fresh feeling (peter/claire, heroes)
Title: Fresh Feeling
Author: missaliceblue
Pairing: Peter/Claire.
Rating: G. AU after Fallout. Peter and Claire are not related.
Status: 1/3. 2200 words. I’ve written it already, will be posted as I edit.
Summary: Claire’s got a crush. Tender and fluffy, with a dash of angst.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
-------------
She smiled goodbye to him in the jail and that was the last she was going to see of him.
“Things are gonna settle down now, Claire. I want you to have a chance at…normal,” said her father as they drove home.
She nodded and patted his arm because his speech was meant to comfort her, but he was the one who really needed to hear that everything was okay.
And it was, at least in the way her dad was talking about.
When she looked in the mirror that night, she was surprised to see her face looking normal and serene.
No secrets on the outside, which was odd because Claire’s insides were jumbled and shaking, rumbling and twisting and turning, and she swore that her guts were burning inside of her.
-----
She gave him her email address that night and she never, ever expected that he’d write her one, but he did.
How’s school? How are things going for you? Good, I hope.
Claire replied back with an even shorter one, just on principle.
She hated that it felt like he was humouring her.
-----
She wrote his name in her notebook at school, and was sad that she never seemed to be able to write a pretty letter P.
She heard the other girls talk about their crushes, and how it was ‘more than a crush’. She knew that hers was a crush, and that’s all it was ever gonna be.
He was ten years older than her, lived in New York City, and dated women who had jobs and cars and apartments and he would never, ever look at her.
-----
He sent her little emails and she replied but made herself wait at least a day and a half before she did, because she didn’t want to seem eager.
She checked her email on a little schedule: when she got up, after breakfast, right after she got home from school, and then once every hour till bedtime.
Claire felt like a stalker and really pathetic but she didn’t stop.
Make sure you listen to your Dad, Claire. He’ll take care of you. Be safe.
Her dad just nodded the one time she mentioned that she was emailing Peter, the boy (the man, she meant) that saved her that night.
“That’s nice,” said her dad shortly. “Where’s that other kid these days? What was his name?”
Her dad sucked at changing subjects.
-----
He sent her a link to his brother’s web page and she checked it out. The brother was a politician and she added that name to the regular stalker routine.
Peter was in some of the pictures. She saved them and looked at them every day, because she was an idiot.
“Claire, you feeling okay, honey?” asked her mother one day.
She smiled and said that she was fine because she knew she was. This was a normal-kid, hero-worship crush, and she couldn’t change the fact that she’d rather lay on her bed and think about how he’d kiss rather than eat her dinner.
-----
He emailed her one day that he was going to Midland for a medical conference.
I’m not going to be there too long, but if you wanted, we could get some lunch or something. It’d be nice to say hi. But if you’re busy, it’s cool.
She couldn’t force herself to wait a day and a half before she emailed him back. She instantly regretted her garbled, unfocused, giddy reply.
-----
God bless Zach, really, he was such a good friend to her. Midland was a half-hour away, and she didn't have her driver’s license yet (her dad said maybe when she was 18. Maybe.)
Zach drove her and said to take her time, that he’d come pick her up when she texted him.
“Good luck,” he said, and he smirked.
She would have told him to zip it, if she hadn’t been so nervous.
At least Zach hadn't teased her when he picked her up, and she was glad. Zach said nothing about her carefully curled hair, or the swooshy sundress that was brand new and way more adult-ish than anything she’d ever bought before.
-----
She was pretty sure she was going to throw up.
She told herself to cool it, calm down, shut up, it was going to be fine and it wasn’t a date. It was lunch with a person who just wanted to make sure she was doing okay.
Even the toughest of firefighters would pat the head of a kitten, if he were the one that pulled it out of a tree.
This meant nothing. She repeated that in her mind when she gripped her purse and stepped out of Zach’s car.
All that good bravado dripped away when she walked into the restaurant. He’d told her to pick wherever, so she called the Chamber of Commerce and went online and between the two decided that the Venezia Restaurant (Most Authentic Italian in Midland, said the website) was the place they should go.
But as she stood in the foyer her heart (the beating, burning thing in her chest) dropped into her feet because the Venezia Restaurant was a tacky mess of gold and green velvet, Tuscan murals and plaster statues.
She wanted to cry and it was silly, she knew, but she’d wanted this to be nice and mature and not cheap and stupid.
“Claire?”
She was twenty minutes early, so when she turned around she wasn’t expecting to see him there, sitting on one of the leather benches.
But he was.
“Claire.” He looked at her like it was no big deal, and then he smiled at her easily - a big smile, for him. Where his teeth showed and his face got kinda bunchy.
She pinched her fingers into the sides of her dress. She really wanted to grab him, grab him and hug him, but she didn’t because that is something a kid would do.
“Hey,” she said lightly.
Hug me. Hug me, she thought.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, instead.
She rolled her eyes at the silly décor, but he didn't seem to notice when the host led them back to their table.
It was awkward at first - what could she possibly say to interest him? But he seemed to put her at ease as best he could. He complimented the city (silly, really, she didn’t like Texas, never had) and asked her about school.
And then the waiter came, and she wondered if maybe the waiter thought they were on a date, so she sat up straight and relaxed her face when she ordered.
He ordered something she couldn’t pronounce - Suprema Polignac - something he’d obviously had before. It reminded her that he lived in New York and God, he was probably Italian so why had she picked an Italian restaurant? This stuff was probably gross to him. Stupid. Another stupid mistake.
She played it safe with a salad, which was ladylike and noodle free and therefore non-messy. She noticed that he didn't have trouble eating his without spilling.
She asked him about his conference, but he didn't seem to want to talk about it. Probably didn't want to explain a bunch of stuff to her.
Once the conversation got rolling, it was easy. They traded sibling nightmare stories of Lyle and - Nathan was his brother’s name. She made him laugh once or twice, and that was better than awesome.
They chatted about her school, his work, and they only talked a little about the sad subjects, like the guy - she couldn’t remember his name. The guy that had tried to kill them on Homecoming night. Her dad said he was locked up now. That he was sick and now he was getting help.
Peter nodded. “Yeah. He’s a…real dangerous guy. It’s a good thing your dad’s got a handle on things.”
She laughed a little at first, because she thought he might be kidding. “My dad’s just…a dad. He’s normal. Not like us.”
“Still,” said Peter. “Stick by him, okay?”
She smiled and looked at her plate, unspeakably happy that he was fussing over her.
-----
They ate their lunch, but she didn't do much more than push the food around on her plate, because she was too nervous to chew properly.
He smiled at her when she talked, and his eyes were bright and dark and the same time, somehow.
He paid for her lunch, even though she’d brought a fistful of twenties - her birthday money that she’d been saving for clothes. She tried to pay but he said “No lady goes dutch on my watch,” and it thrilled her, again.
She needed an oxygen pump or something.
They didn't order dessert, which actually turned out well, because when they were walking out of the restaurant she got brave and asked him if he liked ice cream, because there was this great place that was not too far away.
Claire saw him hesitate, and she spoke quickly.
“If you’re busy, though, I understand. If you’ve got stuff to do.”
Of course he did. Of course he had better things to do than hang out with a stupid high school girl.
She saw him hesitate more, chew on his cheek and dart his eyes to the side.
But then he said, “Okay…sounds good,” without much enthusiasm.
-----
She walked miserably next to him through the hot, dry afternoon. He didn't want to be here. He was only being nice.
She hated that she couldn’t gauge things with him. She hated knowing she was being pushy and eager.
He seemed fine though, when he held the door to the ice cream place open for her and then he finally smiled when she ordered a scoop of vanilla.
“Vanilla?”
He let her pay for herself this time.
She looked at him as the cashier handed her the change. “Yeah, vanilla.”
Peter was still smiling. “I didn't know anyone ordered plain old vanilla.”
She looked distastefully at his double-decker cone of cookie dough and caramel fudge ripple. “I like vanilla. Yours looks gross, by the way.”
He laughed. “I didn’t mean to insult your ice cream.”
They sat under an umbrella on the sidewalk in wrought-iron chairs that were hard and painful. He ate his ice cream super quick. She could barely keep up with hers as it melted over her fingers.
But she finally got it all down, which was when Peter told her she had ice cream on her face and she felt stupid when he laughed and told her to try again after she wiped her face with her hand.
That was when he leaned over and wiped her chin for her and at the time she thought she’d probably pass out from that touch alone.
That was when he kissed her.
-----
Peter smiled like it was a joke when he was done kissing her the first time.
Claire’s brain barely processed this because it was popping like a fireworks display. Big, one-word thoughts in her brain, because that was all she could process at the moment.
Peter. Kiss. Mouth. Sweet. Kissing. Peter.
He pulled away and her stomach started to shake and she gripped her hands onto the uncomfortable, wrought iron chair.
“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly.
“You’re sorry?”
“Yeah.” Her stomach was still shaking, and she felt very, very ill.
He looked at her with a calm, neutral sort of face - kissing was not as big a deal to him as it was to her.
She felt her eyes open very wide as she spoke.
“I d-didn’t…mean to do that.”
That was when Claire felt tears start to pull at the corners of her eyes, and she couldn’t believe that she was going to cry in front of him.
He chuckled a little and it wasn’t a very nice sound, but his lips were still turning up at her. “You? What’d you do?”
“Had a dumb crush. Made you come with me.”
He leaned his head forward, and his hair fell over his face. She couldn’t see his eyes.
She hadn’t cried yet, but the tears were just there - they’d fall if she blinked.
He turned his face to her and smiled. “You look like your puppy died.”
She couldn’t say anything.
She didn't have to because he kissed her again.
She closed her eyes, possibly just because that’s what you do when you kiss, but there wasn't any conscious thought behind her actions. Peter was kissing her and it wasn't an accident and it wasn't one of her million daydreams either. It was real and it was happening.
He kissed her and his lips were light and dry and he didn't do anything past barely pressing his lips against hers. Seriously, she could barely feel them there - featherweight warmth dancing across her mouth. Neither kiss was very long and she wondered if it was even a boyfriend sort of kiss.
A friend kiss?
His hands were on her face, and she didn't know that her tears had fallen (of course they had) until she felt him wipe them away with his thumbs.
When he pulled away from her he had that easy, casual look on his face - the same one he’d greeted her with earlier.
She just sat there, trembling.
He smiled and ran his hand through his hair breezily. “Claire, did you know that I can fly?”
next chapter
Author: missaliceblue
Pairing: Peter/Claire.
Rating: G. AU after Fallout. Peter and Claire are not related.
Status: 1/3. 2200 words. I’ve written it already, will be posted as I edit.
Summary: Claire’s got a crush. Tender and fluffy, with a dash of angst.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
-------------
She smiled goodbye to him in the jail and that was the last she was going to see of him.
“Things are gonna settle down now, Claire. I want you to have a chance at…normal,” said her father as they drove home.
She nodded and patted his arm because his speech was meant to comfort her, but he was the one who really needed to hear that everything was okay.
And it was, at least in the way her dad was talking about.
When she looked in the mirror that night, she was surprised to see her face looking normal and serene.
No secrets on the outside, which was odd because Claire’s insides were jumbled and shaking, rumbling and twisting and turning, and she swore that her guts were burning inside of her.
-----
She gave him her email address that night and she never, ever expected that he’d write her one, but he did.
How’s school? How are things going for you? Good, I hope.
Claire replied back with an even shorter one, just on principle.
She hated that it felt like he was humouring her.
-----
She wrote his name in her notebook at school, and was sad that she never seemed to be able to write a pretty letter P.
She heard the other girls talk about their crushes, and how it was ‘more than a crush’. She knew that hers was a crush, and that’s all it was ever gonna be.
He was ten years older than her, lived in New York City, and dated women who had jobs and cars and apartments and he would never, ever look at her.
-----
He sent her little emails and she replied but made herself wait at least a day and a half before she did, because she didn’t want to seem eager.
She checked her email on a little schedule: when she got up, after breakfast, right after she got home from school, and then once every hour till bedtime.
Claire felt like a stalker and really pathetic but she didn’t stop.
Make sure you listen to your Dad, Claire. He’ll take care of you. Be safe.
Her dad just nodded the one time she mentioned that she was emailing Peter, the boy (the man, she meant) that saved her that night.
“That’s nice,” said her dad shortly. “Where’s that other kid these days? What was his name?”
Her dad sucked at changing subjects.
-----
He sent her a link to his brother’s web page and she checked it out. The brother was a politician and she added that name to the regular stalker routine.
Peter was in some of the pictures. She saved them and looked at them every day, because she was an idiot.
“Claire, you feeling okay, honey?” asked her mother one day.
She smiled and said that she was fine because she knew she was. This was a normal-kid, hero-worship crush, and she couldn’t change the fact that she’d rather lay on her bed and think about how he’d kiss rather than eat her dinner.
-----
He emailed her one day that he was going to Midland for a medical conference.
I’m not going to be there too long, but if you wanted, we could get some lunch or something. It’d be nice to say hi. But if you’re busy, it’s cool.
She couldn’t force herself to wait a day and a half before she emailed him back. She instantly regretted her garbled, unfocused, giddy reply.
-----
God bless Zach, really, he was such a good friend to her. Midland was a half-hour away, and she didn't have her driver’s license yet (her dad said maybe when she was 18. Maybe.)
Zach drove her and said to take her time, that he’d come pick her up when she texted him.
“Good luck,” he said, and he smirked.
She would have told him to zip it, if she hadn’t been so nervous.
At least Zach hadn't teased her when he picked her up, and she was glad. Zach said nothing about her carefully curled hair, or the swooshy sundress that was brand new and way more adult-ish than anything she’d ever bought before.
-----
She was pretty sure she was going to throw up.
She told herself to cool it, calm down, shut up, it was going to be fine and it wasn’t a date. It was lunch with a person who just wanted to make sure she was doing okay.
Even the toughest of firefighters would pat the head of a kitten, if he were the one that pulled it out of a tree.
This meant nothing. She repeated that in her mind when she gripped her purse and stepped out of Zach’s car.
All that good bravado dripped away when she walked into the restaurant. He’d told her to pick wherever, so she called the Chamber of Commerce and went online and between the two decided that the Venezia Restaurant (Most Authentic Italian in Midland, said the website) was the place they should go.
But as she stood in the foyer her heart (the beating, burning thing in her chest) dropped into her feet because the Venezia Restaurant was a tacky mess of gold and green velvet, Tuscan murals and plaster statues.
She wanted to cry and it was silly, she knew, but she’d wanted this to be nice and mature and not cheap and stupid.
“Claire?”
She was twenty minutes early, so when she turned around she wasn’t expecting to see him there, sitting on one of the leather benches.
But he was.
“Claire.” He looked at her like it was no big deal, and then he smiled at her easily - a big smile, for him. Where his teeth showed and his face got kinda bunchy.
She pinched her fingers into the sides of her dress. She really wanted to grab him, grab him and hug him, but she didn’t because that is something a kid would do.
“Hey,” she said lightly.
Hug me. Hug me, she thought.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, instead.
She rolled her eyes at the silly décor, but he didn't seem to notice when the host led them back to their table.
It was awkward at first - what could she possibly say to interest him? But he seemed to put her at ease as best he could. He complimented the city (silly, really, she didn’t like Texas, never had) and asked her about school.
And then the waiter came, and she wondered if maybe the waiter thought they were on a date, so she sat up straight and relaxed her face when she ordered.
He ordered something she couldn’t pronounce - Suprema Polignac - something he’d obviously had before. It reminded her that he lived in New York and God, he was probably Italian so why had she picked an Italian restaurant? This stuff was probably gross to him. Stupid. Another stupid mistake.
She played it safe with a salad, which was ladylike and noodle free and therefore non-messy. She noticed that he didn't have trouble eating his without spilling.
She asked him about his conference, but he didn't seem to want to talk about it. Probably didn't want to explain a bunch of stuff to her.
Once the conversation got rolling, it was easy. They traded sibling nightmare stories of Lyle and - Nathan was his brother’s name. She made him laugh once or twice, and that was better than awesome.
They chatted about her school, his work, and they only talked a little about the sad subjects, like the guy - she couldn’t remember his name. The guy that had tried to kill them on Homecoming night. Her dad said he was locked up now. That he was sick and now he was getting help.
Peter nodded. “Yeah. He’s a…real dangerous guy. It’s a good thing your dad’s got a handle on things.”
She laughed a little at first, because she thought he might be kidding. “My dad’s just…a dad. He’s normal. Not like us.”
“Still,” said Peter. “Stick by him, okay?”
She smiled and looked at her plate, unspeakably happy that he was fussing over her.
-----
They ate their lunch, but she didn't do much more than push the food around on her plate, because she was too nervous to chew properly.
He smiled at her when she talked, and his eyes were bright and dark and the same time, somehow.
He paid for her lunch, even though she’d brought a fistful of twenties - her birthday money that she’d been saving for clothes. She tried to pay but he said “No lady goes dutch on my watch,” and it thrilled her, again.
She needed an oxygen pump or something.
They didn't order dessert, which actually turned out well, because when they were walking out of the restaurant she got brave and asked him if he liked ice cream, because there was this great place that was not too far away.
Claire saw him hesitate, and she spoke quickly.
“If you’re busy, though, I understand. If you’ve got stuff to do.”
Of course he did. Of course he had better things to do than hang out with a stupid high school girl.
She saw him hesitate more, chew on his cheek and dart his eyes to the side.
But then he said, “Okay…sounds good,” without much enthusiasm.
-----
She walked miserably next to him through the hot, dry afternoon. He didn't want to be here. He was only being nice.
She hated that she couldn’t gauge things with him. She hated knowing she was being pushy and eager.
He seemed fine though, when he held the door to the ice cream place open for her and then he finally smiled when she ordered a scoop of vanilla.
“Vanilla?”
He let her pay for herself this time.
She looked at him as the cashier handed her the change. “Yeah, vanilla.”
Peter was still smiling. “I didn't know anyone ordered plain old vanilla.”
She looked distastefully at his double-decker cone of cookie dough and caramel fudge ripple. “I like vanilla. Yours looks gross, by the way.”
He laughed. “I didn’t mean to insult your ice cream.”
They sat under an umbrella on the sidewalk in wrought-iron chairs that were hard and painful. He ate his ice cream super quick. She could barely keep up with hers as it melted over her fingers.
But she finally got it all down, which was when Peter told her she had ice cream on her face and she felt stupid when he laughed and told her to try again after she wiped her face with her hand.
That was when he leaned over and wiped her chin for her and at the time she thought she’d probably pass out from that touch alone.
That was when he kissed her.
-----
Peter smiled like it was a joke when he was done kissing her the first time.
Claire’s brain barely processed this because it was popping like a fireworks display. Big, one-word thoughts in her brain, because that was all she could process at the moment.
Peter. Kiss. Mouth. Sweet. Kissing. Peter.
He pulled away and her stomach started to shake and she gripped her hands onto the uncomfortable, wrought iron chair.
“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly.
“You’re sorry?”
“Yeah.” Her stomach was still shaking, and she felt very, very ill.
He looked at her with a calm, neutral sort of face - kissing was not as big a deal to him as it was to her.
She felt her eyes open very wide as she spoke.
“I d-didn’t…mean to do that.”
That was when Claire felt tears start to pull at the corners of her eyes, and she couldn’t believe that she was going to cry in front of him.
He chuckled a little and it wasn’t a very nice sound, but his lips were still turning up at her. “You? What’d you do?”
“Had a dumb crush. Made you come with me.”
He leaned his head forward, and his hair fell over his face. She couldn’t see his eyes.
She hadn’t cried yet, but the tears were just there - they’d fall if she blinked.
He turned his face to her and smiled. “You look like your puppy died.”
She couldn’t say anything.
She didn't have to because he kissed her again.
She closed her eyes, possibly just because that’s what you do when you kiss, but there wasn't any conscious thought behind her actions. Peter was kissing her and it wasn't an accident and it wasn't one of her million daydreams either. It was real and it was happening.
He kissed her and his lips were light and dry and he didn't do anything past barely pressing his lips against hers. Seriously, she could barely feel them there - featherweight warmth dancing across her mouth. Neither kiss was very long and she wondered if it was even a boyfriend sort of kiss.
A friend kiss?
His hands were on her face, and she didn't know that her tears had fallen (of course they had) until she felt him wipe them away with his thumbs.
When he pulled away from her he had that easy, casual look on his face - the same one he’d greeted her with earlier.
She just sat there, trembling.
He smiled and ran his hand through his hair breezily. “Claire, did you know that I can fly?”
next chapter