Love is a battlefield
+
Title: At Present
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Disclaimer: Not mine, I shouldn't even be playing with them. Only responsible for their fictional corruption
Summary: Sylar thinks that love is for broken people..
Warning: Might as well be up on the current season. Although, it's AU.
Rated: PG-13
A/N: This could very well suck. Sorry. I've had a bad week.
Sylar thinks that love is for broken people. People who are missing something inside themselves, something they seek to find in someone else and take.
Claire points out that that makes 98 percent of the world's population, exactly like him.
The fact that he doesn't kill her on the spot proves the point.
He loves her, and being miserable about it, doesn't fix the situation.
+
"How do you feel today?" She asks, and her voice isn't sweet. It's casual and collected, but it still makes his teeth hurt.
The cot is comfortable enough, he endured worse after Kirby Plaza, but that isn't what makes him shift and scowl. "Just great, Princess. I'd get up and do a dance number to prove it, but my prison cell doesn't have a radio - and without music it might seem silly."
She ignores the sarcasm, at some point she's grown immune, and thinks nothing of sitting down on the stretch of makeshift bed he's exposed by moving his feet.
"You can borrow my Ipod."
There was a time when his growl could make her quake in fear, now he's the beast to her beauty.
Except the fairytale doesn't work because he has no castle, no curse, just a soul the devil didn't even want.
+
"No one is keeping you here." She offers, when he stays silent.
She always points that out when he broods. He's never sure if she thinks the statement will make him feel better or if she's saying it to rub it in. He can leave. He just has no where to go.
She's not asking him to stay. She's just letting him, out of the kindness of her heart.
Her heart. Sylar can hear it beating, even when she's upstairs. He closes his eyes at night and he can see it, bleeding rainbows that disappear into clear blue skies, across his mind's eye.
Her goodness is a brilliant display of God and nature, ostentatious in its purity, keeping him awake.
"But who would you exercise your charity upon if I weren't here? How would you feel all warm and fuzzy inside if bad old Sylar wasn't around so you could turn the other cheek?"
"I could always give blood to the Red Cross or donate money to St. Jude."
It's a joke. About as funny as destiny.
+
Her laugh never seems at his expense. No matter how mad it makes him. No matter how wrong it is that this is who he has become.
The man that makes Claire Bennett laugh instead of cry.
She reaches out to touch his knee and after weeks he doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. He's almost used to her by now. The way she thinks nothing of sharing space, of giving warmth.
"How are your powers?"
Every day it's the same thing. Claire coming down to bring him breakfast, lunch and dinner. Claire playing nice and swooping in. Waiting.
Waiting for him to regain control of powers she shouldn't want him to have, should be afraid he'll use.
"The hearing is back. A few of the other annoying ones too." Nothing dangerous. He wants to say, but knows he doesn't have to.
"Good." She nods, moving to get up and leave.
He only stops her with a hand around her wrist, because the routine is all he has.
+
He stopped killing people, eventually the powers became too much, too many.
The stolen skills became voices, clawing fingers digging into his psyche to find a hidden conscience buried deep.
The resulting period of weakness and overwhelming pain is when she found him, when their paths once again crossed and Sylar finally had to admit that maybe fate didn't like him after all.
That maybe he wasn't the hero, even of his own story.
Claire took him home. Her loyal friends, her adoring family, they all wanted to hand him over to the Company. But she wouldn't do it. She faked his "escape" and let him hide like a rat in her basement.
She gave him her blood, again, to heal him physically, offered protection and the time it would take to work on the deeper emotional scars.
He still feels the urge to conquer, to destroy. That need is a part of him he can't remove, a seed of bitter rage that equally bitter fruit grew around.
She knows it's there. She likes him anyway, and it just makes it worse.
+
"Be nice." She demands, but it always sounds like merely a suggestion.
She touches him first, but he's the one who pulls her closer. That never fails to make him laugh. "Like I could hurt you if I tried."
Powerless, he might as well be Gabriel again. He's bigger than her, stronger, but hurting her doesn't even cross his mind. If he squeezes a little too tight, it never shows.
She doesn't complain.
If he's honest with himself it's more, but he no longer makes introspection a habit.
He pretends that his only motivation is the small victory he claims by making her gasp. The satisfaction he can derive from making her want it. The distraction he needs that comes easily with the curve of her hip, the small of her back, the swell of her breast.
"You can do anything you put your mind too, Sylar."
She promises, and he almost believes.
+
She's not the first woman to misguidedly offer him encouragement, but unlike his mother there is no underlying implication.
Claire seems willing to take him, special or ordinary.
"You shouldn't want the old me, Claire. I don't understand what you are doing." He tells her, but only after he's inside her.
Only when she's tight and close and it's impossible to resist.
He doesn't understand the look on her face, contentment, accomplishment, pride.
He doesn't understand the frantic movements of her body, opening to him, giving him everything he wants and doesn't deserve.
She never explains. Just kisses him until he forgets the question.
+
He thinks it has something to do with her Uncle. Her fathers. Something to do with a childhood of over-protection, teen years as the unbreakable girl.
Her first steps into adulthood are still shadowed with both. With people who either smother her or treat her like an ultimate weapon.
The Company isn't something she so much joined, as the single minded entity that manipulates her whenever and however it can. He knows she's not a willing participant because he's seen the struggle, followed her when she was following them and saw the lack of commitment obvious to anyone who cared to look.
Not many people do. Sylar's thrived in a world that pays very little attention. To themselves, to each other.
To him.
He thinks Claire likes him because she wishes she could learn how not to care. She wishes she could use her powers for her own gain.
And maybe - maybe she likes the way he trusts her to take care of herself, the way he doesn't ask her for anything.
+
It's almost tender. After.
She lays on top of him because there is nowhere else to, he wraps his arm around her because that is where he wants them.
Sylar knows, in the same way he used to look at a watch and know the glitch, what he's looking for in Claire.
He's in a hundred microscopic pieces on the table. Her hands can put him back together. Her gift can give him back his.
He needs to work again. All he wants is to be whole. When he's with her there is peace. A lovely quiet.
All he did, his bloody past, and all he will most likely do again, the dubious future, is inconsequential to the present.
With Claire, the weakness is less overwhelming, and love almost seems like the solution.
Title: At Present
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Disclaimer: Not mine, I shouldn't even be playing with them. Only responsible for their fictional corruption
Summary: Sylar thinks that love is for broken people..
Warning: Might as well be up on the current season. Although, it's AU.
Rated: PG-13
A/N: This could very well suck. Sorry. I've had a bad week.
Sylar thinks that love is for broken people. People who are missing something inside themselves, something they seek to find in someone else and take.
Claire points out that that makes 98 percent of the world's population, exactly like him.
The fact that he doesn't kill her on the spot proves the point.
He loves her, and being miserable about it, doesn't fix the situation.
+
"How do you feel today?" She asks, and her voice isn't sweet. It's casual and collected, but it still makes his teeth hurt.
The cot is comfortable enough, he endured worse after Kirby Plaza, but that isn't what makes him shift and scowl. "Just great, Princess. I'd get up and do a dance number to prove it, but my prison cell doesn't have a radio - and without music it might seem silly."
She ignores the sarcasm, at some point she's grown immune, and thinks nothing of sitting down on the stretch of makeshift bed he's exposed by moving his feet.
"You can borrow my Ipod."
There was a time when his growl could make her quake in fear, now he's the beast to her beauty.
Except the fairytale doesn't work because he has no castle, no curse, just a soul the devil didn't even want.
+
"No one is keeping you here." She offers, when he stays silent.
She always points that out when he broods. He's never sure if she thinks the statement will make him feel better or if she's saying it to rub it in. He can leave. He just has no where to go.
She's not asking him to stay. She's just letting him, out of the kindness of her heart.
Her heart. Sylar can hear it beating, even when she's upstairs. He closes his eyes at night and he can see it, bleeding rainbows that disappear into clear blue skies, across his mind's eye.
Her goodness is a brilliant display of God and nature, ostentatious in its purity, keeping him awake.
"But who would you exercise your charity upon if I weren't here? How would you feel all warm and fuzzy inside if bad old Sylar wasn't around so you could turn the other cheek?"
"I could always give blood to the Red Cross or donate money to St. Jude."
It's a joke. About as funny as destiny.
+
Her laugh never seems at his expense. No matter how mad it makes him. No matter how wrong it is that this is who he has become.
The man that makes Claire Bennett laugh instead of cry.
She reaches out to touch his knee and after weeks he doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. He's almost used to her by now. The way she thinks nothing of sharing space, of giving warmth.
"How are your powers?"
Every day it's the same thing. Claire coming down to bring him breakfast, lunch and dinner. Claire playing nice and swooping in. Waiting.
Waiting for him to regain control of powers she shouldn't want him to have, should be afraid he'll use.
"The hearing is back. A few of the other annoying ones too." Nothing dangerous. He wants to say, but knows he doesn't have to.
"Good." She nods, moving to get up and leave.
He only stops her with a hand around her wrist, because the routine is all he has.
+
He stopped killing people, eventually the powers became too much, too many.
The stolen skills became voices, clawing fingers digging into his psyche to find a hidden conscience buried deep.
The resulting period of weakness and overwhelming pain is when she found him, when their paths once again crossed and Sylar finally had to admit that maybe fate didn't like him after all.
That maybe he wasn't the hero, even of his own story.
Claire took him home. Her loyal friends, her adoring family, they all wanted to hand him over to the Company. But she wouldn't do it. She faked his "escape" and let him hide like a rat in her basement.
She gave him her blood, again, to heal him physically, offered protection and the time it would take to work on the deeper emotional scars.
He still feels the urge to conquer, to destroy. That need is a part of him he can't remove, a seed of bitter rage that equally bitter fruit grew around.
She knows it's there. She likes him anyway, and it just makes it worse.
+
"Be nice." She demands, but it always sounds like merely a suggestion.
She touches him first, but he's the one who pulls her closer. That never fails to make him laugh. "Like I could hurt you if I tried."
Powerless, he might as well be Gabriel again. He's bigger than her, stronger, but hurting her doesn't even cross his mind. If he squeezes a little too tight, it never shows.
She doesn't complain.
If he's honest with himself it's more, but he no longer makes introspection a habit.
He pretends that his only motivation is the small victory he claims by making her gasp. The satisfaction he can derive from making her want it. The distraction he needs that comes easily with the curve of her hip, the small of her back, the swell of her breast.
"You can do anything you put your mind too, Sylar."
She promises, and he almost believes.
+
She's not the first woman to misguidedly offer him encouragement, but unlike his mother there is no underlying implication.
Claire seems willing to take him, special or ordinary.
"You shouldn't want the old me, Claire. I don't understand what you are doing." He tells her, but only after he's inside her.
Only when she's tight and close and it's impossible to resist.
He doesn't understand the look on her face, contentment, accomplishment, pride.
He doesn't understand the frantic movements of her body, opening to him, giving him everything he wants and doesn't deserve.
She never explains. Just kisses him until he forgets the question.
+
He thinks it has something to do with her Uncle. Her fathers. Something to do with a childhood of over-protection, teen years as the unbreakable girl.
Her first steps into adulthood are still shadowed with both. With people who either smother her or treat her like an ultimate weapon.
The Company isn't something she so much joined, as the single minded entity that manipulates her whenever and however it can. He knows she's not a willing participant because he's seen the struggle, followed her when she was following them and saw the lack of commitment obvious to anyone who cared to look.
Not many people do. Sylar's thrived in a world that pays very little attention. To themselves, to each other.
To him.
He thinks Claire likes him because she wishes she could learn how not to care. She wishes she could use her powers for her own gain.
And maybe - maybe she likes the way he trusts her to take care of herself, the way he doesn't ask her for anything.
+
It's almost tender. After.
She lays on top of him because there is nowhere else to, he wraps his arm around her because that is where he wants them.
Sylar knows, in the same way he used to look at a watch and know the glitch, what he's looking for in Claire.
He's in a hundred microscopic pieces on the table. Her hands can put him back together. Her gift can give him back his.
He needs to work again. All he wants is to be whole. When he's with her there is peace. A lovely quiet.
All he did, his bloody past, and all he will most likely do again, the dubious future, is inconsequential to the present.
With Claire, the weakness is less overwhelming, and love almost seems like the solution.