with a violin and a song to sing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
origamiflowers) wrote2008-12-28 12:33 am
origamiflowers) wrote2008-12-28 12:33 am
Entry tags:
fic: Heroes: "Wake" - Claire, Peter
Title: "Wake"
Fandom: Heroes
Characters, Pairings: Claire, Peter
Genre: Gen
Spoilers: none
Rating: PG13 (themes)
Word Count: 425
Notes: For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
pairechallenge prompt "Whisper," and for the prompt "Genesis" of my sacred_20 claim (full table here). Claire waits for Peter to come back from the dead.
Claire's first thought was: How much destruction is too much?
Peter's body was in pieces, littered on the ground, spread out over a radius of at least ten feet from where she was kneeling. There was a charred finger – she could see two jointed knuckles – lying next to her knee, and a patella not too far away; but his spine and head were intact, at least there was that, that should be enough, she tried to tell herself, biting her lip. She choked back a sob, took a deep breath, shuddered in fear and anticipation.
Peter, she thought, Peter, oh, Peter, Peter, please. Dimly, she heard someone speaking in the ruins, the sound weaving through the crumbling brick and mortar, a low, urgent murmur.
It took her a moment to realize it was her; she was doing more than thinking, was whispering his name aloud, over and over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer, like a plea: Peter, Peter, Peter. As though the repetition of his name was enough to tether him to this world, to tie him to her, to knit the flesh of his broken body back together.
For a long time, nothing happened. Nothing at all. The explosion, fiery and deafening, was followed by a strange, still silence. Nothing, shadow or man, moved; even the smoke clouding the air curled around her slow and murky.
The sound of her own harsh panting filled her ears, was the only thing she could hear, and she waited for him, fingernails digging into the soft skin of her palms.
Finally, finally, she saw bundles of white-yellow nerves creep down his spine, reaching like tentacles, watched as red muscle fibers gathered and stretched like rubber bands to sheath his rapidly regrowing organs.
Claire pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and rocked back, almost crying out from gratitude.
Barely moments later, she heard a ragged gasp as he took his first new breath. She crawled over to him, cradled his head between her hands as he coughed and rasped. He rolled onto his side and spit out clumps of ash and grit. She resisted the urge to press herself into his body and instead wiped dirt from his lips and found herself saying, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay."
She reached down blindly and found her hand with his, threading their fingers together.
Then his eyes were back and he blinked slowly, experimentally; he was looking at her, seeing her again, and she heard his quiet, hoarse voice saying, "Claire."
Fandom: Heroes
Characters, Pairings: Claire, Peter
Genre: Gen
Spoilers: none
Rating: PG13 (themes)
Word Count: 425
Notes: For the
pairechallenge prompt "Whisper," and for the prompt "Genesis" of my sacred_20 claim (full table here). Claire waits for Peter to come back from the dead.Claire's first thought was: How much destruction is too much?
Peter's body was in pieces, littered on the ground, spread out over a radius of at least ten feet from where she was kneeling. There was a charred finger – she could see two jointed knuckles – lying next to her knee, and a patella not too far away; but his spine and head were intact, at least there was that, that should be enough, she tried to tell herself, biting her lip. She choked back a sob, took a deep breath, shuddered in fear and anticipation.
Peter, she thought, Peter, oh, Peter, Peter, please. Dimly, she heard someone speaking in the ruins, the sound weaving through the crumbling brick and mortar, a low, urgent murmur.
It took her a moment to realize it was her; she was doing more than thinking, was whispering his name aloud, over and over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer, like a plea: Peter, Peter, Peter. As though the repetition of his name was enough to tether him to this world, to tie him to her, to knit the flesh of his broken body back together.
For a long time, nothing happened. Nothing at all. The explosion, fiery and deafening, was followed by a strange, still silence. Nothing, shadow or man, moved; even the smoke clouding the air curled around her slow and murky.
The sound of her own harsh panting filled her ears, was the only thing she could hear, and she waited for him, fingernails digging into the soft skin of her palms.
Finally, finally, she saw bundles of white-yellow nerves creep down his spine, reaching like tentacles, watched as red muscle fibers gathered and stretched like rubber bands to sheath his rapidly regrowing organs.
Claire pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and rocked back, almost crying out from gratitude.
Barely moments later, she heard a ragged gasp as he took his first new breath. She crawled over to him, cradled his head between her hands as he coughed and rasped. He rolled onto his side and spit out clumps of ash and grit. She resisted the urge to press herself into his body and instead wiped dirt from his lips and found herself saying, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay."
She reached down blindly and found her hand with his, threading their fingers together.
Then his eyes were back and he blinked slowly, experimentally; he was looking at her, seeing her again, and she heard his quiet, hoarse voice saying, "Claire."
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
You have a gift.
no subject
no subject
no subject
I'm in love with your writing :)
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject