pairing: Claire/Elle
warnings: Mild violence
summary: Claire and Elle enjoy dinner at a fine restaurant on their fist date. Or mission. Or date? It's hard to say, exactly.
notes: Set somewhere around Season 3; assumes Elle never died.
acknowledgments: Forever thanks to my beta Cadence, who is the most glorious.
Elle fidgeted nervously with her silverware, flipping her knife over, left to right, right to left. Claire cast a brief look at her restless fingers and turned her head away, lips pressed together.
It was very difficult to tell if this was supposed to be a date. None of the factors of the equation quite added up to convince her one way or the other.
The first issue was that Claire hadn't called it a date. She'd very explicitly called it a "mission," in fact, but there was always the possibility that it was a cover in case the night went badly. After all, Claire still hadn't told her who they were meant to be spying on, and their "mission," whatever it was, apparently required them to have dinner at an upscale restaurant.
"Dress nice," Claire had told her on the phone, and Elle had been so surprised that she hadn't even sniped back that she always dressed nice. She dressed nice all the time.
So that was strange, and Elle thought it leaned more toward date than not. There was also the fact that Claire had picked her up. As Elle slid into the passenger seat, Claire had looked her up and down appraisingly, and Elle had been glad she'd picked the really tight black dress that was strapless and showed off, well, everything.
"Wow," Claire had said, and if it hadn't been for the genuine surprise in her voice, Elle would have chalked that up as another point in the date column, but Claire's expression – slightly bemused, eyebrows raised – hadn't made Elle feel particularly flirty. Instead, she'd crossed her arms sullenly over her ribs, muttering, "I always dress nice."
When they got to the restaurant, a valet parked the car, and Claire had given up the key reluctantly. "I don't have the best luck with cars," she said when she caught Elle watching her. "And it's new. It's a Maxima." She rolled her eyes and huffed, walking into the restaurant ahead of Elle when she got no response.
Elle hadn't been nervous at all until they got inside. The ceilings were high, the rooms illuminated by chandeliers, walls decorated with tasteful but noticeably expensive art. She shot a curious look at Claire, who averted her eyes and appeared to be a little intimidated by the surroundings as well. She gave their names to the host in such a soft voice Elle couldn't hear her, distracted anyway trying to get her bearings and a feel for the evening.
There was no way Claire could afford this place on her own. It seemed unlikely she would be able to even get a reservation without help – and that certainly made it more likely that this was a mission.
Although how they were supposed to spy on anyone here was a mystery to her. As they were led to their table, Elle noted that the restaurant was divided with ornate partitions to give an illusion of greater intimacy. While none of the tables were completely obscured from view, neither was there a spot from which a person might see the entire room. And there were private dining areas tucked discreetly in the corners. Their table was situated near the back of the room, and Claire took the spot with better visibility – she had a decent view of people entering the restaurant and a couple of the doors to the private dining rooms. Elle glanced around for any familiar faces as she scooted her chair in.
They were hardly seated before their waiter appeared, blandly good-looking and perfectly coiffed. He presented them with a platter of artfully arrayed cheeses and pâtés, explaining with a smooth smile that it was on the house. Claire looked a little annoyed and Elle raised her eyebrow. Claire shook her head in response, giving the waiter a huge smile and thanks. With a flourish, he turned over two stout, beautifully cut glasses in front of them and held up a bottle of yellowish liquor.
"Pastis?"
Elle and Claire exchanged a blank look.
"To accompany the appetizer. It's meant to stimulate the appetite," he explained, seeming unconcerned that Claire didn't exactly look of legal age to drink.
"Sure," Elle said, and Claire shook her head. He poured each of them a small amount anyway and left a large pitcher of water in the middle of the table. "To dilute the pastis. A five-to-one ratio is generally preferred. Please take your time looking over the menus, and let me know if you need anything at all."
Bemused, Elle sniffed at the drink and wrinkled her nose. She set the glass back down on the table and began fiddling with her flatware, contemplating the situation. Claire seemed tense, but that wasn't an indication of anything one way or another. But it was definitely ridiculous to not tell Elle exactly what their mission was if there was one. Not knowing was starting to piss Elle off, and she didn't like the way the waiter had spoken to them like they were children. Compared to the average age of the diners here, Elle supposed they were.
She sent an unconscious spark through her knife and slammed it down on the table immediately, folding her hands in her lap. Claire snapped her attention to Elle, eyes widening.
"Elle, was that –"
"It was nothing," she said quickly.
She didn't want Claire to think she wasn't up for this, whatever "this" was. Sure, she hadn't been on a mission in a long time and she hadn't been on a date… ever, but she really didn't need Claire to have any idea she was nervous. Claire bit at her bottom lip, and for a moment, Elle's attention was drawn wholly to Claire's mouth. She grabbed her water glass and took a huge gulp, trying to force herself back into focus.
Another suspicious element was that Claire looked amazing. The dress she was wearing was light blue and scoop-necked and made of some soft, loose material that kept catching Elle's attention. She wanted to touch it, maybe push it up Claire's thigh a little to expose her knees and the shadowy area between them. With her other hand, she could brace Claire's hip, run her fingers up her belly to her ribs, trace a tickling path just around the curve of her breast and, with a flick of her wrist, pull away the strap of her dress and pass her lips across the newly-bare flesh, so lightly, and Claire's breath would get all shaky and she'd whisper, "But Elle, what about our−" and she'd pause to gasp, because of the way Elle's hand was creeping up under her skirt, "our mission?" And then Elle could give her a knowing look - oh, right, the mission - and Claire's eyes would flutter closed and –
Elle's water glass shattered between her fingers with a tremendous crack that was partially the sound of the glass breaking but mostly the unexpected jolt of electricity Elle released through her hand.
"Shit!"
The water that had been in her glass splashed over her hand and the table, spattering across her face and shoulders. Elle blinked, unmoving and disbelieving.
"Elle!" Claire leaned forward, grabbing Elle's wrist and pressing her napkin into her hand. "Are you OK?" she whispered, scooting her chair closer. "That hasn't happened in a long time."
Elle allowed herself to enjoy the nice view down the top of Claire's dress for a moment before extracting her hand from Claire's grasp. She picked up her own napkin and started drying her hands, not looking Claire in the eye as she said, "Yeah, fine. It was a fluke, don't worry. It won't happen again."
Claire started to pick up the pieces of the shattered water glass. "Are you sure?" she asked, peering closely at Elle's face. Elle kept her gaze down, managing another couple of quick glances at Claire's cleavage that she tried to hide with her napkin as she patted her face dry.
She stopped, staring at Claire's hands, still gathering up glass shards into a little pile. "Claire, you're bleeding."
"What? Oh, shoot!" Claire glanced down before quickly clamping her napkin over her right hand. The only thing Elle saw was a flash of red – it looked like Claire had cut one of her fingers pretty badly. Claire scanned the table, lips pressed in a thin line. "Where did it go?"
"Where did what go?" Elle ducked her head, peering around their place settings for she didn't know what.
Claire made a frustrated noise. "My finger."
Elle sat up straight, staring at the blood seeping through Claire's makeshift napkin-bandage. "The whole finger?"
Claire rolled her eyes. "Just the tip."
"Which finger?" She kind of wanted to see.
"Pointer finger – does it matter?"
Elle couldn't entirely keep the smile off her face. "I should know what I'm looking for."
Claire curled her lip sarcastically. "What, in case you find a bunch of fingers and can't tell which one is mine?"
"Oh, hey. I found it." Elle pointed to their appetizer tray. Between some immaculately crafted cheese delicacies was Claire's finger, cleanly severed at the top knuckle.
Claire stared at it, her expression falling into helpless disgust. "Gross."
As Elle was contemplating the best way to fish it off the platter – use her fingers? her shrimp fork? – the waiter approached their table. Claire immediately hid her hands below the table.
"Is everything here all right?" His gaze tracked from Elle, who still had water droplets spattered across her collarbone, briefly to Claire, and then to the little pile of glass shards on the table. His brow furrowed at the sight of the offending piece, one edge curiously red.
"We're fine," they said simultaneously.
"Let me clean this up and move you to a new table."
"No!" Claire cried, her eyes momentarily darting to the appetizer tray and then back to the waiter. "Um, no. No thank you, uh… Theo. We really, really like this table. It's perfect. Maybe if we could just get a new glass for her? A plastic one?"
Elle scowled at her and Theo glanced between the two of them in confusion.
"Plastic?"
"Please," Claire said, tilting her head and offering her brightest smile.
"All right," he said slowly, eyeing the broken glass once more. "I'll be right back to clean this up."
As soon as he left, Claire grabbed the bloody piece of glass and wiped it clean, and Elle was disappointed to see that the finger had already grown back. Claire wiped the remaining blood off her hands and stuffed her soiled napkin into her purse just in time for Theo to return to the table with a small army of busboys. They cleaned up the mess while he oversaw, and Elle and Claire alternated anxious looks between each other and the finger on the tray that nobody, so far, had noticed. When the last of the glass was cleared away, Theo took away Elle's wet napkin, placed a new one beside her setting, and looked around curiously for Claire's.
"Oh, I lost mine," Claire said quickly.
He stared at her for a moment before silently laying out her new linen as well. "I'll be right back with your… plastic glass."
Elle watched him walk away and turned back to Claire once he was out of sight. She looked defeated.
"This isn't the least successful mission I've been on," Elle offered helpfully.
Claire's features pinched in irritation and she opened her mouth to reply, but her focus shifted to some point beyond Elle. Claire gasped and pushed herself off her chair, ducking below the table. For a second, Elle thought she may have slipped, but she saw the movement of the tablecloth that suggested Claire was tucking herself out of view. Confused, Elle glanced around, and felt a sharp stab of panic when she caught sight of Angela Petrelli.
Elle's mouth opened in a soundless gasp and, in a moment of blind confusion, she dove under the table, too. She didn't actually think Angela would have that awful of a reaction on seeing her on a date with her granddaughter, but Claire's apparent panic and her own visceral dislike of the woman overrode her common sense.
She went to the floor gracelessly, hands and head leading the way, and she caught herself just in time to prevent a collision with Claire's face.
"Claire!" she whispered. "Your grandmother is here! What are the odds?"
Claire scowled at her. "I know! That's who we're here to spy on!"
"Oh." Her eyebrows drew together, disappointment dropping heavily in her stomach.
"Well, you could have mentioned that before you dove under the table!" she hissed.
"I didn't have a lot of time, Elle!"
She gave Claire's shoulder a little zap and Claire let out a high-pitched noise of affront even though Elle knew it didn't hurt.
"I mean before she showed up here, so I would know what was going on! This is not exactly covert!" She gestured sharply between the two of them.
"I didn't know you'd follow me!"
Elle was more than a little irritated. "Call me a cynic, but I don't think you thought about it too hard before you went for cover from granny."
Claire was opening her mouth to retort when they were both distracted by the approach of unidentifiable feet that stopped, of course, at their table. Elle realized, a little belatedly, that her ass and feet were still visible, sticking out in plain view. Claire leaned slightly to look around Elle and, seeing the same thing Elle had just realized, widened her eyes at Elle accusingly. Her expression relaxed into disappointment and she slowly put a hand to her face and sighed.
Elle pursed her lips but refrained from saying anything, slowly backing herself out from under the table. She pushed herself into a squatting position – difficult in the heels she was wearing – and stood, smoothing her dress down primly. She didn't directly acknowledge the person standing to her side, but could gather enough out of her peripheral vision to see that it was their waiter. She cursed mentally as she sat down, scooting her chair forward. At least it wasn't Angela, at any rate. Even if her date was ruined, the mission could still succeed.
After a long moment in which Elle straightened her place setting and readjusted her napkin into a tidy arrangement in her lap, she turned a wide, false smile to the waiter.
"Oh, hi," she said. "Can I help you?"
He looked decidedly nonplussed. "The plastic glass you requested," he said, placing it in front of her.
"Thanks," she said, wrinkling her nose at him.
"Was there anything else I could get you?" He sounded pained.
Where did he get off? Elle was having a pretty disastrous night herself so far.
"Actually," she said, grabbing the appetizer tray, "could you get us a new one of these? It has a finger in it."
She let go as soon as his hands were out to take it, so he didn't have time to pull away when she said the word finger. He stared down, eyes slowly widening as he saw the tip of Claire's finger roll around the little cheeses. He gaped at it, and then at Elle.
"What – "
Elle shrugged a shoulder delicately. "All I know is we didn't order it like that."
Claire pinched her leg and Elle kicked out immediately, feeling wonderful vindication when her foot met something that made an unpleasant snapping noise. Claire would be fine.
The waiter's brow furrowed as the table shook a little and Elle flashed a smile at him that showed all of her teeth. "Thank you," she said slowly, with precise enunciation. "I'll let you know if we need anything else."
She continued to smile at him as he walked away, taking slow, unsteady steps and looking completely bewildered.
The tablecloth rippled beside Elle and Claire whispered, "Is Angela still out there?"
Elle sighed and looked around the room. If they were very lucky, she hadn't seen them and was already tucked away in one of the fancier private dining areas. She didn't see her anywhere.
She curled her lip in thought, debating how long she should let Claire stay under the table. It wasn't that much fun having her under there.
"You're fine," she muttered.
Claire pulled herself up as discreetly as she could – which, Elle noted with no small amount of bitterness, she was petite and athletic enough to do with relative grace – and sat back down across from Elle. She leaned in close, whispering harshly, "Why did you do that? Maybe ducking under the table isn't the height of covert ops, but drawing the attention of the entire restaurant by handing them a human finger certainly isn't going to be great for our cover!"
Elle held out her hands, scoffing. "I couldn't eat that! You touched everything on the plate! I mean, your finger did, but still!"
Claire flattened a hand on the table angrily. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? You're mad because it's Angela and you didn't know!"
Elle balled up her napkin and tossed it on the table. "That's a good point, Claire. Why are we spying on Granny Petrelli? And why didn't you tell me about it?"
Claire's mouth opened, her brow furrowed, looking like she wanted to keep arguing about the finger-appetizer debacle. "Because," she whispered, "it's Angela. You know she's plotting something!"
"Because she's eating dinner at a fancy restaurant, Claire? Please." Elle settled back in her chair, folding her arms under her chest and giving Claire a withering look. When she thought about it, though, Claire's point was probably a fair one.
"She's meeting someone here! Come on, Angela and another person having dinner? Together?" Claire raised her arm in the air, giving Elle a look like this was the most obvious thing in the world. "What are the odds she's not plotting something?"
OK, so it was definitely a fair point. But still. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Who did this "mission" even come from?" She took petty pleasure in making sharp airquotes around "mission." "Somebody rich? There's no way you could afford this place. There's no chance you could even get a reservation here."
Claire looked mildly offended and scowled at the table. "Nobody," she admitted finally. She leaned back, mimicking Elle's unhappy slump. She shifted her shoulders and mumbled, "Nathan made the reservation." She sniffed and cast her eyes at the ceiling. "I think he had something to do with the complimentary appetizer and weird yellow booze."
Elle gaped, one startled laugh escaping her. "He's got you spying on his mom? I didn't think he had it in him."
"No," Claire grumbled. "I told him I needed a favor and I wanted to bring a date here."
Irrational hope rose in Elle for a second until Claire realized what she'd said. "Not that this is a date," she corrected quickly.
"So you guilted your father into getting you into a restaurant so you could spy on your grandmother and then you lied to me about it … why?" It occurred to Elle that she didn't really have the moral high ground in this – or any – situation. But she was pissed off and the night was really not shaping up well and all of it was Claire's fault. "How is it that, between the two of us, I'm the diagnosed sociopath?"
Claire had looked almost guilty before Elle's last jab, and her expression darkened. "Oh, right, I'm sorry that you're so busy doing other spy work that you had no time for something like this. You've got such a great reputation for handling missions that jobs are just pouring in." She gave Elle a snide look. "I wanted you to come and I thought you might not if we were spying on Angela. My mistake, clearly. You're being totally rational about the situation."
Elle stared, disbelieving. Claire had called her incompetent and admitted to a fair amount of subterfuge to trick Elle into spending an evening with her. She was too confused to know if she was flattered or insulted, so she settled for being pissed off. "Are you fucking with me? I won't hesitate to fry your face off." Elle held up her hand, fingers curled in a halfhearted claw. Electricity sparked weakly and briefly from her palm and she dropped her hands into her lap, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply.
She heard Claire's chair scrape quietly across the floor and Elle figured she was getting up to leave or cool off. She was surprised when Claire grasped her hands, opening her eyes wide to see Claire sitting beside her, sideways in her chair. She looked really worried, like she expected Elle to explode at any second.
"Hey, Elle, I'm shouldn't have said that. If you need to electrocute something, you can electrocute me." She squeezed gentle pressure on Elle's fingers.
Elle pressed her lips together and took another look at Claire, who was bending so close and looking genuinely upset. She could also see down Claire's dress again. Elle didn't take time to think before closing the distance and kissing her. She felt Claire tense, heard her sharp intake of breath, her fingers clamping tight-tight-tight around Elle's. Elle didn't let herself worry about Claire pulling away, darting her tongue against Claire's bottom lip.
Claire gasped again, softer this time, and opened her mouth to respond. She pushed back against Elle, drawing one of her hands away to cup Elle's jaw. Elle used her free hand to press her palm flat against Claire's shoulder blade, pulling her closer. She sucked Claire's lip between her teeth, biting gently before releasing a huge jolt of electricity.
Claire jumped back with so much force she almost tipped her chair over backwards. She let out a terrific shriek, eyes bugging wide and mouth open in shock. She stared at Elle, too stunned to be furious.
Elle practically bounced in her seat, balling her hands into excited fists. She grinned. This evening was turning out to be much better than she'd originally anticipated. "Thanks, Claire. I did need to let some of that loose."
They got kicked out shortly after, escorted by Theo and the manager to wait outside while the valet got Claire's car for her. Claire got a better hold on her anger as she watched Elle, who was grinning hugely. Claire scowled and slapped her shoulder.
"Ow! What was that for?" She was still grinning.
"For screwing up the mission," Claire grumbled, crossing her arms.
Elle bounced forward and kissed Claire quickly, cupping the back of her head just long enough to give her hair a tiny yank. Claire hissed and bit Elle's lip before she pulled away, fixing her with a dark look.
The valet was standing two feet away, watching them, hand outstretched tentatively to offer Claire her keys. She snatched them from him, glared at Elle, and walked around to the driver's side. She opened the door and stopped, resting her hand on the hood of the car to point angrily at Elle.
"I will get you back for this," she said, more like a promise than a threat. Elle hopped into the passenger seat happily.
A short distance away, just to the left of the restaurant's entrance, Noah Bennet watched his daughter, face and body half obscured by decorative latticework. He heard the rapid clip of heels coming up beside him and didn't turn when the footsteps stopped just behind his shoulder.
"Hello, Angela."
He heard her sigh behind him and tipped his head to her, offering a small smile.
"Noah, I've been waiting in there for ages. And you look ridiculous standing out here."
He made a vague hand gesture to the spot where Claire and Elle had just been. "They didn't notice me."
"Those are the least competent spies I've ever seen. It's hardly an accomplishment. If you really want to do something about the unmitigated disaster that relationship is bound to be, get inside. We'll discuss it over dessert."
She didn't wait for his reply before heading back inside, ignoring the valet until she got to the door. She made a sharp gesture and the young man lunged to open it for her. Noah sent a slow, careful look to the parking lot and then back to the restaurant. He adjusted his glasses and followed Angela.
He couldn't shake the feeling that what he'd witnessed was just the start.