AN: This site hates my formatting attempts, fyi. "The Spaces Between" will be a collection of my Heroes flash fiction. In this first "chapter" the flash fictions were written using the mp3 player/iPod music meme which says: Choose a subject and put your entire music collection on shuffle, hit play, and write. Write for as long as each song plays and move on to a different writing when the song switches (even if it's mid-sentence). Go for 5-10 songs.


Song: "Maiden Voyage" - The Clockwork Dolls
Characters/Pairing: Claire, Sylar
Genre: General, AU-ish

He's touched her more intimately than any lover ever will. Had her blood on his hands. Discovered the unique blend of physical matter and electrical impulses that power her.

And he thought that would've been enough.

But when the rest of the world is still around him, he finds his thoughts travel back to her. He wonders what she's doing in her day-to-day existence, the bland normality her family wraps her in.

He wonders if she thinks of him…

And determines that she will, if she doesn't.

He will make another trip to Costa Verde.

To see and be seen.

She's a lot like him. She won't be able to resist the opportunity to find out why he did what he did.

To find out what makes him tick.


Song: "Scarborough Fair" - Sarah Brightman
Characters/Pairing: Peter/Caitlin
Genre: General, Romance, During Series
Rating: Mature Teen

He wakes to the sound of singing; the voice carrying the notes is tentative, a little wobbly on certain keys, but sweet and lilting.

Turning over in the unfamiliar bed, he stretches well used muscles, enjoying the languor in his arms, his legs. He buries his face in the pillow. The sheets smell like her. Like them. And the night comes rushing back to him and he can feel her on his skin, taste her in his mouth.

Then she's there, coming into the room, still singing softly—remember me to one who lives, he once was a true love of mine—and holding two steaming mugs of tea, which he takes from her and places on the bedside table.

And then, before he really processes his thoughts, he's turning, kissing her. He pulls her against his chest, rolls her under him and slides his hands beneath the shirt she's wearing, realizes that it's his and revels in the spasm of possessive pleasure that realization brings.


Song: "Baby Blue" - Emiliana Torrini
Characters/Pairing: Peter, Claire (Tilt your head and squint for pairing possibilities.)
Genre: Post-Series / AU, Angst
Rating: Teen

I can't believe what God has done
He took the heat out of the sun
And now it seems the world
Is growing colder

Every year, they come to the seashore.

It was a tradition they started years and years ago, with the death of Claire's mom.

Today, they're remembering Monty. 90 years old, two daughters, three grand children, five great grandchildren, and a long career following his father's foot steps in the US Senate.

They don't speak, but sit silently together at the edge of the tide, letting the water run around their bare feet, their shoes cast off in the loose sand behind them, until Claire shivers—more from the thought of how much time has passed since she shared this same stretch of beach with a boy who could fly, than from the chill of the ocean—and Peter puts his arm around her, pulls her to her feet.

Her blond hair, whipped by the wind, tangles with his, and, for just a moment, gives the illusion that he's going grey. Then it passes.

They pick up their shoes and, hand-in-hand, walk the shoreline toward home.


Song: "Crash and Burn" - Savage Garden
Characters/Pairing: Peter/Claire
Genre: Post-Series.
Rating: R. (Consensual sexual relationship between Peter and Claire; skip it if it bothers you.)

If you need to crash and burn
You're not alone

When there's no one left alive who knows of your genetic connection with one another, is a relationship still taboo?

This is the question that has been rotating continually through Claire's mind and it stutters to a halt when Peter swoops down and takes her mouth like he owns it. (He's bold these days. So bold. Not the Peter she first met. But he's still her's nonetheless.)

She examines the broke-down question, decides she doesn't care and purges it from her mind as she wraps her arms, then her legs around Peter. Lets him lift her, push her against the front door of his apartment, rip the flimsy excuse for panties from beneath her skirt, and slide inside her like he's meant to be there.

His hands are a vice on her hips—gripping her like he's afraid she'll disappear—his hair feathery-velvet against her jaw, and on her throat, his lips, tongue, and teeth burn like a brand.


Song: "I Touch Myself" - The Divinyls
Characters/Pairing: Claire/_
Genre: AU
Rating: R. (Consensual sexual relationship between Peter and Claire; skip it if it bothers you.)

I want you to find me

She doesn't how it started. At this point she's not even sure was those first, unseasonably warm days she'd come home for the university spring break. And the first time she'd ever doffed her clothes in order to sleep.

But it's something she barely admits to herself. And never without the adjectives bad and wrong and sick coming beforehand, despite the fact that those words aren't appropriate; they don't describe how she feels.

It's something she'll never admit to during the daylight hours.

But on these summer nights, when the house is quiet and her parents are asleep, and Lyle is, at the least, barricaded in his room, she locks her bedroom door, opens her window and lies down on her bed to wait.

When a noise that sounds like the wind brushes through her curtains, she pushes her night shirt up, slips her panties off and runs her hands up and down her thighs, over her belly, between her legs—finds her labia already damp from anticipation—and it seems like it's only a matter of moments and a few firm, quick flicks of her fingers before she's coming to the image of his face—that looks nothing like her, Thank God—and with his name falling from her lips in a rushing whisper.

That's when she turns over, faces the wall, squeezing her eyes shut as she tries to catch her breath, her dignity…the shame she should be feeling.

And the wind that is not a wind settles on the bed next to her, and he smells like leather, like clean human skin…like her Peter.

He grasps her hand, sucks the fingers she'd used to get herself off into his mouth and bites down gently. Then he uses her wet fingers to trace the edges of the thick scar that runs between his brows, from his temple to his cheek.

As a final step to this nightly ritual, he always places a kiss in the palm of her hand, flicks his warm, wet tongue against her lifeline.

And then he's gone with a rush of wind.


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