the Dalaverse

Um, "Heroes" fic? I made a threat and I carried it out, people. Respect. And please tell me what you think, for writing in another fandom is frightened. Peter/Claire, no spoilers for tonight's episode (assumes a future in which our heroes do in fact stop that bomb, or whatever, in addition to meeting all the way up).



Survival


Claire had fallen asleep in front of a rerun of “Three’s Company,” and might have stayed that way if the apartment door didn’t tend to stick in warm weather. She stirred at the sound of Peter kicking it in retribution, opened her eyes at his muttered curse, and rolled them as she turned around. Then she caught a look at him and a yawn died in her throat.

“What the hell happened?”

Touching a cut on his forehead that was still bleeding sluggishly, Peter shrugged. “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.” He tried to smile at her, but the bruise blooming on his cheekbone turned it into a wince. “Any messages?”

Nathan had called an hour ago and Hiro had stopped by around six. Since neither had brought news about unhappy constituents or a new potential end to the world, she didn’t think twice about a little white lie. It was her favorite kind of lie, these days.

“Nope. Come here,” she ordered with the finger-snap that was half a legacy from her mother and half from the Union Wells High School cheer squad. The edges of the cut were already beginning to shrink, but it clearly wasn’t the worst of the beating; he circled the couch slowly rather than tossing himself over the back of it like she was forever complaining about. Sinking into the cushions with a groan, he closed his eyes as she gently touched his face, his shoulders, his stomach – he flinched at that, and she spread her hands flat on either side of his ribcage. The familiar faint crackle of bone mending itself made them both grit their teeth. He drew in a deep, relieved breath, nodded without opening his eyes, and Claire tucked herself against him.

“You know you don’t actually have to be touching me to do all that,” he remarked, wrapping one arm around her and stretching the other out for the remote control.

“I know,” she said, around the yawn that had returned in double force. “I just like to, is all.” And it keeps me from thinking about the day I might not be there, she said to herself, a long habit of hanging out with Matt causing her to add, You stupid idiot. Peter’s chest rumbled in a laugh and he kissed the top of her head.

She considered protesting the switch from TV Land to the eleven o’clock news, but she knew Peter would doze off in a few minutes; healing always left him a little groggy. So she resigned herself to local politics and shameless fearmongering, curling her fingers around his wrist to make an easy grab for the remote, and also so she could feel the steady beat of his pulse against her palm.