Title: First Snow Fall of the Season
Character(s): Peter/Claire
Rating: PG, one swear word
Summery: Claire really hates snow.
A/N: Future fic. Maybe two or three years from now. Pure shameless fluff.

Claire honestly doesn't hate a lot of things in life, especially when it comes to things she should hate. She should hate her father for all the lies he's told her and all the people's lives he's messed with. She should hate the entire cheerleading squad for the things they've said about her behind her back since Brody's accident and Jackie's death. She should hate Sylar for trying to kill her.

She doesn't hate any of them though, because she's a giving, kind soul, as Matt would put it.

Claire should also hate hospitals because every time she ends up in one, she heals herself rapidly and without medical reason and it's really hard to explain to the doctors that she's a genetic marvel, and not crazy. She should hate peanuts too because she's so allergic to them she ended up throwing up for an entire day once because of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

She should hate a lot of things that she doesn't. It's just hard for her to hate much of anything.

But she absolutely despises snow.

She's a Texas girl at heart and where she comes from, it doesn't snow. Her winters never dipped below forty and not once did she ever need to learn how to drive in the snow or need a heavy jacket. She didn't make snowmen or have snowball fights. Yes, she missed out on an essential part of normal childhoods but she was adopted and could heal herself rapidly; a normal childhood didn't sound like much fun.

Peter told her once that New York was great. That winter's the best part of living there. What he conveniently left out is that winter in New York might be full of holiday cheer and happy people but it's also full of snow and fucking freezing. And she pretty much hates him for that.

"I am freezing," Claire says, trying to glare at him, rub her hands together, and clutch her coat tighter all at the same time and failing rather spectacularly of course. "Can we please go inside?"

Peter shakes his head, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Nope. First snow of the season. We stay out here for as long as it lasts. It's tradition."

"It could last all night," Claire protests. Now she knows why his brother tried to put him into an asylum. When he speaks, he doesn't make a lot of sense.

Peter laughs. "And why would that be so horrible?"

Claire stares at him incredulously. "Because I'm cold now," she says, "and it's only goin' to get colder."

"Claire, you can literally bring yourself back from death," Peter says, turning from his spot at the edge of the roof to smile at her. "A little cold's not going to hurt you."

It's amazingly hard to glare at him when she's shivering violently. "I don't like the cold though," she retorts.

Maybe it's because he grew up in New York and has somehow become immune to the cold winters but he seriously thinks she's overreacting. "It's not that bad, Claire. It's hardly even twenty degrees out."

If her eyes could pop out of her head, they surely would've done so just now. "That's below freezing!"

"Yeah…"

"That's cold!"

"Now you're just being a baby about it," Peter tells her.

The second her fingers aren't numb anymore, she's punching him as hard as she can. "I am not being a baby," she snarls at him. "I'm cold and I hate being cold."

Peter sighs in a loving way and rolls his eyes. "Okay, can I just show you one thing and then we can go inside if you want?"

Claire considers his offer. He could be tricking her. One thing could turn into something that can't be seen for another hour at least. His offer's too tempting. She nods tersely, "Fine."

"You have to come closer," Peter tells her.

Claire reluctantly shuffles over to him, looking very much like a penguin in doing so in her black trench coat. "What?"

Peter grins mischievously at her and she doesn't have to time to react to that grin because she knows exactly what it means when he grins at her like that before her hair and face are covered in snow, powdery, wet, freezing snow. Claire can only stare at him in speechless amazement. She tells him that she's cold and he gets the brilliant idea to throw a snowball at her.

Nathan's right; Peter is insane.

"Peter!" she protests a minute later when she finds her voice. She wipes the snowflakes furiously from her face. She doesn't even bother with her hair; she can already feel the snow clinging to it and it's not going to let go until it melts and that only happens when she goes inside. "What the hell was that for?"

"You looked like you needed to be hit with your first snowball," Peter says with a shrug.

Claire's so angry with him that she forgets all about being cold and instead thinks about how she's going to get her revenge on him. She throws him a glare and scoops up a handful of snow. Her snowball's pretty bad, rather lumpy and it doesn't stick well together, but it does its job in covering his entire head with snow.

Peter's eyes flash at her in amusement. Oh, if she's going to play like that, then it's a war she's going to get in return for it. He forms snowball after snowball and throws them at her. Most of them hit their target. She tries to fight back but she's hopeless compared against his years of snow fights, so she does the next best thing.

At the first pause in his onslaught of snowballs she turns, runs at him, and tackles him.

He's not going to give up just because she's a girl (she can rapidly heal herself after all) and he fights her for the top position. They wrestle in the snow, shoving handfuls of it down shirts and giving snow-noogies.

Claire ends up on top for good, however, when she plays dirty and shoves a large handful of snow down the back of his pants. That much cold down there is more then enough to make him stop. She laughs at him, tossing her hair over her shoulder and out of her eyes. "Say uncle," she says, pinning his arms above his head.

Peter tests her hold on his wrists, which is surprisingly strong for such a tiny girl. "You have to give me something first."

Claire quirks an eyebrow at him. "You ain't really in any position to demand favors from me, Peter Petrelli."

Peter shrugs one shoulder. "I'm not the one who's cold, Claire Bennet."

Claire considers him again. She forgot about being cold for a few minutes but her body heat's starting to melt the snow down her shirt and now she's wet and cold. "What?"

"Come closer," Peter says.

Claire only does because she knows he doesn't have a snowball waiting for her. "What?" she repeats, softer this time.

Peter grins at her in that mischievous way again but it's a good thing this time for he moves his head up close to hers and kisses her softly. It's not much of a passionate kiss, just a brushing of lips in an almost innocent fashion, but it's perfect first kiss material. He pulls back after a moment and looks at her curiously, "You still want to go in?"

Claire knows that she's smiling like an idiot at him and she knows that it's kind of pathetic that a little kiss can make her forget about being angry with him and think him the cutest boy she's ever seen but it was such a good kiss and this is Peter. She's liked him since her Homecoming.

She glances around, pretending to think about it. There's really nothing to think about and she's pretty sure that he knows that. "I think we can stay out here for a bit more," she says, and before he can question it, she kisses him again.

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