Fic: The Moments to Forever (1/?)
Title: The Moments to Forever
Author: simply_aly
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing/Characters: Sylar/Claire
Rating: PG
Word Count: 575
Warning: concept of suicide
Summary: He finds her on the roof.
Author's Notes: Written for the DarkShip prompt second choice.
He finds her on the roof of her apartment building. Her blonde hair is blowing into her face, obscuring her view, and her hands at her sides. Sylar sees the slight tremble of her hands, but he’s not sure if it’s nerves or just the cold.
Snow is falling on this cool winter night, gathering on the lamp-lit sidewalk below and, to be honest, he can envision the pretty picture this would make, were she any other girl.
Years have passed. Friends, enemies, acquaintances, and lovers alike have died on both their parts. They’ve seen each other little in this period, not avoiding one another but not actively seeking the other either. He tracked her down a while back, though, and finally decided to pay her a visit.
Her apartment’s on the top floor, overlooking the city. It’s a nice view, but if he were a gambling man, he’d bet that wasn’t the reason for the location. He thinks Claire likes the feeling of being so high-a sick, twisted part of her that has developed over the last hundred years or so.
Claire isn’t wearing any shoes. No socks either. She is, however, wearing a fancy, green Christmas dress and white stockings. He doesn’t bother to wonder over her odd clothing choices, though. He’s too focused on where, exactly, her feet are.
Her toes are curled over the edge of the roof, and he understands the rush. He’s done it himself many times. But is it a rush for her, or is she going back to her early days of testing her power…this time without the video camera?
He quietly walks over to her. “It’s a nice view,” he begins casually, his hands crossed over his chest.
Startled, she loses her balance for a moment. Her hands fly out to help steady herself, and she takes a deep breath. “It’d be so easy to just jump,” she replies, in the same tone.
“Yeah, sure,” he snorts, “except you wouldn’t die.” He steps closer to her slowly until he’s right behind her.
“Who said I wanted to die?” she whispers, seemingly sensing his nearness.
“You wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.”
He thinks it strange to be having this conversation with her after all these years. Why now? As if reading his mind, which he’s fairly certain she cannot do, she speaks. “Lyle’s son died last week. Just fell asleep one night and never woke up. He was seventy-three.” Sylar, ever full of knowledge on the subject that is Claire Bennett, knows that whoever Lyle’s son was, he was Claire’s last blood relative.
Well, this certainly makes sense now.
“So you’re reaction to his death is to throw yourself off you’re apartment building?” he asks. “Am I the only one who sees what an act of futility that would be?”
“I’m alone now, Sylar,” she says, turning her head to look at him. “Everyone who ever gave a damn about me is dead.”
Realizing, maybe for the first time, that she simply doesn’t see what he does, he turns around without another word and leaves her on the roof.
Two hours, twenty-four minuets, and forty-six seconds later, Claire opens the door to her apartment and finds Sylar lounging in her favorite chair, sipping eggnog.
“This is disgusting, by the way,” he says. “First thing we’re going to do tomorrow is get you some real groceries.”
Claire chooses to ignore him. “I’m going to bed.”