Sylar

Claire wasn't surprised that neither her dad nor Nathan came back to talk to her after they realized that she wasn't going to give them what they wanted. She wasn't going to give them Sylar. She wondered if they considered the reason; did they think she was just refusing because she wanted to protect the killer or if it was really because she had no idea? She wasn't really lying when she said she had no idea where he was at the time because she didn't know.

She couldn't tell what time of day it was but she was figuring night some time, her body telling her so as she curled on her side on the hard bed. The tiny pillow gave her no comfort as she tucked it under her head, staring at the bare walls as she listened to the sound of her breathing. She was waiting.

Waiting for Danko to come put the bullet in her head or for Sylar to find her; not sure which one was going to come first.

Unfortunately for Claire, however, this time when the door opened it wasn't a friendly face that greeted her. It was Nathan's Hunter who stepped into the room, silently, and closed the door behind him. He was armed, as expected, but the gun was still in its holster by his side, rather than in his hands. Clearly, he planned on interrogating his prisoner first, just as Nathan and Bennet had, but with hopefully happier results.

Like Bennet, he moved over to the wall to undo the camera feed, and like Nathan, he leaned against the wall, calmly, once he was finished. "Miss Bennet."

Claire's body stiffened when she heard the door open and the sight of the Hunter had her heart dropping into her stomach, giving a slow trip as she watched with the hope that he wasn't alone. But of course he was which wasn't a good sign for her as she pushed herself up slowly, sitting on the bed as her eyes flickered to the gun in his holster and then back to his face.

As he undid the camera feed, she wet her lips because that wasn't a good sign. He could hurt her and there would be no proof. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice soft but cold. "Come to do the job finally?" She lifted her chin in a slightly haughty manner.

"I was thinking about it." He flashed her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But there's something I want to show you first. Something I think you might find interesting, if nothing else."

She narrowed her eyes a little bit, a bit of worry trickling through her before she arched a brow, "What makes you think that you have anything that I'd be interested in?"

"You'd be surprised," he shot back, before pushing away from the wall. "But if you'd rather I shot you and got it over with ... " Popping his shoulders in a shrug, he reached for the gun at his waist, pulling it out and removing the safety, before leveling it at her. "... I've been waiting for this for a long time."

Her eyes flickered to the gun and then back to his face as she licked her lips once more, the only nervous action to give her away before she pushed off the bed a bit. Might as well be standing up as she faced him. "It's not like I can stop you, right? You probably like that too." She pondered leaping at him, doubting that she could really surprise him but perhaps ...

( "What do you want to show me?" )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 7044 (ridiculous word count is a go!)

Claire was silent as she swirled one of her fries through a small mound of ketchup beside the half eaten burger that was sitting on her plate. She was frowning to herself just a bit and she had been since Sylar had told her that they were gong to go kill her father without telling her which one she meant. Not that it had sent her away from him, she was still traveling with him and everything was continuing like they had. In a very, confusing manner.

The addiction was just getting worse.

She glanced up, taking a bite as she glanced at him and then past him to look at the television behind the counter. They were in a small diner in the middle of nowhere, the night dark around them and the place mostly empty except for a couple guys at the end of the counter, a couple in a booth nearby and one lone biker looking dude who was also watching the television.

Something caught Claire's attention, her eyes narrowing as she watched Nathan Petrelli's face fill the screen.

Sylar looked up from his own half-finished burger, sharply, frowning. He'd been having a bad day as it was, every tiny thing grating on sanity that was fragile on the best of days, and this? This was nearly the straw that broke the camel's back.

Fingers curling tightly around the mug of coffee he'd been nursing, he ground his teeth together, trying to resist the urge to either shut the television off, telekinetically, or launch something through it. He managed, albeit narrowly, knuckles near as white as the ceramic of his cup, and looked away. Tuning out Nathan's speech was another matter entirely, however--he couldn't--and so he continued to look sour, even as he traded his coffee out for his burger, taking a vicious bite out of it.

They had both been on edge, perhaps they were feeding off of each other more than anything but the day had been tense and silent. It didn't help that he kept growling every time she tried to say something and so she had given up, choosing to ignore him on the times that he tried to reach out to her.

She heard him grinding his teeth together, choosing to ignore him as she focused on the screen since she was almost unable to look away. She wanted to ask them to turn it off too but they didn't, instead the waitress turned to watch as the biker seemed to focus on the screen too. Of course Nathan was talking about the threat that he was fighting and how he was taking steps to stop it.

Claire shook her head, her muscles tightening as she started to look away but then suddenly the biker was speaking up. "Good, they should lock those freaks up and never let them out. Put them all out of our misery." He muttered, glancing around as though for support but no one said anything.

Sylar shot the biker a black look, his fingers all but twitching as he set his lunch down. "I should kill him for that," he growled, taking care to keep his voice low. "Put him out of our misery." Not that he hadn't heard anti-evolved human statements before and done nothing about them, but considering his mood, that just seemed to twist the knife.

Claire was seething as she looked at Sylar, her eyes dark as she pondered protesting but she found that she just didn't have it in her. Freaks? Yes, at one time she had called herself a freak show but that was different; she didn't want to hear it coming from someone else. Not like that. "I'm tempted to help." She hissed softly, one hand tightly curled into a fist as she glanced at the guy again.

( He seemed to feel them looking at him as he twisted around to look at them, "What? Got a problem?" )

He can't see. Blind. There's glass in his eyes still, from where the bitch fucking threw it at him, and he knows that if he could get a minute, he could force it out, either through his healing or more violently, through telekinesis. He could have his sight back so easily, if he could just get Claire off his back--literally--but he's not having much luck and he can't say the panic he's fighting is helping much. He's always been afraid of losing one of his senses.

"Get off me," he snarls, reaching up to grope for some kind of handhold. Her hair. His fingers through one of her eyes. He'll take whatever he can get, and what he gets is lucky, coming up with a handful of curls, which he tugs at, viciously.

( She doesn't so much as hiss in pain, and he remembers belatedly that she can't feel it, anyway. )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 482
Note: Claire is girl_ofsecrets and is used with permission.

"Why do you have these?"

Sylar looked up from the newspaper just in time to see Claire wave a stack of coupons at him. He frowned, tilting his head to one side, trying to remember when he'd clipped them or why he hadn't thrown them away an age ago, when if nothing else good could be said about him, it was true that he was nothing if not cleanly. He couldn't quite bring the memory to mind, however, and so he shrugged, figuring it had to have been something he'd done before he'd killed Charlie, and therefore unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

They were just coupons, anyway, and so he refocused himself on the reading the news as if he actually cared about it, before telling her, "Oh, those expired four years ago."

She huffed, dropping the stack of coupons on the table so that she could put her hands to her hips. "I know," she shot back, scowling. "That's why I asked. Aren't you super neat-freak guy or something?"

For the second time that morning, he looked up from the paper, his expression a mirror of hers, as he wasn't sure what annoyed him more. The fact that, clearly, she was looking for another fight, if she was harrying him about things like expired coupons, or the fact that she must have poked around his apartment while he'd been asleep, if she knew what state he kept his things in. Next time, he decided, he'd have to make sure she stayed pinned to the bed, when he made her stay. Next time, she wouldn't have a chance to go through his things.

Now, however, all he offered was a small, sick smile that never reached his eyes. "Your eggs are burning."

"Shit," she hissed, spinning gracelessly to face the stove, bare feet slipping on the linoleum. He went back to his paper, smiling, pleased with himself, as she went about cleaning up her mess. Moments passed in blissful, almost domestic silence, and then she was trying to get his attention again. "Hey, Sylar."

He didn't bother looking up this time, something about Nathan Petrelli having caught his eye. "Hm?"

She paused for a moment, and then in a tone that was too saccharine sweet to be anything less than false, she chirped, "Here's your eggs."

Sylar barely managed to avoid the frying pan as it sailed through the air. It hit the wall behind him with a helpless thunk, rattling on the floor as it settled to try to catch the mess of burnt eggs that slid down the wallpaper, leaving lines of yellow in its wake. Really, he should have looked up when she'd tried getting him to look up at her that last time.

He sighed, surprisingly calm, and folded the paper in half, setting it down on the table. A baleful glance was shot at his coffee, before he picked the mug up, downing the rest of it--he'd almost been finished, anyway--and then he set the cup back down, looking up at her.

"Finished your coffee?" she asked, a smirk of a smile dragging her lips upwards.

"All done," he assured her.

Then, just like that, he had a hand raised, throwing her back onto the still-hot oven, their feud begun anew.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 550
Notes: Claire is girl_ofsecrets and is used with permission.

(Companion piece to this.)

Sylar knows it's a bad idea, letting her go off on her own, even if it is just to retrieve her wallet. He can feel it, just like he's sure he's felt eyes on them all day, but he tries to talk himself out of it. He's just being paranoid, and for all his power, he knows that he has no sixth sense for danger, and Claire's promised that she won't go near any dark hallways, so there will be no repeats of last time. He needs to trust her--he does trust her. Or, more importantly, he trusts himself and his ability to track her without following her, and so he turns back to the packages, listening to the sound of her pulse.

So far, so good, he thinks, listening as the nervousness in her heartbeat calms. He can't hear what's going on, if she's found her wallet, for how loud the mall is, but he's guessing she did. Why else would there be that sudden drop in her heart rate? So he allows himself a moment to relax, shoulders dropping as he banishes the apprehensive tension that's been sitting in them all day, eyes dancing over the morning's purchases suddenly bored.

Idly, he reaches for the bag he knows Mohinder's gift to be in, Claire's heartbeat still soundtrack, her pulse as flighty as--

He stops short, pulling his hand away as if he's been burned, and turns on his heels. That's not right. His niece's pulse shouldn't sound like that.

Sylar scans the crowd, and immediately, he wishes he'd listened to whatever had been nagging at him all day, insisting they were being followed. He's getting soft. A year ago--two years ago--he would have known exactly who had been watching them, what they wanted, and been able to kill them before they'd seen him coming. But now?

Now he all but snarls, pushing through the crowd, furious. He's pretty sure he mows down an old lady in the process, but he really doesn't care. Nor does he care that he's forgetting the bags in his rage. They're not important. What is important is the fact that someone's screwing with something that he's claimed as his and the fucking teleporter is there and--

"Sylar!"

--and then they're gone.

Narrowly, he resists the urge to throw the nearest pedestrian into a wall, to find someone to destroy in place of the teleporter. It's a struggle, fire in his blood blinding, everything ticking away in his head, far too loud and even though his niece and her attacker are gone. It's a struggle, but he manages, fingers dipping into his pocket to curl around his cheap excuse for a cell phone.

To Adam, he texts two things. The first: Get your sword. Get Sark to get his gun. Call Suresh. Meet me in Times Square in 20 min. They have Claire. And the second, as an afterthought: Give me Nakamura's cell number.

And then, without bothering to gather his and Claire's things--he doesn't have time--he stalks out of the mall, all presence and terror to keep people from getting in his way. He should have listened to that damn sixth sense of his.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 530