Title: Angeles
Author: Hermione Eveningfall
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Summary: Claire has only been living in Manhattan for a couple of weeks, when Peter's health takes a sudden turn for the worst.
Spend
all your time waiting
for that second chance
for a break that
would make it okay
there's always one reason
to feel not good
enough
and it's hard at the end of the day
I need some
distraction
oh beautiful release
memory seeps from my veins
let
me be empty
and weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace
tonight
"Angel"--Sarah McLachlan
Chapter 1
Having spent most of my childhood in the heart of Texas, I was not used to the cold at all. The true winter weather hit after my second week living with Peter in Lower Manhattan, and it took a lot of willpower to push myself out of the apartment in order to get to school on time. We had a bad storm during week three, and because most students could walk to the high school, it remained open.
"I'll be home a little later than usual tonight, munchkin," Peter announced, while the two of us sat eating breakfast, watching as the snow came down with relentless ferocity.
"Really?" I raised an eyebrow, shoving a spoonful of cheerios into my mouth.
"Yeah. They needed someone to work from eleven to seven, because one of the other nurses called out sick. If you get hungry before I get back, just make dinner for yourself...don't wait for me." he took a sip of coffee, and I smiled.
"Okay," I replied, checking my watch. "Oh shoot, I should leave now before I get lost in the snow."
"Good idea," Peter agreed with a chuckle, and I went to put my heavy coat on, my boots, gloves, a scarf and hat. As I dressed, I heard my Uncle give a loud sneeze, causing me to jump with surprise. Once I finished getting ready, I went into the kitchen so I could say goodbye.
"Bless you," I said, watching as he blew his nose with a napkin, and Peter looked at me.
"Thanks," he replied, and I gave him a hug.
"You feel like a marshmallow under all that," he teased, and I made a face when I pulled away.
"Haha." I glanced out the window, which had fogged up from the frost. "Well, I guess I'll see you tonight, then?"
Peter nodded, encouraging me to have a good day, and I opened the door.
Once outside, I struggled through the snow drifts, trying to stay on the road when I could where the plows did their best to clear pathways for cars and taxi cabs.
It took an extra fifteen minutes to get to school, and I lost my footing twice, and wound up with mouthfulls of the stuff.
Megan was in my same homeroom, and watched as I removed my soaking wet clothing, shaking her head with amusement. "Mine aren't any better," she admitted, pointing to her own jacket, which had left a rather noticible puddle on the floor next to her chair. "We're the one school on the entire planet that refuses to close when weather's bad. I swear, we could have a nuclear explosion and they'd still make us come in."
I gave a nervous laugh, and fixed my hair, which stuck out every which way after being under my hat.
When attendance was taken and everyone was accounted for, the bell rang signaling that we should head to our first class of the day. I could hear my fellow student's shoes squishing down the hallway, and missed the climate I was used to in Texas. I handled warm weather a lot better, but I guess if you dealt with it from a young age that helped a lot.
The day drug on slowly, and the rest of my classmates seemed more fascinated by the snow falling outside than the teacher.
After lunch, the rest of my classes flew by, and I was eager to get home and change into something more comfortable. It would be weird not meeting Peter when I arrived, though at least I would have some time to myself. That wasn't a terrible prospect, and I could curl up in front of the TV while I plugged through my homework.
I left school at 3:15 as usual, and arrived home by 3:45. The steps were nearly covered in snow, so I had to grip the railing in order to avoid slipping. Of course, if I did fall, I wouldn't have to worry about injuries. My only concern was someone coming to my rescue and watching as my broken bone or scratches healed within a matter of seconds. Sometimes it seriously sucked to be a person with a weird ability, even if it was one that could be particuarily helpful on a daily basis.
The apartment was quiet when I entered, and I gratefully removed my once again sopping coat, hat, scarf, and mittens. I pulled my boots off, wriggling my nearly frozen toes as I padded into the kitchen to grab an afternoon snack. While I in there, I decided to take the dishes out of the drainer, and cleaned up a little.
For the next couple of hours I did my homework, and made myself a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup. It was much too cold for anything else, and I anxiously glanced at the clock when seven rolled around, then seven thirty. When Peter hadn't arrived by eight, I was tempted to call him on his cell, hoping he hadn't gotten hit by a car skidding on ice.
At nine fifteen the front door opened, and I immediately leapt to my feet. "Peter!" I exclaimed, running to greet him, and watched as he removed his own coat and gloves, his teeth chattering the entire time. "Where were you?"
"I had to stay l-l-later than I t-t-thought," he replied, rubbing his arms, and I led him into the living room. "I'm sorry, munchkin...we were so busy that I couldn't give you a call."
"Well, thank goodness you're okay," I breathed. "I thought you'd gotten hurt or something. I was ready to call a search party!"
He managed a weak smile, and I trooped behind him into the kitchen. "Well, I'm fine," he promised. "relatively."
"Relatively?" I leaned against the counter, watching as he fumbled through the cabinets, searching for his box of tea bags.
"I think I'm coming down with a cold," he admitted, coughing into his shoulder, and I raised an eyebrow. "Something's going through work, and I've been sneezing all day."
"That sucks," I replied, and made sure he bundled up in blankets once the tea was ready. "It took me at least two hours just to officially warm up."
Peter sneezed between sips, and I offered to get a box of tissues from the bathroom. "No," he croaked. "I think I'm going to bed early tonight, Munchkin. I really don't feel well." he sighed, and I immediately felt horrible for him.
"I'm sorry," I said, and he gave me a pat on the head.
"It's not your fault," he promised, and I watched as he shuffled off to his bedroom, pausing in the doorway to sneeze again.
"Bless you!" I called, shaking my head, and listened as the door shut behind him. My Uncle sounded truly miserable, and I wished there was something I could do.
I took care of my nightly rituals, and went to bed rather early.
The next morning, Peter stayed in bed while I relaxed around the house. Thankfully the weekend had come, so the two of us had a chance to rest, even if it meant only for two days.
Around lunchtime he came into the living room, his face pale and his nose a light pink. "Hey," he greeted stuffily, and I encouraged him to lay down on the couch. "Thanks," he muttered, closing his eyes.
"I take it you don't feel any better?" I asked, and he couged into a fist, pulling the spare blanket up to his chin.
"My head feels like someone's using a jack hammer on it," Peter replied, "did you sleep okay?"
"Yeah," I replied, reaching over to feeling his forehead. He was too tired to struggle, and I frowned. "You have a fever," I gasped.
"Claire..." Peter started, but I already disappeared into the bathroom. Neither of us had gotten sick since my arrival to New York, and I had no idea where he kept anything. I opened the medicine chest, and found it to be mostly empty, except for a bottle of advil and a prescription allergy pills. I sighed, cursing the fact that my Uncle was so much of a guy that he didn't even think to overstock. In the medicine cabinet at my adoptive parents house, we had tons of things from band-aids to peptobismol.
"You dont own a thermometer," I announced when I returned to the living room, and Peter raised an eyebrow. "You're a nurse for pete's sake! You'd think you would have enough sense to stock your medicine cabinet!"
"Sorry?" He replied, and I sighed.
"Listen, I should run to the drug store and get some things."
Peter glared. "You will not," he argued. "Claire, I don't want you running around the city on your own, and not in this w..." he paused, and sneezed, cringing afterwards.
"Geshuntite," I said, offering him a handful of tissues.
"Thanks," he muttered. "And I'll be fine. I wouldn't sit so close, or you'll catch this."
"You think?" I asked with a smirk. "Peter, I haven't been sick for ten years. I doubt I can get sick given my...condition."
He broke into a fit of coughing, and curled into a ball. "Can you check and see if the heat's turned up?" he asked, bundling his feet in the blankets, and I glanced at the thermostat.
"Sure," I replied, and stood, walking over to read the dial. "Yeah...we turned it up to 75. Did you want it higher?" I asked, and Peter looked at me.
"I'm freezing," he muttered. "I feel like I need another six blankets before I'll even start feeling warm."
I sat down on the leather chair that was a few feet from the couch, and hugged my knees to my chest.
Peter was feeling too sick to join me for dinner that night, but I insisted he have a bit of soup. "I don't think I can stomach anything," he groaned, struggling to sit up, and I smiled.
"You have to eat," I replied. "come on." I took a spoonful, and eased it towards his mouth, which he kept shut tight.
"Mmmmmm," he argued, and I made an airplane noise as my Dad used to do when I was a kid.
"Open the hatch...come on," I begged, and Peter gave me a nasty look. "How can you say no to campbells?" I added, and he raised an eyebrow.
"Easy," He growled. "NO."
I sighed, defeated. "Fine," I snapped. "I'm leaving the soup here, and you can eat it when you want." I stood up, and Peter watched with a frown as I stormed into my bedroom. I sat watching the snow fall, illuminated by the street lights. I was far from a nurse, and it annoyed me to no end that Peter wouldn't even follow the basic instructions for making himself better. He worked in a hospital for God's sake, and should know better!
About ten minutes later, there was a light knock on the door, and I glanced over my shoulder. Peter stood with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and eyed me sternly.
"I don't appreciate being talked back to, Claire," he said, and I frowned. "Sometimes I think you forget who's in charge here."
"I just wish you'd take better care of yourself," I muttered. "Is that so terrible?"
"I think I'm old enough to handle my own problems," He growled, and I raised my eyes.
"I'm sorry if I offended you," I said. "I just hate seeing you feel sick."
Peter rubbed his nose, and pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. "Well, in the future, just remember who you're speaking to, all right?" he asked, and I nodded, swallowing past a small lump in my throat.
"Good night," I called as he left, shutting the door behind him without another word. I sighed, glancing at Munchkin, and raised my arms with frustration. "What am I going do with him, huh?" I asked, and the fish stopped swimming, it's mouth opening and closing. "My thoughts exactly," I growled, leaning my chin in my palm.