Fic- Whatever it takes 17
Title- Whatever it takes 17/?
Author- Faythbrady
Show/Ship- Heroes, Sylar/Claire, Peter/Emma
Warning- Swearing be here. PG-13
Disclaimer- I have magic powers. You will believe I own it all.
Summary- Time to chill out with our favourite serial killer. oops, sorry ex-serial killer.
Chapter 17
Claire sat on Peter's sofa with her feet up, watching the debate with amusement. Peter and Sylar had been arguing about what film to watch for some time and they didn't seem to be coming any closer to an agreement. It seemed that Peter had got the film all lined up and something had mysteriously happened.
“Once again,” Sylar said through gritted teeth, “I have no idea what happened to your damn movie. I haven't touched it!”
“Sure,” Peter scoffed. “I make you watch it once or twice whilst we're in your head...”
“Once or twice?” Sylar all but squeaked. “I only picked up that damn sledgehammer to get away from Tom Hanks! You're lucky I'd already repented because I was going after Meg Ryan when I got out.”
“-but that doesn't mean that you can hide or incinerate my copy!”
“I didn't. But I wish I had. Now, in the place of that trash, can we please watch something else?”
“Fine,” Peter pouted, “but I'm buying the deluxe edition tomorrow.”
Sylar folded his arms. “I'm moving out.”
“Directors cut with commentary.”
“And I'm taking the cat.”
There was a beat.
“We don't have a cat.”
“Then what the hell have I been feeding?”
Peter shrugged. “Your ego manifested in animal form?”
Sylar's eyes narrowed and he pointed at Peter. “I'm blocking your eBay account.”
“I'll just use yours,” Peter smirked and shot a look across the room to an entertained Claire, “it's not like your password isn't obvious.”
“Bite me.”
“Not with somebody else's teeth.”
Sylar rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Wuss.”
“Psycho. How about a horror movie?” Peter walked over to his collection.
“No, I told you I didn't want to spend any time with your mother this evening,” Sylar headed for the kitchen. His voice muffled as he started taking the cookies he'd been baking out of the oven.
“Ha ha,” Peter yelled over his shoulder. “I was the one who had to deal with her all day.”
“Your mother, your problem.”
Claire leaned over to Emma who was frowning as she tried to follow the conversation that she couldn't hear.
Claire poked her to get her attention. “Think they've forgotten we are here. They're still arguing about what movie to watch. Peter thinks Sylar hid his copy of Sleepless in Seattle.”
Emma smiled brightly. “He didn't,” she whispered and edged a little to her left, showing the edge of the DVD case tucked under her seat. “It's uncomfortable,” she signed, “but worth it.”
Claire laughed in delight and covered her glee as Peter turned around.
Emma gave him a beatific smile. “What are we watching?”
Peter shrugged and called into the kitchen. “What about You've got Mail?”
“I swear to god, Peter, I will end you.” Sylar appeared in the kuchen door waving a wooden spoon at his friend.
Peter cocked a grin. “No?”
“No.”
“No,” he sighed, “How about-”
“No to City Of Angels, no to While you were sleeping and, so help me, if you even try to put on My Best friend's Wedding I'm going to take out half of Hollywood. Man up and watch something that doesn't end with you bawling into tissues!”
“I'm not in the mood for a Rom-com anyway Peter,” Claire called out, trying not to laugh. “What about a Musical?”
“With him?” Peter jabbed his thumb towards the kitchen. “No way.”
“You're just jealous because I don't sound like a choir boy caught in a grinder.” Sylar poked his head around the door, only to duck when a DVD case slammed into the wood near his head.
“Sylar can sing?” Claire blinked and turned to Emma who was watching her intently. “Can Sylar sing?”
Emma nodded enthusiastically. “I can see the sounds. Beautiful like blue storms and river tinkling.”
Claire liked the sound of that. “And Peter?”
“Leaking pipe,” Emma winced and shrugged.
“Thanks babe,” Peter kissed her quickly even as he scowled. “Okay, action movie?”
“I'm quite happy to watch things explode.” Claire nodded. “Emma?”
Emma agreed. She actually loved movie night. Peter and Sylar and Claire had gotten used to watching everything with subtitles and when Sylar installed the new surround sound Emma could feel the reverberation of sound in the air. Each sound effect from the screen produced a different color and she said it was like swimming in a rainbow.
It also meant that she got to spend some time curled up in Peter's arms and that was something that she wouldn't turn down.
Peter turned back to his DVD collection and began rifling through the action movies. Since moving in with Sylar his tastes had broadened dramatically and he'd gone from a room with the barest minimum of furniture to an apartment that actually looked like someone lived there. It was even, surprisingly, well decorated. Who knew telekinesis made for easy D.I.Y?
Sylar walked back in holding a tray filled with drinks.
“The cookies are cooling for after dinner, did anyone decide what we were going to have?”
“Pizza,” Peter said. “I've already called it.”
Sylar rolled his eyes. “You had pizza yesterday, Peter.”
“Sorry mom,” Peter said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “I didn't realize I had to run my eating by you.”
“Well when the junk food reaches your hips, don't come crying to me when Emma leaves you for someone who isn't fat.”
“You're a such a girl.”
“And you have your mother's metabolism. There is a reason Angela avoids chocolate cake, you know.” Sylar grabbed his drink and sank down onto the sofa opposite Claire.
Peter just grimaced. “Fine, I'll have salad tomorrow, okay?”
Claire couldn't hold it back anymore. “God, why didn't you tell me you guys had gotten married?”
Peter and Sylar both whipped their heads around to look at her and then stared at each other for a beat before simultaneously shuddering.
“No way.”
“Nuh uh.”
“He'd hog the covers.” This from Peter.
“And I couldn't stand his mess.” And Sylar. “Besides I think Emma would have something to say both sharing her bed with two men.”
Yes she would, thought Claire, and it wouldn't be 'no thanks'
Claire just grinned. “But you'd make such a cute couple.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “You are one sick puppy Claire Bennet.”
Emma held up a hand to catch their attention. “But who would be the wife?”
“Hey!” Peter turned wounded eyes to his beloved. “So much for loyalty. I am much manlier. Sy would be the wife, he does the cooking and cleaning.”
Claire raised an eyebrow. “And that's the wife's job?”
“Well, ye-,” Peter caught Emma's look before the words had even come out of his mouth and he was frantically back-peddling, “or no. No is good. In fact the wife just needs to be pampered. There should be equal division of labor and chores and-” he sagged, “it's not working is it?”
Emma shook her head sympathetically. “Enjoy the couch.”
“Some of the top Chef's are men,” Sylar said suddenly, “and most cleaning companies are headed by men, cleaning and cooking are not solely a female arena, Peter. I thought in this enlightened time you would be more progressive.”
“Says the one who cooks in a frilly apron.”
Claire had just taken a sip of coke which was suddenly projected from her mouth with a huge snort, it spewed across her hand and she choked.
Sylar reared up quickly, grabbing tissues with one hand to clear up the spillage whilst touching her gently with the other.
“Are you okay?”
Claire coughed and gave one short hiccup, swiping the back of her hand against her mouth. Her eyes were still wide and she looked dazed as the image danced behind her eyes: Sylar with his ruffled dark hair and piercing eyes staring intently at a recipe, his long fingers wrapped around a whisk stroking the eggs into submission dressed in a short frilly apron... and nothing else.
“Claire?”
She blinked and stared at him with interest.
“Frilly? Really?”
Sylar couldn't help the exasperated look that crossed his face as he glowered at Peter. “No. It isn't frilly.”
“But you do wear an apron.”
“Food smears are not attractive.”
“So you wear-”
“Yes! I wear an apron, all right.” He folded his arms and slumped back against the sofa, pouting.
It was perhaps the single most adorable thing that she had ever seen and Claire had the sudden inexplicable urge to lean forward and kiss that pout off his face.
It was a somewhat alarming desire especially considering it came swiftly on the heels of her impromptu hug.
Which she was still in a quandary over. Not the actual hug or the conversation that preceded it. But the feelings that manifested as a result.
When Luke had a hold of her the only thing that ran through her mind was “here we go again” but Sylar's words had been eerily accurate.
Lately she had been wondering what she was going to do if she remained seventeen forever. She'd read post-apocalyptic books on how, when the world went to hell, it was only the fittest who survived, only those with brute strength that managed to stay safe.
She had no brute strength and the only thing she looked scary to was an ant.
The hundreds of scenarios for the long future ahead of her seemed to culminate in only two possibly responses for her.
The first was to be the eternal victim, for her to be scared and hurt and beaten and be on the run for eternity, eventually becoming a broken ghost of who she really was.
The second was to go the way of Peter's nightmare future and for her to become hard, scary uncompromising with a gun and an attitude that no one would ever dare mess with. She'd train and learn to fight and kill and lose herself in ice and become a broken soldier.
So those had been her choices, a soldier or a ghost. Both equally messed up and neither of them really her, neither of them really Claire Bennet.
Her future lay out before her as a wasteland, a brutal cornucopia of pain and isolation until someone got in a lucky shot.
Then Sylar had blasted his apprentice for, what was to her, the light offense of trying to fry her, and had been inches away from regressing back to the monster she had always assumed he was underneath.
But he'd stopped and then:
“You may be forever seventeen but you are forever protected.”
She closed her eyes.
“For the rest of eternity. I will protect you.”
All at once she had a third option. To remain herself. To remain Claire Bennet and to have someone watch over her.
Not like Noah who always tried to stifle and suffocate her, but someone who would just be there if she needed them. Someone she could rely on to save her, who had the ability to protect her and would- for whatever reasons be they guilt or obsession or whatever- stand up and make it known that no one messed with her.
Claire knew beyond a doubt that Sylar would hold true to those words until the sun burned them all to ash and the universe collapsed in on itself. In an insane universe it stood that the psychopath was the sanest choice.
A weight she hadn't even realized she had been carrying lifted from her shoulders and she could breathe again. The relief made her dizzy and she needed something to hold on to, something strong, something tangible, and there he was.
In one moment the scary villain died and something new stood in front of her.
A knight in shining Armani and all she wanted to do was give her new champion a kiss.
That would, of course, have probably freaked them both out, so she did the next best thing. She gave him a hug and her forgiveness.
As she wrapped her arms around him, all animosity melted away to reveal the quite startling sexual attraction that had been cleverly hidden underneath.
She hugged him because he was her hero, she let it linger because her hero happened to be damn hot and smelled almost edible.
And now that the hate and anger and fear had gone all she was left with was the bewildering urge to plaster herself to him and demand that they try that kiss again but this time without the pencil-in-the-eye ending.
She'd be lying if she said that she had never thought of him like that, even when she hated his guts, but now that the hate was gone she could allow free reign and her hormones sat up, thanked her and proceeded to beg.
She flashed him a quick smile and poked him with her foot. “I think that's adorable.”
The pout vanished as if it had never been there and he regarded her with no little curiosity.
“Really?”
She nodded once and turned back to Peter who was giving her the oddest look. She poked her tongue out at him.
“Mature.”
“Says the one who wondered if he could a free toy with his pizza.”
“Speaking of which,” Peter said as the doorbell rang, “that was good timing. I hope they remembered the extra slaw.”
Emma shuddered and Sylar just shrugged.
“Don't look at me, for some reason I was craving Mexican. Again. It's weird I keep getting these random urges for Tacos.”
And it was weird. As Gabriel his mother had always cooked plain food and his tolerance for spices wasn't really that high but just recently he had been craving Tacos at the oddest time. Usually when he was with Claire.
“I've not eaten a Taco in... a while,” Claire said softly. “Tacos always remind me of Nathan.”
Oh. OH!
Sylar winced and looked away. Of course it did and that was why the two were linked in his head.
When he'd received all of Nathan's memories courtesy of Matt Parkman he'd gained the entire vacation in Mexico with Claire, including all of their conversations and emotional outbursts. One memory that stood out clearly was him and Claire-- Nathan and Claire-- standing in a rundown motel and him offering to buy her a Taco.
Claire had informed him, quite brutally and quite accurately, that he had no money.
When he'd become Nathan it had been a standing joke between them for him to buy her a Taco and say “And this time I paid for it with my money.” It had been an in-joke that the two of them shared, a sweet teasing that no one else understood.
He'd forgotten that it wasn't joke she would want to share with the man who'd killed her father.
Sylar bit his lip. “Sorry.”
Claire shrugged. “It's okay.”
But it wasn't. He was trying to get her to see him as more than a murderer and that probably wasn't being helped by reminding her who it was he had murdered.
He took a deep breath.
“I didn't mean to remind you of him-”
“You don't,” she quickly interrupted. “Logically I know that for the last few months that I saw him, it was really you. But in my head, and my heart, that was Nathan.” Claire frowned slightly, peering at Emma who was reading the back of the DVD and was oblivious to their conversation. “I got to spend time with my bio-dad and really get to know him. I know during those months y-he wanted to spend more time with me. We got to be great friends and I'm … grateful for that. Looking back now I'm not sure that would have happened if it was really Nathan, you know?”
Sylar was certain that that never would have happened.
Nathan Petrelli was a grade A asshole and a selfish one to boot. His whole life had revolved around himself and he had thought nothing of turning on his nearest and dearest in an effort to further his career or to satisfy his own twisted delusions of grandeur. Claire had been a mistake, an embarrassment, and then a curiosity. It was only towards the end of his life that he had wished to get to know her as a person. Sylar had taken that burgeoning interest and coupled it with his own intense but latent desire to have Claire as his own and used it as a basis for being the father she should have had.
He had made a damn good dad.
He'd make an even better husband.
But he wasn't going to mention that to Claire just yet, he'd have centuries to steel himself against the rejection.
“He cared for you,” Sylar said slowly, “but I don't think he really had any idea how to be a good father for you.”
She gave him a lopsided smile and poked him with her foot again. “It's okay. And no sad face, okay. It's all water under that bridge.”
“That bridge?” he asked curiously.
“The bridge we're building to get over the water that is under the bridge...” Claire frowned, “and now that saying makes no sense.” She hefted a sigh and shrugged. “Our bridge.”
“Eloquent.”
Claire reached underneath her seat and, before Sylar could do more than open his mouth to apologize, she hit him in the face with a cushion.
“Hah!” Peter crowed as he walked in carrying the pizza boxes. “Dude, that totally serves you right.”
Sylar twitched his fingers and the pillow tore from Claire's fingers and smashed into Peter's face. He yelped and dropped the boxes onto the nearest table.
“You nearly ended up with smooshed pizza,” he complained and Sylar rolled his eyes. With another twitch the boxes rose off the table and danced around Peter's head.
Peter frowned. “Show-off.”
“No, this is showing off.” With a smug grin Sylar concentrated and one of the lids flipped opened in mid-air and one single slice of pepperoni slapped onto Peter's forehead.
Red sauce dripped down his face and dripped onto his chin.
Both Claire and Emma cracked up as the dark-haired man scrubbed at the tomato stain on his temple.
“Jerk.”
The pizzas came to rest on the coffee table, open and sliced, ready for eating and Sylar leaned forward to grab his plate.
“You're just jealous that you don't have my precision.”
“Or psychosis.”
Sylar saluted him with the plate. “There is that.”
“Can we have less sarcasm and more exploding stuff please,” Claire added quickly, “on screen exploding, not like pizza bomb.”
“Spoil sport,” Peter complained but reached over and flicked the remote.
Sylar had never really been one for watching TV. Virginia Grey thought that they were the devil's invention for laziness and demons- until she discovered soap operas and changed her opinion quite dramatically. But Gabriel had never bothered with television. He loved reading, that was his escapism, and he preferred to live in his own fantasy world rather than watch one that someone else had created. Later on in life he bought himself a television just to drown out the silence in his shop and became quite addicted to science fiction shows.
But, as Sylar, he had no need of watching other people having these fantastic adventures since his own life was quite exciting enough. Why bother escaping when he was having too much fun. He also spent a hell of a lot of time on the run and that tended to cut into prime viewing time.
Of course, once he'd returned from exile and started living with Peter, he had discovered that there was little his friend liked more than to zone out in front of the box.
He was getting quite the education in romantic comedies and awful horror movies from Peter who, as it turned out, had quite appalling taste in film.
Usually he manged an hour or two and then had to go and do something productive in case his mind started to atrophy.
But, at this precise moment in time, he had no intention of moving- ever again if he could help it.
Once the pizza was gone and the beers were opened, the cookies and popcorn had come out and one
movie turned into two.
Claire had gotten up to use the facilities at one point and when she came back she settled herself in the center of the couch in order to better reach the popcorn.
Sylar grinned to himself as she no longer shied away from the brief touches of their hands in the bowl or the way she no longer sat on the opposite side of the room.
The shadows lengthened and all talk ceased as Emma wrapped herself around Peter on the floor and they cuddled up to watch the movie.
Sylar had been invested in the exploits of the caped crusader and the frankly amazing performance of the Joker when he had felt something delicate touch his shoulder.
He turned his head slightly and met Claire's sleepy eyes as she lay her head on his shoulder.
Sylar stopped breathing.
She gave him a small smile and turned her attention back to the screen, her body leaning more heavily against him. She was a warm weight against his side, soft and pliant and completely relaxed.
He just hoped that she was too sleepy to see exactly what her proximity was doing to him.
He didn't dare move, every inch of his body warning him that she was half-asleep, that she wasn't aware of what she was doing and that, if he moved, she'd suddenly wake and move away.
He'd cut off his own arm before allowing that.
He remained still, trying to keep his breathing shallow, which was remarkably difficult because this close he was ensnared by her clean scent and wanted to breathe deeply.
He could no longer focus on the screen, the Joker could have french kissed Batman and he wouldn't have noticed, all his attention was on the girl resting against him.
Claire twitched slightly and her head rolled slightly off his shoulder as she moved. She shuffled back slightly and tried again but even Sylar could tell that she wasn't in the most stable of places, or the most comfortable of positions.
She was tiny and she was leaning slightly up to rest her head on his shoulder, it had to be giving her a crick in the neck.
His mind raced as he thought that through; if she got too uncomfortable, she might just decide that the other end of the sofa was more inviting and she'd move and he'd lose this moment forever. If, however, he tried to shift to make her more comfortable she might rouse enough to want to edge away.
Sylar swallowed against his suddenly dry throat and prayed that he wasn't about to do the stupidest thing he had ever done.
He shifted slightly, rolling his hips and slouching lower on the couch before lifting his arm.
And Claire, wonderful, forgiving, sweet, sleepy Claire, ducked under his arm and tucked herself against his chest, wrapping her arm around his waist.
She muttered deep in her throat and snuggled into him.
He had Claire in his arms.
Sylar had died and gone to heaven.
He finally had Claire willingly touching him, holding him, and nothing had ever felt so right.
He stared down at the sleepy girl and marveled at the capriciousness of the universe. After all he had done, for fate to give him this was just amazing.
Something had changed since this morning in the office, somehow she had more than forgiven him, more than offered him a second chance. She had accepted him, as a man, as a friend and it was a gift so precious it made his head spin.
He lifted his hand, absently noting its slight tremor, and draped it over her tiny one, anchoring it in place.
With a sigh of contentment he gave all his attention to the beauty fast asleep just over the heart that belonged only to her.
Peter stretched as the credits rolled out and the main menu scrolled back around. He grinned at the gently snoring Emma who had fallen asleep in his lap. He traced her earlobe and felt her shiver slightly against him. The temperature had dropped slightly and he reached behind him to grab the blanket he kept over the back of the chair.
Draping it over her, he settled back, half turning to address the room's other occupants only to freeze at the sight.
Claire was curled up against Sylar's chest, her eyes closed, her dark lashes making little half moons against her sun kissed cheeks. Sylar was gently stroking his fingers through her hair, his attention fixated on the strands as they fell like silk through his fingers.
He looked... enraptured, like a man who had found the meaning of life and couldn't quite believe that it belonged to him.
Right now he knew that if he offered Sylar the world in exchange for this one moment in time, Sylar would throw it back in his face.
They looked so perfect together, so peaceful and they just seemed to fit. If only Claire could understand that in her hands she held the most fragile and beautiful heart and soul the world had ever seen. If only she knew just what Sylar would do for her.
But, thought Peter as he stared at the man engrossed in the girl, maybe she was beginning to understand.
Maybe there was hope.
Sensing Peter's eyes on him, Sylar looked up and Peter opened his mouth to share his observation.
But his comment died on his lips as Sylar's tears of pure wonder glistened in the moonlit room.
He already knew.
Author- Faythbrady
Show/Ship- Heroes, Sylar/Claire, Peter/Emma
Warning- Swearing be here. PG-13
Disclaimer- I have magic powers. You will believe I own it all.
Summary- Time to chill out with our favourite serial killer. oops, sorry ex-serial killer.
Chapter 17
Claire sat on Peter's sofa with her feet up, watching the debate with amusement. Peter and Sylar had been arguing about what film to watch for some time and they didn't seem to be coming any closer to an agreement. It seemed that Peter had got the film all lined up and something had mysteriously happened.
“Once again,” Sylar said through gritted teeth, “I have no idea what happened to your damn movie. I haven't touched it!”
“Sure,” Peter scoffed. “I make you watch it once or twice whilst we're in your head...”
“Once or twice?” Sylar all but squeaked. “I only picked up that damn sledgehammer to get away from Tom Hanks! You're lucky I'd already repented because I was going after Meg Ryan when I got out.”
“-but that doesn't mean that you can hide or incinerate my copy!”
“I didn't. But I wish I had. Now, in the place of that trash, can we please watch something else?”
“Fine,” Peter pouted, “but I'm buying the deluxe edition tomorrow.”
Sylar folded his arms. “I'm moving out.”
“Directors cut with commentary.”
“And I'm taking the cat.”
There was a beat.
“We don't have a cat.”
“Then what the hell have I been feeding?”
Peter shrugged. “Your ego manifested in animal form?”
Sylar's eyes narrowed and he pointed at Peter. “I'm blocking your eBay account.”
“I'll just use yours,” Peter smirked and shot a look across the room to an entertained Claire, “it's not like your password isn't obvious.”
“Bite me.”
“Not with somebody else's teeth.”
Sylar rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Wuss.”
“Psycho. How about a horror movie?” Peter walked over to his collection.
“No, I told you I didn't want to spend any time with your mother this evening,” Sylar headed for the kitchen. His voice muffled as he started taking the cookies he'd been baking out of the oven.
“Ha ha,” Peter yelled over his shoulder. “I was the one who had to deal with her all day.”
“Your mother, your problem.”
Claire leaned over to Emma who was frowning as she tried to follow the conversation that she couldn't hear.
Claire poked her to get her attention. “Think they've forgotten we are here. They're still arguing about what movie to watch. Peter thinks Sylar hid his copy of Sleepless in Seattle.”
Emma smiled brightly. “He didn't,” she whispered and edged a little to her left, showing the edge of the DVD case tucked under her seat. “It's uncomfortable,” she signed, “but worth it.”
Claire laughed in delight and covered her glee as Peter turned around.
Emma gave him a beatific smile. “What are we watching?”
Peter shrugged and called into the kitchen. “What about You've got Mail?”
“I swear to god, Peter, I will end you.” Sylar appeared in the kuchen door waving a wooden spoon at his friend.
Peter cocked a grin. “No?”
“No.”
“No,” he sighed, “How about-”
“No to City Of Angels, no to While you were sleeping and, so help me, if you even try to put on My Best friend's Wedding I'm going to take out half of Hollywood. Man up and watch something that doesn't end with you bawling into tissues!”
“I'm not in the mood for a Rom-com anyway Peter,” Claire called out, trying not to laugh. “What about a Musical?”
“With him?” Peter jabbed his thumb towards the kitchen. “No way.”
“You're just jealous because I don't sound like a choir boy caught in a grinder.” Sylar poked his head around the door, only to duck when a DVD case slammed into the wood near his head.
“Sylar can sing?” Claire blinked and turned to Emma who was watching her intently. “Can Sylar sing?”
Emma nodded enthusiastically. “I can see the sounds. Beautiful like blue storms and river tinkling.”
Claire liked the sound of that. “And Peter?”
“Leaking pipe,” Emma winced and shrugged.
“Thanks babe,” Peter kissed her quickly even as he scowled. “Okay, action movie?”
“I'm quite happy to watch things explode.” Claire nodded. “Emma?”
Emma agreed. She actually loved movie night. Peter and Sylar and Claire had gotten used to watching everything with subtitles and when Sylar installed the new surround sound Emma could feel the reverberation of sound in the air. Each sound effect from the screen produced a different color and she said it was like swimming in a rainbow.
It also meant that she got to spend some time curled up in Peter's arms and that was something that she wouldn't turn down.
Peter turned back to his DVD collection and began rifling through the action movies. Since moving in with Sylar his tastes had broadened dramatically and he'd gone from a room with the barest minimum of furniture to an apartment that actually looked like someone lived there. It was even, surprisingly, well decorated. Who knew telekinesis made for easy D.I.Y?
Sylar walked back in holding a tray filled with drinks.
“The cookies are cooling for after dinner, did anyone decide what we were going to have?”
“Pizza,” Peter said. “I've already called it.”
Sylar rolled his eyes. “You had pizza yesterday, Peter.”
“Sorry mom,” Peter said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “I didn't realize I had to run my eating by you.”
“Well when the junk food reaches your hips, don't come crying to me when Emma leaves you for someone who isn't fat.”
“You're a such a girl.”
“And you have your mother's metabolism. There is a reason Angela avoids chocolate cake, you know.” Sylar grabbed his drink and sank down onto the sofa opposite Claire.
Peter just grimaced. “Fine, I'll have salad tomorrow, okay?”
Claire couldn't hold it back anymore. “God, why didn't you tell me you guys had gotten married?”
Peter and Sylar both whipped their heads around to look at her and then stared at each other for a beat before simultaneously shuddering.
“No way.”
“Nuh uh.”
“He'd hog the covers.” This from Peter.
“And I couldn't stand his mess.” And Sylar. “Besides I think Emma would have something to say both sharing her bed with two men.”
Yes she would, thought Claire, and it wouldn't be 'no thanks'
Claire just grinned. “But you'd make such a cute couple.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “You are one sick puppy Claire Bennet.”
Emma held up a hand to catch their attention. “But who would be the wife?”
“Hey!” Peter turned wounded eyes to his beloved. “So much for loyalty. I am much manlier. Sy would be the wife, he does the cooking and cleaning.”
Claire raised an eyebrow. “And that's the wife's job?”
“Well, ye-,” Peter caught Emma's look before the words had even come out of his mouth and he was frantically back-peddling, “or no. No is good. In fact the wife just needs to be pampered. There should be equal division of labor and chores and-” he sagged, “it's not working is it?”
Emma shook her head sympathetically. “Enjoy the couch.”
“Some of the top Chef's are men,” Sylar said suddenly, “and most cleaning companies are headed by men, cleaning and cooking are not solely a female arena, Peter. I thought in this enlightened time you would be more progressive.”
“Says the one who cooks in a frilly apron.”
Claire had just taken a sip of coke which was suddenly projected from her mouth with a huge snort, it spewed across her hand and she choked.
Sylar reared up quickly, grabbing tissues with one hand to clear up the spillage whilst touching her gently with the other.
“Are you okay?”
Claire coughed and gave one short hiccup, swiping the back of her hand against her mouth. Her eyes were still wide and she looked dazed as the image danced behind her eyes: Sylar with his ruffled dark hair and piercing eyes staring intently at a recipe, his long fingers wrapped around a whisk stroking the eggs into submission dressed in a short frilly apron... and nothing else.
“Claire?”
She blinked and stared at him with interest.
“Frilly? Really?”
Sylar couldn't help the exasperated look that crossed his face as he glowered at Peter. “No. It isn't frilly.”
“But you do wear an apron.”
“Food smears are not attractive.”
“So you wear-”
“Yes! I wear an apron, all right.” He folded his arms and slumped back against the sofa, pouting.
It was perhaps the single most adorable thing that she had ever seen and Claire had the sudden inexplicable urge to lean forward and kiss that pout off his face.
It was a somewhat alarming desire especially considering it came swiftly on the heels of her impromptu hug.
Which she was still in a quandary over. Not the actual hug or the conversation that preceded it. But the feelings that manifested as a result.
When Luke had a hold of her the only thing that ran through her mind was “here we go again” but Sylar's words had been eerily accurate.
Lately she had been wondering what she was going to do if she remained seventeen forever. She'd read post-apocalyptic books on how, when the world went to hell, it was only the fittest who survived, only those with brute strength that managed to stay safe.
She had no brute strength and the only thing she looked scary to was an ant.
The hundreds of scenarios for the long future ahead of her seemed to culminate in only two possibly responses for her.
The first was to be the eternal victim, for her to be scared and hurt and beaten and be on the run for eternity, eventually becoming a broken ghost of who she really was.
The second was to go the way of Peter's nightmare future and for her to become hard, scary uncompromising with a gun and an attitude that no one would ever dare mess with. She'd train and learn to fight and kill and lose herself in ice and become a broken soldier.
So those had been her choices, a soldier or a ghost. Both equally messed up and neither of them really her, neither of them really Claire Bennet.
Her future lay out before her as a wasteland, a brutal cornucopia of pain and isolation until someone got in a lucky shot.
Then Sylar had blasted his apprentice for, what was to her, the light offense of trying to fry her, and had been inches away from regressing back to the monster she had always assumed he was underneath.
But he'd stopped and then:
“You may be forever seventeen but you are forever protected.”
She closed her eyes.
“For the rest of eternity. I will protect you.”
All at once she had a third option. To remain herself. To remain Claire Bennet and to have someone watch over her.
Not like Noah who always tried to stifle and suffocate her, but someone who would just be there if she needed them. Someone she could rely on to save her, who had the ability to protect her and would- for whatever reasons be they guilt or obsession or whatever- stand up and make it known that no one messed with her.
Claire knew beyond a doubt that Sylar would hold true to those words until the sun burned them all to ash and the universe collapsed in on itself. In an insane universe it stood that the psychopath was the sanest choice.
A weight she hadn't even realized she had been carrying lifted from her shoulders and she could breathe again. The relief made her dizzy and she needed something to hold on to, something strong, something tangible, and there he was.
In one moment the scary villain died and something new stood in front of her.
A knight in shining Armani and all she wanted to do was give her new champion a kiss.
That would, of course, have probably freaked them both out, so she did the next best thing. She gave him a hug and her forgiveness.
As she wrapped her arms around him, all animosity melted away to reveal the quite startling sexual attraction that had been cleverly hidden underneath.
She hugged him because he was her hero, she let it linger because her hero happened to be damn hot and smelled almost edible.
And now that the hate and anger and fear had gone all she was left with was the bewildering urge to plaster herself to him and demand that they try that kiss again but this time without the pencil-in-the-eye ending.
She'd be lying if she said that she had never thought of him like that, even when she hated his guts, but now that the hate was gone she could allow free reign and her hormones sat up, thanked her and proceeded to beg.
She flashed him a quick smile and poked him with her foot. “I think that's adorable.”
The pout vanished as if it had never been there and he regarded her with no little curiosity.
“Really?”
She nodded once and turned back to Peter who was giving her the oddest look. She poked her tongue out at him.
“Mature.”
“Says the one who wondered if he could a free toy with his pizza.”
“Speaking of which,” Peter said as the doorbell rang, “that was good timing. I hope they remembered the extra slaw.”
Emma shuddered and Sylar just shrugged.
“Don't look at me, for some reason I was craving Mexican. Again. It's weird I keep getting these random urges for Tacos.”
And it was weird. As Gabriel his mother had always cooked plain food and his tolerance for spices wasn't really that high but just recently he had been craving Tacos at the oddest time. Usually when he was with Claire.
“I've not eaten a Taco in... a while,” Claire said softly. “Tacos always remind me of Nathan.”
Oh. OH!
Sylar winced and looked away. Of course it did and that was why the two were linked in his head.
When he'd received all of Nathan's memories courtesy of Matt Parkman he'd gained the entire vacation in Mexico with Claire, including all of their conversations and emotional outbursts. One memory that stood out clearly was him and Claire-- Nathan and Claire-- standing in a rundown motel and him offering to buy her a Taco.
Claire had informed him, quite brutally and quite accurately, that he had no money.
When he'd become Nathan it had been a standing joke between them for him to buy her a Taco and say “And this time I paid for it with my money.” It had been an in-joke that the two of them shared, a sweet teasing that no one else understood.
He'd forgotten that it wasn't joke she would want to share with the man who'd killed her father.
Sylar bit his lip. “Sorry.”
Claire shrugged. “It's okay.”
But it wasn't. He was trying to get her to see him as more than a murderer and that probably wasn't being helped by reminding her who it was he had murdered.
He took a deep breath.
“I didn't mean to remind you of him-”
“You don't,” she quickly interrupted. “Logically I know that for the last few months that I saw him, it was really you. But in my head, and my heart, that was Nathan.” Claire frowned slightly, peering at Emma who was reading the back of the DVD and was oblivious to their conversation. “I got to spend time with my bio-dad and really get to know him. I know during those months y-he wanted to spend more time with me. We got to be great friends and I'm … grateful for that. Looking back now I'm not sure that would have happened if it was really Nathan, you know?”
Sylar was certain that that never would have happened.
Nathan Petrelli was a grade A asshole and a selfish one to boot. His whole life had revolved around himself and he had thought nothing of turning on his nearest and dearest in an effort to further his career or to satisfy his own twisted delusions of grandeur. Claire had been a mistake, an embarrassment, and then a curiosity. It was only towards the end of his life that he had wished to get to know her as a person. Sylar had taken that burgeoning interest and coupled it with his own intense but latent desire to have Claire as his own and used it as a basis for being the father she should have had.
He had made a damn good dad.
He'd make an even better husband.
But he wasn't going to mention that to Claire just yet, he'd have centuries to steel himself against the rejection.
“He cared for you,” Sylar said slowly, “but I don't think he really had any idea how to be a good father for you.”
She gave him a lopsided smile and poked him with her foot again. “It's okay. And no sad face, okay. It's all water under that bridge.”
“That bridge?” he asked curiously.
“The bridge we're building to get over the water that is under the bridge...” Claire frowned, “and now that saying makes no sense.” She hefted a sigh and shrugged. “Our bridge.”
“Eloquent.”
Claire reached underneath her seat and, before Sylar could do more than open his mouth to apologize, she hit him in the face with a cushion.
“Hah!” Peter crowed as he walked in carrying the pizza boxes. “Dude, that totally serves you right.”
Sylar twitched his fingers and the pillow tore from Claire's fingers and smashed into Peter's face. He yelped and dropped the boxes onto the nearest table.
“You nearly ended up with smooshed pizza,” he complained and Sylar rolled his eyes. With another twitch the boxes rose off the table and danced around Peter's head.
Peter frowned. “Show-off.”
“No, this is showing off.” With a smug grin Sylar concentrated and one of the lids flipped opened in mid-air and one single slice of pepperoni slapped onto Peter's forehead.
Red sauce dripped down his face and dripped onto his chin.
Both Claire and Emma cracked up as the dark-haired man scrubbed at the tomato stain on his temple.
“Jerk.”
The pizzas came to rest on the coffee table, open and sliced, ready for eating and Sylar leaned forward to grab his plate.
“You're just jealous that you don't have my precision.”
“Or psychosis.”
Sylar saluted him with the plate. “There is that.”
“Can we have less sarcasm and more exploding stuff please,” Claire added quickly, “on screen exploding, not like pizza bomb.”
“Spoil sport,” Peter complained but reached over and flicked the remote.
Sylar had never really been one for watching TV. Virginia Grey thought that they were the devil's invention for laziness and demons- until she discovered soap operas and changed her opinion quite dramatically. But Gabriel had never bothered with television. He loved reading, that was his escapism, and he preferred to live in his own fantasy world rather than watch one that someone else had created. Later on in life he bought himself a television just to drown out the silence in his shop and became quite addicted to science fiction shows.
But, as Sylar, he had no need of watching other people having these fantastic adventures since his own life was quite exciting enough. Why bother escaping when he was having too much fun. He also spent a hell of a lot of time on the run and that tended to cut into prime viewing time.
Of course, once he'd returned from exile and started living with Peter, he had discovered that there was little his friend liked more than to zone out in front of the box.
He was getting quite the education in romantic comedies and awful horror movies from Peter who, as it turned out, had quite appalling taste in film.
Usually he manged an hour or two and then had to go and do something productive in case his mind started to atrophy.
But, at this precise moment in time, he had no intention of moving- ever again if he could help it.
Once the pizza was gone and the beers were opened, the cookies and popcorn had come out and one
movie turned into two.
Claire had gotten up to use the facilities at one point and when she came back she settled herself in the center of the couch in order to better reach the popcorn.
Sylar grinned to himself as she no longer shied away from the brief touches of their hands in the bowl or the way she no longer sat on the opposite side of the room.
The shadows lengthened and all talk ceased as Emma wrapped herself around Peter on the floor and they cuddled up to watch the movie.
Sylar had been invested in the exploits of the caped crusader and the frankly amazing performance of the Joker when he had felt something delicate touch his shoulder.
He turned his head slightly and met Claire's sleepy eyes as she lay her head on his shoulder.
Sylar stopped breathing.
She gave him a small smile and turned her attention back to the screen, her body leaning more heavily against him. She was a warm weight against his side, soft and pliant and completely relaxed.
He just hoped that she was too sleepy to see exactly what her proximity was doing to him.
He didn't dare move, every inch of his body warning him that she was half-asleep, that she wasn't aware of what she was doing and that, if he moved, she'd suddenly wake and move away.
He'd cut off his own arm before allowing that.
He remained still, trying to keep his breathing shallow, which was remarkably difficult because this close he was ensnared by her clean scent and wanted to breathe deeply.
He could no longer focus on the screen, the Joker could have french kissed Batman and he wouldn't have noticed, all his attention was on the girl resting against him.
Claire twitched slightly and her head rolled slightly off his shoulder as she moved. She shuffled back slightly and tried again but even Sylar could tell that she wasn't in the most stable of places, or the most comfortable of positions.
She was tiny and she was leaning slightly up to rest her head on his shoulder, it had to be giving her a crick in the neck.
His mind raced as he thought that through; if she got too uncomfortable, she might just decide that the other end of the sofa was more inviting and she'd move and he'd lose this moment forever. If, however, he tried to shift to make her more comfortable she might rouse enough to want to edge away.
Sylar swallowed against his suddenly dry throat and prayed that he wasn't about to do the stupidest thing he had ever done.
He shifted slightly, rolling his hips and slouching lower on the couch before lifting his arm.
And Claire, wonderful, forgiving, sweet, sleepy Claire, ducked under his arm and tucked herself against his chest, wrapping her arm around his waist.
She muttered deep in her throat and snuggled into him.
He had Claire in his arms.
Sylar had died and gone to heaven.
He finally had Claire willingly touching him, holding him, and nothing had ever felt so right.
He stared down at the sleepy girl and marveled at the capriciousness of the universe. After all he had done, for fate to give him this was just amazing.
Something had changed since this morning in the office, somehow she had more than forgiven him, more than offered him a second chance. She had accepted him, as a man, as a friend and it was a gift so precious it made his head spin.
He lifted his hand, absently noting its slight tremor, and draped it over her tiny one, anchoring it in place.
With a sigh of contentment he gave all his attention to the beauty fast asleep just over the heart that belonged only to her.
Peter stretched as the credits rolled out and the main menu scrolled back around. He grinned at the gently snoring Emma who had fallen asleep in his lap. He traced her earlobe and felt her shiver slightly against him. The temperature had dropped slightly and he reached behind him to grab the blanket he kept over the back of the chair.
Draping it over her, he settled back, half turning to address the room's other occupants only to freeze at the sight.
Claire was curled up against Sylar's chest, her eyes closed, her dark lashes making little half moons against her sun kissed cheeks. Sylar was gently stroking his fingers through her hair, his attention fixated on the strands as they fell like silk through his fingers.
He looked... enraptured, like a man who had found the meaning of life and couldn't quite believe that it belonged to him.
Right now he knew that if he offered Sylar the world in exchange for this one moment in time, Sylar would throw it back in his face.
They looked so perfect together, so peaceful and they just seemed to fit. If only Claire could understand that in her hands she held the most fragile and beautiful heart and soul the world had ever seen. If only she knew just what Sylar would do for her.
But, thought Peter as he stared at the man engrossed in the girl, maybe she was beginning to understand.
Maybe there was hope.
Sensing Peter's eyes on him, Sylar looked up and Peter opened his mouth to share his observation.
But his comment died on his lips as Sylar's tears of pure wonder glistened in the moonlit room.
He already knew.