A.N: This is set in the AU future Five Years Gone. I'm experimenting with a new style, sort of, and it's my first go at writing Claire. I wrote this whilst listening to Timbaland's new song; it turned out differently to what I'd planned in the beginning. Tell me what you think!
Disclaimer: All things Heroes belong to Tim Kring.
"Do it, Claire!"
Tears stream down her face; hands shaking and cold from the weight of the weapon in her hands. Oh, God – is he really making her do this? How could she possibly do this?
"Claire!"
Takes one deep breath, steadies her hands, and doesn't look him in the eye.
"I'm sorry."
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It's the second time that week Claire Bennet, or Sandra, as she now calls herself, wakes up in a cold sweat with screams and sirens resounding in her head and a guilty conscience in her heart.
Her screams.
His screams.
The whole damn world's screams as it burned and the light got brighter and, Jesus, why didn't she just pull the trigger in the first place?
An arm snakes around her shoulders and she flinches at the touch, until she realises it's only Andy, disturbed by her own awakening, checking to see if she's alright.
"Shh, darlin'. Just another nightmare."
His hands are rubbing soothing circles on her back but the friction just makes Claire even more uncomfortable and she pulls away, mumbling something incoherent about getting a drink of water but what she really wants to do is open the window and jump because she's fed up of these dreams, this life and this lie she's living day in and day out.
She sighs and now feels even more guilt on her conscience as Andy's only trying to help, and it's not his fault he can't understand why she's always so distant and brooding; why she doesn't really belong to him.
Because it's Sandra that Andy loves, has asked to marry, and that little band of gold around her finger feels heavier each day as Claire realises she can't be Sandra anymore, not for much longer.
All she wants to be is Claire and his, and heaven only knows if things were different, if they were living in some sort of alternate universe, she'd be able to get what she wanted, just for once.
The cool water coming out of the tap and the taste of icy glass on her lips calms her down slightly, makes her refocus her thoughts. Leaning against the metal of the refrigerator, Claire, or Sandra, or whoever-the-hell-she-is-nowadays, runs a hand through her straight, brown hair – wasn't it blonde once? Blonde and curly at the ends? – and just breathes. Sometimes she wishes she could fly instead of regenerate because she'd like nothing more just now than to take off into the sky and forget about everything that's happened over the past five years. But thinking about flying always brings her thoughts back to her bio-dad and to him and Claire's heart constricts so painfully she'd think she was having a heart attack were it not for the fact that she can't die.
And – dear God – what's happened to the girl whose only worry was if Jackie didn't approve of her new outfit? Of whose only pressure was that of her school work? She's gone from the age of sixteen to a hundred and sixty in the space of five years, a girl to and old woman in a young girl's body wondering what the hell she did to deserve all this.
She's going to have to go back to Andy soon; he worries about her and Claire thinks it's cute, that he's cute, but it's not the same. It's just not the same, and although he makes her feel safe, it's like it's an illusion because she's always looking over her shoulder for her father to take her away, or for the Company, or the Government or, heaven forbid, him to whirlwind himself back into her life and Claire knows that's what she's secretly dreaming of, why she keeps holding back on Andy even though they're supposed to be getting married.
Then again, Claire ponders as she gulps down the cool liquid, although it feels like it's burning her throat as she swallows, would he want to see her? After all of this?
Claire knows he survived, knows he's in Vegas somewhere, knows he's wanted by the Government just as much as he is, because of what they can do – what they are – and because of so much more. She wonders if he's ever forgiven her for not being strong enough. Not being strong enough to end it all that night and perhaps change the future they live in now. If it was her she'd hate herself, but Claire hates herself a lot these days anyway so that doesn't make much difference.
Except – she tips the remnants of the glass into the sink and places it on the side, rubbing a hand over her forehead – except maybe, just maybe – and this thought brings the first inklings of a true smile to her face – he doesn't hate her. He never used to hold grudges when she knew him all those years ago and, chances are, he's out there thinking about her as much as she's still thinking about him.
"Sandra?" Andy's voice calls to her from the bedroom of their dingy little apartment above the diner, and Claire's heart drops into her stomach at the thought of what she's about to do.
"I'll…I'll just be a moment," she calls back, while in reality she's grabbing her coat off the door-hanger and her cell and some money out of Andy's wallet left on the side of the kitchen counter. Sure, she's going out into the freezing cold in just her PJ's and a reefer coat with nothing more than a name and a vague address as to where he'd be, but she knows she simple can't stay here anymore, not while this question still hangs in her mind, in both of their minds, she's certain.
What if?