something, the sound better than any music he had ever heard.
He knew it was wrong. He knew it was wrong on so many different levels, but he couldn’t help it. She was his niece, and underage, but God help him, he loved her. She had become his world, engulfed every thought in his head, and she didn’t even know it. She had been the one thing that he could remember, once he found her picture, and the one thing that drew him home. He found her in California, hiding from her real life, and she took him in. Her parents looked the other way, whispered behind his back, and he could only imagine how weird it was to have Claire’s biological uncle back from the dead.
She was able to help him piece together his past; his brother Nathan, his mother, his powers and where they’d all come from, what he could do with them, what he did with them. All the pieces fell into place, creating a map of what he’d left behind in Kirby Plaza. He still, to this day, found it hard to think of himself as a hero, someone who had helped save New York City and the world from being destroyed.
He glanced over at her, watching her paint her toe nails, and he ignored the feelings that had been inside of him ever since he found her picture. Warmth seemed to surround him when he thought of her, as if he was being wrapped up into some kind of blanket. And the emptiness he felt knowing he couldn’t have her; it was almost too much to bear. But the way he felt when he wasn’t near her - empty, alone, useless - it was enough to keep him near her.
Nathan didn’t understand. Every time they talked he’d tell Peter that he was crazy. “Come home,” he’d say, a paternal tone to his voice. “You don’t belong there.”
“I can’t,” he’d reply, simply, watching Claire out of the corner of his eye as she got a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Why not? What’s so important there?”
“It’s nothing. I just can’t.” And he’d hang up. Even if he was able to put these feelings into words, Nathan would never understand. He’d look at him, disgusted, and turn away. Pretend like he hadn’t heard a word.
Claire was sitting beside him, close enough that if he moved his hand just a few inches it would come into contact with her arm, that if he shifted slightly and moved his thigh it would brush against hers. And it was tempting; God, was it tempting. To feel her soft skin, pale and creamy, against his. The thought of it drove him crazy, led his mind places that it certainly wasn’t supposed to go. And yet, as he unsuccessfully tried to push the thoughts away, part of him wished them to become reality, to become something tangible and amazing rather than a fraction of the feelings he was sure he’d experience.
She was getting ready for a date with some kid named West. Noah didn’t know this, but Peter did. She confided everything in Peter. They discussed powers, what had happened before he disappeared, what they guessed had happened to the rest of those they’d come into contact with, imagining they were suffering just like Claire and Peter were. Tucked away in some unfamiliar places, surrounded by strangers who had no idea what they could do as opposed to banding together to save the world.
She told him everything. From how bitchy the girls were at her school to how she hated having to hide, how she was suspecting Noah of doing something (what, she wasn’t sure) without informing the family. His business trips, conferences that he wasn’t supposed to be at according to company policy, were more frequent now and she told him about how she wasn’t too sure she should trust him.
And every day when they were able to talk alone, somewhere private and hidden where no one would find them, Peter longed to take her away. Take her into his arms and fly away to some place where it could just be him and her, and the rest of the world could fall from memory. Become some distant mirage. And then, alone with the one person that kept him alive, he could tell Claire how he really felt. And in his dreams she would take his hand, lace their fingers together and kiss him. She’d lean into him and he’d be her first, her last, her only.
But then he’d be brought back to reality by her cell phone going off - another text from West - or the sound of the garage door sliding open. Mr. Muggles jumping onto the couch beside them or Claire’s mother knocking on her bedroom door.
And now, as he sat beside the one thing he longed for more than life itself, he could practically feel the sun and wind on his face as he confessed his love for her on some remote island, tucked away in a far corner of the world. But at the sound of a knock on the door, he was brought back into the Bennett’s living room.
Claire closed the bottle of polish and, though he longed to look away, he watched her walk over to the door (careful with her freshly painted toe nails) and open the door to the one kid that Peter wished he could trade places with. He could feel resentment bubbling inside of him towards her parents, trusting enough to leave the house and their children in his care to go on an extended weekend vacation together. Had they not left, the sinking feeling in his stomach, mixed with the anger and jealousy coursing through his veins, wouldn’t have had the chance to develop.
He looked back to the television, not hearing or seeing the dog show on the screen, but rather willing himself back to Ireland, completely void of memories and this all-consuming passion he felt. He could’ve stayed, had what he would’ve come to know as love with Caitlyn but he chose to return to America, hunt down the one person he could never love the way he wanted to, and suffer in silence.
He wanted her to be happy. And if that meant he never would be, he’d let Claire choose her own life path, date the stalkerish boy who’d cornered her into confessing her secret then convinced her to lie to her father about dating him, and Peter would keep his mouth shut. Look over at the boy and smile politely, screaming inside as he watched Claire’s eyes sparkle with happiness that should’ve been directed towards him.
Fandom: Heroes.
Characters: Peter/Claire implied, Claire/West.
Rating: PG for brief mention of sexual activities.
Word Count: 1,208.
Spoilers: None really. It's AU-ish. Set in season two, or there abouts.
Summary: Nathan didn’t understand. Every time they talked he’d tell Peter that he was crazy. “Come home,” he’d say, a paternal tone to his voice. “You don’t belong there.”
Author's Note/Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nadda. Zip, zero. Goose egg. It's completely unbeated, so there are possible mistakes. Those are mine. All mine. And, though this is currently a oneshot, I may do a sequel to it. Not sure yet. But for now, it's finished.
It was hard for him to keep his hands to himself. He even tried shoving them beneath his legs, but it didn’t help. He moved, squirmed, to try to keep himself distracted. He stared at the television, but didn’t see anything. All he could think about was her. Her, her, her. The way her blonde hair caught the sunlight when they went for a walk or the look she gave him when he said something crazy. Or the way she laughed when she was amused by something, the sound better than any music he had ever heard.
He knew it was wrong. He knew it was wrong on so many different levels, but he couldn’t help it. She was his niece, and underage, but God help him, he loved her. She had become his world, engulfed every thought in his head, and she didn’t even know it. She had been the one thing that he could remember, once he found her picture, and the one thing that drew him home. He found her in California, hiding from her real life, and she took him in. Her parents looked the other way, whispered behind his back, and he could only imagine how weird it was to have Claire’s biological uncle back from the dead.
She was able to help him piece together his past; his brother Nathan, his mother, his powers and where they’d all come from, what he could do with them, what he did with them. All the pieces fell into place, creating a map of what he’d left behind in Kirby Plaza. He still, to this day, found it hard to think of himself as a hero, someone who had helped save New York City and the world from being destroyed.
He glanced over at her, watching her paint her toe nails, and he ignored the feelings that had been inside of him ever since he found her picture. Warmth seemed to surround him when he thought of her, as if he was being wrapped up into some kind of blanket. And the emptiness he felt knowing he couldn’t have her; it was almost too much to bear. But the way he felt when he wasn’t near her - empty, alone, useless - it was enough to keep him near her.
Nathan didn’t understand. Every time they talked he’d tell Peter that he was crazy. “Come home,” he’d say, a paternal tone to his voice. “You don’t belong there.”
“I can’t,” he’d reply, simply, watching Claire out of the corner of his eye as she got a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Why not? What’s so important there?”
“It’s nothing. I just can’t.” And he’d hang up. Even if he was able to put these feelings into words, Nathan would never understand. He’d look at him, disgusted, and turn away. Pretend like he hadn’t heard a word.
Claire was sitting beside him, close enough that if he moved his hand just a few inches it would come into contact with her arm, that if he shifted slightly and moved his thigh it would brush against hers. And it was tempting; God, was it tempting. To feel her soft skin, pale and creamy, against his. The thought of it drove him crazy, led his mind places that it certainly wasn’t supposed to go. And yet, as he unsuccessfully tried to push the thoughts away, part of him wished them to become reality, to become something tangible and amazing rather than a fraction of the feelings he was sure he’d experience.
She was getting ready for a date with some kid named West. Noah didn’t know this, but Peter did. She confided everything in Peter. They discussed powers, what had happened before he disappeared, what they guessed had happened to the rest of those they’d come into contact with, imagining they were suffering just like Claire and Peter were. Tucked away in some unfamiliar places, surrounded by strangers who had no idea what they could do as opposed to banding together to save the world.
She told him everything. From how bitchy the girls were at her school to how she hated having to hide, how she was suspecting Noah of doing something (what, she wasn’t sure) without informing the family. His business trips, conferences that he wasn’t supposed to be at according to company policy, were more frequent now and she told him about how she wasn’t too sure she should trust him.
And every day when they were able to talk alone, somewhere private and hidden where no one would find them, Peter longed to take her away. Take her into his arms and fly away to some place where it could just be him and her, and the rest of the world could fall from memory. Become some distant mirage. And then, alone with the one person that kept him alive, he could tell Claire how he really felt. And in his dreams she would take his hand, lace their fingers together and kiss him. She’d lean into him and he’d be her first, her last, her only.
But then he’d be brought back to reality by her cell phone going off - another text from West - or the sound of the garage door sliding open. Mr. Muggles jumping onto the couch beside them or Claire’s mother knocking on her bedroom door.
And now, as he sat beside the one thing he longed for more than life itself, he could practically feel the sun and wind on his face as he confessed his love for her on some remote island, tucked away in a far corner of the world. But at the sound of a knock on the door, he was brought back into the Bennett’s living room.
Claire closed the bottle of polish and, though he longed to look away, he watched her walk over to the door (careful with her freshly painted toe nails) and open the door to the one kid that Peter wished he could trade places with. He could feel resentment bubbling inside of him towards her parents, trusting enough to leave the house and their children in his care to go on an extended weekend vacation together. Had they not left, the sinking feeling in his stomach, mixed with the anger and jealousy coursing through his veins, wouldn’t have had the chance to develop.
He looked back to the television, not hearing or seeing the dog show on the screen, but rather willing himself back to Ireland, completely void of memories and this all-consuming passion he felt. He could’ve stayed, had what he would’ve come to know as love with Caitlyn but he chose to return to America, hunt down the one person he could never love the way he wanted to, and suffer in silence.
He wanted her to be happy. And if that meant he never would be, he’d let Claire choose her own life path, date the stalkerish boy who’d cornered her into confessing her secret then convinced her to lie to her father about dating him, and Peter would keep his mouth shut. Look over at the boy and smile politely, screaming inside as he watched Claire’s eyes sparkle with happiness that should’ve been directed towards him.