Title: World Enough and Time
Fandom: Heroes, AU future, post 4.14 "Let It Bleed"
Characters/Pairings: Claire Bennet, Peter Petrelli, Paire, canon
Warnings: Incest, contemplated and attempted suicide
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters herein belong to Tim Kring and respective owners. The phrase "world enough and time," and all references to it, are taken from the poem "To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell. These are being used without permission. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Summary: Had we but world enough for the time we have.
Notes: This is an introspective vingette that was inspired by an image from my recent post, "Sometime Around Midnight," and I decided to run with it, although in a different direction than implied by that story. This isn't a sequel, or prequel, or related at all to SAM, however, although it shares the idea that in the distant future, Peter and Claire will be the only original heroes left and are romantically involved. Please leave comments. Thank you.
Sometimes, she would cut her wrists just to watch the blood flow.
She would stare, detached.
It didn't feel like her blood. Not her life dripping onto the tile floor of their bathroom. Black and white. She always liked the monochromatic pattern. Small tiles. White replaced with crimson. Just a matter of moments.
But her suicide came and went. It never lasted. Never stuck. Not like her. She was stuck. Stuck until the end of time. Time, it had never been precious when she thought she was running out of it like a normal person. Now it dragged. Like a weight on her chest she couldn't escape. Time was infinite. Ever changing. Ever moving. She was staying. Watching the world slip away.
She was 210. She was 25 when she finally stopped aging at all. She'd had one-hundred-eight-five 25th birthdays. She'd been married once. Upon a time. He'd been nice. Charming. But she'd left. He'd begun to wonder why she'd didn't look older. She couldn't tell him the truth. Specials weren't accepted. Not locked up. Not officially. But ridiculed. Ostracized. Hated. Feared.
She feared. Feared that one day they'd come for her again. Come for them. He was the only one still around. Sylar had finally caught a bullet. Everyone else had lived their lives. Special but normal. That's what they were. Lucky. Sometimes she felt lucky. When he brought home a box of cupcakes. Or flowers. Once he'd bought her a puppy. She named it Darwin. Darwin died twelve years later. Two weeks, she hadn't gotten out of bed. He didn't buy her another puppy.
Sometimes she knew she should feel lucky. She didn't. She should feel lucky to have him. He loved her. He'd always loved her. And she'd always loved him. Since that first moment. The hallway of her Texas high school. Three lifetimes ago. It didn't matter anymore. Them, together. There was no one to question. No one to care. No one to even know. Except the neutrino of guilt that still itched at her brain. It itched at his too. She saw it in his eyes some mornings. Like he was taking advantage of her. Like it was wrong. It was but he wasn't.
It didn't matter anyway. Their blood. Too close genetically. But it didn't matter. No children. Another offshoot of her ability. Invincibility. Eternal damnation. Loneliness. Growth but not age. She'd gotten used to them all. He'd gotten used to it too. He never took another ability. He never lost hers. He would be there. He said it all the time. Time, when it ended, he said, he'd be there.
World enough and time. They had so much time. Time that wouldn't cease. It wouldn't cease except for her. For them. She wasn't alone. She knew it. He'd be there. Was there. But she wasn't. Not really. It wasn't the same. Not for her, not for him. He could give it up. Let it go. Pick a different life. Not her. This was letting go for normal people. This was taking hold. This was ending on your terms. Not her. This was something else she couldn't feel. This was no pain. No feeling. She couldn't feel pain. Couldn't feel anything some days.
Some days she imagined her suicide ending differently. Some days she took the .9mm Glock out of the hall table. Some days there was a bullet in the back of her head. But those days didn't come. Never came. Because he would come home just as she thought it. Just as she gathered the strength to get off the tiled floor. Black and crimson. Small tiles. They picked them out together. Kneeled on the floor of this bathroom with grout and water and ceramic. They'd spent four days on the floor in here. Two of those they actually tiled.
Good memories. Her brain told her to smile at them. At him. He'd walk through that door with flowers or cupcakes. Just when she needed him. Always just then. When she hated him most. When she hated herself most. But he never did. She couldn't understand why. She was keeping him. Tying him to this eternal life. But he never hated. Not her. He pretended to like it. They had world enough and time. She hated time. Time hated her. She hated her.
Nothing ever happened. Nothing ever changed. Cupcakes or flowers. No puppies anymore. Today would change. Today she would imagine it into being. Today she would have the strength. Today she'd catch the bullet. Today she'd stop being jealous of Sylar's luck. Today she'd get off the floor. Today her suicide would stay.
The lock clicked. Door opened. Tiles slick with crimson. Sad brown and empty hazel. Today didn't change. There were daisies in his hand. He didn't speak. Cleaned up the blood. Made her food. Put her to bed. Same as every day. Same. Same for an age. Same for a century. Same for her. For him. She could try all she wanted. Change was non-existent. Eternity was all she had. All they had. Her suicide would never last.
But she would. Last. He would. They would last. For eternity. Tomorrow she would feel lucky again. She would remember that she loved him. Would know that he loved her too. She would love the daisies. They would be in a vase on the kitchen counter. Tomorrow she would feel.
Tomorrow she would wish they had world enough for the time they had.
Thank you for reading. Please review.