Fic: Stand Still, Look Pretty
Title: Stand Still, Look Pretty
Author: kathrynthegr8
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1001
Warnings: Angst, lots of it. Spoilers through season three finale.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you see here.
A/N: Written for the sylaire_chall prompt #15 forever and for one of the prompts for my Ridiculously Specific Prompt Table (#6 One of your characters got a new haircut, and it looks awful. How does everyone else react?). Prompt table is by cruiscin_lan. And for mamozombie who wanted to know what happened in that missing scene in the finale. Thank god my beta eeyore9990 is back from vacation! Without her this would still be 300 words of nothing. Title and cut tag from the song "Stand Still, Look Pretty" by The Wreckers.
Longest author notes for a one-shot fic EVER!
She said no the first time he asked her. No followed with every profanity in her vocabulary. What scared her the most wasn't that she was trapped with a psycho who had in fact killed her once already, it was that he was serious about his proposal.
"Marry me, Claire." His voice was all silk and seduction, but underneath she could hear the desperation.
Realization left her breathless: Sylar wanted someone to love. The monster that starred in her nightmares and stalked her in broad daylight wanted to love her.
He plied her with wine and logic, words spoken like traps set to ensnare her. Destiny. Immortality. Claire hated that the first boy to ask her to marry him was a murderer. She hated that she would always remember this day with a sick twist in her gut. But mostly she hated him for doing the one thing she never expected -- putting the thought of him in her head. By presenting himself as her perfect match, she visualized what it might be like to spend time with the person who had killed her mother and hunted her like a predator.
What would it be like to love the man who caused misery for so many?
Claire resisted his advances and prayed for rescue from his madness. More than anything, she needed someone to rescue her from her own scattered thoughts. She didn't want to picture a life with Sylar. She didn't want to imagine what his hands felt like, if he was a good kisser, or what his skin smelled like.
He touched her face and stroked her hair and smiled like a sane person. "One day you'll love me," whispered in her ear with a voice convinced the words spoken were the truth.
"No, Sylar. You're wrong. I hate you." She spoke with conviction, hoping the venom in her words would burn and sting him with rejection. "I will always hate you."
Instead of having the desired effect, the opposite happened. His face brightened with hope, eyebrows raised in amusement. "That you feel such strong emotions holds promise." He leaned closer and brushed his lips across her cheek, setting her skin on fire and making her face blush furiously. "We have all the time in the world. I can wait forever."
And then he kissed her, pressed his lips to hers gently at first and then with more force when she didn't respond. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see him this close up, embarrassed from his advances and ridiculous declarations, wanting this to end. Sylar didn't stop, he stroked one hand up her neck and clasped her chin, tilting her head for better access and opened his mouth. Claire gasped and then she was kissing him back, no longer fighting him with words, instead she used her tongue and teeth, biting his lip and pulling away when she realized she could.
"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He was still too close, invading her space, stroking her cheek and pressing his forehead into her hair. "Keep walking that line between love and hate. One day you'll fall, and I'll be here to catch you."
"I hate you, Sylar." She wanted to cry.
"Say it again," he demanded.
"I hate you."
"You're beautiful." He wrapped his fingers in her hair and leaned back. "We'll have this conversation again soon."
Suddenly she was flying through the air and crashing into a wall. In front of her Nathan and Peter were charging the room. She was being rescued.
"Go!"
The doors slammed shut behind them.
...
She stared at her reflection in the small bathroom of her dad's DC apartment. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed and flickered, making her squint and blink at her face in the mirror. They had won the battle and the war. Sylar was really dead this time. Burned to ash and scattered in the desert wind. She knew she should feel happy; the nightmare was finally over. But the girl looking back at her wasn't smiling; she looked haunted. A wave of unease and suspicion washed across her, leaving her shaken and weak-kneed.
She reached for the scissors on the sink and began cutting, not stopping until the hair piled around her in golden wisps that tickled her feet.
The horrified faces of her family delighted her. Angela patted her shoulder and told her it would grow back. Peter shook his head and didn't comment. The rest ranged from exclamations of surprise to silent glances she could feel prickling her skin.
None of them mattered. The one person she wanted to see her handiwork was dead and gone. And she hated him now more than ever for that. Because of Sylar, she was painless and numb. Without him as a bad guy, how could she be sure who the good guys were? He was the measurement everyone stood against, and like it or not he had never lied to her.
She wouldn't have looked forward to an eternity with her mortal enemy, that would make her insane. But now she stood on the doorstep of eternity alone, and it was scarier than she imagined, more daunting than she dreamed. It pushed and pulled at her, and Claire didn't have the strength to fight back. At least with Sylar around there was purpose to it all. A reason.
She wished for the millionth time that her ability wasn't regeneration. Why not flying, or mind reading, or exploding? No, her special power was to live forever and watch everyone she ever knew and loved die. It was like some kind of cruel joke and the punchline was something she had never considered until a psychotic killer had brought it to her attention.
She wished for the first time that Sylar had been wrong. He'd told her that one day she'd fall, and he'd been right.
But he'd lied, too. Because he wasn't there to catch her. And time had stopped for the watch maker.
The End
Author: kathrynthegr8
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1001
Warnings: Angst, lots of it. Spoilers through season three finale.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you see here.
A/N: Written for the sylaire_chall prompt #15 forever and for one of the prompts for my Ridiculously Specific Prompt Table (#6 One of your characters got a new haircut, and it looks awful. How does everyone else react?). Prompt table is by cruiscin_lan. And for mamozombie who wanted to know what happened in that missing scene in the finale. Thank god my beta eeyore9990 is back from vacation! Without her this would still be 300 words of nothing. Title and cut tag from the song "Stand Still, Look Pretty" by The Wreckers.
Longest author notes for a one-shot fic EVER!
She said no the first time he asked her. No followed with every profanity in her vocabulary. What scared her the most wasn't that she was trapped with a psycho who had in fact killed her once already, it was that he was serious about his proposal.
"Marry me, Claire." His voice was all silk and seduction, but underneath she could hear the desperation.
Realization left her breathless: Sylar wanted someone to love. The monster that starred in her nightmares and stalked her in broad daylight wanted to love her.
He plied her with wine and logic, words spoken like traps set to ensnare her. Destiny. Immortality. Claire hated that the first boy to ask her to marry him was a murderer. She hated that she would always remember this day with a sick twist in her gut. But mostly she hated him for doing the one thing she never expected -- putting the thought of him in her head. By presenting himself as her perfect match, she visualized what it might be like to spend time with the person who had killed her mother and hunted her like a predator.
What would it be like to love the man who caused misery for so many?
Claire resisted his advances and prayed for rescue from his madness. More than anything, she needed someone to rescue her from her own scattered thoughts. She didn't want to picture a life with Sylar. She didn't want to imagine what his hands felt like, if he was a good kisser, or what his skin smelled like.
He touched her face and stroked her hair and smiled like a sane person. "One day you'll love me," whispered in her ear with a voice convinced the words spoken were the truth.
"No, Sylar. You're wrong. I hate you." She spoke with conviction, hoping the venom in her words would burn and sting him with rejection. "I will always hate you."
Instead of having the desired effect, the opposite happened. His face brightened with hope, eyebrows raised in amusement. "That you feel such strong emotions holds promise." He leaned closer and brushed his lips across her cheek, setting her skin on fire and making her face blush furiously. "We have all the time in the world. I can wait forever."
And then he kissed her, pressed his lips to hers gently at first and then with more force when she didn't respond. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see him this close up, embarrassed from his advances and ridiculous declarations, wanting this to end. Sylar didn't stop, he stroked one hand up her neck and clasped her chin, tilting her head for better access and opened his mouth. Claire gasped and then she was kissing him back, no longer fighting him with words, instead she used her tongue and teeth, biting his lip and pulling away when she realized she could.
"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He was still too close, invading her space, stroking her cheek and pressing his forehead into her hair. "Keep walking that line between love and hate. One day you'll fall, and I'll be here to catch you."
"I hate you, Sylar." She wanted to cry.
"Say it again," he demanded.
"I hate you."
"You're beautiful." He wrapped his fingers in her hair and leaned back. "We'll have this conversation again soon."
Suddenly she was flying through the air and crashing into a wall. In front of her Nathan and Peter were charging the room. She was being rescued.
"Go!"
The doors slammed shut behind them.
...
She stared at her reflection in the small bathroom of her dad's DC apartment. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed and flickered, making her squint and blink at her face in the mirror. They had won the battle and the war. Sylar was really dead this time. Burned to ash and scattered in the desert wind. She knew she should feel happy; the nightmare was finally over. But the girl looking back at her wasn't smiling; she looked haunted. A wave of unease and suspicion washed across her, leaving her shaken and weak-kneed.
She reached for the scissors on the sink and began cutting, not stopping until the hair piled around her in golden wisps that tickled her feet.
The horrified faces of her family delighted her. Angela patted her shoulder and told her it would grow back. Peter shook his head and didn't comment. The rest ranged from exclamations of surprise to silent glances she could feel prickling her skin.
None of them mattered. The one person she wanted to see her handiwork was dead and gone. And she hated him now more than ever for that. Because of Sylar, she was painless and numb. Without him as a bad guy, how could she be sure who the good guys were? He was the measurement everyone stood against, and like it or not he had never lied to her.
She wouldn't have looked forward to an eternity with her mortal enemy, that would make her insane. But now she stood on the doorstep of eternity alone, and it was scarier than she imagined, more daunting than she dreamed. It pushed and pulled at her, and Claire didn't have the strength to fight back. At least with Sylar around there was purpose to it all. A reason.
She wished for the millionth time that her ability wasn't regeneration. Why not flying, or mind reading, or exploding? No, her special power was to live forever and watch everyone she ever knew and loved die. It was like some kind of cruel joke and the punchline was something she had never considered until a psychotic killer had brought it to her attention.
She wished for the first time that Sylar had been wrong. He'd told her that one day she'd fall, and he'd been right.
But he'd lied, too. Because he wasn't there to catch her. And time had stopped for the watch maker.
The End