Fic- Whatever it takes 8
Title- Whatever it takes 8/?
Author- Faythbrady
Show/Ship- Heroes, Sylar/Claire, Peter/Emma
Disclaimer- I have magic powers. You will believe I own it all.
Summary- Sylar has plans.
A/N- I am a feedback tart. I'm also not above begging for validation...or I'll send Sylar round.
Sylar knew that he shouldn't push, but he could help himself. Claire had been willing to help him, had been willing to sit and talk and laugh and joke with him and suddenly something had changed.
It was like one of her walls fell down and she looked at him and, for the first time, really saw him.
She'd teased him about his self-recriminations and he had been riding high. It better than flying, better than acquiring a new power and it was all down to the blonde across the table.
Then she'd touched him.
No.
She'd grabbed his hand and held it in her own. A million nerve endings fired into life and it was like Dale Smither's power all over again; he could feel every single inch of Claire's skin against his. He could feel the tiny nuances and contours of her fingers, he felt like he could even sense the pattern of her fingertips- her fingerprints as individual as she was. Her hand was soft against his own and felt right, somehow, sliding against his palm. The sensation was only dwarfed only by the certain knowledge that she felt something too.
When she'd looked up Sylar had seen something reflected in her eyes.
Maybe it wasn't the deep love that he held for her but it was something.
Claire felt something towards him and he didn't think it was hate, or fear. For that alone he could take on the world.
But then she'd shut it down and he could see her trying to dismiss it, turning it off and he'd frantically tried to grasp at it again- like a starving man seeing a mirage dance away in the shimmering light.
He tried to capture it with soft words. “It's the company that makes the date.”
She blinked once and seemed to shake off whatever was in her head. She smiled. “So you think Peter and Emma would like a joint bachelor party at a theme park?”
That was it.
Whatever he had seen was gone and Claire had retreated to her friendly bantering tone. It was more than he deserved, he knew. More than he had ever expected, but to have been so close and yet to be so very far was enough to make his heart literally ache.
But he knew that if he pushed now, he would lose any headway that he might have made with Claire today. She was prepared to give him a shot at being her friend, that had to be enough.
For now.
He smiled at her. “I think it's a brilliant idea, Claire. I'll check with Eli and Edgar to make sure they don't have a problem with it but I think you've hit on the right idea.”
She pursed her lips, looking very kissable. “We'll have to coordinate on dates and times to get them together and swear everyone to secrecy but I think it could be a blast.”
He bit his lip. “Provided we keep you away from the Ferris wheel.”
Claire gaped and he wondered if he had gone too far with his teasing.
“I'm sor-”
“Psych!” she swatted his arm. “That was mean, Sylar. You just wait. Hell hath no fury like an ex-cheerleader scorned.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ready. Okay.” He mocked. “What are you gonna do, shake your pom-poms at me?”
“No,” she beamed sadistically. “I'm gonna go tell Emma that you want to help her choose table flowers and you think pink waistcoats and top-hats are a great idea.”
He paled. “You wouldn't.”
She got to her feet. “Just watch me.”
Well, since she gave her permission. He stared at her curvaceous form as she sashayed off before her words caught up with his hind brain and he lurched to his feet.
“Claire!”
>>>>>>
Peter wondered if this was some sort of test. Because if it was, he was going to fail quite badly. He swallowed hard and looked between the two choices.
“Uhh... the blue one?” he said hesitantly and Emma beamed.
“Me too.”
She turned away and started haggling with the delighted saleslady and Peter waited until her attention was elsewhere before he sagged in sheer relief and rubbed his face.
To be honest he couldn't have told you the difference between the two things if his life depended on it, but then he also couldn't have identified exactly what they were if he had been tied up and tortured. Only that they were small, papery and possibly essential to the happiness of his bride-to-be.
Maybe they were napkins. He picked one up and held it closer, hoping that there were some identifying marks.
“You know, I hear if you wipe your nose on it, you've bought it.”
Peter ignored Sylar's sarcasm and leaned his head closer. “Any idea what 'it' actually is?”
Nimble fingers took it from him and examined it quickly. “Coaster.”
“Really?” Peter frowned. “I thought we'd already done coasters?”
“Then maybe it's a really tiny hat.”
Peter turned to face his friend and was pleased to see a huge grin on his face. “You're in a good mood.”
Sylar nodded to where Claire had joined Emma and was currently exclaiming over her sample choices.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “I take it, things went well.”
Sylar lowered his voice. “You, my dear friend are made out of the shiny things that gods used to eat.”
“Apples?”
“Manna, ambrosia. Figs.”
“So basically, I'm squishy fruit?”
Sylar eyed him. “Food of the gods.”
“Oh, that makes it all better.”
Sylar rolled his eyes at Peter's lack of understanding. “Fine. You're made of awesomeness. Better?”
Peter considered that for a moment. “That depends,” he looked around, “are you hitting on me? Ow!” He rubbed his arm. “That hurt.”
“I'm sorry,” Sylar said sarcastically. “I shouldn't bruise the fruit.”
Despite the ache in his arm Peter was grinning at his friend. Sylar looked like he'd lost ten years, his eyes were bright, his smile was ready and he looked lighter than ever.
“So,” he prompted, “things went well?”
Sylar glanced at Claire and Emma and then took Peter's arm, drawing him slightly away.
“Really well. She touched me.”
Peter's eyebrows shot up and he grabbed Sylar's shirt. “Dude, she's my-”
“On the hand,” Sylar responded witheringly. Peter dropped his hands.
“Oh.”
“Idiot.” Sylar said affectionately. “She willingly made contact with me and didn't run off screaming.”
“Good?”
Sylar felt frustrated at Peter's lack of understanding.
“You don't get it.” Sylar ran his fingers through his hair. “Claire once said that she'd rather die than touch me. This is a huge step. She wasn't scared of me or trying to kill me. It was an affectionate touch.”
Peter saw the sheer joy in Sylar's face and beamed. “See, I knew all it would take was a little alone time. How awesome am I?”
“You're the best friend ever,” Sylar offered and Peter nodded smugly.
“I know.”
“You've also agreed to wear a pink top-hat.”
“What?” Peter squeaked and Sylar grinned.
“Just kidding.”
“About what?” Claire perked up behind them.
Peter shook his head. “Sylar was just telling me that I'd agreed to wear a pink top-hat.”
“Oh, I never said, Peter had to wear one,” Claire said with a mischievous grin. “Just you. Which reminds me. Hey, Emma.” She tapped the woman's shoulder. “Did you know Sylar likes flowers?”
Emma's expression was dubious. “Really?”
“Uh huh,” Claire nodded even as Sylar's jaw tightened. “He was saying to me that he wants to help pick the ones for the table.”
Emma turned to Sylar, delight on her face. “Really?”
“Well, I...uh. I ..”
“Don't be shy,” Claire said with obvious enjoyment at his suffering. “You know you want to.”
“Yeah, Sye. You were always interested in flower arranging.” Peter offered, a broad beaming grin plastered to his face.
“Judas,” Sylar muttered as Emma beamed and linked her arm with his.
“Don't worry,” Emma said, “I can tell when Peter is lying. Besides, Claire already helped me pick those.”
He growled at Claire who just giggled.
“Serves you right,” she taunted and laughed at his expression.
He couldn't have been happier.
>>
That night the two men collapsed onto the sofa and cracked a beer.
Peter leaned his head against the back of the leather couch and sighed loudly. “I am so glad that I love Emma and we'll be together forever.”
Sylar raised an eyebrow at the sentimentality. “Yeah?”
“God yeah, can you imagine having to go through this again? Dude, I am only ever getting married once. If I ever get the insane urge to leave her, can you remind me about wedding fairs?”
Sylar was quiet for a moment. “It wasn't so bad.”
Peter cracked up. “You should see your face, Sye.”
But Sylar could imagine the shit-eating grin that was currently making his face ache. He was deliriously happy and could have floated home without even noticing.
“So, gonna tell me what happened today?” Peter asked.
“I nearly electrocuted a bachelor part salesman called Geoff.”
Peter took a slow sip of beer. “I can see how that would make you smile.”
Sylar waved his hand and a cushion hit Peter in the face. “No. I lost my temper.”
“Ah.” Peter wisely said nothing, knowing that Sylar would come to the point eventually.
Sylar laid his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Elle's power was coming out strong and I couldn't control it. I wasn't sure I wanted to. For a minute there all I wanted to do was raze the place to the ground with everyone in it. I was trying to calm down, take deep breaths but it wasn't working. I was going to kill someone.”
“But you didn't.” Peter pointed out. “So kudos there.”
Sylar snorted. “Only because I was so shocked that Claire voluntarily made contact with me that the very fact that I had power slipped my mind.”
Peter winced. “See, again. Claire and contact. I'm her uncle, those words do not make me go to a happy place.”
“They do me,” Sylar grinned.
Peter eyed the happy expression on his face and leaned in a little. “Naked Noah.”
The expression was wiped as if it had never been there. “Eww, Peter!” Sylar reached over and smacked him himself. “That's disgusting.”
“It's also got the goofy-assed grin off your face, so I'd say we're even.” Peter said in satisfaction. “Can you give me the cliff notes and not the porno version?”
“There was nothing even remotely porno about it,” Sylar huffed and thumped him with the cushion again. “We talked, she calmed me down and then,” he frowned thoughtfully, “it was like she decided that we'd start over. She smiled at me. Honest to god smiled at me, Peter. I think she might even like me.”
“You like her, she likes you. This is all good.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Peter waited for a long minute to digest that. “This is possibly the girliest conversation I have ever had.”
“Me too.” Sylar shuddered. “I can't believe I just said that. Can we pretend I didn't?”
“I'll call the Haitian,” Peter grinned. “But only if you braid my hair and do my nails for me.”
This time Sylar didn't stop with just the cushion.
Author- Faythbrady
Show/Ship- Heroes, Sylar/Claire, Peter/Emma
Disclaimer- I have magic powers. You will believe I own it all.
Summary- Sylar has plans.
A/N- I am a feedback tart. I'm also not above begging for validation...or I'll send Sylar round.
Sylar knew that he shouldn't push, but he could help himself. Claire had been willing to help him, had been willing to sit and talk and laugh and joke with him and suddenly something had changed.
It was like one of her walls fell down and she looked at him and, for the first time, really saw him.
She'd teased him about his self-recriminations and he had been riding high. It better than flying, better than acquiring a new power and it was all down to the blonde across the table.
Then she'd touched him.
No.
She'd grabbed his hand and held it in her own. A million nerve endings fired into life and it was like Dale Smither's power all over again; he could feel every single inch of Claire's skin against his. He could feel the tiny nuances and contours of her fingers, he felt like he could even sense the pattern of her fingertips- her fingerprints as individual as she was. Her hand was soft against his own and felt right, somehow, sliding against his palm. The sensation was only dwarfed only by the certain knowledge that she felt something too.
When she'd looked up Sylar had seen something reflected in her eyes.
Maybe it wasn't the deep love that he held for her but it was something.
Claire felt something towards him and he didn't think it was hate, or fear. For that alone he could take on the world.
But then she'd shut it down and he could see her trying to dismiss it, turning it off and he'd frantically tried to grasp at it again- like a starving man seeing a mirage dance away in the shimmering light.
He tried to capture it with soft words. “It's the company that makes the date.”
She blinked once and seemed to shake off whatever was in her head. She smiled. “So you think Peter and Emma would like a joint bachelor party at a theme park?”
That was it.
Whatever he had seen was gone and Claire had retreated to her friendly bantering tone. It was more than he deserved, he knew. More than he had ever expected, but to have been so close and yet to be so very far was enough to make his heart literally ache.
But he knew that if he pushed now, he would lose any headway that he might have made with Claire today. She was prepared to give him a shot at being her friend, that had to be enough.
For now.
He smiled at her. “I think it's a brilliant idea, Claire. I'll check with Eli and Edgar to make sure they don't have a problem with it but I think you've hit on the right idea.”
She pursed her lips, looking very kissable. “We'll have to coordinate on dates and times to get them together and swear everyone to secrecy but I think it could be a blast.”
He bit his lip. “Provided we keep you away from the Ferris wheel.”
Claire gaped and he wondered if he had gone too far with his teasing.
“I'm sor-”
“Psych!” she swatted his arm. “That was mean, Sylar. You just wait. Hell hath no fury like an ex-cheerleader scorned.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ready. Okay.” He mocked. “What are you gonna do, shake your pom-poms at me?”
“No,” she beamed sadistically. “I'm gonna go tell Emma that you want to help her choose table flowers and you think pink waistcoats and top-hats are a great idea.”
He paled. “You wouldn't.”
She got to her feet. “Just watch me.”
Well, since she gave her permission. He stared at her curvaceous form as she sashayed off before her words caught up with his hind brain and he lurched to his feet.
“Claire!”
>>>>>>
Peter wondered if this was some sort of test. Because if it was, he was going to fail quite badly. He swallowed hard and looked between the two choices.
“Uhh... the blue one?” he said hesitantly and Emma beamed.
“Me too.”
She turned away and started haggling with the delighted saleslady and Peter waited until her attention was elsewhere before he sagged in sheer relief and rubbed his face.
To be honest he couldn't have told you the difference between the two things if his life depended on it, but then he also couldn't have identified exactly what they were if he had been tied up and tortured. Only that they were small, papery and possibly essential to the happiness of his bride-to-be.
Maybe they were napkins. He picked one up and held it closer, hoping that there were some identifying marks.
“You know, I hear if you wipe your nose on it, you've bought it.”
Peter ignored Sylar's sarcasm and leaned his head closer. “Any idea what 'it' actually is?”
Nimble fingers took it from him and examined it quickly. “Coaster.”
“Really?” Peter frowned. “I thought we'd already done coasters?”
“Then maybe it's a really tiny hat.”
Peter turned to face his friend and was pleased to see a huge grin on his face. “You're in a good mood.”
Sylar nodded to where Claire had joined Emma and was currently exclaiming over her sample choices.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “I take it, things went well.”
Sylar lowered his voice. “You, my dear friend are made out of the shiny things that gods used to eat.”
“Apples?”
“Manna, ambrosia. Figs.”
“So basically, I'm squishy fruit?”
Sylar eyed him. “Food of the gods.”
“Oh, that makes it all better.”
Sylar rolled his eyes at Peter's lack of understanding. “Fine. You're made of awesomeness. Better?”
Peter considered that for a moment. “That depends,” he looked around, “are you hitting on me? Ow!” He rubbed his arm. “That hurt.”
“I'm sorry,” Sylar said sarcastically. “I shouldn't bruise the fruit.”
Despite the ache in his arm Peter was grinning at his friend. Sylar looked like he'd lost ten years, his eyes were bright, his smile was ready and he looked lighter than ever.
“So,” he prompted, “things went well?”
Sylar glanced at Claire and Emma and then took Peter's arm, drawing him slightly away.
“Really well. She touched me.”
Peter's eyebrows shot up and he grabbed Sylar's shirt. “Dude, she's my-”
“On the hand,” Sylar responded witheringly. Peter dropped his hands.
“Oh.”
“Idiot.” Sylar said affectionately. “She willingly made contact with me and didn't run off screaming.”
“Good?”
Sylar felt frustrated at Peter's lack of understanding.
“You don't get it.” Sylar ran his fingers through his hair. “Claire once said that she'd rather die than touch me. This is a huge step. She wasn't scared of me or trying to kill me. It was an affectionate touch.”
Peter saw the sheer joy in Sylar's face and beamed. “See, I knew all it would take was a little alone time. How awesome am I?”
“You're the best friend ever,” Sylar offered and Peter nodded smugly.
“I know.”
“You've also agreed to wear a pink top-hat.”
“What?” Peter squeaked and Sylar grinned.
“Just kidding.”
“About what?” Claire perked up behind them.
Peter shook his head. “Sylar was just telling me that I'd agreed to wear a pink top-hat.”
“Oh, I never said, Peter had to wear one,” Claire said with a mischievous grin. “Just you. Which reminds me. Hey, Emma.” She tapped the woman's shoulder. “Did you know Sylar likes flowers?”
Emma's expression was dubious. “Really?”
“Uh huh,” Claire nodded even as Sylar's jaw tightened. “He was saying to me that he wants to help pick the ones for the table.”
Emma turned to Sylar, delight on her face. “Really?”
“Well, I...uh. I ..”
“Don't be shy,” Claire said with obvious enjoyment at his suffering. “You know you want to.”
“Yeah, Sye. You were always interested in flower arranging.” Peter offered, a broad beaming grin plastered to his face.
“Judas,” Sylar muttered as Emma beamed and linked her arm with his.
“Don't worry,” Emma said, “I can tell when Peter is lying. Besides, Claire already helped me pick those.”
He growled at Claire who just giggled.
“Serves you right,” she taunted and laughed at his expression.
He couldn't have been happier.
>>
That night the two men collapsed onto the sofa and cracked a beer.
Peter leaned his head against the back of the leather couch and sighed loudly. “I am so glad that I love Emma and we'll be together forever.”
Sylar raised an eyebrow at the sentimentality. “Yeah?”
“God yeah, can you imagine having to go through this again? Dude, I am only ever getting married once. If I ever get the insane urge to leave her, can you remind me about wedding fairs?”
Sylar was quiet for a moment. “It wasn't so bad.”
Peter cracked up. “You should see your face, Sye.”
But Sylar could imagine the shit-eating grin that was currently making his face ache. He was deliriously happy and could have floated home without even noticing.
“So, gonna tell me what happened today?” Peter asked.
“I nearly electrocuted a bachelor part salesman called Geoff.”
Peter took a slow sip of beer. “I can see how that would make you smile.”
Sylar waved his hand and a cushion hit Peter in the face. “No. I lost my temper.”
“Ah.” Peter wisely said nothing, knowing that Sylar would come to the point eventually.
Sylar laid his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Elle's power was coming out strong and I couldn't control it. I wasn't sure I wanted to. For a minute there all I wanted to do was raze the place to the ground with everyone in it. I was trying to calm down, take deep breaths but it wasn't working. I was going to kill someone.”
“But you didn't.” Peter pointed out. “So kudos there.”
Sylar snorted. “Only because I was so shocked that Claire voluntarily made contact with me that the very fact that I had power slipped my mind.”
Peter winced. “See, again. Claire and contact. I'm her uncle, those words do not make me go to a happy place.”
“They do me,” Sylar grinned.
Peter eyed the happy expression on his face and leaned in a little. “Naked Noah.”
The expression was wiped as if it had never been there. “Eww, Peter!” Sylar reached over and smacked him himself. “That's disgusting.”
“It's also got the goofy-assed grin off your face, so I'd say we're even.” Peter said in satisfaction. “Can you give me the cliff notes and not the porno version?”
“There was nothing even remotely porno about it,” Sylar huffed and thumped him with the cushion again. “We talked, she calmed me down and then,” he frowned thoughtfully, “it was like she decided that we'd start over. She smiled at me. Honest to god smiled at me, Peter. I think she might even like me.”
“You like her, she likes you. This is all good.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Peter waited for a long minute to digest that. “This is possibly the girliest conversation I have ever had.”
“Me too.” Sylar shuddered. “I can't believe I just said that. Can we pretend I didn't?”
“I'll call the Haitian,” Peter grinned. “But only if you braid my hair and do my nails for me.”
This time Sylar didn't stop with just the cushion.