Save You, Save Me, Heroes, Peter/Claire, PG-13

[authoressnebula.livejournal.com]

Title: Save You, Save Me
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Fandom: Heroes
Prompt: #22 - Squander for tamingthemuse
Warnings: Spoilers for Chapter 11: Fallout
Summary: Even heroes need saving.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even my brain these days.

Okay, I? HATED how the last episode ended. No, no, no, not my beloved Peter.

So, here's my first step into my new fandom: I'm fixing the mistakes that the writers made. Isn't that what got me into Buffy? ~_^

“What are you doing here?”

“Bailing you out of trouble. Again.”

“Nathan, I...”

“How much longer are you going to do this? Waste your life away?”

“I'm not wast...”

“I've got a lot to do still with my position and the campaign. Running out to Odessa, Texas, of all places, to save YOUR ass...”

“Then why did you come?”

“...Because I had to. Someone has to look out for you, since you won't. If I don't watch you, Peter, you'd squander your life away, and I'd see your body on the five o'clock news.”

“But I...”

“Just...get your things. I've got to fly back. Now. As soon as the paperwork's processed, you'll be released. Here's money for the taxi, and a plane ticket home.”

The plane ticket felt heavy against his skin; he'd placed it in his shirt pocket, since it was small enough. It felt like a lead weight pulling him face first down into the cement.

Peter shook himself. He'd felt odd since the night before. Light-headed, dizzy, and the questions from the agent earlier hadn't helped his nerves. What the hell had been up with that cop, anyways?

He found himself leaning forward and quickly pulled himself back. He'd felt fine when he'd been handcuffed and taken into the station, but the next morning, he'd been sweating, running a fever, and his vision had been distorted.

Of course he was messed up. He'd been tossed off a building, had died for crying out loud. He was bound to feel a little on the crap side.

The side-effects, though...well, he'd never really died and then lived again before. Maybe these were the side-effects to having died. He didn't know.

Claire probably did, though. He found his lips quirking up at the thought of the blonde cheerleader. He'd just thought she was a sweet, cute girl, and then suddenly she'd been running at him, blood in her hair and down her face, and his immediate thought had been the mantra he'd repeated since the futuristic Hiro had told him.

Save the cheerleader, save the world.

He'd saved the cheerleader. He'd tried to tell Nathan earlier, tried to tell him of the bright and cheerful blonde who had come to visit him today to tell him thank you, to talk to him about the strange power and connection they shared.

It was because of Claire that he'd lived that night. It had been her powers of regeneration that had saved him, brought him back from the dead to a very painful and awkward situation. It's not often that someone gets to flip their hips back one hundred and eighty degrees to their normal position.

But he'd saved her. And that to him was worth all of the past few weeks, all the horrible moments he'd endured, the confusion, the 'squandering' of his life. He'd had a purpose, and he'd fulfilled it. He'd saved Claire.

Now it was time to save the world.

He stumbled on the stairs, and realized he was panting heavily. What was up with him? His body felt like it was torn, like it was on fire, and he was falling...

He thought he heard his name before his head hit the ground.

Running was easy. Track had once been the dullest part of her day, but lately, Claire'd started seeing a purpose for it. Running to school when she was late, running away from the man who'd been trying to kill her, running now from her own father...

Her brother and Zach...that had been too scary, and her dad had been the first one she'd turned to. Never mind that he wasn't her real father: he'd been one for years, and he'd understood about her powers. At least, she thought he had.

The man who had emerged from her closet had told her otherwise. He said he'd erased the memories of those around her who had known about her healing abilities, and he'd been sent to erase her own memory, to make her forget about everything concerning her powers.

And the man who had sent him to do it had been her father.

The man, once he'd released her, had told her to pretend her memory loss. “Your powers are too great to be hidden away,” he'd said. “They are meant to be kept. I will not do what your father has asked of me, but I'm asking you to act as if I have.”

She'd agreed. The mysterious man had done the right thing, as far as she was concerned, and the last thing she wanted was to tattle on him. Besides which, if her father knew that she knew about her powers...it made her head hurt. She just wanted someone who understood.

Peter had understood. He'd been there when the man had come after her, had saved her life, had even been thrown off of a building to the ground, where he'd died. She'd brought him back, somehow.

That revelation had shocked her to the core when she'd heard it just a few hours earlier. She'd thought that he'd had the healing powers like she did, but no, he had something different. He hadn't known about any sort of healing powers that saved lives. He'd just had whatever he'd had, and yet...

And yet he'd still jumped, shoving that man off of the roof, to protect her.

He was a hero in her eyes. Her own knight in shining...well, not armor. More like a blue jacket and jeans. And today, he'd only been wearing a thin white top, just enough to show her his well sculpted body underneath. He was cute. And hot.

Though he'd looked hot in a different way when she'd glanced up at his face. He'd had sweat making his face shine, and he'd been pale, as if he had a fever.

He'd be fine, though. Fine enough to maybe talk with her, to help her understand even more about what was going on. And that was why Claire was running. She was running from her father to the one person who seemed to know and comprehend what she was dealing with.

Her breathing was harsh as she rounded the corner to the usually busy road. At this time of night, the traffic was rare. It made crossing the street to the police headquarters easier.

She paused for a moment when she saw him head down the stairs. They'd released him already? Maybe her testimony earlier had done some good, then. Maybe the day hadn't been a waste. “Hey!” she called, stepping quickly again to meet him. “Peter! I wanted to talk to...Peter?”

She frowned as he swayed dangerously to the side, then righted himself and started forward again. Two more steps, and he suddenly collapsed to the left.

“Peter!” she yelled, hurrying forward even though she knew she wasn't going to reach him before he fell. Sure enough, his body was slumped on the cement before she even had a chance to kneel beside him. Claire quickly crouched and checked for a pulse, her eyes widening when it began to fade out. “Oh crap,” she mumbled. “Peter? Peter, can you hear me?”

He didn't respond. This was bad. This was really bad.

Maybe she needed to do CPR. Maybe...

It's amazing to hear nothing in New York city. There's absolute silence. No horns blaring, no engines puttering, no voices and feet, nothing.

It's amazingly eerie, and it sends goosebumps up and down his arms. He hurries out into the streets to see what's going on.

Cars are abandoned, doors flung open and no one left to close them. He begins to move between them, and his eyes spot a familiar banner. His brother's banner for his campaign. He knows where he is.

He almost hears something, and he turns to the almost noise to see the cop from the station, the one who had made his head hurt, hurrying away from him. He's got a family of three in front of them, and all of them are running while looking back at him with fear in their eyes.

Another almost noise, and he turns again to see Simone running out towards him. She's calling out his name, looking ready to cry, and the painter runs from behind her and pulls her away. Isaac; that was his name. Isaac Mendez. The painter who can see the future.

His brother comes into view next, walking solemnly towards him. Near the doors Nathan exited from, two Japanese men stand. Ando is easily recognized, as is Hiro. They send him closed gazes, but he can see Hiro biting his lip.

Suddenly his hands begin to burn. He stares down at them in shock, and realizes that they are burning, going up in flames, as is the rest of him. Nathan continues to walk towards him, and he wants to scream as the pain intensifies and engulfs him, but he can't, won't, shouldn't, because the city and the people will burn with him, and because...

Because she's here. Her cheerleader outfit is pristine as she steps up towards him, closer and closer despite his flames. Her hand reaches out and takes his, and she smiles as she tells him loud and clear, “I'm saving you this time.”

Her CPR lessons had obviously been for nothing, or it just wasn't working. It was supposed to work; that's what she was taught.

Surprisingly enough, her panicked voice and the prone figure on the ground weren't inducing a crowd. She was glad; she didn't need someone reporting her, because then her dad would know, and she really didn't want to think about him when she needed to think about Peter dying.

Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath, before going over the previous conversation she'd had with him. He'd told her that he didn't have healing powers like she did. Yet he'd healed exactly like she did when she'd...

She'd stepped near him. All she'd done was crouch next to him, and he'd been back.

So somehow, her powers had gotten transferred to him. Or maybe he was like a magnet. Whatever. If she'd saved him before, she could save him again.

But it wasn't working. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest, and his was slowly fading to nothing.

She reached out and took his hand, hoping that would do something. Nothing. She glanced around, hoping now that someone would come and help her, but what could they do?

Maybe if her blood mingled with his. She glanced down at the concrete and bit her lip, but placed her hand on it and scraped it across, feeling stones and sharp ends ripping her skin until it bled. She could feel the blood welling, and she reached over to scrape his hand as well.

Just as soon as his hand had been scraped, both her wounds and his closed. Claire pounded her fist against the ground, cursing the powers she was so desperately trying to use. “Dammit,” she muttered. This wasn't working.

Maybe...

She turned to gaze at his face. He looked peaceful, and would've looked even more beautiful if he hadn't had skin and hair damp from perspiration. He was still pretty cute, though.

She leaned over, carefully placing her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. She lowered herself until her lips were inches from his. She closed her eyes and pressed her warm lips to his already cold lips, biting both her lip and his in one go. She could feel his blood on her lip, and the wounds began to heal.

And his lips warmed underneath hers.

Peter slowly opened his eyes to an unusual sight: Claire leaning over him very, very close. Her lips were close enough that he could easily close the distance between them and his own lips. “Um, hi,” she said, realizing just how odd she probably looked. “You were, um, sort of leaning towards dead.”

“You saved me,” he said softly. He sat up slowly, and she sat up with him, watching the color return to his face. He could feel the sweat drying, and he felt better. Much better.

“Well, you can't be the only one saving people around here,” she said with a smile, and he began to return it.

He frowned a moment later, suddenly realizing just where they were. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “It's really late out. I mean, it's bad enough that I'm out here this late, but you...”

“I came looking for you,” she blurted out. He stopped and blinked, watching as her cheeks turned pink. “I...I'm so confused about all of this. You have a different power than me, but it's the same.”

“I'm...sort of a mimic,” he explained. “I can absorb the powers of those around me who have powers. My brother Nathan can fly, so I flew with him. And you can heal, so...”

“Wait a minute,” Claire said, holding up her hands. “He...flew? As in, just spread his arms and...?”

Peter nodded. “There's others out there. There's a guy I know, Isaac Mendez...he can paint the future. But we're not alone, Claire. There's other heroes out there.”

Claire sat back and took this all in. “Then why did you come to me?” she finally asked. “If there's so many others out there, why was I...?”

“'Save the cheerleader, save the world',” Peter quoted. “It's what I was told to do. I've saved you, the cheerleader. And now...”

“Now you can save the world,” she said, nodding slightly. “Wow. Quite a task for you. Most people are happy making the team, but if you like the impossible dream, then...”

“Not just me,” he said, his mind going over his dream. Him alone in the middle of the street, about to engulf in flames and destroy New York. The bomb that Isaac had painted had been him. He was the one that would, for some reason, cause New York to explode.

And suddenly, Claire had appeared and saved him. Saved him not just in his dream, but here now, too. The future didn't look as bleak anymore; maybe they could stop it from happening.

“Us. You and me. We'll save the world. Together.”

She smiled, bright and cheerful again, and he wondered if they already had.

~Nebula