for writers_muses: rp prompt for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
girl_ofsecrets
Aug. 3rd, 2009 01:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
heroslayerSomething has raised your ire and you're not about to keep quiet, so, grab a RP partner and do something about it.
Despite their conversation earlier about how things would get fixed -- how he and Claire would find a way to fix it -- he found he still couldn't shake off his mood. It lingered in his shoulders, in the steel of his jaw, and in spite of all the deep breathing he'd tried to fix it. The anger was so deep seated, in fact, that he wasn't even sure killing something would help, and that coming from him? Well, he was sure it heralded the end of days, somehow.
Frustrated, he collapsed on the bed of their small room, staring venomously at the blank television screen as if it was somehow at fault, and then he shifted, reaching for the remote. He flicked the TV on, surfed through a few channels without anything catching his eye -- then again, they could have been showing a special news bulletin announcing that Nathan Petrelli's head was hanging from the Washington Monument and he wouldn't have cared -- and then he turned it off violently. On impulse, he threw the remote at the wall, like an eight-year-old having a temper tantrum, and then he rolled over, not even bothering to watch as it landed, instead contenting himself to staring at the ceiling and seething.
He needed to do something, he knew -- something to help them out of this mess -- but hell if he could see past his annoyance to bother with actual planning. And hell if he could put aside his pride and call Peter, as was the only idea he could manage in this state.
She wasn't fond of empty promises and yet she was worried she was making them every time she vowed they would fix things. That they would somehow get their abilities back. For a long time she had wanted to be normal but she wasn't so sure about it anymore. Sylar hated normal; he based a lot of who and what he was on the fact that he was special and different. It was what had driven him for so long.
And if she was normal, would he want her still?
It was a fear that left her feeling cold and blank even now as she walked into the small room right as he threw the remote against the wall. A flash of annoyance rushed through her and she did her best to suppress it but she didn't stop in time to stop him from getting a look as she shut the door. "You're going to complain later when you need to change channels without the remote." She replied dryly.
"If I had my telekinesis, it wouldn't be a problem," he snapped back, eyes dropping from the ceiling to fix on her, angrily.
"Right. Then it was probably pretty silly to break the remote, wasn't it?" She tried not to snap though her tone was definitely a bit colder as she moved to drop her purse on the table.
He shot a glance at what remained of the remote; it wasn't as bad as it could have been, if he did have the better part of his abilities, but he still wouldn't be using it any time soon. "I don't care," he said finally, returning his attentions to her.
"So I gathered." She pushed her fingers through her hair, hating how they were at each other's throats. Sometimes it made her wonder ...
No, she wasn't going to go there. Instead she turned to face him, her hands resting on her hips. "Do you feel better now?" She arched a brow at him.
"What do you think?"
"Hmm, let me think." She tilted her head, knowing she was being a bit of a brat at the moment. "No?" She rolled her eyes at him and then turned back towards the table.
"Smart girl," he replied, flashing her a smile that didn't meet his eyes. He lay there for a moment following, silent, and then finally he sighed, pulling himself into a sit, his fingers curling at the edge of the mattress as he watched her.
Claire stood there for awhile, silently staring at her purse before she realized his eyes were on her again. Turning her head, she looked at him over her shoulder. "What?"
"Does it matter?" He didn't particularly have a reason for staring at her, honestly, but he had decided that he didn't like her tone of voice. Then again, there were a lot of things he didn't like at the moment.
"Maybe I just want to know what you're thinking." He wasn't the only one.
Another moment of silence, and then he was wetting his lips with his tongue. "I killed someone, a few nights after we ended up like this, you know. Someone like us. Like we used to be."
It wasn't exactly what he was thinking, but it felt good to affirm what she'd told him earlier -- that he wasn't entirely useless, despite the fact that he'd been reduced to a handful of rather useless powers. Never mind the fact that he hadn't gotten anything, the night of that senseless murder. It was the thought that counted, if he was meant to believe anything she'd said before. It was the fact that he was still Sylar. Still capable of murder.
She turned around to face him, not really reacting for a moment. He had killed someone. It didn't surprise her and she wished she could say that it did but it didn't. He was the type to lash out when he was frustrated or pissed off. Lately, with his mood, she wasn't surprised. "I'm surprised you didn't kill more." Her tone was cold and dry as she crossed her arms now, hiding the small fists that she made.
"You know that calls attention to us, right?" She asked, arching a brow at him. "How do we fight the agents if they find us, Sylar?"
He rolled his eyes. "If I'd cut his head open, then I'd be drawing attention to us. I'm pretty sure brain smashed in with a tire iron doesn't lead right back to us, though."
"I'm sure they're just looking for murders, Sylar." She pointed out.
The killer scowled, his expression suggesting that if he still had his telekinesis, she'd be having a rather intimate encounter with one of the walls right about now. Since he didn't have that luxury, however, his fingers only tightened on the edge of the mattress, a disgusted look staining his features. "They're not that smart. And I hope you don't think I'm that stupid. I've been avoiding them for years, Claire. Just because I'm not the man I was doesn't mean I've forgotten how to keep a low profile."
Claire recognized the look as she had seen it as a warning for a very long time. Lifting her chin that signalled to him that she wasn't going to back down, she narrowed her eyes as though daring him to try something to her. Then at his statement, she snorted. "What? Are you serious?" She tilted her head as she looked at him incredulously. "You do not have a low profile, Sylar."
For a man who had nothing to rely on but his own reflexes, he was on his feet with surprising speed. He moved over to her, lips twisted into a sneer, and grabbed at her wrists -- maybe he wasn't as strong as he could be anymore, but he was still the stronger of the two of them. "I've never gotten us caught before. That was always you. Daddy looking for you. You making me like this because I had to save your ass."
Claire would have stepped back if there was room to, her reaction mainly out of reflex but there was nowhere to go as he caught her wrists in a tight grip that would definitely leave a mark. A mark that wouldn't fade away now but she didn't care in that moment as she almost relished the pain. It also pissed her off as she growled at him, yanking at her wrists to get them free. "You were the one who decided to drag me on your little road trip," she reminded him.
He pulled back, not willing to let her go so easily, and gritted his teeth, trying to fight down the urge to melt the skin off her bones with one of the few abilities he had, somehow, retained. "You should be thanking me," he snarled, dragging her wrists up over her head, sharply. "If it wasn't for me, Danko would have your Goddamn head on a plate. Whether or not I decided you needed to come with me."
"They would have left me alone till the day I decided to back you up." The day that she helped to watch over him by killing some agents while he had been fighting. That was definitely the day she put a mark on her back and then helping to kill Danko? That cinched it. "Anyways, I wasn't saying I didn't thank you." She winced a bit as he hauled her up a bit and she had to move to her tiptoes because of it. "So what? You're sorry you saved me?" She clenched her jaw. "Do you blame me for this?"
Honestly? He didn't know. And so he said nothing, instead huffing out a displeased sound that bordered on a growl before he shoved her away, viciously. He turned on his heels, not bothering to watch as she fell -- if she did in the first place -- and marched back to the bed, scowling. He threw himself down on it, like a small child that had just been sent to his room, and stared at the ceiling, seething still.
She noticed how he didn't answer her but it didn't matter as he suddenly shoved her away. Twisting around, she caught herself against the wall with a little grunt as she nearly fell to her knees but she managed not to. Anger sparkled in her green eyes as she looked over at where he was on the bed. There was a growl as she launched herself forward, fully intending to hit him for pushing her around.
He heard her coming -- another thing that had managed to sift through the stripping of his abilities -- but he couldn't quite react fast enough. Before he knew it, she was on top of him, and on reflex, he was shoving her away as hard as he could manage, strength backed by rage where he lacked his stolen gifts. "Get the hell off of me."
She hated that he was stronger than her but she was hoping that she had at least gotten a few good strikes in before he sent her flying again. She hit the floor with a grunt before pushing back to her feet, her body starting to really ache but she didn't care as she whirled to face him. "Feel better yet?" She grabbed something off the dresser and sent it flying at him.
He ducked, though not fast enough, the alarm clock -- as that was what he realized, belatedly, it was -- catching him squarely in the temple. Grimacing, he attempted to ignore the pain that exploded behind his eyes, a nasty bruise already beginning on pale flesh, and then he was turning to grab the lamp off of his nightstand. Without words, still clearly in a fit, he pitched it at her, all but snarling.
When the alarm clock hit him, her eyes widened because she really hadn't meant to hit him even if she had pitched the alarm clock at her head. She was about to step forward, asking him if he was okay but then the lamp was flying at her. She wasn't nearly as fast as him and so she wasn't as great at dodging. Her breath caught as she brought an arm up to try and block it. Pain exploded throughout her arm as she yelped, feeling lamp break as it crashed to the floor, the light bulb exploding in a spray of tiny shards.
His eyes shot down to the mess at her feet sharply, like a cat who had been distracted by something shiny. Then, very slowly, he raised his eyes to her, not moving his head, watching her from under the rise of his eyebrows. As had been habit of his throughout much of the fight, however, he remained silent and motionless, trying to gauge if she was really hurt, or if the cry had been just one of shock, since she'd regained her ability to feel pain.
Her arm ached but what hurt the most was her pride and possibly her feelings. She clenched her jaw as she looked down at the mess of porcelain and broken glass that lay around her. Then she looked back at him, her breathing low and ragged. "You do blame me." The funny thing? She probably blamed herself more. She tried picking her way over the glass, rising on her tip toes as she moved to the table where her purse was. "Fine, then I'll just make it easier for you. You said it, you can avoid them much easier without me."
"I never said I blamed you," he breathed through clenched teeth. The fact that he still seemed tense had nothing to do with anger, however -- now he was just frustrated -- and he hoped that much showed in the fact that he moved to join her, heedless of the glass under his feet.
She remained silent as she grabbed her purse, not meeting his eyes and or even acknowledging that he was at her side. As she stepped back and turned, she winced with a little hiss before giving a hobbling step as she looked down. There was blood on the floor and she knew some glass had just cut her foot but she ignored it as she started to limp towards the door.
"Claire." Her name was a warning, though not one spoken with the promise of more pain. He put a hand to her shoulder, lightly, trying to stop her. "Wait."
It was so stupid because all she tried to do was to wrench away from him so he couldn't stop her. She wasn't not sure how she fell, and she tried to catch herself once more, but it was a futile attempt. As her feet came out from under her, she didn't see the large piece of the broken lamp but she sure as hell felt it when she hit it. It was a sharp sort of pain, one that was used to before but it still hurt as she let out a yelp while arching. Immediately, she rolled to the side as though to roll away from him but the damage was done. The large piece of the lamp was stuck in her side now, blood already staining the white porcelain as she laid there, trying to breathe.
He winced on her behalf, righting himself where he'd started to dive after her to catch her -- too slow -- before lowering himself to the ground beside her. Probably not the best idea he'd ever had, given that he could be hurt now, too, but he didn't bother to stop to think. There were more important things on his mind -- like trying to get the piece of glass out of her side.
Flashing her a frown in warning, he reached for the shard of glass, fingers curling around it without care that he might end up cutting himself, too. "Hold still."
Claire felt that he tried to catch her and if he had his ability, he might have but there was no such luck for either one of them. As she remained on her stomach, she tried to breathe very slowly but God, it was hard. She wondered if she was winded, it was a sensation she wasn't familiar with. As Sylar moved to her side, she heard his command and she was sure she nodded but it was hard to say. As she braced herself for what he was going to do, she curled her hands into fists as she could feel little pieces of glass underneath her but they didn't matter.
"Just get it out." She gasped, ashamed that there were actually tears in her eyes.
He hummed, the sound near apologetic, and then he was tugging at the glass as hard as he could, pulling it free even without his strength. He held onto it for a moment, dragging it up to eye level so that he could eye it distastefully, and then he was shifting to one side, to drop it in the trash can. No sense putting it back on the floor where it could potentially do more harm. A deep breath followed, and then he was pulling her into his arms, slowly, intent on getting a look at how bad the damage was.
She managed not to cry out but instead she swallowed down the noise with another grunt. Her whole body was tense but it was a little easier to breath. Slightly. When he gathered her into his arms, she whimpered a little before twisting to try and look but the motion hurt too much. Choosing to lay still, she let him look at the wound. It was just a few inches long and not very wide but it was hard to say how deep it went. Deep enough that she was bleeding though.
"You won't need stitches," he decided after a moment, and thank God for that -- he couldn't begin to pretend to know the first thing about sewing, and even if he did, he doubted there was a kit in the room. Bandages, on the other hand, he'd started keeping in case of emergencies since they'd lost their abilities, and he knew exactly where he'd left them, even though his memory had abandoned him.
Pulling her closer to him, carefully, he lifted her into his arms as he stood up. A bit more careful about the glass this time, he danced around it as he carried her back to the bed. Then, just as gingerly as he'd gathered her into his arms, he was setting her down on it, flashing her a frown before turning towards the bathroom. "Stay here," he ordered, as if she needed to be told.
She nodded her head as he told her that she wouldn't need stitches, relieved by that information. She didn't like the idea of getting stitches though she had them once before. Turning her head, she pressed her face to his shoulder as she really didn't want to cry because of the pain in her side but god, it was burning. As he set her down, she rolled to her good side and curled a hand under her pillow as she nodded just a bit. No, she wasn't going anywhere. She hadn't really been going anywhere the first time, she had just needed out of the room.
Mirroring the nod, he moved towards the bathroom in silence. For a moment, she could hear him fiddling around in the cabinets quietly, his anger clearly having faded, and then he was returning, a packet of gauze and medical tape in one hand, peroxide and cotton balls in the other. He set the potential medical overkill down on the nightstand, settling down on the bed next to her, and put a hand to her shoulder, lightly. "You need to sit up. Take off your shirt."
She really didn't want to sit up but she knew he was right. Reaching out, she braced one hand against one of his arms before tugging herself up slowly with another grunt to sit up beside him. She reached her good arm under her other arm, tugging at her shirt to peel it up. It took a few seconds to work the material up further, enough that he could work on the wound but she couldn't pull the shirt all the way off. Leaning forward, she curled a hand in the blanket and waited for him to work on the wound.
He looked up at her, briefly, before dropping his eyes down to the wound, a frown touching his lips. Despite the fact that he'd decided it didn't need stitches, it still didn't look good. He declined the chance to tell her that, however, instead reaching for the box of cotton balls. Pulling one out, he wet it in the peroxide a second later, and then he snapped his eyes towards her, sighing on her behalf.
"It's going to sting."
Her fingers curled a little tighter around a handful of blanket. "Just do it." She clenched her jaw, closing her eyes as she waited.
A soft, affirmative noise, and then he was pressing the cotton to the wound, white lines of foam springing to life along the path he traced on her skin, to clean it out.
The reaction was a sudden intake of breath followed by a noise of muffled pain as she dropped her head further which caused her to stretch more for him. Her whole body trembled as he continued to clean the wound and, after a bit, little beads of sweat started to appear but she did her best not to make any more noises.
He didn't bother to ask if she was alright, figuring if there was truly a problem, she'd ask him to stop. Not that he would -- who the hell knew what was on the floor, and if she would get sick if he didn't treat her side -- but still. He took the fact that she made no further protest as a good sign, finishing his work with only minimal pauses to disgard used cotton balls here and there.
And when he finished, he leaned away a little, inspecting the wound and desperately wishing for his aptitude so that he could make out whether or not he'd gotten everything. Then, with a sigh, he reached for the gauze, pressing it to her back away from the wound to start, wrapping her up in it, slowly.
Her breathing was ragged and low as she shifted one hand to her forehead, propping her head up as he continued to clean and fix her side. She was sure she would be fine. She felt shaky and sick but she wasn't used to pain, not really. Before it had been gone completely, it was always gone in a flash and so she's not used to it lingering. She knew it was adrenaline too as her heart was fluttering in her chest.
When he started to bandage her up, she looked over her shoulder and managed a weak smile. "Thank you." She was pale.
A shake of his head was his only response. This had been his fault, so she shouldn't be thanking him, but hell if he would admit that aloud.
"I meant for cleaning me up," she replied, almost guessing what he was thinking.
"I figured as much," he answered, though beyond that, he didn't respond to her thanks. "Get some rest," he continued, instead, "I'll clean the floor up."
She nodded, moving to lay down and then she stopped as she looked at him. "I wasn't leaving you."
That seemed to take him by surprise, and he hesitated, one foot already out of the bed. "No?"
Claire wished she could say that she had been but the truth was, she couldn't. "No." She shook her head, seeing the surprise there again and she wondered why.
He looked marginally relieved and shifted back into bed so that he could comb his fingers through her hair. "Good."
She leaned into his touch, her eyes flickering closed for a moment as she brought a hand up to brush her fingers down his arm. "I'm sorry." For making things harder. For the whole mess with their abilities for being gone and for hitting him with an alarm clock. There were a lot of things she could apologize for but she narrowed it down to one. "I was coming back. There's no where else for me."
"You could find somewhere else, if you wanted," he pointed out, quietly. Bennet, he was sure, would take her back in a heartbeat, all this silly sleeping around with Sylar mess easily forgotten.
She could, she was sure. Maybe the others wouldn't forgive her but her parents would take her back in if she showed up on their doorstep. All she would have to do was swear she wouldn't talk to Sylar or leave ever again. "I couldn't." She shook her head. "I don't want to."
"Neither do I." Not that he exactly had a place in the world, even if swore off murder for the rest of his days, but still. He wanted to be here, no matter what he might have said during their argument to make Claire think anything to the contrary, and it was as close to an apology as she would get from him. Love her or not, saying I'm sorry wasn't exactly one of his strong points, nor would it ever be.
Hearing him say that he didn't want to go anywhere else, it was a relief to her. She leaned forward then, resting her forehead against his shoulder as she knew it wasn't perfect but this was as good as they would get. She could say she was sorry, he could dance around it and then things would go back to what was normal for them for a little while. She had a place in the world at one time but she preferred to be here with him.
He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, ever-mindful of the wound. In silence, he held her, and then finally, he repeated, "Get some rest." The floor would probably have to wait until morning now, but he didn't seem to particularly mind.
Claire nodded as she felt a little weak but she was sure it was just the adrenaline wearing off. As she laid down onto her good side, she kept one hand curled against his chest as she let out a shaky sigh. "Okay." Now she just had to push the pain out of her mind.
Stretching out next to her, he draped his arm lowly over her hips and curled up around her. "I'll go find painkillers tomorrow," he promised, as if he could read her mind. He'd offer her something now, but aspirin hadn't exactly been high on his list of priorities.
She shifted one leg between his, nodding a bit as she curled against him with a wince since every move caused a stinging sensation down her side. "I'll be okay." She murmured, trying to reassure him even if she didn't have her ability. Her breathing was still a touch ragged as it started to slow but she was merely starting to drift because she needed rest. "Will you be here when I wake up?"
"I will be."
Not that she was worried he wouldn't be but it was nice to know he would be when she woke up. They were hurt and bruised but it was still a comfort to her as she drifted into the darkness.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 4544
Despite their conversation earlier about how things would get fixed -- how he and Claire would find a way to fix it -- he found he still couldn't shake off his mood. It lingered in his shoulders, in the steel of his jaw, and in spite of all the deep breathing he'd tried to fix it. The anger was so deep seated, in fact, that he wasn't even sure killing something would help, and that coming from him? Well, he was sure it heralded the end of days, somehow.
Frustrated, he collapsed on the bed of their small room, staring venomously at the blank television screen as if it was somehow at fault, and then he shifted, reaching for the remote. He flicked the TV on, surfed through a few channels without anything catching his eye -- then again, they could have been showing a special news bulletin announcing that Nathan Petrelli's head was hanging from the Washington Monument and he wouldn't have cared -- and then he turned it off violently. On impulse, he threw the remote at the wall, like an eight-year-old having a temper tantrum, and then he rolled over, not even bothering to watch as it landed, instead contenting himself to staring at the ceiling and seething.
He needed to do something, he knew -- something to help them out of this mess -- but hell if he could see past his annoyance to bother with actual planning. And hell if he could put aside his pride and call Peter, as was the only idea he could manage in this state.
She wasn't fond of empty promises and yet she was worried she was making them every time she vowed they would fix things. That they would somehow get their abilities back. For a long time she had wanted to be normal but she wasn't so sure about it anymore. Sylar hated normal; he based a lot of who and what he was on the fact that he was special and different. It was what had driven him for so long.
And if she was normal, would he want her still?
It was a fear that left her feeling cold and blank even now as she walked into the small room right as he threw the remote against the wall. A flash of annoyance rushed through her and she did her best to suppress it but she didn't stop in time to stop him from getting a look as she shut the door. "You're going to complain later when you need to change channels without the remote." She replied dryly.
"If I had my telekinesis, it wouldn't be a problem," he snapped back, eyes dropping from the ceiling to fix on her, angrily.
"Right. Then it was probably pretty silly to break the remote, wasn't it?" She tried not to snap though her tone was definitely a bit colder as she moved to drop her purse on the table.
He shot a glance at what remained of the remote; it wasn't as bad as it could have been, if he did have the better part of his abilities, but he still wouldn't be using it any time soon. "I don't care," he said finally, returning his attentions to her.
"So I gathered." She pushed her fingers through her hair, hating how they were at each other's throats. Sometimes it made her wonder ...
No, she wasn't going to go there. Instead she turned to face him, her hands resting on her hips. "Do you feel better now?" She arched a brow at him.
"What do you think?"
"Hmm, let me think." She tilted her head, knowing she was being a bit of a brat at the moment. "No?" She rolled her eyes at him and then turned back towards the table.
"Smart girl," he replied, flashing her a smile that didn't meet his eyes. He lay there for a moment following, silent, and then finally he sighed, pulling himself into a sit, his fingers curling at the edge of the mattress as he watched her.
Claire stood there for awhile, silently staring at her purse before she realized his eyes were on her again. Turning her head, she looked at him over her shoulder. "What?"
"Does it matter?" He didn't particularly have a reason for staring at her, honestly, but he had decided that he didn't like her tone of voice. Then again, there were a lot of things he didn't like at the moment.
"Maybe I just want to know what you're thinking." He wasn't the only one.
Another moment of silence, and then he was wetting his lips with his tongue. "I killed someone, a few nights after we ended up like this, you know. Someone like us. Like we used to be."
It wasn't exactly what he was thinking, but it felt good to affirm what she'd told him earlier -- that he wasn't entirely useless, despite the fact that he'd been reduced to a handful of rather useless powers. Never mind the fact that he hadn't gotten anything, the night of that senseless murder. It was the thought that counted, if he was meant to believe anything she'd said before. It was the fact that he was still Sylar. Still capable of murder.
She turned around to face him, not really reacting for a moment. He had killed someone. It didn't surprise her and she wished she could say that it did but it didn't. He was the type to lash out when he was frustrated or pissed off. Lately, with his mood, she wasn't surprised. "I'm surprised you didn't kill more." Her tone was cold and dry as she crossed her arms now, hiding the small fists that she made.
"You know that calls attention to us, right?" She asked, arching a brow at him. "How do we fight the agents if they find us, Sylar?"
He rolled his eyes. "If I'd cut his head open, then I'd be drawing attention to us. I'm pretty sure brain smashed in with a tire iron doesn't lead right back to us, though."
"I'm sure they're just looking for murders, Sylar." She pointed out.
The killer scowled, his expression suggesting that if he still had his telekinesis, she'd be having a rather intimate encounter with one of the walls right about now. Since he didn't have that luxury, however, his fingers only tightened on the edge of the mattress, a disgusted look staining his features. "They're not that smart. And I hope you don't think I'm that stupid. I've been avoiding them for years, Claire. Just because I'm not the man I was doesn't mean I've forgotten how to keep a low profile."
Claire recognized the look as she had seen it as a warning for a very long time. Lifting her chin that signalled to him that she wasn't going to back down, she narrowed her eyes as though daring him to try something to her. Then at his statement, she snorted. "What? Are you serious?" She tilted her head as she looked at him incredulously. "You do not have a low profile, Sylar."
For a man who had nothing to rely on but his own reflexes, he was on his feet with surprising speed. He moved over to her, lips twisted into a sneer, and grabbed at her wrists -- maybe he wasn't as strong as he could be anymore, but he was still the stronger of the two of them. "I've never gotten us caught before. That was always you. Daddy looking for you. You making me like this because I had to save your ass."
Claire would have stepped back if there was room to, her reaction mainly out of reflex but there was nowhere to go as he caught her wrists in a tight grip that would definitely leave a mark. A mark that wouldn't fade away now but she didn't care in that moment as she almost relished the pain. It also pissed her off as she growled at him, yanking at her wrists to get them free. "You were the one who decided to drag me on your little road trip," she reminded him.
He pulled back, not willing to let her go so easily, and gritted his teeth, trying to fight down the urge to melt the skin off her bones with one of the few abilities he had, somehow, retained. "You should be thanking me," he snarled, dragging her wrists up over her head, sharply. "If it wasn't for me, Danko would have your Goddamn head on a plate. Whether or not I decided you needed to come with me."
"They would have left me alone till the day I decided to back you up." The day that she helped to watch over him by killing some agents while he had been fighting. That was definitely the day she put a mark on her back and then helping to kill Danko? That cinched it. "Anyways, I wasn't saying I didn't thank you." She winced a bit as he hauled her up a bit and she had to move to her tiptoes because of it. "So what? You're sorry you saved me?" She clenched her jaw. "Do you blame me for this?"
Honestly? He didn't know. And so he said nothing, instead huffing out a displeased sound that bordered on a growl before he shoved her away, viciously. He turned on his heels, not bothering to watch as she fell -- if she did in the first place -- and marched back to the bed, scowling. He threw himself down on it, like a small child that had just been sent to his room, and stared at the ceiling, seething still.
She noticed how he didn't answer her but it didn't matter as he suddenly shoved her away. Twisting around, she caught herself against the wall with a little grunt as she nearly fell to her knees but she managed not to. Anger sparkled in her green eyes as she looked over at where he was on the bed. There was a growl as she launched herself forward, fully intending to hit him for pushing her around.
He heard her coming -- another thing that had managed to sift through the stripping of his abilities -- but he couldn't quite react fast enough. Before he knew it, she was on top of him, and on reflex, he was shoving her away as hard as he could manage, strength backed by rage where he lacked his stolen gifts. "Get the hell off of me."
She hated that he was stronger than her but she was hoping that she had at least gotten a few good strikes in before he sent her flying again. She hit the floor with a grunt before pushing back to her feet, her body starting to really ache but she didn't care as she whirled to face him. "Feel better yet?" She grabbed something off the dresser and sent it flying at him.
He ducked, though not fast enough, the alarm clock -- as that was what he realized, belatedly, it was -- catching him squarely in the temple. Grimacing, he attempted to ignore the pain that exploded behind his eyes, a nasty bruise already beginning on pale flesh, and then he was turning to grab the lamp off of his nightstand. Without words, still clearly in a fit, he pitched it at her, all but snarling.
When the alarm clock hit him, her eyes widened because she really hadn't meant to hit him even if she had pitched the alarm clock at her head. She was about to step forward, asking him if he was okay but then the lamp was flying at her. She wasn't nearly as fast as him and so she wasn't as great at dodging. Her breath caught as she brought an arm up to try and block it. Pain exploded throughout her arm as she yelped, feeling lamp break as it crashed to the floor, the light bulb exploding in a spray of tiny shards.
His eyes shot down to the mess at her feet sharply, like a cat who had been distracted by something shiny. Then, very slowly, he raised his eyes to her, not moving his head, watching her from under the rise of his eyebrows. As had been habit of his throughout much of the fight, however, he remained silent and motionless, trying to gauge if she was really hurt, or if the cry had been just one of shock, since she'd regained her ability to feel pain.
Her arm ached but what hurt the most was her pride and possibly her feelings. She clenched her jaw as she looked down at the mess of porcelain and broken glass that lay around her. Then she looked back at him, her breathing low and ragged. "You do blame me." The funny thing? She probably blamed herself more. She tried picking her way over the glass, rising on her tip toes as she moved to the table where her purse was. "Fine, then I'll just make it easier for you. You said it, you can avoid them much easier without me."
"I never said I blamed you," he breathed through clenched teeth. The fact that he still seemed tense had nothing to do with anger, however -- now he was just frustrated -- and he hoped that much showed in the fact that he moved to join her, heedless of the glass under his feet.
She remained silent as she grabbed her purse, not meeting his eyes and or even acknowledging that he was at her side. As she stepped back and turned, she winced with a little hiss before giving a hobbling step as she looked down. There was blood on the floor and she knew some glass had just cut her foot but she ignored it as she started to limp towards the door.
"Claire." Her name was a warning, though not one spoken with the promise of more pain. He put a hand to her shoulder, lightly, trying to stop her. "Wait."
It was so stupid because all she tried to do was to wrench away from him so he couldn't stop her. She wasn't not sure how she fell, and she tried to catch herself once more, but it was a futile attempt. As her feet came out from under her, she didn't see the large piece of the broken lamp but she sure as hell felt it when she hit it. It was a sharp sort of pain, one that was used to before but it still hurt as she let out a yelp while arching. Immediately, she rolled to the side as though to roll away from him but the damage was done. The large piece of the lamp was stuck in her side now, blood already staining the white porcelain as she laid there, trying to breathe.
He winced on her behalf, righting himself where he'd started to dive after her to catch her -- too slow -- before lowering himself to the ground beside her. Probably not the best idea he'd ever had, given that he could be hurt now, too, but he didn't bother to stop to think. There were more important things on his mind -- like trying to get the piece of glass out of her side.
Flashing her a frown in warning, he reached for the shard of glass, fingers curling around it without care that he might end up cutting himself, too. "Hold still."
Claire felt that he tried to catch her and if he had his ability, he might have but there was no such luck for either one of them. As she remained on her stomach, she tried to breathe very slowly but God, it was hard. She wondered if she was winded, it was a sensation she wasn't familiar with. As Sylar moved to her side, she heard his command and she was sure she nodded but it was hard to say. As she braced herself for what he was going to do, she curled her hands into fists as she could feel little pieces of glass underneath her but they didn't matter.
"Just get it out." She gasped, ashamed that there were actually tears in her eyes.
He hummed, the sound near apologetic, and then he was tugging at the glass as hard as he could, pulling it free even without his strength. He held onto it for a moment, dragging it up to eye level so that he could eye it distastefully, and then he was shifting to one side, to drop it in the trash can. No sense putting it back on the floor where it could potentially do more harm. A deep breath followed, and then he was pulling her into his arms, slowly, intent on getting a look at how bad the damage was.
She managed not to cry out but instead she swallowed down the noise with another grunt. Her whole body was tense but it was a little easier to breath. Slightly. When he gathered her into his arms, she whimpered a little before twisting to try and look but the motion hurt too much. Choosing to lay still, she let him look at the wound. It was just a few inches long and not very wide but it was hard to say how deep it went. Deep enough that she was bleeding though.
"You won't need stitches," he decided after a moment, and thank God for that -- he couldn't begin to pretend to know the first thing about sewing, and even if he did, he doubted there was a kit in the room. Bandages, on the other hand, he'd started keeping in case of emergencies since they'd lost their abilities, and he knew exactly where he'd left them, even though his memory had abandoned him.
Pulling her closer to him, carefully, he lifted her into his arms as he stood up. A bit more careful about the glass this time, he danced around it as he carried her back to the bed. Then, just as gingerly as he'd gathered her into his arms, he was setting her down on it, flashing her a frown before turning towards the bathroom. "Stay here," he ordered, as if she needed to be told.
She nodded her head as he told her that she wouldn't need stitches, relieved by that information. She didn't like the idea of getting stitches though she had them once before. Turning her head, she pressed her face to his shoulder as she really didn't want to cry because of the pain in her side but god, it was burning. As he set her down, she rolled to her good side and curled a hand under her pillow as she nodded just a bit. No, she wasn't going anywhere. She hadn't really been going anywhere the first time, she had just needed out of the room.
Mirroring the nod, he moved towards the bathroom in silence. For a moment, she could hear him fiddling around in the cabinets quietly, his anger clearly having faded, and then he was returning, a packet of gauze and medical tape in one hand, peroxide and cotton balls in the other. He set the potential medical overkill down on the nightstand, settling down on the bed next to her, and put a hand to her shoulder, lightly. "You need to sit up. Take off your shirt."
She really didn't want to sit up but she knew he was right. Reaching out, she braced one hand against one of his arms before tugging herself up slowly with another grunt to sit up beside him. She reached her good arm under her other arm, tugging at her shirt to peel it up. It took a few seconds to work the material up further, enough that he could work on the wound but she couldn't pull the shirt all the way off. Leaning forward, she curled a hand in the blanket and waited for him to work on the wound.
He looked up at her, briefly, before dropping his eyes down to the wound, a frown touching his lips. Despite the fact that he'd decided it didn't need stitches, it still didn't look good. He declined the chance to tell her that, however, instead reaching for the box of cotton balls. Pulling one out, he wet it in the peroxide a second later, and then he snapped his eyes towards her, sighing on her behalf.
"It's going to sting."
Her fingers curled a little tighter around a handful of blanket. "Just do it." She clenched her jaw, closing her eyes as she waited.
A soft, affirmative noise, and then he was pressing the cotton to the wound, white lines of foam springing to life along the path he traced on her skin, to clean it out.
The reaction was a sudden intake of breath followed by a noise of muffled pain as she dropped her head further which caused her to stretch more for him. Her whole body trembled as he continued to clean the wound and, after a bit, little beads of sweat started to appear but she did her best not to make any more noises.
He didn't bother to ask if she was alright, figuring if there was truly a problem, she'd ask him to stop. Not that he would -- who the hell knew what was on the floor, and if she would get sick if he didn't treat her side -- but still. He took the fact that she made no further protest as a good sign, finishing his work with only minimal pauses to disgard used cotton balls here and there.
And when he finished, he leaned away a little, inspecting the wound and desperately wishing for his aptitude so that he could make out whether or not he'd gotten everything. Then, with a sigh, he reached for the gauze, pressing it to her back away from the wound to start, wrapping her up in it, slowly.
Her breathing was ragged and low as she shifted one hand to her forehead, propping her head up as he continued to clean and fix her side. She was sure she would be fine. She felt shaky and sick but she wasn't used to pain, not really. Before it had been gone completely, it was always gone in a flash and so she's not used to it lingering. She knew it was adrenaline too as her heart was fluttering in her chest.
When he started to bandage her up, she looked over her shoulder and managed a weak smile. "Thank you." She was pale.
A shake of his head was his only response. This had been his fault, so she shouldn't be thanking him, but hell if he would admit that aloud.
"I meant for cleaning me up," she replied, almost guessing what he was thinking.
"I figured as much," he answered, though beyond that, he didn't respond to her thanks. "Get some rest," he continued, instead, "I'll clean the floor up."
She nodded, moving to lay down and then she stopped as she looked at him. "I wasn't leaving you."
That seemed to take him by surprise, and he hesitated, one foot already out of the bed. "No?"
Claire wished she could say that she had been but the truth was, she couldn't. "No." She shook her head, seeing the surprise there again and she wondered why.
He looked marginally relieved and shifted back into bed so that he could comb his fingers through her hair. "Good."
She leaned into his touch, her eyes flickering closed for a moment as she brought a hand up to brush her fingers down his arm. "I'm sorry." For making things harder. For the whole mess with their abilities for being gone and for hitting him with an alarm clock. There were a lot of things she could apologize for but she narrowed it down to one. "I was coming back. There's no where else for me."
"You could find somewhere else, if you wanted," he pointed out, quietly. Bennet, he was sure, would take her back in a heartbeat, all this silly sleeping around with Sylar mess easily forgotten.
She could, she was sure. Maybe the others wouldn't forgive her but her parents would take her back in if she showed up on their doorstep. All she would have to do was swear she wouldn't talk to Sylar or leave ever again. "I couldn't." She shook her head. "I don't want to."
"Neither do I." Not that he exactly had a place in the world, even if swore off murder for the rest of his days, but still. He wanted to be here, no matter what he might have said during their argument to make Claire think anything to the contrary, and it was as close to an apology as she would get from him. Love her or not, saying I'm sorry wasn't exactly one of his strong points, nor would it ever be.
Hearing him say that he didn't want to go anywhere else, it was a relief to her. She leaned forward then, resting her forehead against his shoulder as she knew it wasn't perfect but this was as good as they would get. She could say she was sorry, he could dance around it and then things would go back to what was normal for them for a little while. She had a place in the world at one time but she preferred to be here with him.
He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, ever-mindful of the wound. In silence, he held her, and then finally, he repeated, "Get some rest." The floor would probably have to wait until morning now, but he didn't seem to particularly mind.
Claire nodded as she felt a little weak but she was sure it was just the adrenaline wearing off. As she laid down onto her good side, she kept one hand curled against his chest as she let out a shaky sigh. "Okay." Now she just had to push the pain out of her mind.
Stretching out next to her, he draped his arm lowly over her hips and curled up around her. "I'll go find painkillers tomorrow," he promised, as if he could read her mind. He'd offer her something now, but aspirin hadn't exactly been high on his list of priorities.
She shifted one leg between his, nodding a bit as she curled against him with a wince since every move caused a stinging sensation down her side. "I'll be okay." She murmured, trying to reassure him even if she didn't have her ability. Her breathing was still a touch ragged as it started to slow but she was merely starting to drift because she needed rest. "Will you be here when I wake up?"
"I will be."
Not that she was worried he wouldn't be but it was nice to know he would be when she woke up. They were hurt and bruised but it was still a comfort to her as she drifted into the darkness.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 4544
