#lie to me fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maydei · 13 years ago

Text

Fanfiction- Lie To Me: Chapter Six

Fandom: Heroes

Pairing: Sylaire (Sylar x Claire)

Rating: Strong M

Warnings: general warnings, language, violence, very brief mention of suicide

Words: ~7,000

Episode Equivalent: 4x02, “Ink” - 4x06, “Once Upon A Time In Texas”

Post 3x13 “Dual”, following through canon. “Say it again,” he mumbled. “Lie to me.” And Claire stuttered out in a broken voice, “I want you to stop.” A catalyst to a complex series of disasters and miracles that changes everything.

4x2 “Ink” – 4x6 “Once Upon A Time In Texas”

“How is he, Rene?” Claire murmured into her phone. Her voice was anxious, and she feared she might not be able to take any more surprises- she’d already kept herself awake into the small hours of the morning, worrying about Gretchen having seen her ability. She wasn’t sure what to do on that situation yet, but she figured out pretty fast that, unless she got some reassurance, she wouldn’t be sleeping at all that night.

“He is sleeping. He went down a few hours ago.”

“Has he been fussy? Is he adjusting?” Claire chewed on the inside of her lip, pulling her covers closer to her chest, the silence in the room unnerving her slightly.

“He cried for you for a while, and even when he stopped, it was easy to see that he missed you. But he calmed down after a bit, enough for Annalise to feed him.” The Haitian sighed. “She’s faring quite well, but she’s tired. By the time you return, she may even be a bit relieved to have a full night’s sleep once more.”

Claire laughed quietly, eyes stinging with the urge to cry. “Well, what can I say? He has the epic tantrum gene on both sides.”

“So it would seem.” The man had the grace to at least sound amused. “And you? How is college?”

“My roommate committed suicide,” the girl sighed. “And I may have been discovered, already. The girl recognized my name from the Union Wells massacre story. We got to be friends, but now...”

“I am sorry about your roommate. As for the girl- would you like me to erase her memory?”

“No, no,” she rushed. “I haven’t decided what to do about it, yet. Maybe I can convince her it was nothing.”

A long, tired breath crackled over the line. “If you say so, then I will allow you the chance. But, should your father find out about her...”

“He won’t.” Claire leaned back against he pillows, closing her eyes. “Rene?”

“Yes, Claire?”

“I miss him.”

The line was silent for a moment, and she knew that the Haitian knew exactly which him she was talking about. The man murmured, “You are better off without him, Claire. Forgive me for saying it, but you will be safer and happier, in the long run, this way.”

Claire paused for a few long moments before she allowed his statement with a tired, “Perhaps.”

“Goodnight, Claire. Sleep.”

“I’ll try.”

But she couldn’t.

She wasn’t sure how this had happened.

One moment, she was standing at her door, ready to yell at Gretchen, but found her father standing there instead. The next, they were out to lunch together, and the results were catastrophic. And the next, Gretchen was following her persistently, and Claire was giving in.

And then she had a roommate.

Claire wasn’t sure why she had done it. Maybe it was because Gretchen knew about her ability, and she wanted to keep her close. Maybe it was because Gretchen was possibly the first real friend she’d had. Or it could be that the brunette girl reminded her of Sylar.

The more time she spent with Gretchen, the more she noticed it. And then she found it intriguing. Then intoxicating. And then it was irresistible.

And alarming, especially when the girl’s obsessive tendencies came into play.

“Wow, that stuff that happened to you really messed you up!” The girl snarled defensively, when Claire confronted her about it. “You’re a crazy kind of paranoid!”

Paranoid? Claire’s lip had curled at the accusation- but she was right. “Paranoid? No, no, no. Paranoid is... This is a pattern! The Annie thing, the accident tonight, the computer! The speed dating- I mean, talk about me, much?” Almost as much as Sylar had talked about her. And it was freaking her out more and more by the day.

“I get nervous talking about myself,” Gretchen said, voice wobbling. “You’re just more interesting.”

You’re special, Claire. Your brain is not like the others, you are not like the others.

Claire snapped. “All I wanted was a normal life!” In the beginning, when it was just me. And then I just wanted him and Noah. And then to be able to raise my son. And now I’m here at college, and my baby is in the arms of another woman. This is hardly normal. “And I trusted you!” Like I trusted him- look where it got me, both times.

Gretchen’s brown eyes had filled with tears, the girl looking at Claire with so much sadness and longing that it had made the blonde freeze. “I didn’t kill Annie,” she murmured. “And I’m not stalking you. Okay, maybe I’m a little bit stalking you, but it’s not what you think. It’s just...”

Claire’s eyebrows had raised in surprise, body frozen as the girl came closer, her height aiding her in looming over Claire, eyes intense, and she had tensed. God, she was just so similar, just so... him.

And when the girl kissed Claire, she wasn’t sure that the situation was okay anymore. Did she like Gretchen for Gretchen, or did she like Gretchen for Sylar? Was she really interested in the girl as a person, or was she just looking for any form of comfort she could find in this cold, lonely world?

And at what point did her sexuality come into play? Sure, Claire had learned to look beyond appearances, especially in her world, but did that courtesy extend to sexual preference as well? If she was honest with herself, Claire couldn’t imagine reaching out to touch a small, soft body so identical to her own, in place of the strong, lean, sculpted body of a man.

But would any man be able to compare, after Claire had been spoiled so well? She couldn’t see how she would be able to think of anyone else, aside from the exquisite specimen of human perfection that she’d claimed for her own.

Maybe a woman was what she needed, Claire thought as she lay in bed that night. But how could she be sure? When Gretchen was just so similar, would Claire ever really know?

Either way, she wasn’t ready to make any decisions- not with a son depending on her return. No, Claire had a life to protect, now, other from her own. A life that could be hurt. And, at no cost, would she allow that to happen.

She had to consider herself last in this arrangement.

Even if it meant that she would be lonely for a long time.

A body pulled itself from the dirt, gasping and coughing as he staggered along the dark roadway. Lights flashed in his eyes as a man pulled over in his car, shouting at him and forcing him in the back seat.

He was terrified.

Sitting in the room made his mind go into overdrive. There were no windows, except for one that looked like a mirror but he knew held people on the other side. He was seated in an uncomfortable chair, his wrists pinched tight by handcuffs.

He was confused.

He had no idea who he was, where he was or what had happened to him. All he could remember was a loud noise, then wandering, lost... thinking he might never be found. And a terrible, crushing emptiness inside of him, telling him that he was missing something, something important. Something more than memories.

And then a woman was entering, her face sympathetic and kind, patient. She was followed by a man, malicious and angry, that he could tell wished him harm.

The woman drew his attention when she folded her hands atop the table, catching his gaze. She was dark-skinned and beautiful, with a kind, exotic face and soft eyes. “Hi, my name is Dr. Gibson,” she said. “I’m here to help you. Can you tell me your name?”

He couldn’t.

The man commented on his silence, and he felt his breathing speed at the frustrated tone. The woman asked something quietly, and after that, it drifted out of focus. He was cold, scared, and everything felt so strange. Like he had never felt it before, even though he knew exactly what it was.

The woman asked what had happened to him, and he tried his best to tell her, really, really did- but the memory of those loud, violent noises made his body jerk in response, in pain he couldn’t feel but knew should exist.

He wanted to leave. He wanted freedom. He wanted for something, anything to feel right. But nothing did.

But then the woman, the doctor, offered him a chance to get out of those bloodstained clothes, to wash the dirt and grime from his body, and he started feeling something- gratitude, his mind supplied, but he’d never felt it before.

How had he never felt it before?

But when he was changed, he felt much better. The woman set a cup of something in front of him, steam rising. He peered inside curiously before he took a tiny, cautious sip. The taste spread through his mouth, lingering, and he blinked in surprise at the warmth of the liquid. “This is amazing. What is this?”

“It’s tea.” The woman was patient and pitying. He hated that, somehow, deep underneath. No one should look down on him. He was important... wasn’t he? “You’ve never had tea before?”

He didn’t know. Didn’t think so. He didn’t know anything. “I’ve never had anything,” he answered, pausing between words, rolling them in his mouth in an attempt to understand how they fit together, how they worked. Even his voice, which was strange and unfamiliar. “It all feels so... it all feels so new. Like I’m feeling everything for the first time.” He smiled a little, but he knew that it wasn’t the right expression for the turmoil he was feeling inside. “Hot. And this... it’s cold. It’s like I... I know these things, these words, these feelings, but they-they’re... I can’t put them together. They’re not- they’re not in my head. They’re there and then they’re not. They’re gone and it’s...”

He was overwhelmed.

“Scary,” the woman supplied softly with a nod.

Yeah, that was the word. “It’s very scary,” he agreed. “But also... somehow... beautiful. All of it is overwhelmingly beautiful.”

Blonde curls, green eyes, tan skin, white smile. Petite in frame, words full of hate and eyes full of love. His, all his. Belly barely rounded, her body cradled in his arms. Her golden face glowing with a smile.

It was there, and then it wasn’t. He struggled to hold on to the memory as it faded, but it left only an echo- a memory of a memory. He didn’t know who she was, but he knew that short, brief moment had been the closest he had felt to right.

Her face had already faded from his mind, but the smile the picture had brought hadn’t.

“Jamais vu,” the doctor said with a nod. “It’s the opposite of deja vu. It’s quite common in cases of seizures and dissociative amnesia. That’s good news.”

Good? He frowned, looking at her incredulously. “How is that good news?”

“I think something traumatic happened to you and you’ve blocked it out,” the woman said in excitement. “It means that the you in you is still in there somewhere. I’d like to try a memory exercise.”

He shrugged slightly- it couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like he could remember anything, anyway.

Gabriel Gray.

That was his name, or so Captain Lubbock had said. Gabriel Gray. A watchmaker. A criminal. A murderer.

The thought made him want to cry- he’d never hurt anyone. Never would. He knew it. He was a good person, he had to be.

But he was starting to doubt that more and more, as he made Madeline Gibson drive him further and further into the woods he had been taken from. As he panicked, a gun in his hand. As he dropped the pistol, and as five bullets slammed into him anyway, sending him and the doctor tumbling into the ditch.

But when he pulled up his shirt to inspect his wounds and saw the bullets rejected from his body, skin mending itself, he didn’t feel bad.

He felt elated. Terrified, but amazed. Powerful.

And he ran when she told him to, that power fading into nothingness, but when he found himself in a clearing with a strange-looking man gesturing him into a carnival, eyes brimming with intrigue and acceptance, he felt fear once more. Did he really want to take the chance.

“What are you waiting for?” The man called.

He didn’t know.

He looked behind him, seeing the figures of the police and their dogs approaching behind, and forward, to the flashing lights and music in all its glory. He took one step forward, and then another, steadily making his way to the man and glancing back. Once he was inside the gates, though, the men disappeared and all that was left behind him was a dirt road that he was sure wasn’t there before.

“Don’t worry, brother,” the man said, voice tinged with an Irish lilt. “You’re safe here.”

He swallowed, seeing all the movement and light and color, overwhelmed by it all, but dazzled at the same time. “And where exactly is here?”

And the man smiled, taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a sigh as he breathed, “Home.”

The promise in his voice made the man- Gabriel, or whoever he was- look around in wonder, seeing it in a new light. Every flash, every note held potential to be more. More than just a carnival in the woods, than his safe haven. “It’s beautiful.”

The man laughed, loud and rich, slapping him on the back and leading him forward. “I’m very glad you think so, brother. It could be your home, as well, if you wished it. But you must be exhausted- come, come. I’ll show you a place where you can rest.”

Gabriel swallowed and nodded, every motion blurring together into a mess of color and noise as we was led through dirt paths to a congregation of trailers. The man nudged him up the steps of one, small and made of mismatched metals, a sliding door the entrance to his refuge. The man took only a step or two inside, leaving Gabriel to turn in place, trying to take it all in.

“This will be your home as long as you would like to stay with us,” the man said, smiling, face lit with excitement. “If you need anything, just ask. My name is Samuel, by the way- I suppose you could say that I’m like the father of this place. But anything, anything at all- what’s ours is yours. Now, sleep. You can see more in the morning.”

Gabriel nodded, a little confused and bewildered by Samuel’s giddy acceptance, but grateful for it, all the while. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight,” Samuel said, and left.

Gabriel sighed, exhaustion sweeping over him as a wave, threatening to pull him under. But then he caught sight of himself in a mirror and stepped forward, head tilted slightly. He pulled off the blood soaked sweatshirt and undershirt, leaving his chest exposed to the air. His completely uninjured chest.

He ran his hands over tan skin, searching for bullet holes that weren’t there. It didn’t make sense for him to be uninjured. He’d been shot five times- there was no way. It was impossible.

But all that was there were smudges of dried blood.

No holes. Not even a scratch.

Completely fine.

He laughed incredulously, his voice hoarse and disbelieving, and not for the first time did he wonder if he was dreaming. This entire night seemed surreal- everything seemed surreal. Not just being shot and healing and ending up in a carnival. No, everything was new and strange and disconcerting.

But his vision was blurring, and he knew that there was no more time left for him to think about it. He wiped off the blood and stripped off his soiled clothes, pulling on something from one of the dressers, before he took a few steps toward the futon and crawled onto it, curling atop the sheets and closing his eyes.

He fell asleep almost instantly, but tossed and turned the whole night, plagued by nightmares and the crushing need to reach out to a body beside him.

A body that was not there.

He jolted awake.

It was morning, light streaming in through the door, where the man from the night before- Samuel- waited outside. He rubbed his eyes blearily and stood, bracing himself on the doorframe before he slid the glass open, eyes watering slightly from the bright morning sun.

“Morning, Sylar,” Samuel greeted cheerfully. “How’d you sleep?”

He blinked, eyes narrowing in confusion as something like recognition pulsed through his mind. However, like the night before, it was there one moment and gone the next, pushed back and locked down by something else. Something stronger than he was.

“You called me Sylar,” he said dumbly. “Who’s Sylar?”

The man grinned, eyeing him with a look that could be described almost as predatory . “That’s you. That’s your name.”

No, that didn’t make sense. He frowned, eyes looking out at the great machines that had spun so wildly the night before, now still. “I don’t know. The police told me my name was Gabriel.” He sat heavily on one of the wooden stairs, missing the abashed look the old carnie gave him.

“You don’t even know your name?” He mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. He stopped, considering, before he turned to Gabriel- or Sylar. “What happened to you?”

Gabriel-Sylar was silent for a long moment before a bitter laugh escaped him, and he rested his head back against the door a little harder than necessary. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

The man leaned down, bracing himself on the railing, eyes focusing on him. He rattled off something about a great damage being done to him- which he couldn’t deny, he had been shot. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? There had to be more, to leave everything like this, so blank, so new. And when Samuel said that maybe he’d come to heal, he couldn’t help but look at the man.

Heal. Well, he had that covered already.

And then Samuel insisted that he stay with them, and that his memories would return if he did so. Gabriel-Sylar didn’t believe him, not really, but at this point, what did he have to lose?

“What do we call you?” Samuel asked pensively. “Gabriel? Sylar?”

He twitched- tiny, faint sparks in his mind fought for his attention, beaten down before he could inspect them, overwhelmed by something else. Bigger, stronger, more prominent.

“Take a deep breath. What’s the first name that pops into your head?” The Irish man asked, obviously having caught his little jolt.

So he thought about it. Hard. And when he thought of a name, he thought of signatures, a familiar, right-handed scrawl across documents with thick, formal paper. The harsh points of the first letter, rather than the soft sweep of a curve.

“Call me Nathan.”

He pushed himself to his feet, taking a few steps from the stairs before the man caught up to him. “Where did that come from?” He demanded. “That name? It’s not yours, you know.”

“You told me to say what came to my mind first,” he replied accusingly. “What did you want me to say? I told the truth.”

Samuel shook his head harshly, letting out a low growl. “No, no. I thought- I don’t know what I thought.” He put his hands on the man’s shoulders. “I want to abide by your wishes, but I’m fairly sure that if I do, your memories won’t return. And, at this point,t hat’s what we need.” Hazel eyes narrowed slightly against brown. “So I’m going to call you what we knew you by. Sylar. Your name. Your title. And if nothing starts coming back in a few days, then I’ll do as you like. Sound fair?”

Sylar huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “If you say so.”

The day dragged on, Samuel showing him around, showing him the true nature of the carnival. Of the people.

Of himself.

He was... special, the man said. Different. He held powers that most others couldn’t even dream of.

It was... intriguing. Enticing. Liberating.

Powers.

But, more than the powers was one of the people that Samuel introduced him to. She was tall and blonde, her face pretty and slightly sun-weathered, hair sandy-blonde, eyes brown and lips red, hands soft when she shook his. It had brought back a memory, strong and potent, but nothing stronger than the urge to be near this woman.

There was something missing from him, something that he needed terribly. And he had the feeling that she knew what it was. And he needed to know.

Because when her hands touched him, a strange pull started, bringing him toward her. More than anything, more than regaining his memories, he needed to understand why.

It was always the same dream.

In it, there was a girl. She was petite and tan, her hair falling in golden curls to her waist, eyes a dark, shining green. He would reach out, running his fingers back and forth over her leg, covered in a faded denim, her face showing nervousness, but also a bit of intrigue. She was young, beautiful, and would eventually bend to him, and they would fall together in something that wasn’t love, but wasn’t lust, either. Companionship, maybe. He would leave her the next morning with a ring on her finger and a chain on his neck.

He would find her again later, on a beach lit by moonlight. She was crying, and before he could react, she had a gun pointed at him. Then she left it, throwing herself into his arms. She would tell him something later that would shake them both, but within seconds, he was determined to keep. He left her again with a promise.

The last time, she would find him. She was testing him, and eventually able to outwit him. She tricked him into showing himself, but only because he was distracted by her, by her presence. He was careful, restrained, because they were being watched, and she tested his patience with every word, every necessary lie. He lost his cool, and he held her close, hands on her stomach and whispering words, heart beating rapidly in his chest. She kissed him, both happy and terrified, and shared a prophecy with him, one that he was too foolish to take heed of. He thought he was strong enough to overcome it. So he ignored her warnings, despite a confession that struck him to the soul, and took on a fight that he thought he could win.

But he lost.

The last time, he would leave her with a secret, along with one of his own, words he never got to say. And then he would fade, would fall, and become nothing.

That’s when he would wake up.

The dream always was gone by then, despite his desperate attempts to cling to it, to the belonging and the love that he felt when he was inside it. But it was crushed, smothered by the memories that Samuel claimed were not his.

He sought out Lydia for that reason, because she was the closest he could come to that feeling. But whenever she tried to tempt him into something more than a touch or an embrace, he couldn’t help but turn her away. She would return to her trailer and the knife-wielding British man at the end of the night, confused and a little frustrated, and he would return to his, lonely and wondering why a woman who was so blatantly interested in him wasn’t enough.

Why wasn’t she enough?

Why wasn’t the beautiful, kind, interesting woman enough to get through to him? Both he and Samuel wondered the same. She was there, a part of the family he had been brought in to, a part of the family that he was happy with. But Sylar couldn’t let her close.

So he would return to his trailer and have the same dream again, over and over. And over and over it would fade, leaving him missing something that he craved on such a basic level that it was an instinct. He was missing it, and it was destroying him.

But god, what the hell was it?

Sometimes you have to remember who you were to figure out who you want to be.

Why do I suddenly feel like you’re the parent and I’m the kid?

We’ll take turns.

She couldn’t help thinking about it. Had she really changed so much that even her usually-absent father could notice it?

Should she be proud of that, or worried that she was getting too obvious?

Across the room, Gretchen shifted- the third time in as many minutes. She wasn’t sleeping, and neither was Claire. Things had been awkward between them over the past few days. Mainly, they had kept out of each other’s way- but it couldn’t last forever.

Claire could not avoid his memory forever, either. She needed to take ownership of it, in some way. Maybe trying again with Gretchen and all her similarities could be her chance.

But no one could know her secrets. No one.

There was a fine line, here, one that was stretched so thin that she was afraid it would snap when she tried to balance on it. But she had to take a chance, or nothing would ever change. At some point, she had to get rid of that safety net.

And Gretchen was the best friend she’d ever had.

“You awake?” Claire whispered.

“Yeah. You?”

Claire rolled her eyes- of course she was awake. “Yep.”

“Are you afraid I’m gonna kiss-attack you in your sleep?” Gretchen asked softly.

Claire laughed softly, but at the same time, a nervous flutter started in her stomach. “...maybe.” She rolled onto her other side, facing her roommate in the dark. “We should talk about this.”

Gretchen turned to face her as well, a long pause stretching between them, followed by the girl’s heavy sigh. “Yeah, I guess we should.”

They sat up, an awkward silence lingering, waiting for speech from either one of them to break it. Gretchen started, her patience much shorter and anxiety much greater than Claire’s. “It was stupid and impulsive and bad-”

“It wasn’t bad,” Claire said, startled by her own proclamation. “I mean, you’re a good kisser, I just...” Her eyes were wide and confused on Gretchen’s incredulous face. But it was true- she was a good kisser. Claire was just a really, really fucked up person. And she knew it. “I don’t want to mess this up.” I don’t want to let my obsessiveness turn you into him. You’re the only true friend I’ve had.

“Mess what up?” Gretchen murmured.

“My new, totally ordinary life,” Claire replied, a bit sarcastically. Ordinary, right. I had a secret relationship that gave me a secret child, while I’m off skipping around in college and lying to everyone’s face. Ordinary. Yeah, right. “You know, the one I’m still chasing.” She swallowed. “Gretch, you’re the first real friend I’ve had since I left Texas, and... that’s a big deal for me.” A really, really big deal. “And I really like you a lot.”

The brunette smiled a little, obviously sad, even in the cover of the dark. “Just not in that way.”

Claire pursed her lips- how could she even start to respond to that?

But just as she was about to try, the door was flung open. Figures in black burst in, and for a second, Claire thought she was hallucinating again. At least until one of them tried to grab her.

She swung her bookbag at one, leaping up and throwing another to the ground, a fierce snarl curling her lips and exposing her teeth at her attackers, crouching and growling a warning. She was about to put her fist in the person’s face when the lights switched on, and a familiar girl stood in the doorway, wide-eyed.

Becky. “Jeez, Claire!”

Claire realized in horror that these attackers weren’t nearly as dangerous as she thought they were- just girls from the sorority that she and Gretchen had been accepted to. She leaned down, helping the girl she’d thrown down to her feet, sputtering in surprise as she identified her sister.

“You don’t have to go all Buffy on us! We’re just kidnapping you,” Becky added.

“I am so sorry,” Claire breathed, mouth dropping open in horror.

“Do you want to be an Alpha Chi or not?”

Claire stared at her, open-mouthed.

“Is that a trick question?” The question came not from her, but from Gretchen, who looked shell-shocked that this was even happening. Claire couldn’t help but agree.

“Where are you taking us?” She asked breathlessly, still trying to regain her composure from almost beating a harmless co-ed into the ground.

“Well... if I told you, that wouldn’t be a very good kidnapping, would it?” Becky asked, stepping forward with a smirk that was far too sinister for Claire’s liking.

But then a bag was placed over her head, and Claire’s vision went dark.

They weren’t kidding when they called it a Screamin’ Scavenger Hunt, Claire discovered.

Between the location and the blood and the attempts on Gretchen’s life, things were spiraling more and more out of hand. Not to mention getting shoved on a spike- that was something the blonde could have done without. But she couldn’t help but be thankful that she was no longer pregnant. She didn’t even want to think about what that might have done to Noah, had he still been inside of her.

But some things had been too monumental to ignore.

So, you were saying how you didn’t really like me in that way.

No, you were saying that. I was saying that you’ve been a great friend.

So, which way is it?

I don’t know.

What does that mean?

It means, I don’t know.

...Awesome.

Awesome. Yeah, that just about summed it up.

Because that way Gretchen had looked at her, brown eyes intense and burning on her face, lingering on her lips, had made Claire’s stomach clench. And the way her breath fanned across tanned skin, the way their bodies were pressed together and the way Gretchen seemed to hold herself back very carefully, it all sent shivers up Claire’s spine.

And all of it was all Sylar.

Every time she looked at Gretchen, that was all she could see. What could have been, in another world. If Claire had just been a cheerleader and Sylar had just been Gabriel, a man. The meeting, the flirting, the nervous anticipation as they tested the waters, both craving to see how far it might go. The first kiss, crazy with joy and the urge to try it again. And again. And again.

With Gretchen, Claire could have the chance that she never could with Sylar. The chance to have a normal life... to introduce her to her friends, to bring her to family gatherings, to hang out with her in public. Sure, the gender thing might get Claire a few strange looks, but what was that compared to guns and powers and her father’s blind hatred? Nothing. Nothing at all.

But how much of it was really about Gretchen? Claire couldn’t help but wonder. It was true, that Gretchen had been a good friend- the best, really. She had been there when Claire needed her, was supportive and indulged her crazy whims, and they did have chemistry. But would it be enough? Would it be enough, knowing that Gretchen, no matter how special, was temporary? That, above all, she was normal, and could never really fit into the life Claire had built?

That Gretchen might never be able to understand the complex series of disasters and miracles that had brought Noah into her life?

Claire didn’t know, she realized as she crawled into her bed, tired and exhausted from finally getting back from that hell of a sorority set up.

But she needed to find out.

Torturing Matt Parkman was really, really fun.

Sylar, the real Sylar, fought the urge to smile. God, he loved screwing with that man’s mind. It was all the retribution he could get, at the moment, for the man screwing with his.

But, as Matt Parkman attempted to drink himself into a stupor, thinking he could get rid of him, Sylar reflected on one thing. One very important lesson that he had failed to learn until this moment.

No one could replace Claire.

Using Janice to get to Parkman had been his goal- yeah, that was true. Using her body to figure out his own issues was an afterthought. And, technically, he hadn’t really cheated. It was Parkman who was doing the job, after all.

But, after all that, he hadn’t been satisfied, not in the least. He hadn’t felt calmed, quieted, like he had after Claire. He hadn’t felt that twinge in his chest, and there was none of that strange and out-of-place tenderness that had overcome him after being with her. In no way had he felt compelled to stay, and watching the woman come down from her high had not brought him any sense of pride.

He just felt... empty.

And, maybe, now, it was because he could admit to himself that he cared about the former cheerleader much more than he should. It could have been that. It could have been the history they shared that made Claire so appealing. It could have even been the damn hormones from the young woman whose stomach had been rounded with his child.

Just thinking of Claire like that brought him ten times more feeling than being with that woman.

No one would ever live up to Claire.

All the more reason to get his body back.

So he could get her back.

“Oh, man. You’re afraid of dying,” Parkman muttered, words slurring.

Sylar lay his head back, closing his eyes and willing himself to fade into the recesses of Parkman’s mind. Not of dying, not exactly, he thought. Of dying alone... maybe.

Afraid of never making it back... to her.

It all started a few years ago, on the day of the Homecoming in Odessa, Texas.

He’d planned to kill a waitress. She had an incredible memory, photographic without fail, a useful power. Not nearly as important as the one he was after- this was just a stop along the way. But still necessary, in his journey to become powerful.

Because, Sylar thought back then, that when you were powerful, nothing else mattered.

But it did.

Because when he tried to kill the waitress, he found himself faced by a runt of a Japanese man who claimed to be the master of time and space. His voice was thick with an accent, but he spoke English fairly well- enough for Sylar to understand him clearly.

That if he saved the waitress, in place of killing her, that he would be told everything the man knew about the future.

An advantage he craved. That little reservoir of information was tantalizing, a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he wanted it. So he agreed to save the waitress, Charlie, for the man.

He’d never thought about love much before that day.

He had a fleeting thought here and there, especially back when he was still a good man, still under Elle’s influence. But after that, everything had revolved around power and influence. Love was just a butterfly that he’d crushed somewhere along the line, and it was a price he was willing to pay.

But watching the Japanese man take the girl’s face in his hands, speaking softly to her as Sylar worked to extract the aneurism, his overactive mind started to work, to understand. No, love wasn’t necessary, but once you had it, it seemed that it became important. Maybe even more important than what was necessary. Because this man had come back from the future, just to save her, even though that it was clear his life didn’t depend on it in any way. He just wanted her in his life.

And as he watched the woman dissolve into tears, her excruciating pain forgotten in the face of comfort from the man she loved, he started to think. And wonder if anyone would ever understand him like that, and if he could understand them, even without his ability. To know someone for the sake of knowing them. Wanting them, not for any tactical advantage, but rather as a part of his life, and him as part of theirs.

And then the Japanese man, ironically, dropped the bomb on him.

“You die alone. I’m sorry.”

He bristled at that, wondering if he had been cheated, if he didn’t really know anything and had used him- but it didn’t look like the man was lying. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snapped.

“It means that you will collect a lot of powers,” the man replied softly, standing protectively in front of his woman. “You will kill many people. You will become strong, the strongest of them all.”

Okay, now that he liked. He could live with that.

“But in the end, it won’t make any difference.”

And that, not so much.

The Japanese man looked to the girl, who was staring at him in horror and understanding, before he looked back to Sylar. He swallowed and slumped slightly in defeat.

“We all gather to stop you. You alone. No one will mourn your death. No one will shed a tear. No one.” Slanted eyes were pitying, and Sylar realized what his expression must have looked like to garner such a reaction from a pathetic little man such as him.

“I wish I can change fate, but you must go on your path.”

And, just like that, he was standing back in the alleyway he had been in over an hour before. He bent to pick up his hat as he watched the Japanese man drive away on a motor scooter, strong fingers tracing the familiar black brim.

Maybe... maybe he didn’t have to do this.

Maybe he still had a chance for redemption.

But as his ears picked up on the chant of a group of girls, the Hunger set in again, driving his steps, his every thought.

His hands were already stained, and Sylar had never really believed in fate, anyway.

So why stop now?

He had a cheerleader to hunt.

A cheerleader, as fate itself would have it, that would change everything.

#Dei's fics #fanfiction #fic #Lie To Me #lie to me fanfiction #Claire Bennet #Sylar #Gabriel Gray #Noah Gray #Heroes

1 note · View note

maydei · 13 years ago

Text

Fanfiction- Lie To Me: Chapter Five

Fandom: Heroes

Pairing: Sylaire (Sylar x Claire)

Rating: Strong M

Warnings: general warnings, language, violence, very brief mention of suicide

Words: ~8,000

Episode Equivalent: 4x01, “Orientation” - 4x03, "Acceptance"

4x1 “Orientation” - 4x3 “Acceptance”

Claire walked up the dark wooden stairs, box balanced on one hand and duffel held in the other as she finally reached her floor. Turning onto gray-carpeted stairs, her eyes scanned the numbers stenciled white-on-blue on the walls, distracted by another girl walking by for a moment before she found her room,

602 beside a blue door.

She nudged the door open with her foot and was almost immediately assaulted by the image of an immaculate pink-and-brown bedspread, plaques hung on the wall above neatly organized bulletin boards and brightly colored accessories on the side table. Wincing, she took in the sad and plain sight of her own empty cot and cheap desk.

It was a far cry from what she was used to, but it was her only option.

Most of all, Claire was worried about sharing her space- it had been months since she’d been in close contact with people, let alone people of her own age. Not to mention that this room was blank and drafty and a little bit too small... it made her miss her apartment in New York, where she had lived and turned into her home.

And she missed Noah more than she could bear.

Claire set her box on her bed, pulling her messenger bag over her shoulder, eyes already scanning the wall a\and its cracked paint and wondering what she could put up there to not make it look so... empty. As much as she wanted to, she knew she couldn’t put the picture of her son up there. No, Noah had to stay a secret, close to her heart, even if he was far from her.

“You must be my new roommate!”

Claire turned, taking in the tall, slender girl in the doorway, clothing perfectly straight and her brown bob without a hair out of place. “Yeah, I guess I am,” she replied. “I’m Claire.”

The girl approached with a huge smile, reaching out to shake her hand. “Hi, I’m Annie. It’s nice to finally meet you, Claire.”

Claire smiled hesitantly- this girl was just so... perky. It was hardly the kind of person she imagined she’d have to live with, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it. She just hoped that the strangeness would blow over after they got more comfortable. “You too.”

“The school, they wouldn’t release any information,” Annie started in hurriedly. “Otherwise I would have friended you on Facebook.” Her brown eyes were wide and earnest.

Claire tensed slightly. “Oh, that’s my fault. I always check those little privacy boxes for some reason.” Because I’m the illegitimate daughter of a senator, my Dad was practically a hit man and, oh, I also can heal from anything and am going to live forever. That might be why.

“I did that same thing with my AP Classmates profile after I got a B-plus in AP Physics,” Annie agreed with a nod, moving to place her books down on her neatly-organized desk. “Are you on APClassmates.com?”

Turning away uncomfortably, Claire started unloading the contents of her box onto her bed, starting with a blue-shirted stuffed bear that her father had gotten her just over four years ago, at the start of her sophomore year of high school. “No, I’m not in advanced placement. I got my GED.” She set the bear down, looking back to the other girl and stiffening at her horrified look. “It’s not that I dropped out or anything. I was just traveling, and-”

“You got into this school with a GED?” the girl asked, so incredulous that Claire couldn’t help but be offended. “What do your parents do?”

Mouth open slightly, her mind shouted, that’s none of your business! Instead she just said, “Uh, my mom breeds championship show dogs...” She sat on the edge of her cot. “And my dad... works for the government.”

“So, that’s how you got in with a GED!” Annie smiled and nodded like it all made sense.

The blonde’s smile was beyond forced by this point. You’re doing this for Noah. Think of Noah. “No, I just got really good scores.”

“Oh. So you’ll probably place in Fenten’s linear algebra class, then, today.”

“Today?” Claire asked in surprise.

“He only takes thirty-five students a semester, and the placement test is today at one o’clock,” the brunette supplied. “You get in, and it pretty much sets the whole dominoes into motion, you know?” She smiled, bouncing as she sat on her own perfectly-smoothed bedspread. “So, what’s your plan for graduate school?”

Pursing her lips, the green-eyes girl said, “I don’t really have one. Guess that’s kinda why I’m here.”

Annie frowned. “No, you have to go to college with the plan. How are you going to find your future without a map?”

Laughing in disbelief, Claire asked, perhaps a bit rudely, “You have a map of your future?”

“Yeah.” Annie wasn’t smiling, her expression deadly serious, like what she was talking about was a life-or-death matter. Turning, she pointed to one of the bulletin boards over her bed. “See, I call this my trajectory. This is me in three years, graduating magna cum laude in poli-sci pre-law.”

Mouth dropping open, Claire leaned forward to stare at the board, which was complete with brightly-colored words and cutouts of Annie’s own head, pasted onto the tiny figures of bodies.

“This is me in eight years, Massachusetts Attorney General. And this is me in twelve years, being sworn in as the youngest governor in U.S history.” She looked so pleased with herself and expectant that Claire would be the same.

“Wow,” Claire said, lost for words. “You really thought that through.”

Annie just stared, brown eyes disapproving as she noticed the stuffed bears on Claire’s bed, obviously sizing up the blonde and decidedly taking pity on her. “Don’t you think it’s time you put childish things behind you and thought this thought yourself, Claire?”

Offended, Claire looked at her bears, her treasured and sometimes only friends in the past, gifts from her father and reminders of who she was and where she came from. She shifted to shield them from the girl’s sight.

“I mean, don’t let GED be a lifestyle choice.”

That comment struck home.

Claire glared at the girl, anger bubbling in her stomach, and she longed to say, a GED lifestyle? Like what, being a teenage mother and giving all my heart and soul to my baby? What were you doing all that time, Annie? Cutting out the logos for all the federal agencies and memorizing them? But she didn’t. Claire maintained her control, even when the girl went on.

“I’ll tell you what. If you want, I’ll help you make your own trajectory! It’ll be our project!”

“Sounds great,” Claire practically growled.

“Awesome.” The girl positively beamed as she stood, gathering a new set of books. “Well, I’m off to my next class. Don’t forget about algebra, okay?”

“I won’t,” Claire muttered. “See you later.”

“Bye!”

The door slammed closed behind the girl and Claire let out a huge groan of frustration and anger, obsessively turning her ring on her finger before she forced herself to still by resting her hand on her belly.

Noah. I miss you already.

Claire hurried out of the lecture hall, bag clenched in hand. It’s getting worse.

After she’d hallucinated about the government agent shooting her, Claire had up and left as fast as she could. She didn’t want to believe it until now, but it was true- those things she saw at the edge of her vision sometimes, watching her, they were real. At least, she thought they were real, and that was incredibly alarming. She was hallucinating, seeing things that weren’t there, even feeling phantom pain.

It might have been a result of being separated from Noah, but Claire didn’t think so. If she was honest, it had been going on for much longer than that- ever since Sylar had died. She had lost the only person she felt truly close to, connected to, and combined with the terror that she would be caught by the repercussions of her actions, it had manifested into this.

Claire’s steps were hurried as she made her way through the crowded sidewalk. I didn’t want to take a math class, anyway. She was so busy assuring herself of that fact that she hardly noticed walking straight into a squad of cheerleaders who shoved a flier announcing tryouts into her hands. Before she could give it back, they had nudged her on her way.

“No, thank you,” she muttered to herself. Look at what happened the last time I was a cheerleader.

Beside her, a pleasantly low, feminine voice added, “You made the right call. Cheerleaders are a very subversive group. You don’t want to mix with that crowd.”

Claire blinked in surprise, turning to the girl and laughing in humorlessly in surprise at the person walking beside her. She was tall and pale, dark hair long and slightly tousled, her amused eyes a peculiar shade of brown, bright and flecked with green, highlighted by heavy brows. Broad shoulders were covered by a dark jacket, layered over a striped shirt, legs covered in denim and footwear casual in a pair of fraying black Converse. Thin lips were pulled back in a smile over straight, white teeth.

If Claire hadn’t known better, she would say that the girl could be a female Sylar. But that wasn’t possible- Sylar was dead, and this girl was far too friendly to be anything like him... even if her condescending disdain for cheerleaders bore an eerie similarity to the man.

“No thanks,” she muttered, still slightly reeling. “I used to be one of them.” She smiled a little, but it was uncomfortable.

“Oh, so you know,” the girl said with a smirk.

“I do,” Claire replied easily, actually smiling for real this time. “Were you? You weren’t a cheerleader, were you?” She couldn’t imagine this tall, graceful girl jumping around and waving pompoms.

The girl’s mouth opened in surprise and she looked a little uncomfortable when she said, “Uh...no.” She hesitated before she added, “I tried out, but I didn’t make the team. They said that my cheers sounded more like taunts.”

Claire laughed a little, wincing in sympathy. “Yeah, that’s not good.”

The girl shrugged, but was smiling when she turned to Claire, holding out her hand. “I’m Gretchen Berg. Who are you?”

Gretchen. Gabriel. Claire drew the parallel so quickly that she was almost ashamed to think of it.

Here was this girl, a complete stranger, who was the first friendly person she’d met so far, and she was already drawing up comparisons between her and her dead... whatever he was. There was really no word to describe what she and Sylar had been. Friend was too strange, and nowhere near accurate. Fuck buddy was too... unfeeling, too informal for what they had been. And boyfriend was just too strange to even think about when placed next to the very idea of Sylar.

Placing her hand in the girl’s wide, firm grip, she replied, “I’m Claire Bennet.”

Gretchen grinned. “Hi, Claire Bennet. So, where are you from?”

Claire hesitated under the influence of so many answers. Texas. California. New York. Instead, she started, “Kind of all over the place. I’ve been in southern California for a while. But, Texas, originally, Odessa.”

“Really?” Gretchen lit up, eyes alight with interest and a sudden kinship. “I’m from Austin!”

“Wow, small world,” the blonde returned in surprise.

“Oh, wait,” Gretchen said suddenly, a pensive look crossing over her face. “You’re not that Claire Bennet, are you?”

Anxiousness coiled in Claire’s gut when she asked quietly, “And which Claire Bennet would that be?”

Bright brown eyes were locked on Claire’s face as their walk slowed to a stop. “Murder-at-Union-Wells-in-Odessa, Claire Bennet?”

Claire stood, stricken and speechless for a long moment. Would the past never fade away? Would she always be remembered as that girl? “You heard about that?”

Gretchen snorted. “A cheerleader gets her head sawed off at the Homecoming game? Yeah, I’ve heard about that.”

The blonde grimaced, scanning the crowd, looking for eyes to overhear Gretchen, eyes that would recognize her and point her out, that would send her into hiding again. She couldn’t handle that, not anymore. She let out a sharp exhale, steeling herself and pushing down her emotions when she faced the other girl. “You know, I kind of want the whole Murder at Union Wells on the DL.”

The girl grimaced sympathetically. “No kidding,” Gretchen said. “I mean, if I were you, I would change my name... like, now. They’d probably let you do it over the phone!”

Claire opened and closed her mouth a few times, searching for words as she and Gretchen started off again at a slow pace. “No, they won’t,” the blonde muttered. “I would know. I changed my name for a while.”

“Oh,” Gretchen said, then made a face. “Why’d you change it back?”

Because I had to continue on with the life everyone expected me to live. Because Sarah Gray isn’t real. Because I have to protect my heart and soul. “‘Cause I wanted to be Claire Bennet again. I thought people might forget.” She shot the brunette a pointed look.

Gretchen shrugged, smiling a bit. “No, girl. Google’s your enemy.”

Great. Just what I need, to be the freak all over again, Claire grumbled internally. “I, uh, have to take care of something....” Realizing that she was very obviously brushing the girl off, she added, “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Gretchen replied with a wide smile.

Claire’s hands twitched irritably as she walked away, shoving the cheerleading flier into the first trash can she saw.

“And, honestly, I’m sure she could be a really above-average student if she just applied herself!”

That wasn’t what Claire wanted to hear as she turned into her room. Feeling the annoyance with her roommate returning in a massive wave, her eyes focused on the girl before they were drawn to the other person, who was seated and listening in amused exasperation to Annie’s tirade.

“Claire,” Noah Bennet said with a smile, standing.

“Hey, you made it,” she said hesitantly, glancing at her roommate.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I’m late,” the man with the horn-rimmed glasses replied. “I was having a little trouble with my car.”

Claire kept looking at Annie, waiting for her to get the hint.

“And, uh, Annie was just... catching me up.”

“Oh, she was?” Claire asked, setting her bag down on her bed, fingers twitching in aggravation.

The brunette stood with a perky smile, oblivious to the offended father and heavily annoyed blonde. “So, I’ll see you at the mixer tonight. I hear they have Guitar Hero III set up down there, and, well, I sort of excel at Guitar Hero III, so consider yourself served.”

Claire forced a tiny, tight-lipped smile.

“It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Bennet!”

“You too,” he replied, his gaze following her as she left the room. After she was gone, blue eyes focused on his daughter, sympathetic and slightly incredulous.

“So, Annie was catching you up?” Claire asked sarcastically with a strange little shake of her head.

“Maybe you can take that algebra class next semester,” Bennet replied easily.

Claire wanted to throw something, but instead threw her hands in the air. “See, Daddy, that was probably the least interesting part of my day.” She sat heavily on her bed with an exaggerated spread of her arms.

“How so?” Noah asked with a frown.

“I was recognized as a survivor of the homecoming massacre back in Odessa,” Claire grumbled irritably. At Noah’s horrified look, she added, “Well, my name was.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured helplessly. “You know, maybe changing your name back to Bennet wasn’t such a great idea, after all. But they say college is for reinventing yourself.” He shrugged.

Claire shook her head slowly. “I don’t want to pretend to be anyone but me,” she sighed. Her eyes moved to her father. “I just want to be Claire Bennet, daughter of Noah Bennet.” And mother of Noah Gray. Her eyes saddened slightly when her father smiled, moving towards her and kissing her forehead fondly.

She needed to change the subject before she thought any more on the matter. “You know, Annie asked me today what my dad did for a living...” Noah sat next to her, and Claire looked at him. “And I actually told her the truth...ish.” At Noah’s strange look that she knew was meant to say she should elaborate, she continued. “I told her you work for the government, but still... and I like telling the truth.”

I just wish I could tell you the truth.

“What if my way of reinventing myself is by telling the truth?” She slung an arm around her father’s shoulder with a tiny smile.

Noah wrinkled his nose. “...ish.”

“Ish,” Claire agreed with a nod.

“Maybe not the whole truth.”

The girl made a ridiculous face. “The whole truth?”

“No,” Bennet agreed with a smile. Tugging her closer into a hug, he murmured, “Just be careful, sweetheart.”

I’ve been very careful, Claire thought. Too careful. That’s the problem.

She sighed when Bennet pulled away from her, standing up. “Well, I just wanted to drop in and say hi,” her father sighed. “I actually have to be getting back. I have some business to take care of. Sure you don’t need anything?”

“No, I think I’m okay here,” Claire replied, looking despondently at her sparse arrangement of belongings. “But thank you for offering. I love you, Dad.”

“And I love you, Claire-bear.” Noah smiled, heading toward the door. “Oh, and Claire?”

“Huh?”

Green eyes met mischievously shining blue when he said, “Don’t get too worked up about Guitar Hero.”

Claire laughed until long after he was gone.

The night had been long and fun, filled with a few drinks that Claire had consumed just for the taste and to fulfill the expectations of her peers. She had played a few rounds of Guitar Hero with Gretchen after she’d spotted the other girl leaning against the wall, people-watching by herself. She looked so incredibly like Sylar in that moment that Claire couldn’t help but to approach her.

She was starting to find that, despite Gretchen’s pushiness about the whole Union Wells thing earlier, she actually quite liked the girl. She was funny and easy to talk to and not incredibly overbearing, unlike Annie. Claire had even been a bit reluctant to part ways when she returned to her room around eleven that night.

“Hey, I didn’t see you leave the party!” Claire exclaimed as she opened the door into her empty room. With a sigh, she muttered, “Guess you’re still there.” It’s no loss of mine.

Noticing the cold breeze that danced over her skin, green eyes found the wide open windows and she sighed. “And you left the windows open.” Leaning out to reach for one, a figure at the edge of her vision compelled Claire to glance down at the ground.

She gasped in surprise and horror when her eyes landed on the sprawled form of her roommate on the concrete below, sidewalk flooded red with her blood. God, even the girl’s outfit was still pristine, even though her head was likely smashed open on the unexposed side.

Claire tried not to think about the fact that she wasn’t nearly as scared or horrified as she should have been when her eyes scanned Annie’s bed for a phone, for anything. Then, finding nothing, she ran out of the room to look for the RA.

Was everyone around her destines to die?

I already know the answer to that question, Claire thought. She couldn’t help that her stomach only then clenched at that thought.

Across the country in Los Angeles, night was falling over the suburbs. In a tiny blue-and-white house on the outskirts of town, Matt Parkman grunted in pain when he stepped on a small, plastic car.

He bent over to pick it up with a sigh, taking a few steps forward into a small room filled with other toys of the like, standing next to a child-sized table littered with crayons and stickers. Matt set the car down before he glanced into the crib set up lengthwise, a blue plaid blanket laid down on the inside and a patchwork stuffed dog balancing on the bar at the end. He frowned when he noticed that it was empty, unease shooting through him in a sharp wave.

No, Matt, he told himself silently. Stop it. He’s probably just hiding. He’s fine. “Matty?”

He reached into the crib, shifting the blankets, even though he knew the crib was empty. He turned in place, eyes scanning the room. “Matty?” He took a step toward the closet, asking in his best happy-dad voice, “Matty, are you hiding again?”

He opened the doors, but his son was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Matty?”

When a quiet, panicked crying started behind him, Matt whirled and nearly took a step back in horror when his eyes fixed on the sight before him. Sylar was there, holding Baby Matt carefully in the crook of his arm, helping the boy to wave at his father. The baby’s brown eyes were wide and terrified, unsure of this stranger that was filled with such wild, churning emotions.

“Hi, Daddy,” Sylar whispered, eyes wild and fixed on Matt’s face.

Matt swallowed helplessly when the baby started to cry in earnest, picking up on the stranger’s obsessive, pure need and his father’s obvious horror. His cries quieted to whimpers when Sylar growled, “I want my body back.”

The baby let out another terrified wail, and Sylar blinked in surprise. Impossibly dark brown eyes focused on the little boy, and noting his fear- Matt thought he must have been seeing things- softened. He hitched the boy up higher, his mood settling down to strong and assuring, and Parkman watched in horror as the killer tenderly kissed the top of the baby’s head, bouncing him in place.

“You put him down,” Matt choked. “Please.”

“Oh, poor Daddy,” Sylar sighed to the little boy. “He looks pretty scared, huh? Can you say freaking out?” With an amused twitch of his lips, he nuzzled the baby’s temple, holding him carefully as he took a few steps away from the cop.

“I don’t understand,” Matt exclaimed desperately. “How are you even here?!”

Sylar turned, and Parkman was confused and alarmed to see that Matty was no longer crying, just watching the interaction with an even calmness and his usual curiosity. Sylar tilted his head to the side and shrugged a little when he answered, “I’m part of you, Matt. Whatever you did to me, I held on. Now I’m inside your head.”

“So, you’re not real,” Matt amended with a frown.

Sylar quirked his head, a thoughtful look crossing over his strong features before he asked, “Then how could I be holding your little boy?” He bounced the child in place again, looking to the brunette boy with a look in his eyes that Matt couldn’t interpret.

“Just put him down,” Matt breathed.

Sylar sighed and pressed his lips to the boy’s temple gently, eyes flickering down to the little hand that rested against his neck and back up to the telepath. “Not until you give me what I want.”

Sylar’s eyes were intense and not filled with the usual insanity. Instead, there was a desperate want, a terrible, crushing grief that Matt just didn’t want to believe was displayed so plainly before him. That would only make the monster more... human.

“You did something to me, to my mind. That’s why I’m here.” He paused, tensing and calming in less than a second. “Tell me what you did. Where did you put my body?”

Matt was helpless, torn between wanting to fight Sylar off, but incapable of doing so when his son was held so vulnerably in the man’s arms. “Okay. Just put him down, and then we’ll talk about this.”

“Tell me,” Sylar demanded quietly.

“Matt?”

Both of their gazes were drawn to the doorway to the baby’s room, and Matt almost missed Sylar whispering to the boy, “Here comes Mommy.”

Matt looked back at him just in time to see the man’s eyes narrow and him mutter, “Catch.”

“No!” Matt held out his arms, hoping that his son would be uninjured and-

“Matt, are you okay?” Janice whispered. She stepped up beside the crib, her gaze drawn down to where her son slept peacefully, long, dark curls let free and slender body clothed in a silk dressing robe.

“Yeah,” Matt whispered back. “Thought I heard him crying, that’s all.”

The woman reached into the crib, pulling the blue blanket up over her baby and tucking him in, hands careful and tender over the fragile body of the boy sleeping within. “Matty’s fast asleep,” she murmured, confused. At Matt’s heavy sigh, she reached over to rub his tense shoulders. “What’s going on with you?”

“I’m just tired, I guess,” the man breathed, his eyes looking down to his son, still unable to forget the look in Sylar’s eyes when he had held him.

“Come back to bed,” Janice sighed.

Matt nodded absently. That look- he recognized it now.

Longing.

But why?

Gretchen had been priceless so far in Claire’s theory that Annie had been murdered. No one believed her- the police, her mother, no one. And it hurt that she was the one with the most experience with death, and even Sandra wouldn’t take a word she said seriously.

And then came Gretchen.

The girl seemed endlessly intrigued by death. Not that it was a bad thing- in this case, it was actually quite useful, Claire mused, as the girl dropped a stack of books onto the mess hall’s table and rattled of titles, all having to do with psychology and homicide of some way, shape or form.

“Where did you get those?” Claire asked, eyeing the multiple-inch-thick textbooks. “The homicide bookstore?”

“Is there such a place?” Gretchen asked, intrigued.

Claire shook her head in exasperation, picking at her food. “Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard?”

The brunette blinked. “Don’t you want to prove that your roommate was defenestrated?”

“Of course,” Claire answered, gesturing with the half-pickle she held in hand. “And, yes, I know what defenestrated means.” She shot the girl an exasperated smile and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

“Well, don’t get mad at me for using it in a sentence.” Gretchen blinked, her mind moving rapidly from one topic to the next- Claire was starting to recognize the look she got when she did so. “Have you ever heard of the Jump, Push, Fall test?”

Claire shook her head, mumbling through a mouthful of pickle, “The what?”

“It’s when cops get a dummy the approximate size and weight of the victim and they throw it out the window to see how it lands.”

She looked so amused at this prospect that Claire had to smile. “What page is that on?”

“Oh. It’s not in there. I saw it on an episode of Crossing Jordan.”

Claire gave her an incredulous look.

“Look, if you fall, you go straight down.” She pushed her orange off the stack of books on her desk, catching it in her hand. “If you jump, boom- go a little further.” She tossed the orange a bit harder. “But if you’re pushed...”

Claire startled when a crash echoed from the table, the girls glaring at them- and Gretchen’s orange in the center of their table.

“Sorry,” Claire said, grimacing slightly. She stiffened at the sub-zero glares she received and the snotty little cock of the head the girl gave her as she handed back the fruit. She turned back and looked to Gretchen, making a face and making a sarcastic catlike noise under her breath. “Cranky.”

Gretchen snorted. “All we need is a dummy the approximate size and weight of Annie.”

Claire cocked a brow. “You’re not serious.”

“Maybe we could swipe a cadaver from the medical school!” Gretchen exclaimed conspiratorially. Brown eyes were lit with far too much glee for this to be normal.

My roommate was murdered, Claire reminded herself. Of course this isn’t normal. Instead, she just stared at her.

“What?” Gretchen asked, like she had been accused of something horrendous. “It’s a victimless crime.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Claire grumbled.

“Why not? This is murder!”

The cafeteria abruptly went silent at the volume of Gretchen’s voice, curious onlookers glancing their way. Claire shrank down in her seat. “Maybe. But I’m not trying to be a social pariah before midterms.”

“Ship’s already sailed, Claire,” the girl replied with a smirk.

What’s that supposed to mean? Claire narrowed her eyes at her.

“So where do we get our hands on a dead body?”

Claire rolled her eyes. Where’s Sylar when you need him? She snickered at the thought before she abruptly sobered- she knew exactly where he was, unfortunately. Dead. Gone. Ashes scattered to the seas, never to be seen again. I wish I could at least throw his body out a window. That son of a bitch probably would have gotten some sick amusement out of it. Told me I was getting to be more like him.

Claire sighed heavily, glancing out the window to the trees outside. At least I could have been able to get him back a little for leaving me alone. He promised me forever, and he broke that promise.

“Claire, I think you’re taking this a little too seriously, now,” Gretchen replied.

“Just trying to get in the spirit,” the blonde said with a shrug.

“Woohoo,” the brunette muttered under her breath. “It’s body-tossing time!”

Claire choked on her soda.

Parkman sat in the uncomfortable metal chair, feeling the familiar faces staring at him. He’d seen then all three times a week for over a month- now, almost two.

It didn’t make it any easier. The tie on his neck still felt like a noose, the watch on his wrist like a pair of cuffs. He felt trapped.

It didn’t matter that it had almost been half a year that he’d been without his powers. Every day still felt like the first. Especially now.

“Hi, my name’s Matt,” he said, holding up a hand and waving a bit.

“Hi, Matt,” the group chorused with encouraging smiles.

“It’s been six weeks since I last... used, and, uh... and I’m feeling... confused.” He took a deep breath. “Uh... when I- when I used, I was totally selfish. I didn’t think about what I did to others, and, um... how I may have hurt them.”

He jolted at the sound of a chair being kicked over, eyes widening when they locked on Sylar across the room. His hands were tucked into the pockets of a black sweatshirt, jeans over trainers. If Matt hadn’t known him, he might have even looked normal.

But he did. And Sylar wasn’t real, he reminded himself. He was an illusion.

“Sorry,” the man whispered sarcastically. “You mean like what you did to me?”

Matt grit his teeth. He’s not real.

“Hi,” Sylar chorused like Matt had only moments before. He stepped into the center of the circle, scanning the faces before him. “My name is Sylar.” He looked back to Matt. “It’s been about six weeks or so since I’ve seen my body, and I want it back.” He hissed the words into Matt’s face as he leaned down toward him.

Matt swallowed. “Recently, uh, there have been these, uh, ghosts-” he was distracted when the other officers looked among themselves uncomfortably. “-these things have been popping up from my old life and haunting me.” His eyes flickered up to the man staring at him unwaveringly.

“Do you really think you’re going to stop using your powers?” Sylar asked with a smirk. “Are you crazy?” He laughed to himself, eyes lit with amusement. “I mean, I bet you couldn’t even make it through a day.”

He continued to laugh as he backed away, but somehow the sound left Matt more shaken than before. Though condescending, it was just the laugh of a man. A man that he had pushed the mind out of and pushed another mind into.

“I can’t seem to get these images out of my head,” he rushed, eyes flickering back up to Sylar.

“You’re weak! You’re simple-minded.” The man sat heavily in one of the fold-up chairs, considering. “I bet I could make you use your powers.”

“Go away!” Matt finally snapped, and the others around him jolted in surprise.

“I could make you use your powers,” Sylar repeated.

And then he was gone.

The assembled officers shifted restlessly, all glancing between each other and at the door, uncomfortable with their proximity to a man that very well could have been crazy.

“I’m sorry,” Matt said quietly with a helpless shrug.

“Hey, buddy,” Arnold said quietly. “You okay?”

Matt’s eyes focused on Sylar as he reappeared, leaning toward his friend’s ear and muttering, “Does this guy look okay? Seriously?” He chuckled to himself. “I mean, he’s, like, twenty pounds overweight, blood pressure’s through the roof. He’s like a heart attack waiting to happen!”

“Stop it,” Matt snarled. “Stop it!”

Another restless shift- Matt sighed. He’d really screwed himself over. But damn it, where was Sylar coming from? He thought he’d gotten rid of him!

“Um...” Arnold muttered. “Let’s get things moving along a bit...”

The lanky man laughed, eyes focusing maliciously on the cop.

“Who’s next?”

He stared.

“That’s right, Parkman,” Sylar muttered, leaning toward him. “They can’t see me or hear me, as you might have guessed by now- but who can tell, what with your brain capacity.” He smirked. “And this is going to be every day for you, unless you give me my body back.”

Matt clenched his fists.

This was going to be a long session.

“Alright, let me take a crack at this guy, see if I can get him to talk,” Matt said, looking through the window at the curly-haired brunette seated in the interrogation room.

“You seemed a little off today at the meeting,” Arnold said, stopping Matt before he could enter.

“No, no, no, no. I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“I’m good,” Matt assured him. “I’m under control, it’s good.” He patted the man on the shoulder, walking past him and grabbing the cup off the table next to the door before he entered.

He placed the cup before the man, offering a friendly smile. “Double-shot of mocha. You looked like you could use a little pick-me-up.” Don’t we all. He sat with a sigh, and seeing that the man hadn’t moved, added, “It’s okay. No strings attached.”

“Not interested,” the man replied, unimpressed.

“Come on,” Matt added. “Let’s do this easy, right? Just two guys talking. Come on.”

“I get it. You are the good cop, how ironic.”

Matt’s eyes flashed to Sylar. Oh, god, not again. He sighed. “So, we need a name, your supplier. Alright? You give us that name, you keep a clean record.”

Sylar spun in his chair, but at that stood, hovering over the man. “He’s a liar. Totally lying.”

Matt stared at him.

“Why are you looking at my forehead?” the man asked, laughing bitterly. “Does it say schmuck or something?”

“I wasn’t staring at your forehead,” Matt bit out.

“You’re not getting a name, coffee boy.”

Sylar’s eyes narrowed as he sat back in his chair. “Is that all you need, Matt? A name? Seriously? What the hell are you waiting for?” He looked at the nervous man as he glanced around the room. “It’s gotta be floating around in his comical little brain somewhere, right?”

“I don’t do that anymore,” he replied under his breath.

“You don’t do what anymore?”

“Why is that? Because you’re addicted?” Sylar asked, eyes narrowed.

Matt took a breath before he rushed out, “Leave me alone.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Just read his mind, Matt. You know you want to. I could help you. I could take a nice little chunk out of his skull in the process.” Brown eyes were darkly amused as he inspected the man’s head, as if he was already considering where to cut through bone.

“Stop it,” Matt hissed.

“What’s the matter with you?!”

Matt clenched his fists. “Just give me a name, okay?”

“Take it from him.”

“No!”

“No, what?”

“Why the hell not?” Sylar demanded.

“Leave me alone.”

“You are a loser. Total loser,” Sylar growled, standing once more. “No wonder your wife is having sex with the water guy.”

“Shut the hell up!” Matt exclaimed, pushing himself to his feet.

“I didn’t say anything!” the brunette said in alarm.

“I’m not talking to you right now!”

“Come on, Matt,” Sylar goaded. “She’s cheated on you once already, and we both know what Janice needs is a real man. Someone who’s not afraid of power, someone who knows what to do with it.”

“I’m in control here, not the power,” Matt whispered to himself, voice raising to a shout. “And nt you, you son of a bitch!”

The chair was crashing into the wall in a second, the man on the floor, shaking badly when he popped back up. “Keppeler!” He gasped. “The guy’s name is Keppeler. Lives in Long Beach, okay? Just... leave me alone!”

Arnold burst into the room, eyes flickering between Matt and the chair and the man on the floor, drawing the wrong conclusion, but the only right one under the circumstances. He grabbed Matt by the arm and dragged him bodily out of the room, but Matt’s mind was still reeling, especially with one observation.

His eyes were scared when he talked about Janice cheating on me, he thought. What the hell is going on?

And, later that night, long after he’d used his power to send Roy the Water Guy away, that look still stuck with him.

Who or what did Sylar have that he was so scared of losing?

And, later that night, when Claire looked up and saw Gretchen six floors above looking down with wide, horrified eyes at her beaten and bloodied form, she couldn’t help being a little disappointed. Sylar never would have looked at me like that.

And, later that night, when asked what was to come next, a middle-aged Irish man placed an ink-stained dowel against the back of a woman, completely bare but for the map of tattoos it displayed. When three faces formed on her naked skin, he was intrigued, and said, “We gather the rest.” He paused, inspecting the inked portraits. “Who are they, Lydia?”

And the woman, Lydia, told him, “They’re Claire Bennet, Sylar, and Peter Petrelli. Somehow they’re all connected... all to each other, but I see strong ties between Sylar and each of the two.”

“What kind of ties?” The man, Samuel, asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Lydia replied, frowning. “At least for him and Peter. The rift is still too large, not yet bridged, but there is potential with great time and patience. But for Sylar and Claire...”

“Yes?” the Irishman insisted.

“Love.” The woman glanced back over her shoulder at him, eyes wise and understanding. “If you have one, you will have the other. That’s a given. They are a matched set, a pair... soulmates, if you will. But whether or not they know it themselves is yet to be seen. For now, there’s a rift. But I think it will be mended soon.”

Samuel’s thin lips curled into a devious smile. “Perfect.”

He was watching from the inside, essentially. Living his life through another’s eyes. He never imagined that he’d be stuck with the Overweight Oaf, but he could make it fun, at the very least.

Sylar wanted his body back. The need to see with his own eyes, touch with his own hands, breathe his own air, was staggering. With every breath Parkman took, he wanted ten of his own, and promised himself that he would do anything, anything to escape this prison, this hell.

But at the same time, he envied the man. How could a man like Parkman, a man who had never had to fight for anything, have a life like that? A comfortable home, a beautiful woman who loved him, and a son that he could watch grow, could help make decisions, could help make into his own person. How could a man like Parkman have all of that without ever having to fight like Sylar had?

From where he stood, it wasn’t fair in the least.

But, god, even the phantom feeling of holding that child was enough to make Sylar’s chest tighten.

How long has it been? He thought. Has Noah been born? What’s Claire doing, and where is she? Is she managing alright?

In a void like this, there were no answers. But he was getting stronger every day. For almost six months, he’d been crammed in the back of Parkman’s head- at first, only a faint consciousness, finally growing to thoughts and finally able to twist Parkman’s power so he would know he was there, that he was fighting.

Because he wanted that son of a bitch to know that he was coming.

And when he finally broke free of this prison cell, Matt Parkman and anyone involved in making him like this were going to know hell like no other.

#Dei's fics #fic #fanfiction #Lie To Me #lie to me fanfiction #Sylaire #Heroes #Claire Bennet #Sylar #Gabriel Gray #Noah Gray

1 note · View note

maydei · 13 years ago

Text

Whoops!

I just realized that the link on my blog for the first chapter of Lie To Me was broken. I fixed it, so all of you who may have missed the first chapter (which is actually kind of important, believe it or not! XD) can finally get to it.

Super sorry about that! One would think that someone majoring in computers would at least know to check their own links.

Thank you for the likes I've gotten so far, I really appreciate it!

#Sylaire #Sylar #Claire #Heroes #Lie To Me fanfiction #Dei's fics

18 notes · View notes

maydei · 13 years ago

Text

For anyone who may be wondering

There are eighteen chapters already written of Lie To Me. You can either wait for me to upload them all here and edit them (I suggest this, as the already-posted versions are full of awkward phrasing and typos and ridiculous 3am author's notes), or if you want to go ahead and read them on my Fanfiction account, it's right here.

Either way, thanks to anyone who reads, and don't hesitate to ask me any questions or comment, though flames will just fuel my love for my collective ships.

#Lie To Me fanfiction #Dei's fics #Heroes #Sylaire #Sylar #Claire Bennet

22 notes · View notes

maydei · 13 years ago

Text

Fanfiction- Lie To Me: Chapter Three

Fandom: Heroes

Pairing: Sylaire (Sylar x Claire)

Rating: M

Warnings: questionable morality, questionable mortality

Words: ~9,000

Episode Equivalent: post 3x25 "An Invisible Thread"

3x25 “An Invisible Thread”

“Do you think there’s a chance he didn’t get caught?” Claire asked, her walk fast-paced, steps matching those of her grandmother.

“Noah?” Angela replied. “No. That was his plan all along.”

Shaking her head with a frustrated sigh, the blonde grumbled, “I don’t know how my dad always manages to get himself in the middle of everything.”

Angela snorted. “Because he puts himself there—mostly because of you. You have no idea the lengths a parent will go to ensure the safety of their child.” Dark eyes glanced to Claire’s undetectable stomach. “Something I hope you never have to find out for yourself.”

Claire swallowed, hand clenching, and did everything she could to avoid the woman’s gaze.

“Now,” Angela added. “This is where I get off.”

Claire turned in surprise; she hadn’t been expecting that. “What do you mean?”

“I just wanted to make sure you got here safely. I’m not going in there with you to see Nathan.”

Claire frowned. “Why not?”

Angela’s face was serious, but her eyes were afraid when she said, “Because I need to go find Matt Parkman.”

Claire glanced around to be sure that no one was listening before she asked quietly, “Is this about your dream?”

Angela nodded solemnly. “In it, Parkman saves Nathan’s life.”

“Okay,” the girl said. “So why don’t you just come up and warn Nathan, and tell him how to avoid danger?”

It seemed so simple in her mind- so it didn’t make sense when Angela shook her head. “That’s not how it works. I cannot change what I have dreamed, but I can help push its outcome. Now, you go find Nathan, and I will find you later.”

The woman turned, leaving Claire alone in the buzzing lobby as she left. Claire frowned, turning in place, looking for where she was supposed to go and finally spotting the elevator, which she slipped into with a group of businessmen.

It was a race against the clock, but Claire was racing for another reason entirely.

She had to get to Nathan, had to get to Sylar—had to figure out a way to smooth this over, to protect her family from harm, either way.

Sylar is going to die.

She wouldn’t let that happen.

The gray sweater Angela had given her was admittedly high-fashion, but loose enough to cover her slowly-expanding stomach. She was small enough that it hardly showed, but without a little extra help, her carefully-kept secret may be exposed, and that simply could not happen.

You’ll have to pretend that I’m the enemy.

She could do it. She could convince them all that she hated him. She just had to get there first. Had to save his life.

I know how to make love stay.

Claire twisted the ring around her finger, waiting for the elevator to reach the top floor so she could get to Nathan’s office. She had to keep an eye on her biological father, to make sure that he stayed out of harm’s way, and that Sylar did, also.

She felt like a traitor, somehow, by playing both sides. But Angela understood—she had done the same for her sons.

It’s a boy.

Claire swallowed when the elevator dinged, taking a careful step out. She had gone to the doctor the day before, at Angela’s insistence, and despite the doctor’s displeasure that she hadn’t been checked up on prior to her visit, everything checked out. Her son was healthy—almost abnormally so, Claire remembered with a tiny smile—and growing well. In another four or five months, she would be holding her baby boy.

And she would make sure that his father was alive.

“Can I help you?” Nathan’s secretary asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Claire answered. “My name is Claire Bennet—I’m looking for my father, Nathan Petrelli.”

Though the woman gave her a strange look, she went to the door and said, “Sir? Someone here to see you. She claims to be your daughter.”

“Oh, right. Send her in.”

Claire frowned, entering Nathan’s office to see him stepping out of the bathroom.

“Claire. I’m glad you finally made it. I was beginning to get worried about you.” There was something about him... he was... off.

Claire shook her head slightly to clear it of the thought. “Did you find him?”

“Sylar?” Nathan asked, smiling slightly. “Yeah. But he got away.”

Claire eyed him suspiciously as he approached her, forcing a nervous smile.

“He’s going to the Stanton Hotel to meet the President in an hour. I’m going to intercept the President first and warn him.” Nathan looked immeasurably pleased with himself.

Claire raised her eyebrows. “And tell him what? That Nathan Petrelli has a look-alike?”

He frowned at the tone of incredulity in her voice. “If I have to, yeah. Blow the lid off this whole thing.” A note of softness crept into his voice when he added, “I’m going to do whatever it takes to shut down Building 26.”

I’m going to protect you. I’ll do whatever it takes.

Claire swallowed, a flutter shooting through her stomach and resisting the urge to cover it with her hand, to comfort herself and the baby inside of her. This didn’t sound like Nathan, and she was starting to wonder... Sylar was a shape-shifter, but he surely wouldn’t risk talking to her under this amount of security, right? “And how do I know that this is you?”

Nathan looked away, toying with his cufflinks. “What are you talking about?”

Nathan would know what I was talking about, Claire thought. He knows that Sylar can shift. This can’t be Nathan. Her eyes softened at the thought, but there was no way to be sure, and she had to keep up her act. She couldn’t slip up, not now. “How do I know you’re not Sylar?”

Brown eyes widened slightly before the man tilted his head with a frown. “Claire... I’m me.”

Her eyes searched his, but she couldn’t tell; wanted to know so desperately, but couldn’t accuse him, because what if she was wrong?

The man reached out and Claire stood very still, holding back a shiver when his fingers brushed against her skin, playing with the charm of her necklace idly. Her eyes searched his face, searched the quiet softness of his eyes before they flickered to her. “We’ve spent a lot of time together over the past few days,” he said quietly, still rolling the charm between his fingers, and smiled a little. “Mexico... I was beginning to think you knew me better than anyone else.”

He smiled, and the earnest look in his eyes made Claire return the gesture, sighing as her head dropped, wishing that it actually... could have been Sylar, at least for a moment. “Sorry,” she whispered with a tiny smile, sad and disappointed, even though she knew she shouldn’t be.

Nathan chuckled. “That’s alright.” He pulled away from her. “Listen, why don’t you stay here?”

The smile fell from Claire’s face almost immediately.

“I’ve got a car taking me to the Stanton Hotel. Lay low until I can clean this whole mess up.” He turned to enter the bathroom, freezing when Claire spoke next.

“No, I want to come with you. In case anything goes wrong.”

Nathan’s shoulders tensed when he turned, swallowing and replying, “It’s not going to be safe.”

Just stay safe... both of you.

Claire clenched her fists—keep it a secret, Claire. Do what you have to do, don’t let him know. “So what? I can’t get hurt.” She bit the inside of her lip. “And... I need to help stop Sylar. It’s time I put myself in the middle of all this and made a difference.”

Nathan pursed his lips, nodding a little and forcing a smile. “I was thinking exactly the same thing.” He stepped into the bathroom and out of sight.

Claire stared at the doorway where he had been, feeling her heart beat a lightning rhythm in her chest.

He returned with his suit jacket, sliding it on. “You’re right. If things do go south...” He closed the door behind him. “I want you right there. Right by my side.”

Claire felt like she was going to explode. That can’t be Nathan, can it?

But when he smiled and offered her his arm, Claire accepted and allowed him to escort her to the Stanton.

Passing through the guards, Claire didn’t notice anything else strange—he didn’t slip up again. At least, if he really was Sylar.

“So, what’s the plan?” Claire asked, stepping away from the security scanner. “We just tell them the President’s in danger?”

Nathan shook his head slightly, returning to her side. “That will just send him down a rabbit hole. And then Sylar can become...” His lips quirked, and a dangerous, amused look flashed in his eyes. “...a rabbit.”

Claire stared at him.

“Just gotta play it close to the vest. Follow my lead, okay?”

“Nathan!” A man walked over to them, a wide smile on his face.

“This is my daughter, Claire. Claire this is—” He shook the man’s hand. “Liam—”

“Samuels, the President’s Chief of Staff,” she answered. At his strange look, she rolled her eyes and added, “I live in America.”

“Your dad and I barely survived boarding school together,” said Liam with a grin.

“Barely,” Nathan agreed, distracted as his eyes scanned the room. “Listen, I really appreciate the President giving me some time this afternoon.”

Behind them, Claire carefully buttoned her sweater, eyeing those who watched her suspiciously and feeling the need to stay sheltered in any way she could. More than anything, this secret needed to stay a secret, and she couldn’t have anyone asking her about the slight rounding of her belly.

“Sure. He just stepped up on stage; speech usually clocks in at about ninety minutes,” Liam said with a faint smile.

“Whatever works for him,” the eldest Petrelli son replied. “But I’d like to stick around close by.”

“Absolutely. We’ve got a suite upstairs. Come here. Uh, do me a favor, sign in here and Frank will show you how to get up there, alright?”

“Okay.” Nathan took the pen to sign his name on the list, and Claire frowned.

“Nice to meet you,” Liam added.

“You too,” the blonde replied, distracted. “I thought you were right-handed.” Left-handed. It has to be him. He slipped.

The man hesitated, glancing around for a moment. His eyes met hers, and she could tell that he knew he screwed up. “Ambidextrous,” he said. “I bat righty, throw lefty.”

Her eyes followed him, and for a moment, she forgot to move. He’s here.

“You coming?” He asked, frowning.

Claire’s eyes narrowed and she walked by him, shivering slightly when his hand touched her back, guiding her into the elevator. She did her best to ignore the burning of his eyes on her, but her mind was racing, heart beating a mile a minute and stomach clenching in nervous anticipation.

Nathan was surprisingly silent as Claire followed him down the hallway, and when they entered the suite, he almost immediately went to the far window, opening the door and stepping onto the balcony, surveying the sky.

And then Claire’s phone rang.

They both froze, Claire looking to him as he turned, picking idly at his nails. She carefully extracted the phone from her pocket, holding it tightly in hand when he met her eyes and suddenly found herself unable to move.

Nathan’s face began to bubble and shift, and Claire held back a gasp when the form molded to one too familiar for comfort—her own face. Her copycat’s hands raised, and Claire felt herself stand, though not voluntarily, and struggled to move as Sylar crossed the room in short, gliding strides and plucked the phone from her hand.

“Hello?” He asked, though it was Claire’s body and Claire’s voice that moved. She fought the urge to shudder at the strange and alarming experience as her father’s voice crackled over the line.

“Thank god. Where are you?”

“I’m with Nathan,” Sylar replied.

“Are you sure it’s him?”

Sylar fought the urge to grin, failing badly and holding a finger up to his lips when he moved to stand before Claire. “Oh, it’s him. Don’t worry.”

“How do you know?”

Sylar crossed behind her, and Claire heard the disconcerting crunch of bones rearranging before Sylar moved to her other side, back in his own body. “Because it’s me.”

Claire fought to look at him, holding back a shudder at the sound of his voice, the first time hearing it in over a month and the sound sending thrills down her spine.

She heard the telltale beep of her phone disconnecting, followed by the quiet sound of him laughing under his breath. He didn’t hesitate before he leaned close, inhaling the scent of her hair and letting out a tiny hum of satisfaction.

“Oh, god,” he murmured, voice close to her ear. “This is fun.”

Cameras, Claire thought desperately. There are security cameras. Please don’t give us away.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Claire?” Sylar murmured. “We should catch up. But first...” With a twitch of his fingers, Claire’s body began to move to where the wine cooler sat on the countertop. Claire didn’t try to fight it, not really—she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, not when she was carrying his child, and she knew that alcohol would have no effect on her indestructible body. He moved her like a puppet without strings, and Claire was vaguely reminded of Eric Doyle—wondered if he’d gotten away, not that it really mattered to her.

She popped the cork out of a bottle of red wine, and Claire could hear the amusement in his voice when he said, “Don’t you love a good pinot?”

Idiot, Claire thought, rolling her eyes. Keep up the act, Claire. “My dad’s on his way. He’s gonna stop you, then I’m gonna kill you.”

He spun her in place, eyes searching hers and shivering slightly. “No.” She walked to the mahogany coffee table and set down the bottle; he had known she was lying. “Actually, I’m gonna kill him. Or have you kill him.” Claire straightened. “I haven’t decided yet.”

But there was nothing threatening about the way he said it—she knew he wouldn’t make her do it. Knew he wouldn’t follow through, for her sake. Hopefully.

Claire’s eyes locked with his, silently trying to convey her feelings of loneliness and longing, wishing she could just be near him, without anyone else knowing their secret. It would be so much less complicated if things weren’t the way they were; the thought made her sad.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said softly, spinning her back around and walking her to retrieve the wine glasses. “Everybody dies sometime.”

Right. It’s just an act, Claire thought. I need to get my head on straight.

“Well, almost everybody. Papa Petrelli, Mama Bennet...” he nearly snorted. “Mr. Muggles.”

Claire wanted to laugh, but knew it was hardly appropriate in this situation. But, god, he could make her laugh, if only she had the chance.

“What’s your brother’s name? Larry?” He asked with a frown.

“Lyle,” Claire replied, scowling.

“Lyle. Right.” He smiled to himself, then tilted his head just slightly to the side in thought. “He’s gonna die, too.”

Everyone but us, Claire thought. Just as long as we both live. I’m going to protect you, too. She set the glasses on the table, nearly tripping as she walked backwards and sitting heavily on the couch.

“As we speak, my father is dying,” he said quietly.

Her eyes snapped to his, and she had to grit her teeth to keep from commenting on that little fact. So that’s where he was, she thought. Looking for answers. He said he’d never take after his father... I wonder how that little meeting went.

Sylar leaned forward, frowning, brown eyes meeting green, and Claire could see the bitterness there. “Did I tell you I got to meet my real dad?” Sighing and reaching for the bottle, he poured wine into each of the glasses. “Boy, was that a disappointment.”

She had to look away—she knew how that felt.

“Have you ever stopped to think about how much we have in common, Claire?” He nudged her glass towards her before he stood, his own in hand. “You were adopted, I was adopted. You...” Claire leaned forward to take the glass, exhaling sharply at the uncomfortable tensing and relaxing of her muscles. Sylar’s eyes flicked to her, and he gestured, moving her to sit straight once more. “...can’t die.”

He sat beside her, his leg rubbing against hers, denim-on-denim, just like the first time. She wanted to lean into him so desperately, but knew that she couldn’t, and knew that half of the reason he was controlling her was so that she didn’t slip, didn’t give them away.

“I can’t die.” He clinked their glasses together lightly.

“Oh, you can die,” Claire breathed. Or, at least Angela thinks so. “I’ll make sure of it.” I’ll make sure you won’t.

But Claire could start to see the frustration in his face, of hearing her every word and knowing it was a lie, of being so, so close and yet so far—unable to touch, unable to hold, unable to even truly talk. With an impatient twitch of his fingers, they both raised their glasses, Sylar taking a short sip from his, Claire just barely tasting it.

His hand relaxed and Claire’s arm lowered. He raised his glass once more, inhaling the scent of the wine before he sighed, placing his arm around her shoulders. “You’ll get bored, after, like, a hundred years of trying to off me, watching all of your loved ones drop like flies.” His eyes locked on her face, intense and searching, looking for her emotions without her having to say them out loud.

Claire avoided eye contact as best she could; one look in those eyes might destroy her, at this point, and she couldn’t afford that.

Sylar’s voice softened slightly. “You may eventually come to forgive me.” He smiled a little, moving the hair out of her face and twining his fingers into blonde curls, moving close enough that Claire could feel the heat of his body. His voice lowered into a quiet murmur. “Maybe you’ll even love me.”

Stop doing this to me, Claire begged internally. I won’t be able to keep it up. I can’t hate you when you’re so close to me like this. She shivered finally, feeling a flutter in her stomach and wanting to say everything now that couldn’t be said. She had so much to tell him and so little time. “I’ll keep trying to kill you—for the rest of my life,” she whispered.

“Well,” he said with a slight shrug, and Claire could feel his hand tremble with the force of her lie. “Everybody needs a hobby.” He took another sip from the glass, his eyes scanning her face. “I mean, I’m not saying there aren’t bridges that need to be built. But if we start building them now...” His fingers moved from her hair, fingertips brushing her cheek. Claire closed her eyes, biting her lip, reveling in what might be their only contact when under the watchful guard of security cameras. His fingers brushed over her cheekbone, and his voice was tender and soft when he mumbled, “...who knows? You could be my first...” His hand moved to her back, and he leaned in until his voice was barely more than a whisper against her ear. “...First Lady.”

The breath stuttered from Claire’s lungs and her hands clenched; she couldn’t do it anymore. She needed him, needed the comfort only he could give her. Needed the attention. Needed the affection.

“Gabriel,” Claire pleaded, her voice only a breath that was undetectable by anyone but him.

His eyes darkened and suddenly looked away from hers, focusing on a cable that was poorly disguised in a corner and was suddenly ripped out—the power line to the cameras.

It didn’t take any more than a second after that for Claire to be pulled into his lap, kissing her and holding her in place by his grip on her hair. Claire’s mouth opened as soon as his touched it, tongues tangling, rubbing, and a deep moan escaping his chest, a soft purr echoing from Claire’s.

He kissed her thoroughly, until Claire could barely breathe and had to pull away, one hand dropping to her stomach and rubbing a small circle.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured. “Every day. I thought I was going to explode, sitting here, so close to you and knowing every mean word you said was a lie. I’ve worked so hard to not give this away, but it’s difficult when you’re actually here.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And I’ve missed you, too. So much.” She sighed, resting their foreheads together, one hand twining with the one that had previously rested on her belly.

“How’s the baby?” Sylar whispered.

“Perfect,” she replied with a happy little smile. “Growing well, right on track. Abnormally healthy, even. I’m about four and a half months along, so, well into my second trimester.”

“You’re still hardly showing,” he mumbled, eyes tracing the contours of her body in wonder. “And already halfway through your pregnancy. I’ve missed so much...”

Claire tilted her head to kiss him again, soft and chaste and comforting to the both of them. “It’s alright. There’s nothing much exciting going on anyway—just a few cravings and mood swings, you know. Normal stuff.”

“Cravings?” He asked, quirking a smile. “I can hardly imagine.”

“Nothing too strange,” the blonde replied with a grin. “Chinese food, popcorn, cake batter ice cream, rice cakes with peanut butter. That sort of thing. And you’re hardly missing out on the mood swings, believe me. I think I’ve cried more in the past few months than I have in my entire life.”

“I should have been there,” Sylar sighed, sitting up and resting his hands on her stomach, Claire’s arms around his neck. “To be a part of all those stupid stories you tell your kids when they’re older; going out for chocolate pudding at midnight, et cetera. To let you yell at me and kiss you quiet, to hold you when you cried. I should have been there.”

His eyes closed, and Claire gently rubbed at the tension in his shoulders. “You’ve done what you had to, and I respect that more than if you’d stuck around and just done nothing. You’ve done incredible things to keep us safe, Sylar. We owe you everything.”

The man huffed, eyes opening and locking on her belly, nudging her shirt up and sweater aside and resting his palms flat against golden skin. “Do you know the gender?”

Claire nodded. “Yeah...” She smiled, touching his cheek and leaning in to kiss his forehead. “It’s a boy.”

Sylar let out a breathless laugh, a slow smile spreading across his face, looking up to meet her eyes. “A boy? I have a son?”

“Mmhm,” Claire agreed with a tiny smile.

“A son,” he whispered, dark eyes full of sudden anxiousness.

“Sylar,” Claire whispered, cupping his face in her hands. “I know what you’re thinking. And you are not your father. You’ll never let yourself become that, and I know it. I can see it in you—you’re a good man, and you’re going to be a wonderful father. Okay?”

Sylar’s arms wrapped around her waist and he stood, placing Claire on her feet and kissing her. Claire hummed into his mouth, shivering slightly when she felt his hands smooth down the cotton t-shirt. He pulled away after a long moment. “You always know what to say, Babydoll,” he said quietly, tucking her bangs behind her ear. “But we’re running out of time.”

“No,” Claire whispered, eyes widening and looking to the door. “Sylar, you have to get out of here.”

“What? Why?”

Claire swallowed, thumb stroking over his cheek, her other hand resting against his heart, his large hand obscuring hers. “Because Angela told me something a few months ago, and I’m afraid that her dream will come true.”

Dark brown eyes narrowed and the man frowned. “What did she see?”

“She said that you were going to die,” the girl whispered, her hand clenching in his shirt. “And I can’t let that happen. And last night, she had a dream that Matt Parkman is supposed to save Nathan’s life—probably from you.” Claire stepped into him, her petite body fitting against him perfectly, her arms wrapping around his waist. “I can’t lose you. So, please, just go while you still can. Find the President, do whatever you have to do, but don’t try to fight Nathan and Peter.”

His arms wrapped around her tightly, but he pulled away, eyes glued to the door. “It’s too late for that, Claire. I can hear them coming, they’re down the hall.”

“No,” she whispered, eyes widening. “Sylar, you can’t do this—”

“I can and I will,” the man replied, eyes hardening. “I’ll do whatever it takes, Claire.”

“Sylar—”

“Claire,” Sylar repeated. “I have to, there’s no time for anything else.”

“But I love you!”

The words were out of her mouth in a second, and when his eyes widened, she knew that there was no taking it back. Her heart pounding, Claire’s fists clenched at her sides.

“You’re not lying,” he breathed.

Claire shook her head. “I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

Stepping forward, he grabbed her and kissed her, and all the things he didn’t say poured into her, his emotions, his worries, his dreams. All the things he’d never had the chance to tell her about.

“Claire, do you have a name for him?” Sylar asked, his hands fixing on her shoulders.

“I was thinking about naming him after my father,” she replied.

He grimaced. “Nathan?”

“No,” she said with a tiny smile. “Noah.”

Sylar frowned, but the look smoothed over after an instant and he smiled, just barely. “Noah Gray... yeah, I like it.”

Claire nodded, feeling a burning start at her eyes. “Please don’t do this, Sylar. There’s still time.”

“No more time,” he whispered. “They’re here.”

“No—” she hissed, turning to the door.

“Goodbye, Claire,” Sylar said, and before she knew it, the doors were flung open and she was crashing into the wall of the hallway outside.

She grunted, pushing herself up and scowling, green eyes looking up at Nathan and Peter, who stood there, stunned, and to Sylar who stood just inside, his eyes still on her. “Go!” She insisted.

Sylar’s hands lit with lightening as Nathan and Peter dove into the room, the doors slamming shut behind them.

No, she thought, getting to her feet and moving to the doors, finding them locked. Damn him! She shoved at them, but to no avail, and tried to peer inside, but the flashes of blue light made seeing anything impossible.

She turned, looking to find some other way in, when she finally heard the telltale crash of a window being broken and the sound of two people taking off in flight. Her breath left her and she returned to the doors, which pushed open easily now that Sylar wasn’t keeping her out.

The suite was ruined—pieces of the walls were charred and burning, furniture was overturned and smoke filled the air, the far window that led to the balcony completely shattered.

Claire took one horrified step inside, and then another, finally noticing Peter when the man groaned, struggling to stand. She hurried to his side, holding onto his arm and letting him lean on her.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, eyes glued on the outside.

“Where did they go?” Claire breathed, her eyes wide. Please let him be safe. Let both of them be safe.

“The window,” Peter said, and she could feel him shaking.

“Can you fly after them?” She was grasping at straws, but she knew that if Peter was able to join Nathan, Sylar would know he couldn’t fight them both. He would be forced to retreat—and survive.

Peter turned to her, eyes just as frustrated as hers when he replied, “I can’t.”

Terror struck a pit in Claire’s stomach, thoughts racing as she struggled to figure out a plan, where they would go, how to save them both from each other. “Come on, we have to find them,” she said. Peter turned away, looking back to the window, and Claire, impatient and frustrated and terrified, insisted, “Come on!”

She turned and ran from the room, Peter limping slightly as he followed at her heels.

It was then that Nathan was thrown back into the room, crashing into the piano, one of the legs collapsing and sending him sprawling to the floor. Sylar’s feet touched the balcony, quickly walking into the destroyed suite, eyes narrowing when he saw Nathan struggling to stand, to turn and fight him once more.

Sylar raised his hand, fingers twitching, and slit the man’s throat with his telekinesis. Nathan gasped in pain, blood flowing over his skin, groaning as he struggled to breathe and couldn’t. Sylar watched, eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly to the side; he didn’t need to steal Nathan’s power, but he did need to be sure that the man died.

Because, if he killed Nathan now, then Angela’s dream about Parkman couldn’t be true.

And maybe that meant that the dream she had of him wouldn’t be, either.

He smirked slightly at the thought.

His eyes followed as Nathan collapsed back into a chair, the severe loss of blood killing him quickly, and Sylar started to laugh quietly, though not entirely in humor. How ironic was it that he had to kill her father so he could be a father to their son? It wasn’t fair, but that was life.

And Sylar would do anything to protect his family.

“Oh, Claire’s going to be so mad at me,” he chuckled as the light faded from Nathan’s eyes. His smile dimmed before it completely fell from his face. But I won’t let my son be without a father. Not like me. And if that means you have to die, Nathan, then so be it.

His bones crunched and he grunted with pain as his form shifted into that of the dead man beside him, the man he’d just killed. But he had a job to do, a plan to follow through, and a family that he had to protect. He needed power to do that, to be sure that this would never happen again, and that his unborn son would never have to know what it was like to be hunted.

Peter and Claire ran down the stairs into the lobby.

“We should separate here,” Peter panted. “You go that way, I’ll look for Nathan over here.”

“Hold it!” Shouted a familiar voice, and the two turned to see Noah holding a gun—pointed straight at Claire.

Peter held up his hand in confusion, stepping in front of is niece. “Noah?”

“You tell me that’s Claire, not Sylar,” the man hissed.

“I just fought Sylar, okay? That is Claire. Put the gun down!”

“Dad,” Claire said quietly, stepping toward him. “It’s me.”

Noah lowered the gun, his arms opening to embrace his daughter and holding her close. Claire closed her eyes, sighing heavily, and attempted to smother her terror. I’m safe. I’ll find him. I’ll save him.

Noah pulled away after a few moments, glancing around before he looked to Peter and hissed, “Did you take his power?”

Claire’s eyes were wide, looking between her father and her uncle, comprehension washing over her. No, please no.

“Yeah,” Peter whispered with a nod.

Her eyes locked on her uncle. “So we can stop him.” And I can stop you from killing him.

Noah and Peter grinned, sharing triumphant looks before a voice shouted, “Freeze! On the ground!”

Three secret service guards slowly approached, fear blatant in their eyes, but guns pointed and ready.

“The President’s life is in danger!” Bennet growled, crouching and placing his gun on the marble floor. “You want him to live, you need to listen to us.”

“I said on the ground!” The man repeated.

I don’t have time for this! Claire thought, stepping forward with hardened resolve. I hope this works. “You can either listen to me now...” She pressed her forehead to the barrel of the man’s gun. “...or I’ll tell you after you shoot me.”

The man looked horrified, his gun shaking against her skin.

Noah and Peter stared at her in shock.

Claire fought the urge to smile as the man’s gun lowered. “I thought you’d see it my way. Now, you need to take us to the President right away.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the guard whispered. “Follow me.”

Peter and Noah smiled, following along behind the man and giving Claire proud looks the whole way. The man eventually led them into a side room full of armed guards, who confiscated Bennet’s gun and allowed them through.

The President, a tall, dark-skinned, balding man with a large stomach stood when they entered. “I hear you’ve all caused quite some ruckus.”

“Just a bit,” Claire said with a smile.

“But we’re trying to help you,” Peter added. “So you should probably listen to us.”

“What do you have in mind?” the man asked.

“Well,” Bennet cut in. “I’m Emile Danko’s replacement. I suppose you could consider me an expert on people with abilities.” He glanced at Peter and Claire. “I was once part of an organization that kept their existence secret and the dangerous ones controlled. We had a bit of an unorthodox procedure to it, but it worked and always has—one of Us, one of Them.”

“You mean to tell me that you actually teamed up with these people to keep the peace?” The president asked with a frown.

“That’s precisely what I’m saying,” Noah replied. “Danko failed to realize that the people with abilities are still people, and not all of them are bad. My daughter, Nathan and Peter Petrelli... they’re all good people. But there are some who are very, very dangerous, who think that their powers give them the ability to do whatever they want. And one of those people, possibly the most dangerous of all of them, is after you.”

The president paled slightly. “What does he want with me?”

“No need to panic,” Peter cut in, voice reassuring. “We know how to deal with him.”

“He wants to shake your hand,” Claire added, shooting her uncle a glance, who nodded at the toned-down truth. “To borrow your DNA so he could take your form and lead the country away from all this hunting and running and hiding—”

“—and toward his idea of what we should be like,” Noah interrupted with a frown directed at his daughter and her almost-admiring tone. “His name is Sylar, and he has to be stopped.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Yes,” Peter said with a nod. “For the moment, I’ve borrowed Sylar’s shape-shifting ability, meaning that with a shake of your hand, I could take your form and take your place. I could lead him away from you, and, when he tries anything, I’ll be able to stop him.”

The man frowned. “How do you plan on stopping the most powerful one of you?”

Peter grinned, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a syringe. “With the most powerful tranquilizer, of course. Then, we can deal with him and you can go back to your life. We’ll write it off as having never happened.”

“How did you get that past security?” The president asked with a frown.

Peter’s grin only widened.

The man twitched, eyeing Bennet and Peter and finally Claire. “And you’re sure this will work?”

“Pretty damn,” Bennet said. “It’s a solid plan, but if it’s going to work, we need to get going. Now.”

“Alright,” the president said, holding out his hand for Peter to touch and grimacing when the tall, lanky Petrelli shifted into his look-alike.

“Perfect,” Peter said. “Now, just get your security to escort me as usual, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

The President nodded, opening the door and instructing his staff, confused when Peter stepped out but knowing enough not to ask questions when the man leading their country told them what to do. They grouped around Peter, hurrying him out, Noah exiting into the hallway and retrieving his gun, Claire following behind her father as he led her back into the lobby. “I booked a room earlier. You need to go up there and wait.”

“What?” Claire exclaimed. “No! I want to help!” I need to make sure he’s okay.

“No, Claire, it’s too dangerous,” Noah insisted, his hands on her shoulders. “Just go. I’ll come and get you soon.”

Claire swallowed, knowing she couldn’t exactly disagree- she couldn’t ruin their plans. She had to make it look like she hated him. She had to do as she was told, even if it was eating her up inside. “Will that injection kill him?” she whispered.

Noah’s eyes softened, misinterpreting the intention her question. “No. But I’ll make sure he can never hurt you again, Claire. No matter what.”

Claire nodded shortly, eyes burning as she whispered, “What floor?”

Sylar walked through the hotel kitchens, looking around—they had to be here somewhere, he knew it. He had to find them.

“This way, Mr. President!”

His eyes locked on the crowd of secret service with a slight smile. Got you.

“Nathan. Is that you?” Liam pulled away from them, walking over and reaching out to shake his hand.

“Of course it’s me,” Sylar replied with a grin.

“We’re getting the President out through the basement. I can’t give you any more time,” the man said apologetically.

His smile faded. “That’s alright,” he said. “You don’t have any more time to give.”

With a flick of his hand, he broke the man’s neck and shifted into his form, following along behind the guards and catching up quickly. They twisted and turned through the labyrinth of hallways under the hotel, finally leading out a back door where the President’s limousine waited.

“This way, Mr. President!” A security guard said, opening the door and closing it as the man slid into the car.

Sylar smirked to himself, walking around to the other side and sliding in himself, knocking on the privacy guard once he was seated and smiling as it started to raise. Everything’s going according to plan.

“Thank god you’re alright, sir,” he said with a smile.

“The Secret Service did a hell of a job today,” the man replied.

Sylar nodded slightly. “And so did you.”

He held out his hand, nearly tasting his victory when the man took it.

But something was wrong. It didn’t feel the same. In fact, something was pushing him, forcing him to shift, back and forth between different faces, different people, different identities, and it hurt with every bubble and change.

Eyes widening in surprise and confusion, he gasped when a syringe was plunged into his neck and the President shifted into the form of Peter Petrelli. The man pulled him closer with a fierce grin.

“Bet you didn’t think I took that one from you,” he whispered, twisting the needle as Sylar’s eyes began to close, body shutting down piece by piece.

The breath whooshed from his lungs and his mind went numb. The last thing he thought before all was black was, Claire... I love you, too.

It was ten o’clock the next morning before anyone came to get Claire.

A knock on the door—she jumped out of bed. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night, worrying herself sick. She had to know that he was okay. Still wearing the same clothes as the day before, her hand crept to her stomach, rubbing over it before she straightened and opened the door.

Angela stood on the other side. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” Claire breathed, stepping aside and allowing the woman entrance.

Angela wasted no time in settling into a chair, brushing her disheveled hair out of her eyes and eyeing her granddaughter with a serious expression. “You may want to sit down.”

Claire’s heart dropped, and she sat on the bed, legs crossed, hands covering her stomach. “Please tell me that he’s okay, Angela. Please.”

The woman closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over her face before she looked at Claire and said, “I’m sorry.”

Claire whimpered, hands clenching in her sweater, eyes widening. “No. No, no, no.”

“You knew how it would end, Claire,” Angela whispered. “I warned you not to get too close—”

“No!” Claire shouted, curling into herself, knees raising to her chest and arms wrapping around them, head ducked as she squeezed her eyes closed, tears dripping over her cheeks. “You’re lying! I don’t believe you!”

“It’s true,” the woman said solemnly. “Sylar is dead, Claire. His plan to intercept the President failed, and he paid for his mistakes with his life.”

“He can’t die,” she whispered. “He promised me. He promised that he’d always come back to me.” Claire let out a few great, heaving sobs. “He can’t leave me like this. I need him!”

Angela stood, alarmed at her usually-strong granddaughter’s transition into tears, into a breakdown the likes of which she’d never seen on the girl before. “Claire—”

“Gabriel,” Claire whined softly, her hands crossing over her chest, fingernails sinking deep into the skin of her arm until she bled. Sobs wracked her body and Angela took a step forward.

“Claire, you have to stop. You have to be strong,” Angela said softly. “You cannot show your pain, cannot let them see your feelings.”

“Nothing matters,” Claire gasped. “He’s dead. I’m going to be alone forever. Everyone I’ll ever know—you’ll all die eventually.”

Angela pursed her lips, eyes hardening and smacked her granddaughter across the face.

Though Claire couldn’t feel pain, she still froze, stunned, before she finally let loose. “How could you do this to me?!” Claire howled. “You knew! You could have saved him! He didn’t have to die!”

“Do you really think your father or Peter would have stopped otherwise?” Angela growled. “They would never let it go, Claire. Never. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“But not now,” the blonde whispered, gripping her hair and pulling hard, desperate to feel some sort of pain, something to distract her from the growing and crushing emptiness that was building inside her. “I need him, Angela. I need him.”

Dark eyes widened slightly. “Claire, don’t tell me that you fell in love with him,” the woman replied. “Please don’t have honestly cared for him. He could never return that affection, Claire. Not even for you.”

“What do you know?” Claire snarled, baring her teeth. “He promised me, Angela. He gave me hope, gave me comfort, gave me my son. You would never allow your sons to be without their father!”

“My sons are without their father,” Angela pointed out.

“Not as children!” Claire scowled, pushing herself off the bed, stalking toward the other woman, who backed up in alarm, seeing the rage and pain and pure murder that was building up in Claire. “Not as boys without a father to teach them, to care for them and look out for them! You poisoned Arthur, Angela! That was your fault!”

“Because he tried to kill Nathan!”

“But he was there, Angela,” Claire whispered, baring her teeth. “He was there to watch them grow, to hold them as infants, to watch their first steps and guide them into adulthood. Now Noah will never have that chance.”

Angela frowned. “Noah?”

“Noah,” she repeated. “My son. Sylar’s son. And Sylar! He was happy with me, Angela!”

“Sylar was never happy.”

“That’s bullshit!” Claire screamed. “He’s happy when he had someone to love, to care about—he was so starved for affection, Angela, and I willingly gave it to him, and he gave me his heart.” Claire held up her hand, showing the ring on her finger. “I gave him love, I gave him comfort and support and I genuinely cared about him, about his future. I cared about him before I even knew I was pregnant with his child.” Her voice dropped to a hiss. “What about you, Angela? You told him that he had a family and then tore it away. You broke his heart. You made him into a monster and then gave him false hopes—you lied to him.”

Angela’s back hit the wall, and the woman’s hands clenched. “Claire, you need to stop. I know you’re angry, I know you’re feeling betrayed, but it had to be done.”

Claire stopped and deflated, head ducking and tears steadily streaming over her cheeks, shoulders heaving as she cried. “You ripped apart my family,” Claire whispered. “Don’t you have a heart? What am I supposed to tell my baby when he asks me where his father is? What am I supposed to do when it comes time to teach him to play baseball or football? How do you expect me to look my little boy in the eyes and tell him that his father is gone forever? How can I make him believe that Sylar loved him unless he’s there to tell Noah himself?”

“I suppose,” Angela whispered. “That he’ll just have to have faith. That he will have to survive with one parent. That he will just have to be another son in the long line of Grays that lived without a father.”

Claire’s arms wrapped around her middle. “And what about me?” She asked. “What do you want me to do, Angela? I don’t want to fall asleep alone every night and wake up alone every morning. I don’t want to get close to someone who will leave me behind. I want a person who knows me for who I am... a man who has the capacity to love me with his whole heart and the desire to protect me. I want someone who will know when I need him most and be right there, waiting, because he felt in his soul that I needed his love. I want a man who can say the damnedest things and make me want to laugh, even when it’s hardly the time. And I want someone...” Claire swallowed. “I want someone who can just look in my eyes, and I’ll know that he loves me, whether or not he says it.”

Angela shook her head slowly, reaching out and resting her hand on Claire’s shoulder, her eyes honest and sad. “I’m sorry, Claire.”

“I know that he loved me,” Claire whispered so quietly that Angela could hardly hear her. “And our baby.” Her eyes met her grandmother’s, severe and solemn and red with tears. “A man does not get on his knees and place his ear to the stomach of a woman, talking to the child in her womb and promising to protect him, unless he loves them both.”

With that, Claire turned on her heel and walked into the bathroom, splashing water from the tap onto her face and rubbing her eyes. Angela, not for the first time, wondered if she had made a huge mistake.

“Who killed him?” Claire asked, voice hollow.

And Angela replied before she could stop herself, “Nathan.”

Claire’s eyes closed, the lids red and swollen.

“The cremation will be in three days at Coyote Sands,” Angela said, and when Claire froze, she knew that she had heard. “No one can know, Claire. This secret will have to be taken to the grave.”

Green eyes looked up into the mirror, connecting with Angela’s, all the emotion inside them faded and dead.

The woman shuddered slightly. “I’ll see you there, Claire.”

The door shut behind her without a sound.

The flames lit up the area with red and orange, illuminating the crowd that stood around the fire- Suresh, Parkman, Hiro, Ando, Peter, Claire, Bennet, Nathan and Angela.

Nathan had lit the kindling aflame, which quickly caught onto the body. Sylar lay atop the pile of wood, arms crossed over his chest, possibly asleep if not the fact that he was being burned and there was a six-inch metal spike stuck in the back of his head.

When a tear or two leaked from Claire’s eyes, she wiped them away and blamed it on the smoke.

“It’s a new beginning, Mom,” Claire heard Nathan say, and never so much had she hated him as she did in that moment.

The only sound for another moment was the crackling of the fire.

“I take it the President agreed to it?” Bennet asked Nathan, whose arm was around his mother.

“Funding, resources... deniability,” Nathan agreed, nodding. “I told them I found just the man to head up our new...” He frowned, looking to Bennet. “What were we gonna call it?”

The man in the horn-rimmed glasses smiled vaguely and replied, “I always liked ‘the Company’.”

Claire stared at the man in the flames, feeling her heart break a little more, despite thinking that it wouldn’t be able to. She walked over to her father, leaving Peter’s side, and couldn’t help murmuring, “I can’t believe he’s really dead.”

Noah’s voice was unreadable when he replied, “He’s really dead, Claire.... He really is.”

Her hands clenched and she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the man she loved- the man she was watching burn. Noah started to lead her away, and Claire allowed him to guide her back towards their car.

It wasn’t until she was almost there that a thought struck her, and she ran back to where Angela and Nathan remained.

“Angela,” Claire said softly. “What are you going to do with the ashes?”

The woman frowned. “I was going to leave them.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head. “No. No, I want them.”

Noah, who had followed his daughter back, froze, eyes widening. Nathan’s eyes moved to his daughter. “Claire—”

“Don’t,” she whispered, eyes flickering to Nathan. “Don’t you dare talk to me right now.”

Angela pursed her lips, glancing at Peter, Nathan and Bennet before she glanced back to the blonde, whose fists were clenched at her sides and whose eyes were desperate with loneliness.

“Alright,” Angela sighed. “I will have them sent to you.”

She saw Claire’s eyes start to shine with tears, at least until Claire bit down on her lip and blinked them back. “Thank you.”

The eldest Petrelli nodded and Claire turned, walking away from her confused uncle, stricken father, and the man who watched her with an unreadable look as she walked away, his eyes following every step as he fought the urge to follow, to comfort her and hold her, though he knew it wasn’t his place.

Claire didn’t speak a word the whole way home.

#Claire Bennet #Dei's fics #Heroes #Lie To Me fanfiction #Sylaire #Sylar #fanfiction

18 notes · View notes

maydei · 13 years ago

Text

Fanfiction- Lie To Me: Chapter Two

Fandom: Heroes

Pairing: Sylaire (Sylar x Claire)

Rating: M

Warnings: mild interpersonal relations, cliche situations

Words: ~4,500

Episode Equivalent: post 3x19

Post 3x19

I don’t want to know, Claire thought in panic. I don’t know if I can handle this. Please, please, please just let me be wrong.

But, as she walked into her bathroom and stared at the plastic wand before her, she couldn’t deny that she had known.

Positive.

Claire sank to the floor, clutching the plastic so tight in hand that it cracked. Her heart was beating a mile a minute, her stomach churning the same way it had in the mornings for almost three months.

Pregnant.

Claire’s hand moved to rest on her barely-swollen stomach, as if to protect the little life inside her, depending on her. Her knees pulled to her chest, and Claire lay her head back against the wall with a heavy thud. “What am I gonna do?” She whispered.

“Claire?” Sandra called up the stairs. “Are you okay, honey?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” she replied, standing suddenly and tearing the cardboard box into tiny pieces, scattering it in the trash and covering it with paper towel. She took the test with her when she returned to her room, still clutching it tightly in hand, eyes drawn to it again.

Stupid, pink plus sign, Claire thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m so screwed. What am I gonna do?

She had to get out of here.

She grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair, putting it on- pleased to see that her belly was undetectable, at least for now—and shoving the test on the inside pocket, somehow unable to release it. She couldn’t deny it, now. She had the proof.

She was pregnant.

With Sylar’s baby.

Three months had passed since he had come to her, asking for her to lie, looking for her to be the one to give him the answers. Three months had passed since she had let him into her arms, her heart and her bed. That night, she had seen him for who he really was—a man in need of love and comfort, but didn’t believe he deserved it. A man who had a great capacity to love, but didn’t know how to share it.

He’d promised that he would return to her, had slipped a ring on her finger and kissed her goodbye. She hadn’t seen him since.

She hadn’t removed the ring since he’d put it there—much to her father’s displeasure, but she’d passed it off as a gift from West before he had gone on the run—and often found herself messing with it whenever she was stressed. Her mother had commented on it, saying that Claire wore it more than Sandra wore her engagement ring. Claire had laughed it off, but she didn’t doubt it—it was the only thing she had to remind her that the time they shared was real.

Claire reached for her phone, tucking it into her pocket and grabbing her keys off the hook near her door, closing it behind her as she made her way down the stairs. She had to get out of the house, at least for a while.

“Claire,” Sandra called as her daughter passed. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Oh, god, she knows, Claire thought, panicked. “Sure, Mom.”

Sandra gestured her over, and Claire slid onto a bench, facing her across the island counter. “Claire, I just want to say...”

Here it comes, Claire thought.

“... that I’m really proud of you.”

“Huh?” Claire asked.

“Yeah. For helping that man, Eric Doyle. You overcame your feelings for him and brought yourself to help him, Claire, and that shows a huge amount of maturity, on your part. I’m proud of you for that.”

Claire smiled minutely, breathing deeply and attempting to calm down her heart. “Oh... thank you. I just realized that if I want to help people, I can’t be selective about it, that’s all.”

“Well, you’re a very smart girl, Claire, and I admire that in you.” Sandra took her daughter’s hand and squeezed it, finally looking her over. “Are you okay, Claire?”

“Yeah,” Claire said, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m just gonna go out for a while, if it’s okay with you. I know it’s getting late, but I won’t be gone too long.”

Sandra frowned, considering, before she nodded. “Alright, but you be careful of those agents, you hear me? And don’t let them cause you any trouble. Bring that gun—the one your dad keeps in his office and thinks we don’t know about.”

“Sure,” Claire answered with a relieved smile, hopping up and entering her father’s office, opening the top drawer and popping out the false bottom to remove the small, black pistol. She flicked on the safety lock before she secured it in the waistband of her jeans, grimacing slightly when she realized that they were a bit tighter than she was used to.

She wouldn’t be able to hide it forever. But, for now, she could certainly try.

“Alright, I have it,” she said, closing the door of the office behind her and heading to the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Alright, sweetie,” Sandra called. “Oh, and if you see that bitch of an agent, shoot her a few times for me.”

“Will do,” Claire replied with a faint smile, slipping out the front door. She unlocked her car, climbing in and turning it on, pulling out of the driveway.

She didn’t know where she was headed yet, but she just followed the roads, making random turns until she was pulling into the driveway for the state beach. She made sure to lock the car, the blinking of the lights signaling the action, lighting up the strip of sand for a few seconds before all went dark again.

Claire sighed, inhaling the smell of the salt, the crash of the waves against the sand soothing her, pushing the nervous, fluttering panic down until she could no longer feel it. She toed off her trainers, removing her socks and leaving them near a piece of driftwood. Wiggling her toes in the sand, she went down to the waterline, letting the warm water of the California Pacific wash over her feet.

Swallowing, Claire reached into her jacket, the pregnancy test clenched tightly in hand. She stared at the little pink plus, one hand falling to spread over her stomach.

“Hi, baby,” she whispered, words lost in the wind. “I don’t know what to do with you. If I’m honest, you scare me more than anything has ever scared me before.”

The darkness was all-enveloping, the only light from the moon and stars, reflections distorted on the water’s surface. Claire had never felt so incredibly alone, but, at the same time, something about this place made her feel... safe. Backing up a few feet, she sat in the dry sand, knees pulled to her chest and rested her chin on them, arms wrapped around herself. It wasn’t the cold that made her shiver.

“I never thought that this would happen,” the blonde added. “It was just once, but I should have been smarter about it. But, now... I have you. And you’re growing, getting bigger every day. And I wonder if you can move your little fingers yet, your toes... if you can hear me. You probably can’t yet. But, someday.”

Claire stared out at the water, at the foam that crawled up the shore before it retreated, steadily growing closer to her, but still so far away. She wondered if it would reach her, if she sat there long enough.

If he would find her, if she waited long enough.

“And, even though I’m scared, I’m still happy. You’re here and alive, and I need to start taking care of you, to make sure you’ll be healthy. Because, even though I can’t get hurt doesn’t mean you can’t.” She paused, considering. “I wonder if you’ll be like me. If you’ll have a power. For your safety, I’d hope not—you’d be much better off away from all this fighting, away from the power struggle. But I can’t imagine you not having a power, since it runs pretty heavily in my family, and... your father has one, too. Lots, actually. But he takes them away from people, and a lot of people don’t like him because of it.”

She wasn’t sure why she was talking if no one was listening, but she had to keep going. This was the first time that she’d been able to talk about it, the first time that she could really get it off her chest, and if talking to the unborn child that was safely growing in her belly made her feel better, then she’d damn well do it.

“But I like him. He just wanted someone to understand him, and I think that I understand him, now. He wanted someone to be there for him, and I was able to do that—well, I hope so. And he said that he was going to come back... I hope he does. I wear the ring he gave me all the time. I never take it off. It’s the only thing he ever gave me... well, beside you. And you’re really important. I think he’d want to know about you.”

Her eyes started to burn; she thought it was from the salt, at first, but when she felt a pang in her chest and a stutter in her breath, she realized that she was crying. Once she started, she couldn’t stop, the salt from her eyes dripping down her cheeks, combining with the salt in the sand.

“I miss him,” Claire whispered.

“Who, me?” A voice from behind her asked.

Claire turned, pulling the gun from her waistband and flicking off the safety lock, pointing it at the person standing there. Green and brown eyes met for the first time in forever, the gun fell from her hand, and Claire scrambled to her feet.

“Sylar!” Claire exclaimed, throwing herself into his open arms, face pressing to his neck and inhaling his scent. Strong arms surrounded her, and Claire suddenly didn’t feel so alone anymore. “How are you here? How long have you been here? Are you okay? Did anyone follow you?”

“Slow down, Claire,” Sylar murmured, playing with a lock of her hair. “I’m fine, no one followed me- or you, for that matter. You should be more careful about that. And I just got here, but I don’t have much time. Why, what’s wrong?” He pulled back from her, holding her at arm’s length and surveying her. “There’s something different about you.”

Claire swallowed, averting her eyes. “I, uh...”

“Claire.” He stared at her, mouth set in a frown. “Tell me.”

She bit her lip, shivering from the cold. “Do you remember... when I asked you about what you’d do if something unexpected happened? And you said that we’d cross that bridge if we came to it?” Her eyes met his, hers nervous and his with dawning comprehension. “Well, I’m on that bridge.”

His hands pulled away from her, and Claire stepped toward him, feeling like her heart might beat out of her chest. “Please don’t be angry! I swear, I didn’t know that this would happen. I’m just scared out of my mind, and I don’t know what to do because I don’t know how you feel about it.”

“You’re pregnant?” He asked, taking another step away from her.

“Yes,” Claire whispered. She felt like her heart was breaking, and had no idea what to do to fix it- didn’t know what to say to make it better.

“How long have you known?” His arms crossed over his chest, and for the first time, Claire saw something in his eyes—fear.

“I found out today, but I’ve suspected for a while. I just didn’t have the chance to check.” She pulled the test out of her pocket, holding it out to him.

He gingerly took it from her palm, his eyes fixed on it before he handed it back. “You’re... and you’re sure that it’s mine?”

Claire tried to swallow back the anger that bubbled up in her throat, but was unsuccessful. Instead, the burning in her eyes multiplied and she turned away, arms wrapping around her stomach as she gasped out a sob, walking to the waterline and away from him. She couldn’t help it—just the fact that he even thought the baby could be anyone else’s just made her want to be sick.

“Claire!” He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. “Claire, I just had to ask—”

The sound of her slap echoed across the empty beach. “How dare you,” the petite girl snarled. “How could you even think that it would be anyone else’s? That ring you gave me, Sylar- I haven’t taken it off since you put it on my finger. Don’t you understand?”

Sylar stared at her in shock, his fingers gingerly touching his cheek, though the redness had already begun to fade. “I—”

“No,” Claire whispered, voice cracking as another sob wracked her body. “Just go. Leave me alone. I can deal with this by myself. I don’t need you.”

His eyes darkened, and before Claire could stop him, he’d grabbed her and pulled her into a kiss. Claire tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t have it, even refusing to stop when she bit his lip until it bled. He held her there, one hand stroking through her hair- calming her down almost immediately, and she cursed him silently for picking up on that little trick- and kissing her patiently until she allowed him entrance.

Once he had thoroughly explored her mouth, reveling in her taste and the way full, soft lips pressed against his, he pulled away and pulled her into him, his arms around her waist. “Babydoll, I’m not going to let you do this alone.”

“What?” Claire asked, surprised.

He laughed under his breath, but when he looked at her, there was no humor in his eyes. “I refuse to take after my father, Claire. I will never abandon my child... or you.”

Claire tensed, but the kiss he lay to her temple calmed her. “You want the baby?”

“Of course,” he replied, arms tightening around her. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she answered, and realized with a rush that she really did. The thought of a little life slowly growing inside of her was almost magical—even more so that it belonged to her and a man who wanted them both. She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes when he buried his face into her hair. “Yeah, I want it.”

She shivered when his cold hand found its way under her shirt, palm resting flat against her belly, fingers tracing the barely-rounded shape. “You’re not very big,” he observed. “Aside from the mood swings, I might not have noticed, but that can work to our advantage... Claire, no one can know about this, you realize that, right?”

“I can’t hide it forever,” Claire replied with an exasperated frown. “It’s a baby. It’s gonna get bigger, and then people are going to notice. People like my father... and the government.”

Sylar swallowed, and Claire knew immediately what he thought of that statement. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I’ll win over the feds, somehow—I’ll give them a few of us, make Danko trust me, and I’ll draw the attention away from you. But you’ll have to stop these little rescue missions of yours and start taking care of yourself.”

“I will,” she promised. “I doubt that I could have gotten away with many more, anyway.”

“As for your father...” Sylar grimaced, his hand falling from her skin. “Do what you have to. Just stay safe... both of you.”

“You too,” Claire replied, cradling his face in her hands and pulling him down to kiss him. “I’ve missed you more than you can imagine.”

“I’ve thought about you every day.” He linked his hand with hers, holding it between them, turning the ring on her finger. “You really haven’t taken it off?”

“Not once,” she said with a smile. “My dad asked me about it once, and I told him that West gave it to me. My ex-boyfriend,” she added at his frown. “It ended a few months ago. He could fly.”

Sylar huffed, frown fading when Claire squeezed his hand. “Hey. Don’t let it bother you.”

“I’m hardly jealous of a boy with a half-rate power,” he snorted.

Claire scowled. “You know you just insulted Nathan, right?”

“Precisely.”

Claire half-smiled, gently shoving him and not protesting when he used her wrist to pull her in, wrapping her in his arms. “Jerk.”

They were silent for a few moments, listening to the sound of the waves and enjoying each other’s warmth. It was Sylar who broke the comfortable quiet between them. “I know that this might be inconvenient for you, Claire, but... I’m glad that it’s you... as the mother of our child.”

“I’m glad that they’re yours, too,” Claire whispered with a contented smile. “I just wish that you could be here, for all of it.”

“I know. But I’m doing this to protect you. It’s necessary.”

“A necessary evil,” Claire sighed. “I understand. Just... be careful.”

“I will,” he replied, carefully drawing away and taking hold of her hand once more. He guided it up, pressing it between his collarbones, and Claire felt a slight disturbance there. Frowning, she moved aside the collar of his shirt and smiled at what she saw.

“You still have it?” she asked, pleasantly surprised, sliding the ring back and forth across the chain.

“Of course I do.” Leaning down, he brushed his lips across her forehead and murmured, “I never take it off.”

Claire smiled and Sylar matched it with a tiny upward quirk of his lips. “You’re sweet.”

He rolled his eyes, but his face was abruptly serious. “Claire?”

“Yeah?”

“I just have one thing that I want to try, if you’ll let me.”

Claire blinked, confused, and nodded. “Whatever you want.”

He smirked. “You don’t even know what I want yet.”

Claire smiled, taking hold of both his hands. “I trust you.”

A sudden flash of affection passed over his face, but it was gone before she was sure it even existed. However, he kept hold of her hands when he carefully got on his knees. He glanced up to her, making sure that she was okay with it, and when she nodded, only then did he release her hands.

Claire grimaced slightly when he began rolling up her shirt and jacket, muscles twitching from exposure to the cold air. She let out a small hiss through her teeth and he looked up in alarm, but she shook her head and motioned for him to continue. She wasn’t exactly sure what to expect—

—until he placed his ear to her stomach.

Claire felt her heart speed at the small, simple gesture. It was just so heartbreakingly normal that she could hardly believe it was happening.

And then he whispered, “I can hear it’s heartbeat.”

“Really?” Claire asked, amazed.

“Mmhm,” he replied. “It’s quiet, but it’s definitely there.”

“Quiet? Is it okay?” she exclaimed, slightly panicked.

“Calm down,” Sylar replied, stroking her sides. “It’s strong, just quiet. It’ll get louder as it gets older. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. I’m sorry. I just seem to overreact lately.”

“It’s fine, Claire. You can’t help it.” With that, his hands both moved to rest on her stomach. He glanced up at her before he looked back at her belly and said, “I will protect you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

A slight thrill went through the blonde and her eyes began to sting again. Sylar brushed his lips across her slightly swollen stomach, pulling back and rolling down her shirt and jacket before he stood. Reaching out to her, he wiped away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. “Don’t cry, Claire.”

She slid into his arms, clutching at the back of his shirt. “Please don’t go. I want you to be here, to watch our baby grow, to see him or her be born.”

He shook his head and kissed her forehead. “I can’t, Babydoll. I wish I could. But, maybe by the time this is over, I’ll be able to see you again. Maybe. Okay?”

“Okay,” Claire whispered. “You just be careful. I’ll go to the doctor... make sure everything is going well.” She laughed quietly. “Find out if it’s a boy or a girl.”

Sylar drew away, dark eyes intense and holding her gaze. “Claire... I will keep you safe. Nothing will get in my way, not even your family. You understand that, right?”

She bit her lip, but nodded. “Do what you have to. But try not to hurt them, if you don’t have to.”

“No promises,” he whispered, hands gently rubbing over her shoulders. “But, I’ll do what I can. Now, I have to go. I have a Hunter to hunt.”

Claire nodded again, accepting a slow kiss before he backed away.

“Oh, and Claire?”

“Yeah?”

Sylar smiled slightly. “You should take a closer look at your ring, sometime.”

He disappeared into the night.

Claire bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to cry as she made her way back to the path, sliding on her shoes and reaching for her keys, unlocking her car. Climbing inside, she paused before she flicked on the light above her head, sliding off her ring and looking at it more closely.

There, on the inside, a few words were written.

I know how to make love stay.

An incredulous burst of laughter escaped Claire, a wide smile spreading across her face. She turned the ring over in her hands before she slid it back on, not sure if she would burst into tears or not.

After a moment, she decided that she needed to get home, as it was approaching ten o’clock and her mother was still expecting her. Claire turned on the car and pulled out of the driveway, a tiny smile still stuck to her mouth as she drove home.

Claire parked her car in the garage, walking around to go through the front door. “Mom, I’m home!”

“Did you have a nice time, honey?” Sandra called, puttering in the kitchen when Claire passed.

“Yeah,” she replied with a grin. “Yeah, I did. I’m just going to go up to my room, okay?”

Sandra gave her daughter a searching look before she replied, “That’s fine. Get to bed soon, okay? You have to work tomorrow.”

“I know,” the blonde replied. “Night, Mom.”

Claire climbed the stairs, turning into her room and flopping onto her bed with a happy sigh, the pregnancy test in her coat pocket forgotten as she threw it aside. That was exactly what she had needed- and she didn’t feel so scared, anymore.

Sylar wanted their baby.

And he wanted her.

Laying a hand on her stomach, Claire whispered, “Daddy’s gonna take care of you. And he loves you- I know it.”

Claire’s phone rang, then, and she reached for the piece of plastic with a frown, wondering who would call her this late and not recognizing the number. “Hello?”

“Claire, I know what you’re doing, and you have to stop.”

Green eyes widened and her hand clenched around her cell. “Angela? What are you talking about?”

“Claire, do not take me for a fool. I’ve dreamed it. Your consorting with Sylar will only bring you pain, and it needs to stop before things get out of hand.”

“Well, it’s too late for that,” she hissed. “Did you dream that?”

A heavy sigh crackled over the line. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

Claire tensed. “What’s it to you?”

“Claire, I don’t think you understand your situation. As we speak, the government is coming for you- your free pass is up. Danko threw Nathan from a building and watched him fly away. The game has changed, and you need to be prepared. Sylar is the most powerful of us all, and you’re a force to be reckoned with, yourself. If anyone learns of this, Claire, they will be after you like never before- the child you carry has the potential to be immeasurably powerful, and to the government, that is extremely dangerous”

“He said he’ll protect us,” the girl whispered, drawing her knees to her chest.

“He’ll be in no position to protect anyone, Claire.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because, Claire,” Angela said. “And I’m sorry to tell you this, but... Sylar is going to die.”

Cold spread through her chest, and Claire curled in tighter to herself. “No. No, that can’t be possible. He can’t die—he has my ability!”

“Claire, you know perfectly well that he can,” the woman replied. “And you can’t help him. It has to be this way.”

“But I—” Claire choked.

“Now, Claire, you need to get out of there. The agents will be arriving at your door right now.”

And, sure enough, Claire heard the telltale smash of a door being kicked in, her mother screaming her name, just as there was a knock on her window, Nathan hovering outside. “Claire!” he hissed. “Claire, come here!”

“I don’t want your help!” she snarled.

“Claire, go with Nathan. He will take care of you,” Angela insisted, obviously having heard her son’s hissed words.

“Claire, do you want to get caught? Is that what you want? They’ll drug you, and god knows what that’ll do to your body.”

Just stay safe... both of you.

“Fine,” she whispered, reaching out to take his offered hand.

“You’re going to have to jump. Trust me.”

“Claire, just one more thing—”

“This isn’t the best time, Angela,” Claire growled, crawling onto her windowsill.

“It’s important.”

“It can wait!”

“Claire, hurry up!”

Claire jumped into Nathan’s waiting arms just as the pounding at her door began. The man dragged her behind the tree outside of her window. Claire struggled to keep her phone tucked between her ear and shoulder.

“It’s a boy.”

The phone slipped, falling three stories to the ground below and smashing to pieces. Nathan hissed as the feds came to check on the unexpected noise, and rocketed into the atmosphere, Claire in his arms.

It’s a boy.

Despite the adrenaline rushing through her veins and the crushing terror in her chest, Claire smiled.

#Claire Bennet #Dei's fics #Heroes #Lie To Me fanfiction #Sylaire #Sylar #fanfiction

22 notes · View notes

maydei · 13 years ago

Text

Fanfiction- Lie To Me: Chapter One

Fandom: Heroes

Pairing: Sylaire (Sylar x Claire)

Rating: Strong M

Warnings: sexual content, typos, out-of-character-ness

Words: ~8,000

Episode Equivalent: 3x13, post- "Duel"

Post 3x13 "Dual", following through canon. "Say it again," he mumbled. "Lie to me." And Claire stuttered out in a broken voice, "I want you to stop." A catalyst to a complex series of disasters and miracles that changes everything.

3x13 Post “Dual”

Claire sighed, making her way up the stairs to her room in the Petrelli mansion; it had been just over a week since the fiasco at Pinehearst, and she had been jittery ever since. Sylar was alive and she knew it—she didn’t know how, but she was positive that he was out there, just watching, waiting for the opportunity to strike again. That very notion had kept her awake nearly every night since she watched Primatech burn to the ground—would probably keep her up again tonight, since it was already approaching midnight.

Turning the door handle, Claire entered her room and reached for the light switch. The dim bulbs flickered on overhead just as the door slammed closed behind her. She glanced behind her in alarm before she turned back, her face contorting in hate and fear when she saw the familiar man that was lounging on her bed.

“Sylar,” Claire spat. “I knew it. How did you survive? What the hell are you doing here?”

And then she realized the shadows under his eyes, the slightly-disheveled style of his hair and the way his arms were crossed protectively over his chest. “Claire.”

Treading carefully to the other side of the large, comfortable room, Claire repeated, “Sylar, what are you doing here?”

Sylar leaned his head back with a heavy thud against the wall, eyes closing and showing the full extent of his obvious insomnia. “I just wanted to know if everyone is a liar. I thought that I should come to you—you’re always the person to give me the answers I need.”

Claire frowned, sitting precariously on the edge of her vanity bench, fists clenched and resting atop her legs. “What are you talking about?”

He sighed heavily, one dark brown eye opening and looking to her. “My entire life is a lie. Everyone I’ve ever known has lied to me. I need to know that it’s not just bad luck—that everyone lies.” He sat up from his seat, sitting cross-legged on her bed, facing her. One of his hands traced the elaborate embroidery of her crimson coverlet, his eyes flickering to it before they came back to rest on her. “Lie to me, Claire,” he whispered. “Please.”

She scowled, tensing and moving back on the cushioned seat, staying as far as she could from him. “Get out of here, Sylar. I’m not going to encourage your honesty complex. I should be calling Angela... I don’t know why I’m not.”

Sylar’s hand clenched—nothing. No tingling. She hadn’t lied at all. “Just lie to me, Claire. And then I’ll leave.”

“I don’t want to lie. I just want you to go.”

He scowled, anger flashing across his face. “You know, I could make you. I don’t have to be nice about this. You’d be better off just cooperating.”

Claire’s lip curled. “What exactly are you hoping to hear, Sylar? That part of me is actually happy that you’re not dead?”

Sylar frowned as he waited... and waited. But nothing came. Nothing at all. “You’re not lying.” His eyes narrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Green eyes widened at the implication, lips parting slightly as she searched for words that would not come. “But I...”

“You thought that you were,” he answered for her, head tilting to the side. “So... perhaps you’re lying to yourself.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “I didn’t know you cared so much.”

She snorted. “I don’t like you, Sylar. All I care about is keeping you in line.”

Sylar’s smirk grew, and one tan hand reached out, fingers twitching, and Claire stood involuntarily. “Hey—let me go, you sick bastard!”

“I don’t think so.” Claire struggled against his control as he brought her forward, sitting her opposite of him on her bed, both cross-legged and facing each other. She growled in irritation as one finger brushed across her knee, then shivered at the touch. “How does that feel?”

Determined not to give in, not to lie, she hissed, “Strange... it tickles. Don’t touch me!”

“I told you that I could make you lie,” Sylar replied, voice low and soft, eyes watching her carefully as he traced circles on her calf. “And I will. I have to know, Claire.”

“Why not anyone else?” the blonde bit out, trying desperately to move away, but unable to do so under the force of Eric Doyle’s ability. “Why me?”

He shrugged a little, brown eyes downcast to watch the progress of his hand along her denim-clothed leg. “Because, when I think about it, you’re the only person that comes to mind that I don’t think has ever lied to me. And I want you to. I want to know that it’s not my fault... that I couldn’t help being lied to. Not that I was just a fool for trusting the wrong people.”

“Everyone feels like that sometimes,” she replied. “Because everyone lies.”

“But not you,” he countered. “You’ve never lied to me.”

“But I have lied to other people,” Claire argued. “My father. Nathan. Angela. The Haitian. My mother.”

Sylar frowned, and Claire could see the confusion that flickered across his face. “Then why not me?”

It was Claire’s turn to shrug, averting her eyes uncomfortably as his hand skimmed up to her outer thigh. “Because I don’t see the point. You would know if I lied, because of your abilities—and I’m a terrible liar anyway. Why bother? I might as well just tell the truth. It would get me in less trouble... and it hurts less.”

Brown eyes flickered up to meet green, and Sylar’s face was abruptly serious, desperation lingering in his eyes. “Claire, if I released you from Doyle’s ability right now, would you try to run?”

She was silent for a moment, considering his question before she murmured, “No.”

Immediately, she felt a heavy weight lift off her shoulders. Even knowing that she could run, she didn’t try; she didn’t want to try. And, somewhere deep underneath, she wanted to help... somehow.

“Do you hate me?” Sylar asked quietly, his hand stilling, hand open and resting above her knee.

Claire sighed, shoulders slumping a bit when she replied, “I’m not sure. I used to. Now... I’m angry. I’m really pissed about what you did to me, what you did to Peter and how you took my mom... Meredith... away. But, at the same time, I can’t exactly blame you.” Her fingers twitched, and she struggled internally with herself before she finally rested her hand atop his. “Because it wasn’t entirely your fault. They could have stopped you from being who you were, but they just egged you on. But your decisions are your own, at the same time. Even if they’re influenced by the side-effect of your ability. So... I guess I don’t hate you. In fact, I kind of feel sorry for you.”

He couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped him a few seconds later. “I’m not sure whether I should be happy or sad. You don’t hate me, but you feel sorry for me... I have all these abilities, Claire, but next to you, I’ve never felt so weak. So insignificant.” He ran his other hand over his aching eyes. “I wanted to be special, but with you, I feel like I’m back to where I started.”

“But you are special,” Claire replied incredulously, frowning. “You’re one of us. You have an ability. How many abilities or the strength of the abilities you have doesn’t matter. The most important thing is that you understand what it’s like to be different, to have a secret.”

Sylar stared at her like she was insane. “You’re saying that you don’t care about power at all?”

She shrugged. “Well, my ability is stupid. It doesn’t do anything. What I’m saying is that it’s not so much about the ability, but being able to share a secret with someone. My dad doesn’t have an ability, but he’s still just as important to me as Peter, because I can talk to him.”

“Your ability isn’t stupid!” Sylar protested, grabbing her hand in both of his own, eyes wide and surprisingly earnest. “You can never die, Claire. You can’t be hurt, can’t be injured. You can’t even feel pain—you’re perfect.”

“Feeling pain is a gift,” Claire replied, drawing her knees up to her chest, but allowing him to keep his grasp on her hand. “It was the only thing that made me feel human, once I started healing. Then I lost it, and now I’ve forgotten what it feels like... to feel.”

Sylar considered her for a moment before he tugged on her hand, sending her sprawling forward into him. He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into his lap, despite her surprised and alarmed protesting. When he finally had Claire settled, he hesitated for only a moment before he brought his hand to her face, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. Claire froze in his grasp, her eyes locked with his, green against brown, confusion against desperation.

“Can you feel this?” Sylar asked, his deep, soft voice the only disruption of the silence.

And she could—possibly more than anything she had ever felt. She felt the slow path of his thumb, the slight callus on his skin, the warmth that his body radiated into hers from that one small touch. Where their skin was connected, hers tingled like touched by electricity, prickling like when a limb fell asleep, except without the hint of pain.

Claire’s mouth opened and she searched for the words to reply with, but nothing came to mind other than a whispered, “Yes.”

He hummed thoughtfully, biting softly at his bottom lip, and Claire realized for the first time how attractive the man actually was—lightly tanned with a strong, angled jaw. Teeth that were straight, sharp and white, intimidating to some when he showed them. A slender, defined body, hidden behind a black shirt and dark-wash jeans. Black hair, healthy and carelessly styled, a few strands fallen out of place, hanging in eyes that were so deep a brown that they were nearly black. They were fathomless, expressive and always intense with whatever emotion he was feeling inside; no matter the role he was playing or the person he was pretending to be, his eyes always gave him away.

And Claire was trapped under the weight of his gaze.

Entranced.

And she was fairly sure that her heart would beat right out of her chest.

“What are you thinking about right now?” He asked, brushing a stray curl from her eyes before his hand returned to its casual—and yet, terribly intimate—touch.

Claire swallowed, fighting the urge to shiver when his eyes watched the movement of her throat. “You.”

His lips twitched upwards a slight bit, and he hummed again. “What about me?”

She surprised both him and herself when she leaned into his hand, eyelids closing slightly and replying, “I’m wondering how you’re doing this to me. What ability you’re using to make me feel like this, to make my heart beat so fast... to make me want this.”

He blinked, then frowned... before his mouth opened in surprise. “You’re not lying. You really do want—”

She nodded just barely, her fingers raising to touch his wrist. His hand opened in response, molding to the contours of her cheek, curls brushing against his fingers. “So,” she asked. “Which one is it?”

“I’m not using one,” he answered, eyes unusually open and vulnerable.

“I’m not sure if I believe that,” Claire replied, her heart speeding even further at the thought... that it might even be possible to feel this way without being manipulated... and with Sylar, of all people.

He sighed, leaning down to rest their foreheads together, her eyes half-mast and alluring, connected solidly with his in such a direct way that it made a thrill start in his gut. “I’m not lying,” Sylar murmured. “I wish I could prove it to you.”

“You can,” Claire breathed. “Just...”

His arm around her tightened, and the hand that held her face still began to move, fingers tracing the fluttering vein down the side of her neck before coming to rest at her throat. Long, thin fingers curled around it, but applied no pressure. Claire glanced at his arm before she looked back to him. Though she couldn’t die and couldn’t feel pain, her breath still shallowed in alarm, though it did nothing to deter her—or him.

His pupils dilated, brown fading into black, desperate and crazed and gorgeous, and she felt his fingers twitch in reflex against her neck, felt the temptation that he felt to kill her, the urge to hurt her if she didn’t cooperate.

The need to know the truth.

“Tell me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Tell me that you want me to, Claire. God, please just mean it, and I will.”

Claire swallowed, and Sylar’s fingers twitched again in response, a soft, frustrated noise escaping from deep within his chest.

“Claire,” Sylar repeated—demanded. “Tell me.”

And, suddenly, she smiled, leaning forward enough so their noses touched and, when she spoke, their lips brushed together. “I don’t want you to.”

His eyes held hers, though she could see the anger brewing in them, his hand starting to put pressure on her neck—

And then Sylar shuddered. His eyes narrowed in confusion, before comprehension dawned on him. His hand tightened before it relaxed, and slipped from its position around her throat to the back of her neck. He jerked her forward, their mouths crushing together and lips parting and tongues meeting.

Claire moaned softly into his mouth, her hands sliding into his hair, legs moving apart so she could straddle his lap. His hips bucked upwards, and she let out another sound as she felt him, felt the proof of his arousal, of his interest and desire for her. She rolled her hips in response, denim-on-denim causing beautiful friction, excitement shooting through her gut when he growled, rolling her over onto her back.

He slid between her jean-clad legs, one hand resting on her waist where her purple t-shirt had ridden up, the other resting behind her head on her pillow. Claire tilted her head in order to kiss him better, raising her hips into his again, grinning to herself when he gasped harshly into her mouth and scraped his nails against her skin.

“Shit,” she whispered into the kiss, arching both toward him and away, all at the same time. “Sylar.”

“Say it again,” he mumbled. “Lie to me.”

And Claire stuttered out in a broken voice, “I want you to stop.”

His eyes squeezed closed and a shudder wracked his whole body, transferring through her. He slipped his hand under the edge of her t-shirt, hissing, “Aah... fuck, Claire, I want you.”

Claire arched up suddenly when he scraped his nails across her midriff, scrapes reddening before fading, gone by the time he’d pushed her shirt up to just below her breasts. His mouth tore away from hers, attaching to her neck and leaving dark, suckling bruises, biting down every time she clawed at his back.

“Shit, shit, shit...” Claire whispered, tossing her head back and closing her eyes. “Unh... Sylar. Shit. It feels...”

He pulled away from her with a feral grin. “Good?”

“Mmm... yeah.” Her eyes opened again, feeling the bruises on her neck fade from a deep red back to golden tan.

One wide, warm hand splayed over her stomach, and Sylar pushed himself to his knees, his eyes gazing over her body. His eyes lingered where her jeans hugged low on her hips, hipbones exposed and paler than the rest of her. He brushed his knuckles over them before he leaned down, pressing his lips to the hollow just beside one, then moving his way up to her slender stomach.

He left soft, quick kisses across the canvas of her belly, making her squeak and squirm when his warm breath fell across her skin. It was only when his tongue traced the base of her ribcage that she sighed, whimpering when he blew on the skin and it immediately turned cold.

“So, I’m, uh, thinking,” Claire panted as his fingers traced her sides, squirming at the feeling of calluses brushing sensitive skin. “That, if I’m telling the truth, then you— ahh, damnit— should, too.”

“If you have questions, ask away,” he replied with a smirk, nuzzling near her bellybutton before he pulled back, leaving her shirt where it was—breasts still covered and stomach exposed—and moving to her jeans. His fingers worked at the button fly, popping two of the four before she could speak again.

“Did you know, when you came here, that this was gonna happen?” Claire tensed when his hand accidentally brushed the softness of her red cotton panties, plain and simple. Innocent.

“No,” Sylar admitted with a sharp laugh, moving to the third button. “Hell no; how could I? I just came to prove a point—that all people are liars. I didn’t think that things would end up like this...” He hesitated, hands stilling before moving again. “Though, I’ll admit, it’s a nice development.”

Claire gasped when his hands moved to the last button, closing her eyes tightly. “Are you doing this because I’m my father’s daughter, then?”

“No,” he answered. “I’m doing this because you are a beautiful, powerful girl that has no idea of her potential, and because I’m absolutely addicted to you. Like a drug, except more powerful—maybe even more so than the Hunger. The fact that you’re Noah Bennet’s daughter is just an added bonus. Maybe a curse, if you want to see it that way.”

The last button popped open, and with it came violent butterflies in Claire’s stomach. “Do you even care about me? Or is this just a game?”

Long fingers hooked in her belt loops, tugging sharply down to peel the fabric from slender legs. “I don’t know if I care, Claire, but that’s because I don’t know how. But I know that I feel something when I’m around you, more than I’ve ever felt with anyone else—and that’s something, at least.”

He stopped when the pants reached her ankles, for just long enough to pull her tennis shoes and socks from her feet, kicking his own off in the process. Then, he pulled the denim from her legs and tossed them aside, pressing a gentle kiss to the sensitive curve of her calf, and allowed his hands to slide over firm muscles and soft, slender thighs.

His eyes met hers in hesitation, and after a second, she nodded just barely. His hand paused for only a moment before they brushed over the front of her panties. Claire’s hips raised instinctively, and he was filled with insistent need when he felt the slight dampness there. “God, Claire,” he murmured, leaning down to press their mouths together again and pulling away when he felt hands at his own shirt.

Sylar looked at her questioningly when she scowled, sitting up and pulling at his t-shirt. He suddenly understood, helping her pull it over his head and throwing it to land on the floor with her pants. Dainty hands touched every ridge of solid muscle, skimmed over the sparse hair before her hand lay flat against his chest—

Against his heart.

“It feels the same as mine,” she said quietly. “Strong and steady. Quick. Nervous. But it’s eternal... forever, like mine, too.” She looked to him, and for the first time, it was Claire who was vulnerable before his eyes. “When it’s over, are you going to be done with me?”

He frowned, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You don’t owe me anything in this, Claire. We don’t have to if you don’t—”

“I want to,” Claire insisted, and he felt no trace of a lie. “I just want to know if this will be the only time.”

His expression darkened at the thought. “I don’t know if once will be enough. I... desire... your company. Intimately, as well as not. And if I have something once, I almost always want it again and again...” His throat contracted and relaxed. “Claire, there’s just one thing I want you to know.”

“Hm?” She asked, feeling his heartbeat against her palm.

He closed his eyes. “I’m not going to change for you, Claire. I’m still going to kill... and, when the time comes, you’re going to have to stop me to prove yourself to your family. In any way possible.”

The thought of shoving glass into his skull again made her feel sick, just like she had that night, watching the building burn and wondering if she would someday be the only one left on the planet, forever seventeen.

“And you’ll have to pretend that I’m the enemy. You’ll have to hate me, but... if you can do that, and if you can pretend that’s the truth every time we meet until that day, then... maybe it could work out, somehow.”

“I don’t know if I could ever hate you again,” Claire murmured, leaning forward to nuzzle his neck, nudging her nose up under his jaw and sighing when he rested his chin atop her head. “But, if that’s what you want... I’ll show them exactly what they want to see.”

“Good girl,” Sylar replied, pulling away enough so he could bend to kiss her again. Claire hummed into his mouth, allowing him to push her onto her back once more. She lifted her arms so he could remove her shirt, crossing them over herself when he turned to toss it aside.

He frowned at her, obviously not pleased. “Claire, don’t start that.” He reached for her, moving the thin strap of her bra off her shoulder and brushing blonde curls from golden skin.

She pouted, turning her head away, a dark blush coloring her cheeks. “Well, it’s not like I’m used to this...”

His head tilted to the side, surveying her stance before understanding kicked in. He pulled away from her, eyes wide and almost horrified. “Claire, you... you’ve never been with anyone like this before, have you?”

She shook her head, little more than a minute movement that was barely detectable.

“Damn it, Claire,” he breathed. “You should have said something. I... I shouldn’t be the person that...”

At that, she pushed herself up, reaching for him as he drew away. “Sylar, stop.”

He froze. “But, Claire...”

“No.” She grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back to her with a surprising amount of strength. “This is my life, and I can make my own decisions. I want you to be the first, and I...” She paused, sighing, and tugged him close. He balanced on all fours above her, their eyes meeting uncertainly, and Claire continued. “I don’t want it to be anyone else.”

He sighed, lowering himself so their bodies fit together, toying with the straps of her bra. He rested his forehead against hers, rolling one of her curls around his finger. “Why not?”

She was almost positive that the breath had left her body, their chests pressed together, legs tangling and feeling her heart beat against his. “Because you know me for who I am... and because you’ll always be there.”

“I’m not a hero, Claire,” he reminded her gently. “I probably won’t be there when you need me.”

“But you’ll be there for forever.” Claire reached up, pushing his hair back from his eyes. “And that’s when I’m going to need you. Otherwise, I can take care of myself.”

Sylar laughed quietly. “I suppose so.”

“Now, sit up,” Claire said with a sly smile, pushing lightly on his shoulders. “You’re wearing far too many clothes.”

He hummed his agreement, letting her roll them over so she was on top. His hands settled at her waist when she straddled his hips, watching as she bit her lip in concentration as she worked to pop open the button on his jeans.

“Stupid...” she mumbled. “Stupid thing. I can’t...”

He laughed at her reaction, covering her hands with his and helping her free the stubborn piece of brass from the buttonhole. “It’s alright.”

“Lift your hips,” Claire demanded impatiently. “And help me get these off you.”

“Alright, alright,” Sylar replied, smiling faintly. “Be patient.”

“Well excuse me for not wanting to get caught,” Claire growled. “Because Angela could show up, you know, like, any time. Or Peter. Or the Haitian. And that wouldn’t exactly be a good thing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the man said, shifting to pull his jeans off, leaving him bare but for his boxer-briefs. “We won’t get caught.” He tapped his temple. “Powers, Claire. They’re wonderful things.”

“But—”

“Hush.” He grabbed her around the waist, moving her farther up the bed, despite her indignant grumblings. He kissed her quiet, twisting his fingers into her hair and holding her there until she gave in. Her body relaxed back against her pillows and her eyes cracked open, sighing when he pulled away, her foot tracing idly back and forth across his calf.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly and eyes falling closed. “I’m just scared, I guess.”

“Claire, I told you that we don’t have to do anything. I can wait for you for as long as it takes.”

“Not that kind of scared,” she sighed. “Well, maybe a little. More scared about my father finding out about... whatever this is.” She chewed at her kiss-swollen lips, green eyes honestly nervous and almost... worried. “And what if something happens? Something... unexpected.”

He shook his head with a slight smile, kissing her once, twice, and once more. “Don’t worry so much, Claire. If something happens...” His smile faded slightly. “We’ll cross that bridge if we should come to it. Okay?”

Claire swallowed, exhaling sharply and forcing a smile, leaning up to kiss him quickly before she replied, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, smile returning as he slipped a hand between them, fingers skimming over the front of her bra— Claire shivered at the indirect touch. “Feel good?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, arching up slightly when his hand went to her back, the other slipping under her after a moment. He scowled, fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra, and Claire grinned.

“Having some difficulty?” the blonde asked with a cocky grin.

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t possibly be annoyed by her when she looked like that- grinning widely, cheeks flushed and hair a bit disheveled, leaning back on her elbows and clothed only in thin cotton panties and a mismatched bra, the straps falling off her shoulders. He tugged again at the offensive garment, the warmth bubbling through him making anything more than touching her insanely difficult.

“Not fun, is it?” Claire reached behind herself, unfastening the clasp and laying back as he practically ripped it from her body.

“Shut up, Claire,” he growled, attaching their mouths together as he palmed her bare breast, squeezing slightly and making her arch up into him. Rough, callused fingers found the pert bud of her nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

A loud, throaty moan escaped the petite blonde, and her nails dug into his sides. Sylar winced, biting down on her lip hard enough to break the skin. However, the cut was gone before he could sooth it over with his tongue, leaving only the sharp tang of blood behind.

There was something about that violent and strangely erotic addition that finally drove him over the edge, fingers twitching out of reflex, the sides of her underwear- and a bit of skin- sliced. He pulled the scrap of fabric away, leaving her completely bare under his hungry gaze, a few sticky drops of red smudged at her hips. Short, blonde curls were her only protection now, slightly coarse when he tentatively touched them, but no less appealing, by any means.

“Claire...” Sylar breathed, one hand tracing the curves and dips of her body. “You are absolutely beautiful. Flawless. Perfect.”

She shifted, both embarrassed and flattered, but she smiled and reached for him, sitting up and kissing him. Her hands pushed his hair back from his face, smoothed over his shoulders and down his chest, finally settling at his hips and toying with the waistband of his boxers, the final barrier between them. He groaned at the feeling of her soft hands against his skin, combined with his anticipation of finally, finally being with her.

He pulled back just barely, brushing his lips over the corner of her mouth, her cheeks, forehead, eyelids, and the tip of her nose, smiling slightly when Claire broke out into a fit of giggling. Then, as soon as it had come, she had stopped, her eyes meeting his uncertainly before she carefully started pushing the garment down his hips.

His hands covered hers, helping her to remove his boxers, gasping and hissing under his breath when the elastic waistband dragged against his aching erection. Claire averted her eyes, sinking her teeth into her lip and badly suppressing a violent shudder when she heard his quiet noises. Sylar, seeing her discomfort, gently pushed her hands away and completed the task himself, left completely bare and shivering in the mild air of Claire’s room.

Reaching out to her, he brushed his fingertips over her collarbone, skimming over her breast and tracing the dips of her ribs, following the natural curve of her body to her hips. His thumb stroked over one of the slightly protruding bones there, humming quietly in response to her soft whimper. “Claire, look at me.”

Her eyes hesitantly raised to his and she worried her lip between her teeth, stopping only when his other hand raised to rub his thumb over her mouth. His eyes darkened when her lips parted, carefully taking hold of his finger between her teeth and sucking it into her mouth.

“God, you gorgeous, gorgeous girl,” he murmured, pulling his hand from her and covering her mouth with his own. Claire hardened her resolve when she felt that kiss, and slowly lowered her hand to rest against his abdomen, pulling her mouth away, looking for affirmation that she was okay, that she would be accepted.

“Claire, you don’t have to—” Sylar started when he realized what she was intending, the rest of that statement cut off by his shuddering moan when her fingers brushed his straining cock. “Oh god, Claire.”

Her mouth curved into a small smile, her confidence boosted by his reaction, her hand taking hold of the flushed organ and giving it a firm stroke. “‘Feel good?’” she asked, grinning when she realized that she’d finally turned the tables on him.

“You have n- no idea,” he breathed. “Jesus, Claire you have to stop.”

Her smile fell. “Am I doing it wrong?” she asked quietly.

“No, no, no,” he replied quickly. “You’re doing it right, Claire. Very right. It’s just the fact that it’s you... you’re driving me crazy. You have to stop if you want this to go any further.”

“Okay,” she replied, allowing him to push her hand away. He reached for her, but she grabbed his hand before it could touch her heated skin. “Don’t-—I don’t want to wait anymore, and it won’t hurt, either way.”

He swallowed, his eyes locked with hers when he said, “I don’t have a...”

“I don’t care,” Claire whispered. “Just... be with me.”

“Are you sure?”

Claire rolled her eyes, reaching up and linking her arms around his neck, pulling him down until their bodies were pressed flush together— stomach to stomach, chest to chest, heartbeat against pounding heartbeat. “More sure than I’ve ever been about anything. You’re the one thing that I can have to myself... the one person who understands how I work, without fail.”

He nodded in understanding, pulling back just enough to guide himself to the entrance of her body, shuddering at the feeling. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly, lifting her hips to push him closer.

They both moaned as he pushed himself forward, slipping inside and not stopping until he was fully sheathed inside her.

Claire’s chest heaved as she took in oxygen, her body by no means in pain but uncomfortable with the feeling of being stretched. She shifted her hips in an effort to find comfort, suddenly stilled when Sylar gripped her hips, hissing, “Wait a second, Claire.”

“Okay,” she whispered, not able to stop the trembling of her body as she slowly started to adjust to the feeling of him being within her.

“Fuck,” he growled under his breath. “So tight... so hot. Feels so good.”

“Good to know,” the blonde breathed, resting her head back and closing her eyes.

Without warning, he began to pull back, slowly sliding out and leaving Claire feeling empty—at least until his hips snapped forward, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through her body that fizzled like lightening, a quiet cry escaping her mouth and a sharp snarl escaping his.

Claire whined softly, shifting her hips again in search of that feeling. Her skin was tingling all over, and though she’d heard the girls at all her past schools speak of sex before, she never imagined that it was like this.

“Sylar,” she gasped, clinging to him when he repeated the motion, her arms linking together around his back and her nails digging into his skin. Blood welled up from the scratches, but Sylar didn’t seem to mind it—in fact, the pain seemed to make the force of his hips increase.

“Move with me, Claire,” the dark-haired man ordered, his hands finding their way to her hips and aiding her as she arched up into him. “Mmm, yeah, that’s it.”

Claire threw her head back as their rhythm grew faster, no longer entirely in control of her body and not entirely sure that he was, either. At this point, she didn’t really care, as long as the intoxicating friction between them didn’t stop anytime soon.

Pleasure was rolling and churning and bubbling in her stomach, slowly starting to boil over and Claire wasn’t sure how long she could hold it back. “Sylar,” Claire moaned, her voice cracking halfway through his name. “God, please don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, Babydoll,” he growled, blue sparks pulsing from his hands sporadically, burning her skin and electrifying her entire body.

Claire’s back arched off the bed with a hoarse shout, legs wrapping around his waist and biting down hard on his shoulder to keep herself quiet. Sylar snarled out a curse, pushing up to his knees and using them as leverage for a new angle, one that had Claire’s vision bursting with colors and sounds blurring together.

And then Sylar leaned down to her, nipping at the shell of her ear before he choked out, “My name is Gabriel.”

Through the haze of her mind, this sentence somehow seemed to compute, despite the impending sensory overload that was sure and soon to come. Claire’s jade-green eyes opened halfway, locking with his, black and fathomless and expectant and watching her with unrestrained lust as she writhed beneath him.

“Gabriel!” Claire yelled, and the pleasure exploded outward, filling her painless body with more sensation than she had ever felt or even thought that she could feel. The colors washed over her until they melted and mixed into one, a solid white that completely took over her vision and body and left nothing behind but the man above her.

Sylar shuddered, his body tensing beyond the point of pain, leaving him a mass of sensation that was completely controlled by the blonde woman he was buried within. Claire’s every touch shot feelings through him that he’d never imagined existed- the feelings that he always assumed were exaggerated by those who had ever felt affection or care or love for another.

They reached and came down from their high together—Sylar gasping for every breath and Claire completely lost, eyes open but unseeing, body shaking even still from the force of her orgasm. Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen and parted, long, golden curls spread over her pillows, and Sylar thought that she was the single most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—intimately or otherwise.

He pushed his bangs back from his eyes, leaning down to kiss her and feeling her respond, but only barely. Her lips were a whisper against his, her fingertips touching his cheek for a moment before they fell, her head leaning back and her eyes closing, breathing slowing to a moderate pace.

He smiled to himself- she’d fallen asleep. That realization made him immeasurably proud of himself- but he still needed to take care of her. He knew for a fact that allowing himself to fall asleep now, no matter how wonderful that option sounded, would provide a potentially messy hassle later. He carefully drew away from the sleeping girl, not bothering to cover himself as he crossed to her en suite bathroom, cleaning himself off before he dampened a hand towel and returned to her side.

As he cleaned the unconscious woman off, he wondered why he even bothered- before tonight, he never saw the need to look out for anyone but himself. However, Claire...

Claire was different. She was the one victim who wasn’t a victim. The one person that wasn’t just another person. And before tonight, she’d hated him, despised him. But now... she’d given him everything, and asked for so little in return. It wasn’t fair, really. He wanted to give it all to her, wanted to stay with her, but his dark past and dim future would only cause her trouble and pain.

It was for that reason that he had to leave.

He returned to the bathroom, placing the towel in the hamper and crossing back into her room. He sat at the edge of her bed, frowning, thoughts racing through his head.

She’s glowing, he thought, cupping her cheek in his hand. She’s such a beautiful girl. I don’t want to leave her, but I should. But the lingering exhaustion weighed his body down, and Sylar found that he couldn’t move.

He sighed, forcing himself to stand and about to leave before he felt a hand clasp around his. He turned in surprise, his eyes meeting green, and the insistent woman tugged at his hand again.

“What is it, Claire?” Sylar asked.

“Stay,” she replied simply.

He frowned at her, but sat again at the edge of the bed. “...I shouldn’t.”

“Do it anyway.” Sleepy but determined, she pulled at his hand once more. “Please.”

He chewed at the inside of his cheek, contemplating, but her vulnerable and hopeful gaze won him over. He pulled the sheets aside for her to slip under, following closely to embrace her from behind. His telekinesis reached out to turn off the lights before his hands twined with hers, settling on her stomach and tracing a careful arc around her belly button with his thumb.

“Thank you,” Claire whispered through the dark, leaning her head back to tuck under his chin.

“For what?” Sylar asked softly.

“For being here. For making me into who I am today.” Claire paused, obviously considering something before she tilted her head back even more, green eyes looking at him upside-down, looking surprisingly feline when illuminated by the dim moonlight that streamed through her curtained windows. “For taking my ability.”

“You always hated that I took it from you,” he reminded her. “That I took away your pain, that I took what was yours by birth.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “But, now, you can be with me. And I don’t feel so alone. We can be together, if you want to be...”

“I want it, Babydoll, maybe more than anything I’ve ever wanted before,” Sylar mumbled through the darkness, her newfound nickname escaping him before he realized, far too late for him to draw it back.

“But...?” Claire asked, a faint smile pulling at her lips at his little slip, vowing to remember the way that name rolled from his tongue for the future.

He grimaced—she could always read him so well. “But, that can’t happen now. I have to leave, both to find my answers and protect you from suspicion. No one can know what happened here tonight, Claire. No one. They can’t know about us—you’ll have to do whatever it takes to convince them that you hate me.”

“Like I said before,” she replied. “I’ll show them what they want to see.”

He sighed, nuzzling her temple and closing his eyes and said, “Sleep, Claire. You’re exhausted.”

Claire laughed under her breath. “And whose fault is that?”

His lips curled in a smirk. “I suppose it would be mine...” Sylar murmured and breathed into her ear, “...but you started it.”

“If you say so,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, settling back into him and eyelids finally sliding closed. “But I’m glad I did.”

Claire awoke when the room was faintly tinged with gray—no longer nighttime, but not early enough to be called dawn. She blinked blearily, wondering what had woken her before her eyes settled on a man that was headed toward her window.

“You weren’t going to say goodbye?”

He turned with a frown, eyes softening when they landed on her. “How long have you been awake?”

“Only a few seconds,” she answered. “But long enough to know what you were planning.”

Sylar hesitated before he made his way to her side, footsteps silent against the carpeted floor. “I just thought it would be easier,” he sighed, crouching by the side of her bed.

“Easier for you, maybe,” Claire grumbled. “But it wouldn’t have been easy for me, waking up alone and wondering if it was all a dream.”

Sylar pushed her hair away from her eyes, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Better to wake and wonder than know and regret.”

“I’ll never regret it,” Claire vowed, moving closer to the edge of the bed, her palm resting against his cheek. “What happened between us, what we did last night was beautiful, Sylar, whether or not you think so. I’ll never regret it and never forget it, no matter how old I live to be.”

He smiled a little, turning his face into her hand and kissing her palm. “I won’t forget it, either. I just wasn’t sure how you would feel about it... I’m not exactly a good man, Claire.”

“So I’ve been told,” she replied in a whisper, hand falling to rest against his neck, feeling his pulse against her fingertips. “...how do I know that this is real?”

Sylar frowned, pulling away and standing, a slight glint catching his eye. He made his way to her vanity, where several silver rings were tucked at the back. He picked up one and turned it in his hand- just a simple band, probably steel. A faint smile pulled at his lips, and Robert Bishop’s ability turned the circlet to gold. Inspecting the simple band, he looked to the empty inside and frowned, finger moving minutely before he returned to her, crouching and sliding the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand.

Claire glanced at her hand, eyes widening, before she looked back to him. “I’m not exactly sure how I should feel about this,” she admitted honestly. “Or what this even means.”

“Just think of it as a promise,” Sylar murmured, sliding one hand into her hair and tugging her closer. Claire’s eyes slipped closed just as their mouths met, kissing him slowly, leisurely, but her heart speeding all the same.

“A promise?” Claire asked, when she finally had enough room to speak.

“A promise,” he affirmed. “That I’ll always be thinking of you. That I’ll always come back to you, even though it might take a while.”

“I wish I could give you something,” she sighed, sitting up and pulling her blankets around her. Sylar shook his head in exasperation, moving to her closet and pulling out a dressing robe, tossing it to her. Claire mumbled a quiet thanks and pulled it on, tying the sash around her waist and getting out of bed.

“I don’t need anything from you, Claire.”

“But I want to,” Claire insisted, inspecting her vanity. She opened a drawer with a frown, which quickly melted into a smile as she pulled out a chain, grabbing another ring and sliding it on. She held out her hand and Sylar frowned, letting it fall into his palm.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Something to remember me by,” Claire said softly. “You don’t have to wear it. Just... keep it, maybe? If you want to.”

“Claire, I...” The man sighed, cutting himself off, pulling the chain on over his head and fingers sliding the ring back and forth, smooth against his fingers, except for a tiny C that was pressed into the metal. “...thank you.”

Claire smiled when he tucked it under his shirt, a churning starting in her stomach that made her suddenly feel very cold, her smile falling from her face. “You’re leaving now, aren’t you?”

“I have to. It’s almost four, and I want to be out of here before anyone wakes up.” He reached for her hand, using it to pull her forward and kissing her on the forehead. Claire’s arms wrapped around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder and sighing heavily. His hand rubbed over her back, resting his cheek against her temple. “You’re a good girl, Claire. Please don’t let me have changed that.”

“You didn’t,” she assured him. “Because you’re a good man, Sylar. A bit misguided, it’s true, but... underneath, you have a good heart.”

“I think I may have taken away more than your pain when I took your ability,” he said incredulously. “Like your sense of reason.”

“Well, I think I lost that a long time ago,” she teased, raising up onto her tiptoes and kissing him. “I’ll miss you.”

“Believe it or not, I’ll miss you too,” Sylar replied, removing her hands from around his neck and starting for the window.

Claire fidgeted, unsure of what to do, before she followed, spinning him before he could reach for the glass and kissing him hard. Sylar hummed under his breath, arms surrounding her and lifting her up. Claire’s legs locked securely around his hips, moaning when his tongue slid into her mouth and rubbed against hers.

After a long moment, he finally pulled away from her. Claire frowned, resting her forehead against his. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I have to, Claire. If I stay any longer, we’ll get caught, and you need to stay in your family’s good graces for what’s to come.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Nothing. I just have to go, now. But I promise that I’ll be back, okay? Sometime when it’ll just be us. Remember what to do if we aren’t?”

“Act like I hate you,” Claire whispered. “Okay, I got it.”

“Good.”

He carefully let her down, kissing her forehead and reaching for the window. He slid up the glass, thankful that there was no screen, and stepped out onto the ledge. He leaned back in for one quick kiss before he said, “See you around, Babydoll.”

“Bye,” Claire murmured, and with a rush of air, he was gone.

Claire closed the window with a heavy sigh, but the churning in her stomach had not yet faded. She groaned softly before she felt something raise in her throat, burning like acid.

Claire ran to the bathroom and fell to her knees, and, for the first time in her life, threw up.

#Dei's fics #Heroes #Lie To Me fanfiction #Sylaire #fanfiction #Sylar #Claire Bennet

6 notes · View notes