Title: Destructible

Author: Emilie

Fandom: Heroes

Pairing: Peter/Claire

Rating: PG, just in case

Summary: Claire makes Peter promise her something.

Spoilers: While this is pure speculation, it's spec based on a from an upcoming episode. Don't read if you mind being spoiled for a possible storyline.

Disclaimer: Not mine, if they were then Peter and Claire would already have met and she'd be 18. ;)

Author's Note: Second fic with these two, I'm slowly starting to get the hang of them (I think). Although I'm honestly afraid that this is one really, really pointless fic. Feedback much appreciated!

A/N 2: This is set a little after the supposed "rescue" of Claire from Odessa. Probably two or three days after the Homecoming Massacre, with Claire being pretty numb and in shock up until this point. I tried to touch on the Brody-issue plus the HM, so I hope it ends up working.

---

"Here's some water," Peter placed the bottle in front of Claire on the table while sitting down with his beer. He took a big gulp, rubbing his temples as he swallowed, hoping the alcohol would help in getting rid of the horrible feeling ebbing away at his mind.

It wasn't like him to resort to alcohol, and it wasn't even like he was trying to get drunk. He just, for the first time in a long time, needed a drink.

And by the looks of Claire, so did she.

He put his beer down and leaned forward in his seat, brow furrowed with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"How come I don't believe you?"

"I'm just…I have a lot on my mind." She'd had her knees pulled up to her chest, looking like a child, but then they unfolded and she sat up a little. The transformation was striking.

Wearing an outfit Hiro or Ando bought her with their Vegas money, she certainly looked uncomfortable, not physically but where she was mentally, what she was thinking and wondering about.

Peter looked around for a moment and he couldn't blame her for feeling like that. A room full of strangers brought together for reasons half of them weren't willing to accept in an apartment that was stocked full of paint and heroin. Even Peter felt uncomfortable at what they probably looked like to an outsider. Lonely people surrounded only by more loneliness.

Claire spoke without preamble. "It sucks."

Peter had a few answers in mind before he even asked, "What sucks?"

"Knowin' you're responsible for someone getting' hurt."

Peter shifted a little in his seat. "Whaddya mean?"

Claire closed her eyes for a moment to try and will away the painful throbbing in her head but they snapped open at the images that appeared. Quickly, she grabbed Peter's beer. "I could really use a—"

He snatched it away before she could even take a sip. "Claire…"

"I don't regret it," she cut him off, the words flying out of her mouth without a thought. They hung in the air like a neon sign, impossible to ignore, and Claire winced, knowing that, to be fair to Peter, she'd have to elaborate. "I hurt someone but he deserved it. He needed to remember the moment it happened every time he was alone with someone. If he'd died then…then that'd be one less bad guy to deal with."

For some reason the thought of putting his hand on Claire's and giving it a comforting squeeze—letting her know that he was there and even if he didn't understand he certainly wanted to—seemed inappropriate. Maybe it was the age difference, the fact that he was thirty and she was seventeen, or maybe it was that nagging feeling at the back of his mind and in the pit of his stomach, the kind that left him feeling uneasy after each of their interactions. Maybe it was both.

Either way, he still reached over and took her hand in his. "Claire."

"Stop sayin' my name like that." Her voice was a whisper and her eyes were begging him to listen to her.

Peter's brow furrowed and when he spoke, his voice was as quiet as hers. "Like what?"

"Like you care about me."

"What's so wrong with me caring about you?" The question was directed at himself more than anything; an internal desire to try and put whatever was going on in good light. But then his conscious kicked in and he added, correcting himself. "We all care about you, Claire. What's wrong with that?"

Her eyes glazed over and she blinked, looking away and down at his hand on hers. "I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be home, worryin' about school and what I'm gonna be wearin' tomorrow."

Peter looked down at his hand on hers as well and took in a deep breath. "None of us are really supposed to be here, not with all the things we had planned. But…there's something big going on, Claire, and it changes all of our plans a little bit."

"A little bit?" Claire glanced to the painting of the nuclear explosion on the floor.

He relented, "Okay, a lot."

"Well, I guess that's why I'm here then. I could be put to good use if there's a nuclear explosion, 'cause it won't hurt me, right?"

"We're not going to make you stay behind and do anything heroic like that, Claire, screw the fact that you're indestructible—."

"Right, no heroism for me. I just…I kill people, or try to, or they die because of me. That's—that's what I'm here for." Claire laughed humorlessly, eyes growing distant for a moment. "Better not sit with me for too long, might cost you your life or somethin'."

"Claire…" He said her name like that again and this time even he heard it, the concern was palpable. "It wasn't your fault, what happened at the dance."

The homecoming dance, where Hiro and Ando saved her from whatever horrible creature was killing her entire class like an animal just to get to its target. Her.

"It was going to happen no matter what." Peter almost pointed to the painting hanging above the window, but thought better of it.

"You don't have to sit here tryin' to calm down the emotional teenager," Claire quickly rubbed the back of her free hand against her eyes to wipe away any tears threatening to fall. "I'll be fine once…"

"Claire…" He said it again and the way she looked at him, he didn't know whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him.

"You shouldn't have to care about me, it isn't your job. My parent's—my mom's supposed to. Well, she would if I were back home. But I guess I'm not goin' back there anytime soon, am I?" Peter looked away at that but she persisted, squeezing his hand. "Am I, Peter?"

Slowly, he looked back at her, wary and surprised and curious all at the same time. "You're asking me??"

"I want you to say it." Her eyes welled with tears and Peter almost looked away again. Almost. "Say I'm not going back home, Peter."

"You're not going back for a while, Claire."

A tear escaped her eyes and ran down her cheek. Peter lifted his hand to wipe it away, awkward and hesitant, like he was the seventeen year old. "Okay, that's…okay. And all of those people at the dance?"

Peter's stomach twisted. "They're dead."

She seemed collapsed in on herself a bit and the tears were flowing down her face like rivers, as if she were finally releasing the pain and it hurt even more than when she was bottling it up. "They're not coming back?"

Peter had to clear his voice to keep it steady, barely opening his mouth to say the one word he didn't want to say, even if it was exactly what Claire needed to hear: "No."

She wasn't looking into his eyes anymore; she was looking through him, past him, still crying silently. "Because they're not indestructible?"

"No."

"So they just…stopped living. They didn't wake up a few minutes later and go home to their homes and their—their families?" Claire sucked in a breath. "How is that fair?"

Peter pulled his chair closer when her hand was squeezing his so tightly bones were sure to break. He brought his free hand up to her face. "It isn't fair but…everything's gonna be okay soon, I promise. I won't let anything happen to you, Claire, none of us will."

A ghost of a smile passed over her face like a brief ray of sunlight. It was enough to convince Peter that she was hearing him. "I'm indestructible, remember?"

He smiled ruefully. "That doesn't stop it from hurting, though."

"Was it the tears that gave it away?"

"That and…" Peter wiggled his fingers in her hand, showing that they were losing color from lack of circulation. He offered a small laugh when she let go. "You've got a good grip."

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you somethin'?"

"Of course."

"It's not me I'm worried about. Well, I am worried about me but…it's more—" She stopped and sighed, frustrated with herself. She brushed away the last of her tears with the back of her free hand before continuing. "I lost a lot of friends at the…the dance. Being what I am and all means I can't—that won't ever happen to me, but it'll happen to everyone else, everyone I…care about."

His hand touched hers by accident and Peter looked down and then back up, a blush suddenly reaching his cheeks.

"I'm not worried about me if the explosion happens. I'm…I'm worried about what'll happen to you. To you guys."

"Nothing's gonna happen." He tilted his head. "You're stuck with us."

She smiled, "You promise?"

The realist side of himself sat on his shoulder, poking him repeatedly: You can't promise her that!

But her eyes, piercingly blue and boring into him, made it impossible not to. "I promise."

He handed her his beer with a small smile.

She needed it more than he did.

finis