Title: The Queen of Hearts
Characters: Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone
Genre: Romance, Humor, UST, some Angst
Rating: PG-13ish, just to be safe
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song Desperado.

Summary: "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

A/N: I just want to take this time to thank all you wonderful people who have reviewed this story. I live for your comments! Really, I check my reviews compulsively, and I love knowing there are people out there who appreciate all the hard work I'm putting into this. And in reference to the first half of this chapter, I have no shame. And as for the thing as a whole, it's bipolar.

Chapter Seven: The Various Kinds of Touching

Claire was lying on her back, head propped up on the arm of the couch, absentmindedly toying with the hem of her shorts. Peter sat at the other end, reading some book, the title of which, she couldn't quite make out. Books sucked, she decided, and it irked her that he was paying so much attention to a sucky book rather than her.

"My feet are cold," Claire whined.

Peter looked down at her feet and said, "So go put on some socks," before turning back to his book.

She pouted, "But they're all the way in the bedroom."

He kept his eyes on his page, "Then I guess you're out of luck."

Hmm. Maybe she could convince him to go get them for her if she asked really nicely. Her voice sweet as honey, she nearly sang, "Oh Peter…"

"Not gonna happen, Claire," he cut her off, and his eyes were still on that stupid book.

She huffed, and then resorted to the only idea she had left: annoying him into submission. She put the soles of her feet on his thigh and pushed. When he didn't react, she pushed again, a little more insistent, but he just kept on with his reading. She began kneading the balls of her feet into his thigh, determined to make him stop ignoring her.

Finally, he cracked. After putting his book down, he grabbed her feet and pulled them into his lap, then raised the bottom of his shirt and tucked it around her feet to warm them up. "Are you satisfied?"

She nodded at him, feeling a little impish. Oh, she was most definitely satisfied. Her feet were pressed up against the bare skin of his abs, his surprisingly firm abs, and why was he picking up the book?

She was a little disgruntled about her plan not working but decided she'd just have to try harder. She pressed her feet into the warm flesh of his belly.

"Stop squirming," he reprimanded, but she could see a hint of a smile on his lips. She held still long enough for him to turn another page and then rubbed her foot along his abdomen. His hand reached down and clasped over her feet to prevent them from moving, "Claire," he warned.

She fought to hold in her giggles, watched as he turned another page, and then wiggled her toes. Peter let out a strangled noise, and Claire gaped at him, "Did you just giggle?"

"No," he denied, keeping his eyes locked resolutely on the book.

She could feel her smile widening as she gleefully teased, "Yes, you did. You giggled!"

"I did no such thing," he insisted, but Claire could see a faint blush creeping into his cheeks.

And realization dawned, "Are you ticklish?"

"Not even a bit," and he was trying so hard to keep his voice devoid of emotion.

She sat up so she could reach him and poked him in the ribs. When he cracked a grin, she smiled in triumph, "You are!" Getting his attention was going to be so much easier now.

She glided her fingers along his side, and he arched away from her, telling her to "Cut it out." So, of course, she did it again. He grabbed her hand to make her stop, "I mean it, Claire."

Instead of listening to him, she reached her free hand down to squeeze the sides of his knee, and when he seized that hand, too, she started wiggling her feet again. He looked at her, exasperated, "Do you want me to tie you up?"

Her lips curled into a wicked smirk, "Depends. What do you plan on doing with me once you do?"

He didn't take her bait. "I plan on throwing you in the closet where you can't bother me anymore."

She pouted, a bit put out, "If you do, I'll scream."

He shook his head at her, "You wouldn't dare."

She raised her eyebrow at him before opening her mouth, prepared to show him she wasn't bluffing. He snapped a hand over her mouth before any sound could come out. He was smirking at her, and wanting nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face, she flicked her tongue across his palm.

He ripped his hand away, "Did you just lick me?" She giggled at his incredulous expression, a little proud of herself. He narrowed his eyes at her when she wouldn't stop laughing, "Oh, you're in for it, now."

He made good on his threat, reaching in to tickle her side. She grabbed his hand, but he was already moving in with the other, running his fingers along her ribs, making her laugh even harder. She arched away from him, trying to squirm out of his reach, but he pressed in without mercy, darting his hands along her ribs, hips, and down to her knees, until she finally fell onto her back, and still he pressed.

She curled up in a ball on reflex, trying to keep him away from her torso, but he clasped his hands around her calves and yanked, straightening her legs, before moving to straddle her so she couldn't curl them back up.

"Do you give?" he demanded.

She was laughing so hard and having more than a little trouble catching her breath, but she responded defiantly, "Never!" She tried reaching her hands toward him to retaliate, but he grabbed her wrists and used one hand to hold them captive above her head, then resumed tickling her with his free hand.

He asked again, more insistent, "Now do you give?"

She shook her head in refusal, squirming against his hand, trying to pull her own hands free. Her shirt had ridden up, and his fingers danced across her bare skin ruthlessly, until she was nearly crying from laughing so hard, and she finally conceding defeat, "Okay, okay! I give!"

He continued to torment her, racing his fingers down her thigh and back up again, "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Her eyes were clinched shut, and she called out desperately, "I give!" And finally, his fingers relented. She sucked in deep breaths and let out a few stray laughs, trying to regain control of her body. Chest still heaving, she looked up at Peter, preparing to chastise him for tickling her, but her words died in her throat. He was still looming over her, holding her wrists firmly over her head, and the hand that had been tickling her was now splayed across her ribcage, his thumb idly caressing her skin. He was looking at her like he'd never seen her before, "Claire…"

And then the phone rang, and Peter jumped to his feet as if he'd been burned. He stared at her with wide eyes before rushing off to answer the phone. She sat up, pulled her shirt back down, and then caught sight of the object resting innocently on the other end of the couch. She picked it up and thought a bit ruefully, "At least I got him to abandon his book."

---

When Peter finally returned to the living room, he wouldn't meet her eyes, looking around at everything but her.

"That was Isaac," he explained, and if she wasn't mistaken, he seemed a little nervous. "He called to tell us that Hiro and Ando finally made it to New York." Claire nodded her head at him, which he probably didn't see since he still wasn't looking at her. "He said he has some more paintings to show us, so… yeah…" he trailed off, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and if Claire wasn't so nervous herself, she would've been amused.

She finally took pity on him and excused herself to take a shower, which incidentally gave her time to think over what had happened. It seemed like they'd had a moment, that maybe he'd wanted to…

But Claire wouldn't finish the thought. He had been so horrified by what had happened – not surprised – horrified. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that she'd read the situation all wrong. And even if she hadn't, that awful expression on his face was a clear enough indication that he didn't actually want her. He was dating that Simone woman, right? So what would he want with a kid like her?

---

She'd taken extra time in the shower and even more hiding out in the bedroom, but she finally decided she was being silly and ventured back into the living room to face him. He was sitting on the couch, holding his down turned head in his hands, and she wanted more than anything to make the awkwardness go away.

She slowly made her way to him and picked up the forgotten book before sitting down beside him. "You know," she began, "I've read some of this."

He looked over at her, "Yeah?"

She nodded, "My friend Zack bought me a copy off the internet."

Peter looked down at the copy of Activating Evolution that she held in her hands, "Did he know about you?"

Again, she nodded, then continued with fondness, "He was my best friend, maybe even my only friend. He actually gave me the book the day of Homecoming, right after I found out I'd won Homecoming Queen."

Peter finally gave her a small smile, "I thought you said you don't win too many popularity contests."

"I don't. It was an un-popularity contest," she explained, grinning in remembrance of Zach's words. "My old friends, the popular crowd, sort of exiled me. So Zach campaigned for me and got all the 'unpopular' people to vote for me."

Peter looked a little amused by her story, "Why were you exiled?"

"It was nothing," she replied, trying to act casual. "I just wrecked our star quarterback's car, and he wasn't able to play in the big game."

Peter's eyebrows rose, but he didn't ask her to tell the story, instead settling on, "It was kind of lousy for them to be upset with you over an accident."

Claire grew silent, her gaze falling to the floor, and then, in a timid whisper, "It wasn't an accident."

When Peter didn't respond, she glanced up to see his stunned expression, and she suddenly regretted saying anything. She honestly didn't know why she had. Maybe she was thinking about how frustrated she'd been with the whole situation: the lack of proof, everyone blaming her…

"Claire?" the sound of her name broke her reverie.

She shook her head and started to get up, "It's nothing," but his hand on her shoulder stopped her, and the expression on his face was so gentle, so caring, and she choked back a sob, "I just didn't want him to hurt anyone again."

Peter's voice was soft when he asked her, "Claire, did he hurt you?" and then "Did he force you?"

She gave a derisive snort and shook her head, "No, he killed me before he had the chance." At her words, Peter's grip on her shoulder tightened. She closed her eyes, stubbornly holding back her tears. "I woke up on a lab table… completely cut open…" and the tears were coming, and her lips were quivering, and she was so embarrassed that he had to see her like this.

"Oh, Claire," He tried to wrap his arm around her, but she shrugged him off, not wanting his pity, but Peter wouldn't have it. He hauled her into his lap and cradled her against his chest, and she finally broke, burying her face into the crook of his neck, clutching fistfuls of his shirt, and crying out all the tears she'd been holding back. Brody, missing her family, losing Zach – she cried about it all. She cried until all the pent up tension had drained out of her body.

And through it all, Peter held her, running his fingers through her hair, stroking her back, murmuring soothing words in her ear. She wasn't able to make out what he was saying, but knew they were the best words she'd ever heard.

When her tears had finally subsided, she kept her face pressed against his neck, too self-conscious to face him yet. "Sorry I broke down on you like this."

"Don't be," he whispered back, "I can think of worse things than having a lap full of beautiful girl."

Her grip on his shirt tightened, and she smiled, He thinks I'm beautiful.