cruiscin_lan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cruiscin_lan) wrote2009-01-09 01:27 pm
cruiscin_lan) wrote2009-01-09 01:27 pm
FIC: Things to be Broken, Part 2
Title: Things to be Broken, Part 2
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Elle
Rating: G
Word Count: 1049
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of its characters.
Spoilers/Warnings: AU from the end of the episode "Eris Quod Sum"
Summary: For a moment he questioned why he let her stay there for so long, why he had even felt bad for her in the first place, but then his eyes caught hers for the first time he could remember. She was hurt and confused, and he could see his face reflected in the tears in her eyes.
A/N: I don't even know if anyone is interested in reading this, but I sat down to write like five things at once, and this just seemed to write itself.
He let her stay; it wasn't in his nature to turn away someone in need, even if that someone was imbalanced and unpredictable like Elle was. All the damage she'd done was to his kitchen appliances, and after she fried his second coffee maker and his toaster, he released her from any breakfast-making responsibilities by eating his meals with her.
They were awkward together at first, sitting silently across the table from one another. The only words she heard him speak were on the phone to other people - Bennet, Claire, his mother, his brother - and he'd disappear, sometimes for days at a time, still trying to save the world, while she did her best to maintain his apartment, keeping it tidy and making sure the rent was paid on time.
She found a job that she didn't really need (her father had, after all, left her not only a hefty savings account but also a vast amount of gold) to help pass the time while she waited for Peter to return. She could fold clothes, she could try to talk people into corporate credit cards, and she could appreciate a discount on clothing, since all her belongings were probably in storage at Primatech headquarters, and she had no interest in going back there to reclaim them.
She had just gotten in from work when she found him at the dinette table, brooding and nursing a cold cup of coffee. His face was bleeding; there was a deep gash that extended diagonally from his one eye down to the corner of his mouth. She dropped her bag and her coat and ran to him, moved by worry and pity and a hundred of other human emotions that she hadn't felt since one day in a watch shop when she almost watched another man die.
"Jesus Christ, Peter, what the hell happened to you?" she asked, her voice wavering. Her fingers flew to his face, dabbing at his wound, trying to assess whether it was as bad as it appeared. He winced a little from the pain, but he didn't stop her from going to the sink for a wet rag, blotting away the bloody edges of the gash. "You need to go to a hospital."
"It only looks bad," he told her. "It's not that deep."
"You need stitches."
"It'll heal up on its own."
"Peter, don't be stubborn. If this gets infected or something..."
"Elle, stop, don't," Peter said roughly, grabbing her wrist in his hand and forcing it down to the table. The rag she clutched in her hand left watery red droplets on the table's surface. For a moment he questioned why he let her stay there for so long, why he had even felt bad for her in the first place, but then his eyes caught hers for the first time he could remember. She was hurt and confused, and he could see his face reflected in the tears in her eyes. He was angry and upset about a mission gone wrong and he was taking it out on her.
"I'm just trying to help," she said with a meekness she had only ever used with her father.
He released her arm and turned away, solemn and saturnine. She took the rag back to the sink, rinsing out the blood, and laying it across the faucet to dry.
"Do you have work tomorrow?" he asked.
"I have to be there at eight, before the store opens," she replied, still facing the sink.
"Then don't wait up," Peter told her. He grabbed his coat and dropped his half-empty mug into the sink. "I'm going to the ER."
She waited up anyway. When he returned she threw his arms around him and pressed her face into his chest, her breath shallow and her face warm and wet. She had been crying.
"Elle, it's almost four," Peter said, placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her away. He brought his hand to her chin and lifted her face upwards, the moonlight illuminating the tears that lined her face. "What are you doing up still? What is the matter with you?"
"I know, I'm pitiful, right?" she asked, attempting to smile through her sobs. "I just got to thinking what I would do without you, Peter. I don't have anybody, and you've been so kind... What if something happened to you?"
Peter cocked his head as he was suddenly struck by a strange realization. "You were worried about me."
"So maybe I was," Elle replied, spitting the words out at him like a petulant child. "So maybe I was worried. It's because your face looks like someone tried to split your head in half."
"Yeah..." Peter said gravelly as he ran his hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious. "That sounds about right."
"I mean - Jesus, Peter - you don't have powers anymore, but that obviously hasn't stopped you from throwing yourself right into the face of danger. For the love of God, Peter, use your head for once for something other than someone else's target practice." Elle paused for a moment, trying to catch her breath. She looked directly into his eyes, her voice cracking. "You're not immortal anymore. You could get killed."
Without another moment of hesitation, Peter pulled Elle back into his chest, wrapping his arms around her in an uneasy embrace. She was tense, so tense that he could feel the electricity crackling just below the surface of her skin, but as he stroked her hair and held her tighter she allowed herself to relax. He whispered "It's okay... it's all going to be fine," into her ears until her tears finally dried and her eyelids began drooping sleepily, at which point he led her to the couch and laid her gently down onto the cushions. He sat in the matching recliner, and he watched the soft sunlight elucidate the pretty features of her face as the dawn crept in through the living room windows.
Peter could count on one hand the things he knew about Elle Bishop. She had never been swimming, she had never ridden a roller coaster, and she had never been on a real date. And now, he knew, that she was still just as vulnerable as he was.
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Elle
Rating: G
Word Count: 1049
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of its characters.
Spoilers/Warnings: AU from the end of the episode "Eris Quod Sum"
Summary: For a moment he questioned why he let her stay there for so long, why he had even felt bad for her in the first place, but then his eyes caught hers for the first time he could remember. She was hurt and confused, and he could see his face reflected in the tears in her eyes.
A/N: I don't even know if anyone is interested in reading this, but I sat down to write like five things at once, and this just seemed to write itself.
He let her stay; it wasn't in his nature to turn away someone in need, even if that someone was imbalanced and unpredictable like Elle was. All the damage she'd done was to his kitchen appliances, and after she fried his second coffee maker and his toaster, he released her from any breakfast-making responsibilities by eating his meals with her.
They were awkward together at first, sitting silently across the table from one another. The only words she heard him speak were on the phone to other people - Bennet, Claire, his mother, his brother - and he'd disappear, sometimes for days at a time, still trying to save the world, while she did her best to maintain his apartment, keeping it tidy and making sure the rent was paid on time.
She found a job that she didn't really need (her father had, after all, left her not only a hefty savings account but also a vast amount of gold) to help pass the time while she waited for Peter to return. She could fold clothes, she could try to talk people into corporate credit cards, and she could appreciate a discount on clothing, since all her belongings were probably in storage at Primatech headquarters, and she had no interest in going back there to reclaim them.
She had just gotten in from work when she found him at the dinette table, brooding and nursing a cold cup of coffee. His face was bleeding; there was a deep gash that extended diagonally from his one eye down to the corner of his mouth. She dropped her bag and her coat and ran to him, moved by worry and pity and a hundred of other human emotions that she hadn't felt since one day in a watch shop when she almost watched another man die.
"Jesus Christ, Peter, what the hell happened to you?" she asked, her voice wavering. Her fingers flew to his face, dabbing at his wound, trying to assess whether it was as bad as it appeared. He winced a little from the pain, but he didn't stop her from going to the sink for a wet rag, blotting away the bloody edges of the gash. "You need to go to a hospital."
"It only looks bad," he told her. "It's not that deep."
"You need stitches."
"It'll heal up on its own."
"Peter, don't be stubborn. If this gets infected or something..."
"Elle, stop, don't," Peter said roughly, grabbing her wrist in his hand and forcing it down to the table. The rag she clutched in her hand left watery red droplets on the table's surface. For a moment he questioned why he let her stay there for so long, why he had even felt bad for her in the first place, but then his eyes caught hers for the first time he could remember. She was hurt and confused, and he could see his face reflected in the tears in her eyes. He was angry and upset about a mission gone wrong and he was taking it out on her.
"I'm just trying to help," she said with a meekness she had only ever used with her father.
He released her arm and turned away, solemn and saturnine. She took the rag back to the sink, rinsing out the blood, and laying it across the faucet to dry.
"Do you have work tomorrow?" he asked.
"I have to be there at eight, before the store opens," she replied, still facing the sink.
"Then don't wait up," Peter told her. He grabbed his coat and dropped his half-empty mug into the sink. "I'm going to the ER."
She waited up anyway. When he returned she threw his arms around him and pressed her face into his chest, her breath shallow and her face warm and wet. She had been crying.
"Elle, it's almost four," Peter said, placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her away. He brought his hand to her chin and lifted her face upwards, the moonlight illuminating the tears that lined her face. "What are you doing up still? What is the matter with you?"
"I know, I'm pitiful, right?" she asked, attempting to smile through her sobs. "I just got to thinking what I would do without you, Peter. I don't have anybody, and you've been so kind... What if something happened to you?"
Peter cocked his head as he was suddenly struck by a strange realization. "You were worried about me."
"So maybe I was," Elle replied, spitting the words out at him like a petulant child. "So maybe I was worried. It's because your face looks like someone tried to split your head in half."
"Yeah..." Peter said gravelly as he ran his hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious. "That sounds about right."
"I mean - Jesus, Peter - you don't have powers anymore, but that obviously hasn't stopped you from throwing yourself right into the face of danger. For the love of God, Peter, use your head for once for something other than someone else's target practice." Elle paused for a moment, trying to catch her breath. She looked directly into his eyes, her voice cracking. "You're not immortal anymore. You could get killed."
Without another moment of hesitation, Peter pulled Elle back into his chest, wrapping his arms around her in an uneasy embrace. She was tense, so tense that he could feel the electricity crackling just below the surface of her skin, but as he stroked her hair and held her tighter she allowed herself to relax. He whispered "It's okay... it's all going to be fine," into her ears until her tears finally dried and her eyelids began drooping sleepily, at which point he led her to the couch and laid her gently down onto the cushions. He sat in the matching recliner, and he watched the soft sunlight elucidate the pretty features of her face as the dawn crept in through the living room windows.
Peter could count on one hand the things he knew about Elle Bishop. She had never been swimming, she had never ridden a roller coaster, and she had never been on a real date. And now, he knew, that she was still just as vulnerable as he was.
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This is my first Peter/Elle fic, I think, even though I thought they were super cute circa season 2, even if he was just using her.
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I think they had a certain chemistry - Peter was using her to escape, but she was using him for a little nookie, too...
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I love how Elle was so worried about him and the last paragraphs, they do pictures a couple ;) I love it... aww...