Title: In the Blood
Author: hazelnutcoffee12, hazelnutcoffee on lj
Rating: PG
Word Count: 617
Pairing/Character: Claire, Nathan (no pairing, just familial bonding)
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to NBC, Tim Kring, etc. I only wish I owned this show.
Summary: She curls her legs up into her chest, almost as if protecting herself, but she looks at you as she answers, that sad smile Peter talked about playing on her face, and it's her eyes you can't look away from.
Spoilers/Warnings: up to 1x18 Parasite
Too many lost, links in a chain passed down through the years. Through the years, but ending here if we just face the pain, and the fear…
-- In the Blood, Better than Ezra
You walk by the room three times before you can muster up the courage to knock. A small voice inside tells you to come in and you hesitate because you've never done this before, aren't sure you know how.
She's reading on her bed and you think she's startled to find that it's you who knocked. She's wearing an old pair of Peter's shorts and her pale legs stick out awkwardly. She's got knobby knees, just like you, and you almost tell her you're sorry because - of all the body parts to get. The sweatshirt she's swimming in is the one you thought you lost years ago and it's weird to see it after all this time and even weirder to see it on her.
Her face is devoid of makeup and her beauty queen curls are in a flat ponytail at the nape of her neck. She seems years younger than the confident blonde that shook your hand earlier this week in front of her grandmother and uncle. This is a girl you can reconcile as someone who needs saving; the other girl was too much of a lie for you to sense anything other than blind panic in her smile.
You hear yourself asking her something banal, perhaps wondering if the bed is comfy enough or the room is suitable or some other ridiculous topic of small talk you don't care about. She curls her legs up into her chest, almost as if protecting herself, but she looks at you as she answers, that sad smile Peter talked about playing on her face, and it's her eyes you can't look away from.
They're Meredith's eyes.
They take you back to a time when you thought the best way to fly was at the speed of sound in your military jet and that kissing Texas blondes while on leave was not only acceptable, it was fate. You're old enough now to know that fate has a fucking twisted sense of humor and it's biggest joke is sitting in front of you.
And then Claire makes a face, one that sort of says what without actually saying it, and you've seen it enough times in the mirror to recognize it. This is my daughter you think abruptly and you know you're staring at her like you've never seen her before. And maybe you haven't – maybe you're finally understanding what this pretty, indestructible cheerleader is to you. The force and the clarity of your feelings surprise you but then you remember how you pretend you don't care to hide the fact that you care too much.
You feel an urge to reach over and hug her, to hold her tight and make up for all the times you didn't, like when she was five and scraped her knee or when she was thirteen and discovered how cruel teenaged girls can be. You don't, of course, and settle for placing a heavy hand on her shoulder, willing her to understand that to be a Petrelli is to touch and that this is the best you can give her right now.
She glances from your hand to your face and after a minute, you pull your hand away and move to leave. Before you can get far, you feel a petite hand in yours and a gentle squeeze. It's firm but brief and when you turn around and see that she's still in the same position as before, legs curled into herself, you wonder if you imagined it. You search her face, watch that sad smile flitter across her mouth again, before you get to her eyes and you see she's always understood, maybe better than you.