Heroes Fan Fiction ❯ The Memory of a Cheerleader's Skirt ❯ Oneshot ( Chapter 1 )

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The Memory of a Cheerleader's Skirt

Peter Petrelli remembers that he was sixteen once. He remembers the swish of the cheerleaders' skirts, the melody of their synchronized chants, and the shadows of the background away from things he could not touch.

Peter remembers all to well about cheerleaders, even before a strange Japanese man came from the future and told him to save her and thus by doing so, he would save the world.

He has to save a cheerleader, and when he first learns that, his mind is filled with a past of residual female giggles and missed opportunities.

This is one opportunity he wouldn't dare miss this time.

Peter is sixteen, and he is also somewhat of an outcast. He's neither popular nor nerdy, but his gentle nature keeps him away from the injustice of high school hazing, and his father's money and name keeps away from his own black and blue marks.

He knows his place, but when he sees their new head cheerleader, Cherie McNash, he begins to forget.

She's a brilliant light that illuminates the whole school. Her smile, her gentility, and her southern drawl are like a beautiful aria in Peter's ear. She is new to his school, but her beauty and kindness places her among the popular kids immediately. In the first month of his junior year she is single and in the next month, Cherie begins dating their high school quarterback.

Because that's what cheerleaders do, Peter is told. They only settle for the school `hero' and nothing else.

But Peter would always think that he is special too - or that he will be someday. One day he will help people.

And that gives him motivation to try.

“I'm sorry, Peter,” Cherie says genuinely. “You're really nice, but …” And her voice trails off, and she looks around nervously. Her quarterback boyfriend, Gabe Neil, is somewhere looking for her - keeping tabs on her as he always would.

Cherie was just too pretty a thing to keep by herself.

In a flash, Peter realizes he's not special enough to dodge Gabe's fist into his nose. He's not special enough to not draw blood at the first point of injury.

Peter falls to the ground, already hearing in his head the speech from his father on what a disappointment he is - that he should have defended himself like a man and stood up for what he wanted.

Peter coughs out blood and maybe an important tooth and he groans.

Cheerleaders are untouchable, troublesome things anyway.

When Peter Petrelli opens his eyes, he thinks he is sixteen again. Well, he feels sixteen again. A woman gasps and then giggles at his side.

“Sleepy-head,” she says. She's got sort of a southern spice to her voice that he can't help but adore. He turns to her, and looks into her face. She's bright eyed and full of smiles and the sun accents her bronze skin and illuminates her golden hair.

She pushes away a pesky strand of dark hair that always seems to hang over his face. She trails her finger down and caresses his jaw line.

“How can you sleep when there's a war out there?” she asks him, but she's just as guilty as he is of taking a break.

“It's a sunny day, Claire, and heroes have to relax too. We don't get much of these opportunities to sit back and enjoy ourselves. We know what's out there but…” His voice trails off, and he stops so he can pull her into his arms and kiss her cheek lightly. She melts into his embrace and continues to smile. Peter knows that Claire can smile in the times that he cannot. She is his hope, and saving her has brought him more than just a thankless, tactile world. He kisses her head again, and whispers, “We know what's out there, but we also know what's in here.”

He puts his hand over her heart, and she gasps. She nods quickly, bats his hand away and rolls her eyes. But then he grins because he knows his Claire is not one to settle for fluffy sentiments for too long.

“You just needed an excuse to grope me, Peter Petrelli,” she says cheekily, and he looks away mildly embarrassed. She laughs again and looks up at the deep cerulean sky. “I know, Peter. But don't spoil our off-day with your lofty ideals.”

“Lofty?” Peter says, mocking a pensive face. “Does a former cheerleader know what `lofty' even means?” He jokes with her, and Claire rewards him with her instinctual smack across his shoulder.

She continues to push and tickle him playfully, and he screams mockingly for help. She bursts with jubilant energy and plows him over onto his back. He laughs, and she smiles, and somewhere in a crystal moment their laughter dies down and they pause to look at one another.

Peter stares at her reflectively as if time is slowing around them. Claire traces her finger over the scar on Peter's brow that trails down to his cheek. The scar is the reminder that he once came and saved her. His scar is the avatar of them and so much more.

Claire then says, “You're my hero, Peter.” She remembers and so does he. She's said this line before, and many times after.

He puts his hand over hers and there is no more giggling, and they become lost in what they've become together. All of the time random people call them saviors and heroes, but they're heroes onto themselves and more than anything, for each other. She bends her head down and all he can see is gold before his eyes close, his lips melding into hers.

Peter Petrelli wakes up in a jail cell somewhere in Texas. He feels cold, haunted by memories that are warm and inviting, but don't seem real.

A Japanese man flashes before his eyes and tells him to save a cheerleader.

And he has.

He understands now. He hasn't just saved the world. He's saved himself and he's saved Claire Bennett for something much more.

Smiling, Peter revels in otherworldly memories and longs for a future he cannot wait to see.

END