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for the_muses_stage: shaken
Mar. 6th, 2010 12:22 pmPeter had disappeared down the hallway under the pretense of going to grab a coffee, and while Sylar doubted the other man would actually come back with caffeine, he couldn't say he wasn't grateful for a few minutes alone. He needed time to think.
Not that Peter had been particularly chatty after the doctor had destroyed their worlds with a handful of words, it was more the way he'd looked at him. He still couldn't quite fathom his and Claire's relationship, but the loss of a life was something he could understand and he'd taken to watching Sylar with soft puppy dog eyes, his expression one of sympathy. Of pity. If this were any other situation, if the doctor's announcement hadn't left him feeling like he'd been punched in the gut, he would have killed him for that look on principle alone. Instead he'd just helped himself to one of the chairs by the window of Claire's room and did his best to ignore him, trying to get his head on straight. And finally, thankfully, with Peter gone, he found his thoughts starting to slow to a pace he could catch up with.
Sighing, he turned sideways in the chair, pressing his face up against the glass and watched Claire through slits in the blinds before closing his eyes. Pregnant. Claire had been pregnant. How the hell had he missed that? He supposed, on one hand, that it was because he'd never expected it to happen. True, they hadn't exactly been careful, never bothering with protection, but he'd just sort of assumed that her ability wouldn't allow for it, her body getting rid of it at the start because it was an imperfection. A parasite it needed to heal through. Apparently he'd been wrong and somehow he'd been too caught up in doing other things to notice the second, smaller heartbeat.
Assuming the thing had been alive long enough to have developed a heart in the first place.
He slid a hand up over his face, knuckles dragging against the glass softly, and rubbed at his eyes. His hand fell back into his lap with the thought that he should have been there. He was fairly certain that he wasn't ready to be a father, positive that he didn't want to be one, but he had an obligation to protect what was his and he supposed that had extended to the child he never knew about. He should have sent Peter to the girl Bennet had pointed out to them; he should have left one of his doubles with them when he went to claim his prize. He should have been there.
Tensing, rage coiled in his chest and he tried to swallow it down, battling down the urge to put his fist through the glass. And when he won out over his anger, he opened his eyes and let something near numbness touch to the places where fury had been a moment before, turning fire to ice. For as much as he hadn't wanted this -- never dreamed of it -- it hurt. Even someone like him could understand the loss of something precious, and now more than ever he was certain that Samuel would die and die horribly by his hand.
It wasn't hate or a love of violence that fueled that thought, though, something too oddly broken within him to contemplate either; it was simply a calm, unequivocal truth. For leaving him with this shroud of emotion that he hadn't felt since his mother's death and couldn't quite cope with, for stripping him of might have been's, whether or not he'd wanted them to begin with, the carnie would suffer.
He had to hold on to that. He had to because the alternatives -- dealing with his apparent grief, accepting Peter's sympathy, anything -- seemed far more frightening than the war he had started.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 640
Note: Follows this, this, this, this, this, this, and this.
Not that Peter had been particularly chatty after the doctor had destroyed their worlds with a handful of words, it was more the way he'd looked at him. He still couldn't quite fathom his and Claire's relationship, but the loss of a life was something he could understand and he'd taken to watching Sylar with soft puppy dog eyes, his expression one of sympathy. Of pity. If this were any other situation, if the doctor's announcement hadn't left him feeling like he'd been punched in the gut, he would have killed him for that look on principle alone. Instead he'd just helped himself to one of the chairs by the window of Claire's room and did his best to ignore him, trying to get his head on straight. And finally, thankfully, with Peter gone, he found his thoughts starting to slow to a pace he could catch up with.
Sighing, he turned sideways in the chair, pressing his face up against the glass and watched Claire through slits in the blinds before closing his eyes. Pregnant. Claire had been pregnant. How the hell had he missed that? He supposed, on one hand, that it was because he'd never expected it to happen. True, they hadn't exactly been careful, never bothering with protection, but he'd just sort of assumed that her ability wouldn't allow for it, her body getting rid of it at the start because it was an imperfection. A parasite it needed to heal through. Apparently he'd been wrong and somehow he'd been too caught up in doing other things to notice the second, smaller heartbeat.
Assuming the thing had been alive long enough to have developed a heart in the first place.
He slid a hand up over his face, knuckles dragging against the glass softly, and rubbed at his eyes. His hand fell back into his lap with the thought that he should have been there. He was fairly certain that he wasn't ready to be a father, positive that he didn't want to be one, but he had an obligation to protect what was his and he supposed that had extended to the child he never knew about. He should have sent Peter to the girl Bennet had pointed out to them; he should have left one of his doubles with them when he went to claim his prize. He should have been there.
Tensing, rage coiled in his chest and he tried to swallow it down, battling down the urge to put his fist through the glass. And when he won out over his anger, he opened his eyes and let something near numbness touch to the places where fury had been a moment before, turning fire to ice. For as much as he hadn't wanted this -- never dreamed of it -- it hurt. Even someone like him could understand the loss of something precious, and now more than ever he was certain that Samuel would die and die horribly by his hand.
It wasn't hate or a love of violence that fueled that thought, though, something too oddly broken within him to contemplate either; it was simply a calm, unequivocal truth. For leaving him with this shroud of emotion that he hadn't felt since his mother's death and couldn't quite cope with, for stripping him of might have been's, whether or not he'd wanted them to begin with, the carnie would suffer.
He had to hold on to that. He had to because the alternatives -- dealing with his apparent grief, accepting Peter's sympathy, anything -- seemed far more frightening than the war he had started.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 640
Note: Follows this, this, this, this, this, this, and this.
