-1
Title: Eight Days
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Claire-centric, Peter, Noah, West, Zach, Sandra.
Disclaimer: Do not own any of these characters. All belong to Tim Kring, NBC, etc.Warnings: Implied incest
AN: This isn't my first piece of fanfiction. But it is my first Heroes fic and the first that I've posted in a long time. I have no beta. All mistakes are mine. Sorry about that. So I'm re-posting this. I'm sorry that it was confusing last time. I had no idea screwed it up like that. I didn't realize that parts of the story were missing and the format was effed up. Hopefully this is better and easier to read and understand. Three days!
Sunday, March 25th 2007
Claire sat down roughly in her chair.
Noah glanced up, expecting to see a moping teenager but was pleasantly surprised to see a genuine smile gracing his daughter's lips.
"You're up early for a Sunday." He said before taking a sip of his routine coffee.
She shrugged nonchalantly, "Couldn't sleep, I guess."
He nodded, not really paying attention while reading his paper.
Claire sighed and crossed her arms. She had hoped her dad would be up for conversation and distract her. Realizing he wasn't going to, she went to the kitchen, poured herself a bowl of Fruit Loops and seated herself across from her father once again.
Before the spoon reached her lips the doorbell rang. Noah looked from his paper towards the door. "Going to get that?"
She shook her head and shoved the spoon in her mouth. "I'm busy," she replied after she swallowed.
Noah resisted the urge to roll his eyes and went to the door. Claire turned in her chair; watching her father's back. Turning back she took another bite of her food and smirked.
Monday, November 13th 2006
Their new house was colorless and huge. She missed Texas, Zach, and Peter. Claire ran her hand across her bare mattress and sat down.
"Hey, Claire-bear," Noah said, poking his head through her half opened door, "Okay if I come in?"
She nodded, not looking up and waited to feel the mattress sink beneath his weight.
"Like it here?" he asked after a minute.
Claire glanced around her new bedroom. The walls were too white. The vanity and desk just as plain. "How did you get all of this stuff so soon?"
He turned away, "One last favor from the company."
"More like buying your silence." She replied bitterly. He nodded grimly, "Do you at least like it here?"
"It's white."
He laughed and patted her knee, "We can get paint in a couple of weeks," he looked at her bed, "and some sheets tonight. Do you still have the clothes that your grandmother bought you?"
She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, I still have Mrs. Petrelli's clothes."
He smiled sadly, promised her new clothes and left.
Tuesday, November 15th 2006
Noah was disappointed to see Claire curled up on the couch watching the televised funeral of Nathan and Peter Petrelli.
He sat down next to her, throwing an arm around her shoulder. Claire leaned into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?" he whispered.
"I'm not doing anything to myself."
"They're dead, Claire. You need to move on. They weren't really apart of your life anyway."
"Peter saved me," fell quickly from her mouth.
He sighed, rubbing her arm. "He's still dead."
"No he isn't," she argued.
Noah was quickly losing his patience. "Look, Claire." He pointed towards the TV, "Caskets."
She shook her head, "They're closed. Empty."
"No, closed because their bodies were scarred, twisted, unrecognizable." He sighed. "Exploding does that to you," he added sarcastically.
She shoved herself away, glaring at him. "Peter Petrelli is not dead."
She ran up to her room and slammed her door.
Wednesday, November 29th 2006
She wandered slowly behind her parents through the Home Depot; pissed that they still hadn't found the damn paint aisle.
"OH! Found it!" Sandra called from a few rows ahead.
Claire glanced around, hoping to find something interesting and crossed her arms when she realized there was nothing. Giving in she looked through the color selection.
She picked a soft yellow for her room and listened to her parents argue over the dining room.
Claire blindly reached for a strip and gave it to her mom. "Here. For the dining room."
"Mellow Mellon?" Noah asked as he looked over his wife's shoulder.
Sandra gasped, "Claire this is perfect!" She threw her arms around her daughter and Claire returned the embrace.
"No problem." She went to glance at her dad's face, but the piece of paper in her mother's hand caught her eye and she gasped. Perfect.
Thursday, January 11th 2007
Claire was (not) back to normal. She made the squad before Christmas break. She was friends with Amber,
Tiffany, Brittany and Katie. Claire was even lucky enough to be dating the boy that (thought he) was introspective.
West (really, what kind of name was that? She was sure he had made it up and that the name on his birth certificate was Roger or Walter) had dark hair (too light), dark eyes (way too dark; absent were golden flecks), and tall (way too tall). But if she was far away and squinted he looked (like Peter) shorter.
She couldn't get over that night. She tried to drown herself in (the tub every night) schoolwork, cheering and friends. It was pointless. Thoughts of Peter were constant.
Friday, January 30th 2007
She was waiting. For a phone call, a knock, a tap on her window. Something.
The call was always from Zach. The knock from a solicitor. The tapping at her window was the always the worst.
He was tapping again tonight.
Claire heaved a sigh and stood up from her desk. She opened her curtains, helped him in and went back to her Chem homework.
He followed her, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Come with me, Claire."
She turned to look at his grinning (not crookedly) face and smiled at him (that sad little one).
"I can go pretty high now." He continued, "almost like I'm flying."
She choked on a sob, nodded and went off with her boyfriend.
Friday, February 9th 2007
"Embracing that inner freak yet? Must be easy in California."
She laughed, "Yeah, I cut my toe off the other day and my boyfriend can manipulate wind."
She could hear his grin, "That's my girl."
Saturday, March 17th 2007
She dumped him on a Saturday because Saturdays were easy. And breaking up with him was an easy thing to do.
"It's not you, it's me," she promised, never looking up from her hands. Damn, she was a walking, talking cliché.
She dreamt of him that night. Like all the nights before. No, not really dreaming. Remembering. She hated it. She hated him. For making her feel like this. For making her do childish things. For making her feel so damn small. They were always the same memories.
The night she (bumped) meet him (how did he not pick up on that as flirting? That hall was huge and
Peter eagerly standing up when she entered his cell. "I knew I had to save you."
"Why?" she asked 'I'm just a cheerleader, I'm just a cheerleader' running through her head.
The day of the bomb. "When I meet you; I finally felt like I was apart of something."
The one she hated the most was the night of the bomb. Not pointing the gun at him. She knew he'd lived. But before he went to Nathan. When they were alone in the car.
She glanced up, confused. "What's this?"
"It's...hope? I guess. I know that's cheesy, but...I know that tonight is going to be hard on everyone. Especially you, and I need you to know that I'll be alright."
She smiled; unsure of what to say and unfolded the paper.
It was another picture. This one wasn't dark and scary like the one of Ted. This was...peaceful.
A blond girl (it was her!), sat at a table; facing away from the man slowly approaching her. He was tall (just the right height), had dark hair (the perfect shade).
Claire looked up; Peter waited for her reaction. "It's us," she whispered, clearly shocked.
"Yeah, look closely. Take in everything."
The room was a light shade of green (that damn "Mellow Mellon"), a cup resting on the table. A bowl of cereal in front of the girl. And a newspaper; perched next to the cup.
"March 25th?"
"Yeah, it's a Sunday." He smiled, "I come and find you on a Sunday."
She half laughed, half cried. "Oh god," she gasped.
He nodded, smiling at her. "I know it's a long time. But you can do it, Claire. You're a strong girl. Promise me you won't do anything stupid? And that you'll try to be happy?"
She nodded, "I promise."
"Good," he leaned towards her, wiping her tears again and paused. His face inches from her and she prayed that he'd lean in and just kiss her because that's all she really wanted.
They gazed at each other for a few minutes. Claire could feel his breath on her cheek and continued to pray. She closed her eyes when she saw him move towards her and let out a sigh of disappointment when his lips grazed her cheek and not her lips.
The moment was over and he started the car.
"Claire."
Her breath caught in her throat at the sound of his familiar voice. She turned around in her chair. There he was. Peter. His hair was shorter and he was grinning crookedly.
Peter was there. Breathing, talking, living.
"Hey," she whispered.