cruiscin_lan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cruiscin_lan) wrote2009-02-21 07:41 pm
cruiscin_lan) wrote2009-02-21 07:41 pm
FIC : Things to Be Broken, Part 3
Title: Things to be Broken, Part 3
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Elle
Rating: G
Word Count: 945
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of its characters.
Spoilers/Warnings: AU from the end of the episode "Eris Quod Sum"
Summary: He thought of the time he'd kissed her in his cell at Level Five, how it had made her spark and smile. He tried to calculate how long ago that had been, because he couldn't recall seeing her smile again since.
A/N:
When they woke together the next morning, the sun was already casting buttery golden rays around them. The phone had started ringing, and Elle reluctantly rose first, clutching the fleecy throw from the couch, and examined the caller ID. Peter heard her mutter something as she lifted the phone from its cradle and set it back down.
"Who was that?"
"Work. I'm already late."
"So you're not going to go?"
Elle yawned and turned her head sharply, the bones in her neck cracking emphatically. "I don't know about you, but I didn't sleep too well last night."
Peter sat up straighter in the chair he'd dozed off in. "Cup of coffee?" he asked.
She hesitated for a moment, blinking the sleep from her eyes and smacking her lips, scratching her hips where the waistband of her pants chafed as she slept. Her hair was knotted and stringy, her face pallid and puffy from lack of sleep. Silhouetted by a halo of morning sunshine, Peter thought he'd never seen anyone so beautiful.
But it was a fleeting thought in a fleeting moment, and he immediately pushed it from his mind. He got up and went to the kitchen and started a pot of brew, although Elle never answered him. She followed him into the kitchen as he rinsed out two mugs in the sink.
"I'm sorry I was such a basket case last night," she whispered so low he almost didn't catch her words.
He paused and sighed, watching the coffee drip at its painfully slow but steady pace. He heard her drag a chair away from the table to sit down before he poured a serving of coffee for each of them. When he set the mugs down on the table, she reached for hers before he pulled his hand away, and in the brief moment they touched a spark darted from her fingertips to his.
"Accident, sorry," Elle said quickly as Peter pulled his hand away.
"No, that's - that's okay," he told her just as fast.
They sat in silence a little while longer, the coffee losing its heat as it sat in front of both of them, ignored.
"Should I leave?" she asked.
He wanted to say "Stay as long as you like." He wanted to say "You're always welcome here." He wanted to say "I want you - I want you to stay."
Instead he said "Where would you go?" and sipped his coffee with feigned nonchalance.
"You don't have to worry about me," she replied. "I'd find somewhere." Her voice was tenuous but her eyes were averted, and he could tell she was faking it. He wondered if she could tell he was faking it, too - this indifference to one another, this apathy, this insouciance.
When Peter didn't answer, Elle gulped down her coffee and said plainly, "I can have my things packed in an hour or two."
She buzzed around the apartment, picking up a few things here and a few things there, tossing them haphazardly into kitchen trash bags, as they were handy and large, and she had no luggage of her own. He was stunned by her silence; he wished she'd at least say something inane, something prosaic and ordinary, to cut the tension, but he couldn't think of anything to say either. Each time she passed through the kitchen, he thought of the time he'd kissed her in his cell at Level Five, how it had made her spark and smile. He tried to calculate how long ago that had been, because he couldn't recall seeing her smile again since.
He was snapped out of his reverie when he heard the front door creak open, and his heart leapt when he realized what that sound meant. He jumped to his feet and dashed to the threshold, reaching out to grab Elle's arm before she made it too far. She dropped her things as he pulled her into an embrace. His hands held her waist and he pressed his lips against hers. She tilted her head back, allowing the kiss to deepen, and ran her hands through his hair.
"Wait," she gasped, turning her head to breathe. "Does it hurt?"
"Does what hurt?" Peter asked, almost smiling.
Elle gently traced the wound on Peter's face. He closed his eyes and relished her touch, sighing deeply as her fingertips passed over his nose and his lips.
"It hurts a little," he admitted. "But it's a good kind of hurt."
She smiled, and he felt lucky to catch it - it lit up her face more than a spark, more than a shock, more than a thousand volts of electricity ever could.
They found themselves back in his apartment, back in his bedroom, back in his bed. They pulled off one another's clothes, they fell into the blankets with one another, wrapped up in the warmth of their nakedness together. They laughed, they smiled, they whispered delicate secrets to one another, and they kissed a thousand times.
Her unclothed body was like her written biography; each mark, each scar told a story about her. Some she could recall with laughter and enthusiasm; others were more ambiguously explained away. There were a few she genuinely couldn't remember, the stories behind them lost completely. Although now he had an indelible mark on his face, his body was not the same; he'd suffered no major trauma in his charmed life, and healing instantly left no stories on him. This disparity was just another reminder that while he had been virtually indestructible, she was still thing that could be broken.
And then Peter realized that he would go to great lengths to treat her as such.
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Elle
Rating: G
Word Count: 945
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of its characters.
Spoilers/Warnings: AU from the end of the episode "Eris Quod Sum"
Summary: He thought of the time he'd kissed her in his cell at Level Five, how it had made her spark and smile. He tried to calculate how long ago that had been, because he couldn't recall seeing her smile again since.
A/N:
When they woke together the next morning, the sun was already casting buttery golden rays around them. The phone had started ringing, and Elle reluctantly rose first, clutching the fleecy throw from the couch, and examined the caller ID. Peter heard her mutter something as she lifted the phone from its cradle and set it back down.
"Who was that?"
"Work. I'm already late."
"So you're not going to go?"
Elle yawned and turned her head sharply, the bones in her neck cracking emphatically. "I don't know about you, but I didn't sleep too well last night."
Peter sat up straighter in the chair he'd dozed off in. "Cup of coffee?" he asked.
She hesitated for a moment, blinking the sleep from her eyes and smacking her lips, scratching her hips where the waistband of her pants chafed as she slept. Her hair was knotted and stringy, her face pallid and puffy from lack of sleep. Silhouetted by a halo of morning sunshine, Peter thought he'd never seen anyone so beautiful.
But it was a fleeting thought in a fleeting moment, and he immediately pushed it from his mind. He got up and went to the kitchen and started a pot of brew, although Elle never answered him. She followed him into the kitchen as he rinsed out two mugs in the sink.
"I'm sorry I was such a basket case last night," she whispered so low he almost didn't catch her words.
He paused and sighed, watching the coffee drip at its painfully slow but steady pace. He heard her drag a chair away from the table to sit down before he poured a serving of coffee for each of them. When he set the mugs down on the table, she reached for hers before he pulled his hand away, and in the brief moment they touched a spark darted from her fingertips to his.
"Accident, sorry," Elle said quickly as Peter pulled his hand away.
"No, that's - that's okay," he told her just as fast.
They sat in silence a little while longer, the coffee losing its heat as it sat in front of both of them, ignored.
"Should I leave?" she asked.
He wanted to say "Stay as long as you like." He wanted to say "You're always welcome here." He wanted to say "I want you - I want you to stay."
Instead he said "Where would you go?" and sipped his coffee with feigned nonchalance.
"You don't have to worry about me," she replied. "I'd find somewhere." Her voice was tenuous but her eyes were averted, and he could tell she was faking it. He wondered if she could tell he was faking it, too - this indifference to one another, this apathy, this insouciance.
When Peter didn't answer, Elle gulped down her coffee and said plainly, "I can have my things packed in an hour or two."
She buzzed around the apartment, picking up a few things here and a few things there, tossing them haphazardly into kitchen trash bags, as they were handy and large, and she had no luggage of her own. He was stunned by her silence; he wished she'd at least say something inane, something prosaic and ordinary, to cut the tension, but he couldn't think of anything to say either. Each time she passed through the kitchen, he thought of the time he'd kissed her in his cell at Level Five, how it had made her spark and smile. He tried to calculate how long ago that had been, because he couldn't recall seeing her smile again since.
He was snapped out of his reverie when he heard the front door creak open, and his heart leapt when he realized what that sound meant. He jumped to his feet and dashed to the threshold, reaching out to grab Elle's arm before she made it too far. She dropped her things as he pulled her into an embrace. His hands held her waist and he pressed his lips against hers. She tilted her head back, allowing the kiss to deepen, and ran her hands through his hair.
"Wait," she gasped, turning her head to breathe. "Does it hurt?"
"Does what hurt?" Peter asked, almost smiling.
Elle gently traced the wound on Peter's face. He closed his eyes and relished her touch, sighing deeply as her fingertips passed over his nose and his lips.
"It hurts a little," he admitted. "But it's a good kind of hurt."
She smiled, and he felt lucky to catch it - it lit up her face more than a spark, more than a shock, more than a thousand volts of electricity ever could.
They found themselves back in his apartment, back in his bedroom, back in his bed. They pulled off one another's clothes, they fell into the blankets with one another, wrapped up in the warmth of their nakedness together. They laughed, they smiled, they whispered delicate secrets to one another, and they kissed a thousand times.
Her unclothed body was like her written biography; each mark, each scar told a story about her. Some she could recall with laughter and enthusiasm; others were more ambiguously explained away. There were a few she genuinely couldn't remember, the stories behind them lost completely. Although now he had an indelible mark on his face, his body was not the same; he'd suffered no major trauma in his charmed life, and healing instantly left no stories on him. This disparity was just another reminder that while he had been virtually indestructible, she was still thing that could be broken.
And then Peter realized that he would go to great lengths to treat her as such.
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*elevated palmar percussion*
now i just need an icon of peter that isn't all angry...
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