Cleaning Up the Mess He Made
His hands shake as he raises the gun, tears blinding him as he tries to hold the barrel steady enough to spot his target through the scope. He tells himself that he’s not the type of man to cry, that he’s the infamous Sylar, that tears are beneath him, that it must be rain ruining is vision, but he still has to lower the weapon to run the back of his hand across his face, drawing the moisture off his cheeks.
She turns from the computer console at the sound of his stuttered breath as he bites back a sob, and looks at him incredulously. “Really, a gun? You’re going to use a gun to kill me. Don’t I warrant a Sylar special?” She laughs and shakes her head, blonde curls setting across her shoulders as she flashes him a devious smile, and he’s gone, lost in a haze of memories.
Her hair spreads out across the pillow when he throws her back against the bed, and she smirks when she calls out “come and get it, big boy” and then they’re both laughing so hard that they can’t do anything else. He runs his hands along the side of her face, and smiles when he sees the metallic glint of his wedding ring. Claire’s the center of his world at that point, and all the world is right.
“You can’t stop me, you know.” Her taunts draw him out of his reverie. “It’s too late, it’s inevitable. I’ve already released the virus. It’s a done deal.”
His blood runs cold when he realizes that she’s not lying. Damn Peter for ever telling her about his misadventures with Adam Effing Monroe. They’re all damned now, and he blames himself, for he’s the one who created this particular monster. After all these years, she’s just like he is, he’s warped her into the monster he was.
“You couldn’t do it, could you?” She draws ever closer, close enough to wrap her arms around him and pull him into a mockery of the hugs they used to share, when he was the center of her miniscule universe and she was the untouchable angel who could do no wrong in his adoring eyes. Leaning against his chest, as if she wants the comfort he can no longer offer, she whispers in his ear. “You couldn’t kill me, even when you knew that you had to. You’re a weak and sentimental fool, Sylar.”
He breathes in deep, slightly nauseated by the reek of insanity mixed in with her usual strawberries and cream scent, yet another reminder of how twisted she’s become under his care. His hands find her hair, and he can’t stop himself from stroking the blonde locks, like he had when the world was young and she was so incredibly innocent. A tremor runs through him when he realizes that she’s used their hug to her advantage, and that there’s a large knife carefully inserted between his ribs now, and he’s back there, a lifetime ago.
He’s dancing the first steps of the courtship waltz again, and Claire’s surprising him by taking the lead, and it ends with her flat on her back and him looming over her, a chuckle heavy on his tongue as he runs his fingers through her gray matter, taking all the gifts she has to offer him, healing the wounds her mother’s butcher knife had wrought.
She yanks the knife, twisting it violently and with all the hate she possesses, and he tastes the metallic bloom of blood flooding into his mouth. “A pity you won’t live long enough to see me wipe out this world.” She starts to push him away, but he’s not as out of practice as she thinks, and he stands his ground.
“I don’t think so.” His fingers twitch, and the blade flies out, leaving nothing behind but smooth skin and a faint memory of pain. They twitch again, and she flies back against the wall, screaming as her arms and legs scrape against the bricks as her body contorts into the x shape he desires. He grabs the handcuffs and matching ankle cuffs from his coat pocket.
Before he can advance on her, his radio crackles to life. “Bennet to Gray, come in Gray. We’ve taken care of the virus, repeat, we’ve neutralized the virus. Have you dealt with her yet?”
He thumbs over the controls, about to respond with a terse “negative”, when he realizes this dance of theirs cannot continue. He’ll arrest her, she’ll escape. He’ll bring her in again, she’ll seduce a guard and it will be the last he’ll see of her for another year or two. She’ll continue playing the happy villain, and he the reluctant hero. His heart is heavy as he walks over to her, and she sees her death in his eyes before he ever has a chance to touch her, and she starts screaming.
Even as he finally responds to the increasingly frantic radio calls with a quiet “affirmative”, he can still her shrieks of “Daddy!” echoing through the plaza. He sinks to the ground, heartbroken, even as he knows he’s done what he must.
“Daddy, daddy! Guess what!” She reaches out for him, and he picks her up and puts her on his shoulders.
“What, sweetheart?”
“I’m going to like you when I grow up! Mommy says so!”
He grins, and flashes a smile at Claire. “Well if Mommy says so, then - you know she’s always right about these things.”
“Un-huh. And I’m going to be big and strong and just exactly like you.”
And she was. For all of her Claire-like qualities, in the end, she was still her father’s daughter. And it’s all his fault.
She turns from the computer console at the sound of his stuttered breath as he bites back a sob, and looks at him incredulously. “Really, a gun? You’re going to use a gun to kill me. Don’t I warrant a Sylar special?” She laughs and shakes her head, blonde curls setting across her shoulders as she flashes him a devious smile, and he’s gone, lost in a haze of memories.
Her hair spreads out across the pillow when he throws her back against the bed, and she smirks when she calls out “come and get it, big boy” and then they’re both laughing so hard that they can’t do anything else. He runs his hands along the side of her face, and smiles when he sees the metallic glint of his wedding ring. Claire’s the center of his world at that point, and all the world is right.
“You can’t stop me, you know.” Her taunts draw him out of his reverie. “It’s too late, it’s inevitable. I’ve already released the virus. It’s a done deal.”
His blood runs cold when he realizes that she’s not lying. Damn Peter for ever telling her about his misadventures with Adam Effing Monroe. They’re all damned now, and he blames himself, for he’s the one who created this particular monster. After all these years, she’s just like he is, he’s warped her into the monster he was.
“You couldn’t do it, could you?” She draws ever closer, close enough to wrap her arms around him and pull him into a mockery of the hugs they used to share, when he was the center of her miniscule universe and she was the untouchable angel who could do no wrong in his adoring eyes. Leaning against his chest, as if she wants the comfort he can no longer offer, she whispers in his ear. “You couldn’t kill me, even when you knew that you had to. You’re a weak and sentimental fool, Sylar.”
He breathes in deep, slightly nauseated by the reek of insanity mixed in with her usual strawberries and cream scent, yet another reminder of how twisted she’s become under his care. His hands find her hair, and he can’t stop himself from stroking the blonde locks, like he had when the world was young and she was so incredibly innocent. A tremor runs through him when he realizes that she’s used their hug to her advantage, and that there’s a large knife carefully inserted between his ribs now, and he’s back there, a lifetime ago.
He’s dancing the first steps of the courtship waltz again, and Claire’s surprising him by taking the lead, and it ends with her flat on her back and him looming over her, a chuckle heavy on his tongue as he runs his fingers through her gray matter, taking all the gifts she has to offer him, healing the wounds her mother’s butcher knife had wrought.
She yanks the knife, twisting it violently and with all the hate she possesses, and he tastes the metallic bloom of blood flooding into his mouth. “A pity you won’t live long enough to see me wipe out this world.” She starts to push him away, but he’s not as out of practice as she thinks, and he stands his ground.
“I don’t think so.” His fingers twitch, and the blade flies out, leaving nothing behind but smooth skin and a faint memory of pain. They twitch again, and she flies back against the wall, screaming as her arms and legs scrape against the bricks as her body contorts into the x shape he desires. He grabs the handcuffs and matching ankle cuffs from his coat pocket.
Before he can advance on her, his radio crackles to life. “Bennet to Gray, come in Gray. We’ve taken care of the virus, repeat, we’ve neutralized the virus. Have you dealt with her yet?”
He thumbs over the controls, about to respond with a terse “negative”, when he realizes this dance of theirs cannot continue. He’ll arrest her, she’ll escape. He’ll bring her in again, she’ll seduce a guard and it will be the last he’ll see of her for another year or two. She’ll continue playing the happy villain, and he the reluctant hero. His heart is heavy as he walks over to her, and she sees her death in his eyes before he ever has a chance to touch her, and she starts screaming.
Even as he finally responds to the increasingly frantic radio calls with a quiet “affirmative”, he can still her shrieks of “Daddy!” echoing through the plaza. He sinks to the ground, heartbroken, even as he knows he’s done what he must.
“Daddy, daddy! Guess what!” She reaches out for him, and he picks her up and puts her on his shoulders.
“What, sweetheart?”
“I’m going to like you when I grow up! Mommy says so!”
He grins, and flashes a smile at Claire. “Well if Mommy says so, then - you know she’s always right about these things.”
“Un-huh. And I’m going to be big and strong and just exactly like you.”
And she was. For all of her Claire-like qualities, in the end, she was still her father’s daughter. And it’s all his fault.