Fic: That's Settled
Rating: PG (language)
Word Count: 567
Disclaimer: Heroes characters belong to Tim Kring.
A/N: For the Plaude Bingo prompt "coming home from long trip." Possibly squeezing a prompt into an idea, but I had to give it a shot.
Summary: Established relationship, after a big mess-up of Claude's.
It’s not supposed to actually hurt. Claude’s almost sure of this. And yet, there’s no denying the ache eerily close to his heart that’s throbbed since he heard the words- “Look, okay, maybe... we should take a break.”
Did he even say anything after that? Did he dare? No, just packed the panic in tight, turned and left. Loitered around the office until an assignment came through- they were always in demand, him and... Retreated to the safety of the streets until it was time to leave. All the while feeling like he couldn’t fucking breathe properly.
He gets a better hold of himself in a couple of days. Nothing like a generic hotel room on the other side of the country to put things in perspective. What’s he getting so upset about? This kind of thing happens every day, you don’t see people groaning about it. He’s an adult. He can deal with this. It’s not the end of the world. Anyway, is he honestly surprised? It was a bad idea from the start, really.
Yeah, best it ended now. Pete... He’s been through enough, hasn’t he? All that shit with his family, his abilities, his apocalypses. Enough to drive a man insane, but he’s held on, somehow. Why should he have to deal with Claude’s issues as well? Despite a decent amount of evidence to the contrary, he’s not actually a saint.
He deserves... someone new. Not a ghost from the bleakest part of his past. Someone... kind. Who will sit and listen to the whole mess and comfort him. Not demand more of what’s already been cruelly taken. Meet him halfway. Show him some bloody empathy- hasn’t he earned it? Would it really be that hard to make an effort? What the hell do you have to be so proud of, that you can be endlessly superior to him? When have you ever been anything but blessed that he even speaks to you? Has it ever occurred to you that Peter Petrelli is the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to you?
There’s a cell phone in Claude’s hand. He stares at it. “Right. That’s settled, then.”
***
He feels numb from the neck down as he approaches the apartment. It’s like someone else is unlocking the door, as if he’s been nudged through it like a balloon. Peter’s there, paused almost comically in some daily duty or another. He looks like a deer in headlights, and Claude doesn’t doubt he looks worse. He hasn’t gotten much sleep lately. He’s not sure when his last full meal was.
Again, this somewhat worrying numbness has him moving without feeling it. Floating closer and closer and he decides to just focus on Peter’s eyes. They’ve always been comforting. His hands start to lift but he’s got enough control to bring them back, not threaten the incredibly vast, dense field of nothingness between them.
“So?” Peter says, “You said you wanted to talk.”
Claude blinks, wondering when he could’ve possibly said something so stupid. Words have never been his friends, only his weapons. But, Peter’s waiting. Claude better give him something. “Please. Don’t give up on me. Not yet.”
It’s not Shakespeare, but a layer of ice so unnatural Claude didn’t even notice it melts in Peter’s eyes. Peter steps forward, and Claude’s neck tilts. Their foreheads touch.
Peter draws in and lets out a breath. “Okay.”
Word Count: 567
Disclaimer: Heroes characters belong to Tim Kring.
A/N: For the Plaude Bingo prompt "coming home from long trip." Possibly squeezing a prompt into an idea, but I had to give it a shot.
Summary: Established relationship, after a big mess-up of Claude's.
It’s not supposed to actually hurt. Claude’s almost sure of this. And yet, there’s no denying the ache eerily close to his heart that’s throbbed since he heard the words- “Look, okay, maybe... we should take a break.”
Did he even say anything after that? Did he dare? No, just packed the panic in tight, turned and left. Loitered around the office until an assignment came through- they were always in demand, him and... Retreated to the safety of the streets until it was time to leave. All the while feeling like he couldn’t fucking breathe properly.
He gets a better hold of himself in a couple of days. Nothing like a generic hotel room on the other side of the country to put things in perspective. What’s he getting so upset about? This kind of thing happens every day, you don’t see people groaning about it. He’s an adult. He can deal with this. It’s not the end of the world. Anyway, is he honestly surprised? It was a bad idea from the start, really.
Yeah, best it ended now. Pete... He’s been through enough, hasn’t he? All that shit with his family, his abilities, his apocalypses. Enough to drive a man insane, but he’s held on, somehow. Why should he have to deal with Claude’s issues as well? Despite a decent amount of evidence to the contrary, he’s not actually a saint.
He deserves... someone new. Not a ghost from the bleakest part of his past. Someone... kind. Who will sit and listen to the whole mess and comfort him. Not demand more of what’s already been cruelly taken. Meet him halfway. Show him some bloody empathy- hasn’t he earned it? Would it really be that hard to make an effort? What the hell do you have to be so proud of, that you can be endlessly superior to him? When have you ever been anything but blessed that he even speaks to you? Has it ever occurred to you that Peter Petrelli is the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to you?
There’s a cell phone in Claude’s hand. He stares at it. “Right. That’s settled, then.”
***
He feels numb from the neck down as he approaches the apartment. It’s like someone else is unlocking the door, as if he’s been nudged through it like a balloon. Peter’s there, paused almost comically in some daily duty or another. He looks like a deer in headlights, and Claude doesn’t doubt he looks worse. He hasn’t gotten much sleep lately. He’s not sure when his last full meal was.
Again, this somewhat worrying numbness has him moving without feeling it. Floating closer and closer and he decides to just focus on Peter’s eyes. They’ve always been comforting. His hands start to lift but he’s got enough control to bring them back, not threaten the incredibly vast, dense field of nothingness between them.
“So?” Peter says, “You said you wanted to talk.”
Claude blinks, wondering when he could’ve possibly said something so stupid. Words have never been his friends, only his weapons. But, Peter’s waiting. Claude better give him something. “Please. Don’t give up on me. Not yet.”
It’s not Shakespeare, but a layer of ice so unnatural Claude didn’t even notice it melts in Peter’s eyes. Peter steps forward, and Claude’s neck tilts. Their foreheads touch.
Peter draws in and lets out a breath. “Okay.”