Taking a Turn Toward Eternity: Chapter 1
AN: This is my ongoing epic Sylaire tale. Beware of adult themes, language and eventual sexy-times...
Sylar didn't trust surprises, coincidences or serendipity. Sylar figured in a world where eternity is the only option, eventually every possibility becomes reality, so surprises were just another pile of bullshit. Eventually he would come to be really pleased to be caught off-guard by someone fiddling with a key in the front door of Peter and Emma's New York apartment in the middle of the night.
As he unfolded himself silently from the couch where he had fallen asleep watching old Doctor Who reruns and glanced at his watch, only to be baffled. "Who the hell could be here at 3:42 in the morning?" Sylar mumbled under his breath as he headed toward the foyer to investigate his mystery visitor.
Claire was going to maim someone. In all honesty, she could give a fuck who it was. Claire could feel the blood pumping through her veins like a fire and preparing to explode out of her pores. "Liars!" she hissed as she stomped up the stairs to Peter and Emma's apartment, "Everyone is a fucking liar!"
He had finally gone too far. Every time she thought that Noah Bennet couldn't possibly disappoint her anymore he decided to kick it up a notch! Of course he had been lying to her every moment of the last 6 months since she jumped off that damn Ferris wheel. Lies, lies and more lies. Was it all he knew? Was he just incapable of any real human interaction?
Oh wait! He was capable of interaction. In fact he was capable enough to acquire a whole new life on the sly. Lauren, his old secret girlfriend, was no longer secret. He could connect with her, tell her the truth, but Claire gets a life of lies. Not only had her father been living with that woman for 5 months, but now he was going to marry her! She should have known his employment was not something that would please her and when he told her only, "I'm familiar with the field," Claire's heart sank. Roughly translated, "My hussy and I spend every waking moment attempting to wipe your kind from the face of the earth."
She had thought that her jump would change the world. If she used herself as a catalyst, she could make the world inhabitable for humans and the evolved alike. The brave new world of her dreams, the place where her life finally belonged to Claire, was a pipe-dream. Claire jammed her key into the lock, tears blurring her vision. Viciously she rubbed her eyes, attempting to clear them before waking up her sleeping uncle and his fiancé with her mountain of problems.
Maybe she was being selfish, bitter and a little childish, but she knew one goddamn thing. She needed Peter. She needed him to remind her of the goodness in the world, the trust they had was real and maybe he could give Claire a little bit of hope. With that thought propelling her, she threw open the door to the apartment and strode in, preparing for a tirade that would put Bobby Knight to shame.
If Sylar were any kind of artist, his greatest work would be of Claire, he knew that for a fact. The moment she stepped over the threshold, he knew he would need to recreate the image in some form in his long life. She was beautiful, that was a given; glowing with righteous anger. She seemed almost transformed, finally frazzled… all at once, completely attainable. At that moment the darkness and pain within her was palpable and it called to that terrible hunger, drawing him toward her, like a siren, begging for its mate. Her hair flowed around her as she took another step into the room and the smell of lilacs and jasmine flowed across to him and he took the deepest breath he could. Just there, on the tip of his senses he could smell… Claire.
She was seething, an Amazonian goddess readying to smite all who would oppose her. He couldn't have wanted her more. He had never doubted that Claire was the only woman that actually mattered in the grand scheme of his life; Lydia's ability had given him tangible evidence of that, but looking at her now, he knew he would never be complete without her by his side. He would possess her, even if it took him all of time, of that he was sure. When she locked eyes with him, the furious look she wore moved from confused and back to furious in the blink of an eye.
Her voice was hard and brittle as glass and he could see the remnants of tears in her eyes, "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Argh!" was the first thought in Claire's mind when she saw Sylar. God, was she stuck in some kind of Peanuts cartoon, Charlie Brown Style? Was every damn thing literally exploding in her face? Now she had to deal with Sylar… speaking of Sylar, why wasn't he wearing a shirt? Why was she staring at his chest? It was probably because she was surprised… yeah… surprised for damn sure. She'd always had a thing for lanky guys; overmuscled was not her cup of tea per se. But on Sylar she could just barely see the outline of a six pack, so she really couldn't blame herself…
Hold. The. Phone.
No. No. No. No. Nonononononononononononono! She was not attracted to Sylar. This was not happening right now. Just because he had "turned from the Dark Side," as Peter had put it into nerd terms, did not mean that the sudden desire to lick a path from Sylar's navel to his neck was at all acceptable. Before Claire could continue her mental tirade against herself and her hormones he answered her previous attempt at a greeting.
"I'm house sitting. Pete and Emma went to Las Vegas for the weekend. I figured Pete would have told you before he left," Sylar causally leaned against the doorframe of the hallway as he talked to her.
"I…. I…" Had she talked to Peter? Days ago, before she found out her dad was a big piece of shit. Peter had mumbled something about Vegas and Emma in the same sentence. "Yeah, I guess he did." God, her brain was melting.
He was assessing her, again, trying figure her out, she knew. What did he see when he looked at her? Why did he always look at her like he knew something she didn't? Again he broke her thought process, "So, what the hell is wrong with you?"
She was, to put it mildly, distraught, that much was clear, obviously more so now because he was here and not her precious Peter. He supposed his question had been rather unfeeling, but damnit, she had just woken him up. Frustrated and just generally pissy, he dragged his hand through his hair once, struggling to wake up. There were other serious problems facing him as well: the fact that he was caffeine deficient at quarter to four in the goddamn morning, his freaking nipples were rock hard because it was freezing in this damn apartment, additionally he was staring down a really pissed woman who was probably about to berate him for sleeping on his best (read as only) friend's couch and feeding his damn cat.
Her jaw had dropped at his question. "Are you kidding me? What's wrong with you, Captain Bloodlust? I can't take your bullshit on top of everything else," she said as she turned for the door, righteous indignation pouring off her in waves.
"Sorry Claire," he sighed and gave a half-hearted attempt to rub the sleep from his eyes, "You just woke me up. Let's just calm down," Sylar ran his hand through his sleep tousled hair again, "Just tell me what is bothering you."
Somewhere in the back of her mind a dam broke. She had to talk to someone, anyone, and quick. If she were being honest with herself, Sylar would really understand better than most. "He's hunting us! My dad is hunting us down!" she yelled, the end of her sentence dissolved into a cross between a moan and a yell as she began to cry in earnest.
The locks slammed into place as the dresser screeched across the floor to block the doorway. Throughout the apartment she could hear windows and doors slamming shut. The tired and surly look that he had been wearing was replaced in an instant with calculating assessment as he took two strides toward her, "How long has he been chasing you? How far behind is he? I won't let him hurt you, Claire, father or not."
He was right in front of her, in her personal space, taking up all her air. All Claire could do was stand there, rooted in place. Christ, who knew serial killers could smell so good? Now with that fierce look her problems became his. Every thought he had was fixated on her and her protection. Somewhere in Claire's mind she felt an almost lost part of her psyche screaming, the hunter was here, and may God protect any who would attempt to fuck with what was his.
Sylar's mind had kicked into overdrive. He could feel his original ability analyzing the problem, viewing it from countless angles, spinning out scenarios and calculating probabilities. He had known that Bennet would become a problem eventually. However he had figured he had at least one or two years to try and live in the brave new world that Claire had given them. Wrong again, Sylar. Of course Bennet would go after Claire, an incredibly easy target to capture, especially when she called once or twice a week with an update on her daughterly activities.
So moving Claire was the obvious priority. As his mind ran through a list of possibilities he realized she was talking again. Not only was she talking but she had put her hand on his arm, obviously attempting to get his attention, "Sylar, are you listening?"
He looked down at her hand, when she followed his gaze and noticed her hand's precarious position she pulled it back with the speed of a cheetah, "Sorry… sorry," she began, "I wasn't very clear. When I told you he was hunting us I meant us, the evolved. Not you or me, specifically. He's out there, bagging and tagging strangers, people who should get a normal life like everyone else. We are not freaks," she smiled and sniffled just a little and whipped her nose on the sleeve of her blouse, "Well, some of us are into brains and that's pretty freaky."
He smiled back at her, genuinely shocked that she had touched him, of her own violation. Double shocked as she had attempted a joke… a vaguely creepy joke nonetheless. "Fair enough, cheerleader."
"I don't know what to do," Claire said quietly, "I'm so confused, and you being here does not help at all. He is supposed to be the good guy, but he's not. At the end of the day, no matter how I turn it and view it, he refuses to budge, refuses to change, and refuses to be anything than what he once was. You're the flip of his coin, bad guy turned hero," she looked up at him then, right into his brown eyes, "At least that's what Peter tells me."
"Come on, I'll make some tea and tell you whatever you want to know. I'm a different man now, Claire." he turned and headed to the kitchen before she could respond.
Sylar didn't trust surprises, coincidences or serendipity. Sylar figured in a world where eternity is the only option, eventually every possibility becomes reality, so surprises were just another pile of bullshit. Eventually he would come to be really pleased to be caught off-guard by someone fiddling with a key in the front door of Peter and Emma's New York apartment in the middle of the night.
As he unfolded himself silently from the couch where he had fallen asleep watching old Doctor Who reruns and glanced at his watch, only to be baffled. "Who the hell could be here at 3:42 in the morning?" Sylar mumbled under his breath as he headed toward the foyer to investigate his mystery visitor.
Claire was going to maim someone. In all honesty, she could give a fuck who it was. Claire could feel the blood pumping through her veins like a fire and preparing to explode out of her pores. "Liars!" she hissed as she stomped up the stairs to Peter and Emma's apartment, "Everyone is a fucking liar!"
He had finally gone too far. Every time she thought that Noah Bennet couldn't possibly disappoint her anymore he decided to kick it up a notch! Of course he had been lying to her every moment of the last 6 months since she jumped off that damn Ferris wheel. Lies, lies and more lies. Was it all he knew? Was he just incapable of any real human interaction?
Oh wait! He was capable of interaction. In fact he was capable enough to acquire a whole new life on the sly. Lauren, his old secret girlfriend, was no longer secret. He could connect with her, tell her the truth, but Claire gets a life of lies. Not only had her father been living with that woman for 5 months, but now he was going to marry her! She should have known his employment was not something that would please her and when he told her only, "I'm familiar with the field," Claire's heart sank. Roughly translated, "My hussy and I spend every waking moment attempting to wipe your kind from the face of the earth."
She had thought that her jump would change the world. If she used herself as a catalyst, she could make the world inhabitable for humans and the evolved alike. The brave new world of her dreams, the place where her life finally belonged to Claire, was a pipe-dream. Claire jammed her key into the lock, tears blurring her vision. Viciously she rubbed her eyes, attempting to clear them before waking up her sleeping uncle and his fiancé with her mountain of problems.
Maybe she was being selfish, bitter and a little childish, but she knew one goddamn thing. She needed Peter. She needed him to remind her of the goodness in the world, the trust they had was real and maybe he could give Claire a little bit of hope. With that thought propelling her, she threw open the door to the apartment and strode in, preparing for a tirade that would put Bobby Knight to shame.
If Sylar were any kind of artist, his greatest work would be of Claire, he knew that for a fact. The moment she stepped over the threshold, he knew he would need to recreate the image in some form in his long life. She was beautiful, that was a given; glowing with righteous anger. She seemed almost transformed, finally frazzled… all at once, completely attainable. At that moment the darkness and pain within her was palpable and it called to that terrible hunger, drawing him toward her, like a siren, begging for its mate. Her hair flowed around her as she took another step into the room and the smell of lilacs and jasmine flowed across to him and he took the deepest breath he could. Just there, on the tip of his senses he could smell… Claire.
She was seething, an Amazonian goddess readying to smite all who would oppose her. He couldn't have wanted her more. He had never doubted that Claire was the only woman that actually mattered in the grand scheme of his life; Lydia's ability had given him tangible evidence of that, but looking at her now, he knew he would never be complete without her by his side. He would possess her, even if it took him all of time, of that he was sure. When she locked eyes with him, the furious look she wore moved from confused and back to furious in the blink of an eye.
Her voice was hard and brittle as glass and he could see the remnants of tears in her eyes, "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Argh!" was the first thought in Claire's mind when she saw Sylar. God, was she stuck in some kind of Peanuts cartoon, Charlie Brown Style? Was every damn thing literally exploding in her face? Now she had to deal with Sylar… speaking of Sylar, why wasn't he wearing a shirt? Why was she staring at his chest? It was probably because she was surprised… yeah… surprised for damn sure. She'd always had a thing for lanky guys; overmuscled was not her cup of tea per se. But on Sylar she could just barely see the outline of a six pack, so she really couldn't blame herself…
Hold. The. Phone.
No. No. No. No. Nonononononononononononono! She was not attracted to Sylar. This was not happening right now. Just because he had "turned from the Dark Side," as Peter had put it into nerd terms, did not mean that the sudden desire to lick a path from Sylar's navel to his neck was at all acceptable. Before Claire could continue her mental tirade against herself and her hormones he answered her previous attempt at a greeting.
"I'm house sitting. Pete and Emma went to Las Vegas for the weekend. I figured Pete would have told you before he left," Sylar causally leaned against the doorframe of the hallway as he talked to her.
"I…. I…" Had she talked to Peter? Days ago, before she found out her dad was a big piece of shit. Peter had mumbled something about Vegas and Emma in the same sentence. "Yeah, I guess he did." God, her brain was melting.
He was assessing her, again, trying figure her out, she knew. What did he see when he looked at her? Why did he always look at her like he knew something she didn't? Again he broke her thought process, "So, what the hell is wrong with you?"
She was, to put it mildly, distraught, that much was clear, obviously more so now because he was here and not her precious Peter. He supposed his question had been rather unfeeling, but damnit, she had just woken him up. Frustrated and just generally pissy, he dragged his hand through his hair once, struggling to wake up. There were other serious problems facing him as well: the fact that he was caffeine deficient at quarter to four in the goddamn morning, his freaking nipples were rock hard because it was freezing in this damn apartment, additionally he was staring down a really pissed woman who was probably about to berate him for sleeping on his best (read as only) friend's couch and feeding his damn cat.
Her jaw had dropped at his question. "Are you kidding me? What's wrong with you, Captain Bloodlust? I can't take your bullshit on top of everything else," she said as she turned for the door, righteous indignation pouring off her in waves.
"Sorry Claire," he sighed and gave a half-hearted attempt to rub the sleep from his eyes, "You just woke me up. Let's just calm down," Sylar ran his hand through his sleep tousled hair again, "Just tell me what is bothering you."
Somewhere in the back of her mind a dam broke. She had to talk to someone, anyone, and quick. If she were being honest with herself, Sylar would really understand better than most. "He's hunting us! My dad is hunting us down!" she yelled, the end of her sentence dissolved into a cross between a moan and a yell as she began to cry in earnest.
The locks slammed into place as the dresser screeched across the floor to block the doorway. Throughout the apartment she could hear windows and doors slamming shut. The tired and surly look that he had been wearing was replaced in an instant with calculating assessment as he took two strides toward her, "How long has he been chasing you? How far behind is he? I won't let him hurt you, Claire, father or not."
He was right in front of her, in her personal space, taking up all her air. All Claire could do was stand there, rooted in place. Christ, who knew serial killers could smell so good? Now with that fierce look her problems became his. Every thought he had was fixated on her and her protection. Somewhere in Claire's mind she felt an almost lost part of her psyche screaming, the hunter was here, and may God protect any who would attempt to fuck with what was his.
Sylar's mind had kicked into overdrive. He could feel his original ability analyzing the problem, viewing it from countless angles, spinning out scenarios and calculating probabilities. He had known that Bennet would become a problem eventually. However he had figured he had at least one or two years to try and live in the brave new world that Claire had given them. Wrong again, Sylar. Of course Bennet would go after Claire, an incredibly easy target to capture, especially when she called once or twice a week with an update on her daughterly activities.
So moving Claire was the obvious priority. As his mind ran through a list of possibilities he realized she was talking again. Not only was she talking but she had put her hand on his arm, obviously attempting to get his attention, "Sylar, are you listening?"
He looked down at her hand, when she followed his gaze and noticed her hand's precarious position she pulled it back with the speed of a cheetah, "Sorry… sorry," she began, "I wasn't very clear. When I told you he was hunting us I meant us, the evolved. Not you or me, specifically. He's out there, bagging and tagging strangers, people who should get a normal life like everyone else. We are not freaks," she smiled and sniffled just a little and whipped her nose on the sleeve of her blouse, "Well, some of us are into brains and that's pretty freaky."
He smiled back at her, genuinely shocked that she had touched him, of her own violation. Double shocked as she had attempted a joke… a vaguely creepy joke nonetheless. "Fair enough, cheerleader."
"I don't know what to do," Claire said quietly, "I'm so confused, and you being here does not help at all. He is supposed to be the good guy, but he's not. At the end of the day, no matter how I turn it and view it, he refuses to budge, refuses to change, and refuses to be anything than what he once was. You're the flip of his coin, bad guy turned hero," she looked up at him then, right into his brown eyes, "At least that's what Peter tells me."
"Come on, I'll make some tea and tell you whatever you want to know. I'm a different man now, Claire." he turned and headed to the kitchen before she could respond.