(no subject)
Title: All I Want Is A Normal Life
Author: 1bill_sookie (tfbl)
Summary: All Claire has ever wanted is a normal life. This is not her normal.
Rating: Light Teen
Pairings: Sylar/Elle, Claire/Gretchen, Peter/Emma, Sylar/Claire, Claire/Elle, Sylar/Elle/Claire. Hints of Micah/Molly, Edgar/Lydia, Noah/Lauren, Nathan/Tracy, Claire/OC
Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor Heroes.
AN: This mostly follows canon, but let’s pretend that Sylar never killed Elle that night on the beach. Instead he stopped himself and because that empathy power of his worked both ways he gave Elle the healing ability. Just imagine Elle being included in everything that happened with Sylar from that point on, ok?
Oh, and that stuff with Tracy being kidnapped, hating Nathan, going on a killing spree, joining the carnival and all? That never happened. She joined up with Nathan rounding up Specials, and because Nathan wasn’t a total ass for a few months they fell in love and got married.
Lydia also came back to life, because Claire remembered that her blood could heal the dead or whatever (“Truth & Consequences”), and after her public revel she gave Lydia an injection of her blood.
Aside from that everything sticks to the show.
AN2: There’s a short halfway graphic sex scene at the end, my first one that I actually put some effort into btw. It’s in bold if you want to skip it.
All I Want Is A Normal Life
It is not normal for cuts to heal within a matter of seconds, to be able to run through fire without getting burned, or to be able to push her ribs back into her body.
Claire doesn’t care what that Haitian man tells her. This… thing that she can do? It is not a gift from God. It’s not natural.
Having the power to erase memories may be natural for this soft spoken yet dangerous man that works with her dad, but watching a bruise heal before her eyes is not natural for Claire.
This may be his normal, but it is not her normal.
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She looks at Sylar over her dad’s shoulder, and instead of seeing a monster, a cold blooded killer, Claire sees a man whom she never expect to see.
She sees someone who is hurting, whom is terrified of himself, whom is angry with the world and filled with doubt and self loathing.
It is not normal to feel pity for him.
Not even for a second.
Nor should it be normal to look at this man, to catch his gaze just for an instant … and see herself.
Since when has she ever been normal?
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“I know all about you. You can heal, just like that Sylar and his girlfriend.” Danko snarls as he pushes her roughly into the tent.
“I’m nothing like him!” Claire spits out as blood drips from her chin, her anger at being compared to the tall serial killer forcing the words out automatically. Internally however, her thoughts are not on Sylar.
They linger on the flash of arousal she had felt on the plane as Elle dumped her electricity into her body.
They take her back to the concern she had felt as Elle had huddled next to her kitchen counter, tears of pain running down her face as blue-white sparks ran the length of her body.
Her thoughts push into her awareness the flash of betrayal she had felt when she saw Elle standing behind Sylar in her living room, shocking her mother as Sylar began to cut her father’s throat.
It is not normal that her thoughts make her feel relief when she learns that Elle had somehow gained her healing ability.
Then again most people wouldn’t consider it normal to be afraid for their freedom, to be fed lie after lie by their family, or to survive without a scratch after taking 30 bullets.
For Claire this life of fear, deception and betrayal, and the way her body pushes out bullets and sucks her blood back into her veins is becoming normal.
It is becoming her normal.
She doesn’t want it to be.
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When Claire learns from her dad that not only had Sylar and Elle had murdered Nathan and Tracy, but that her dad and grandmother had convinced Matt Parkman to force their conchiness into the bodies of her father and new stepmother, the rage that she feels is normal. What is not normal is the hurt that she feels because Sylar and Elle had been the ones to kill her parents, especially not after what they had said and done to her that day at the Stanton.
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Claire sits next to the mop in the storage closet, momentarily stunned into pralyizes as Sylar and Elle walk away from her. As she watches their retreating forms Claire sees Sylar slowly reach for Elle’s hand. Elle’s fingers stiffen momentarily before intertwining with those of their counterpart. The blue sparks that travel along their clasped fingers seem to bind them together, a sight that is somehow more intimate then anything Claire has ever witnessed.
As quick as it had took over her the strange spell is broken in the space of a heartbeat, and as Claire runs to the spot where they claimed to have left Gretchen, her heart hammering in her chest, she can’t help but recall the intimacy she had just been privary too.
It is not normal that they each had a tattoo of her face on their arm, not when it was clear that even though there seemed to be some problems between them, the one thing that Sylar and Elle clearly needed was each-other.
Nor should it be normal that after all they have done to her, all it took was a thirty minute long conversation/hostage situation in an empty classroom and a ten minute heart to heart with a shape-shifted serial killer….. and somehow Claire has begun to understand them.
Sadly, strange occurrences such as the ones she had just experienced are becoming normal. Claire wishes this wasn’t the case.
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Gretchen has finally left, not that Claire fully blames her. After all her girlfriend had stayed by her for five years, and no matter how much Gretchen had loved her, there was only so much her dark haired partner could take. Gretchen had had enough of the constant publicatly, monthly death threats, the unstablebitily that came from being part of the “evolved human community”, and nights home alone while Claire dealt with another super-powered psycho or a person whom had followed her example and exposed their ability in a public place. When Claire entered their bedroom after two weeks spent on the road and saw the clothes missing from the closet and the absent luggage set, she knew that it wasn’t normal to feel resignation instead of heartbreak.
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This can’t be normal. Claire thinks as she sits on the couch in Peter and Emma’s apartment, watching nervously as Sylar - (no, it’s Gabriel now) - uses his telekinesis to make three year old Cassie fly about the room. As Claire watches her great niece twirl gently through the air, her dark auburn hair becoming a tangled mess and her green-hazel eyes sparkling as she laughs in delight, she forces herself to return her attention to her book as opposed to leaping to her feet and snatching the girl from the air.
This is not a new impulse for Claire, this almost overwhelming urge to shield Cassie from the employment of the ability’s that have been used to harm so many, including Claire herself. It is the same urge she feels when Elle uses her electricity to create a glowing light show on Cassie’s ceiling or when Gabriel uses his illusion creation power to create a fantasy world for the child that he and Elle would give their life for, allowing her to play with Barney or The Tellie Tubbies all in the safety of her bedroom.
It is not that Claire doesn’t trust Sy- Gabriel - and Elle around Cassie, or even herself and her empathic uncle and sound seer aunt for that matter. It is just that… she doesn’t trust them.
Claire isn’t sure weather that is natural or not.
After all they killed three of her parents and at one point or another attempted to kill Noah, her real father in every way that mattered.
They tried to abduct her that night in Costa Verda, one of them had terrorized and violated her in her own home, while the other had had no qualms about attacking her brother with an unstable ability that may very well have killed him.
On the other hand all of that had happened nearly eight years ago…. and besides Claire knows on an intellectual level that both of them have changed.
Even if Peter hadn’t taken her and that blind man into the Hall of Mirrors at the Carnival a week after her fall from the ferries wheel and shown her his memories of the five years spent with Elle and Gabriel inside Matt Parkman’s mind prison, Claire could not have missed the drastic change in the former psychos.
Where once before both had seemed to care only for themselves and enjoy killing, now they actually expressed empathy for others and exhibited clear remorse for the countless lives they had ended. Elle no longer used her power to harm others simply for her own twisted pleasure, and Gabriel fought not to give in to The Hunger, actually becoming stark white and drenched in sweet as tremors overtook him whenever he forced himself not to kill.
Even if Peter had never done that however, Claire would still have been able to see that they have changed. It was too obvious to miss or to pass off as a temporary thing. Hell, if Peter, a man who’s protectiveness of his loved ones rivals that of her father, not only trusts the electric and ever healing blonde and the multipowered ex-serial killer around his wife and daughter but actually thinks of them as siblings, then Claire would be a fool not to trust them as well.
This is not quite her normal, but it’s not too far off the mark.
Besides, it’s not like they use their powers around Cassie all that frequently, and whenever Claire asks them to stop they do so instantly.
Unknown to Claire however, this is not quite the truth. Elle and Gabriel use their powers to amuse their honorary niece whenever she demands “more pretty magic”, which is several times a day. Whenever anyone else asks them to stop using their powers on Cassie, they will be ignored. Elle will roll her eyes and simply continue to make her sparks swirl around the toddler from a safe distance away so as not to spark her, paying no attention to Lauran Bennet’s angry glare or Peter’s worried frown. Gabriel will give a flippant “Relax Pete.” as he makes colored fire in his palms or a scoffed, “Don’t be so paranoid, Edgar.” as he and Cassie sit on the merry-go-round, paying no attention to the Brit’s tattooed empathic wife or his fire starter step daughter as they stare at the gold sock adorning the little girls foot.
If Claire were aware of this she would most defentailly consider this to be abnormal behavior. Emma and Peter however, do not. They are the ones that know that Elle and Gabriel are aware that the use of their powers on Cassie make Claire uneasy, and as both desperately do not want Claire to be frightened of them, they make an effort to amuse Cassie as little as possible whenever Claire is around.
Emma is the one that notices the veiled hurt in Elle’s eyes when she reins in her sparks at Claire’s request, or the crestfallen expression on Gabriel’s face when he turns away as Claire lifts Cassie away from her frozen teddy bear, her attempt at noncolerance failing horribly.
Peter notices the looks that his siblings give Claire when she isn’t looking. If it wasn’t for the longing in their eyes, it would be identical to the looks that they give to each-other, the ones that Emma bestows upon him, or the ones that Micah allows Molly to see.
Their hearts are in their eyes as they stare at his niece, the devotion that had once been focused solely on each-other having now grown to include Claire as well. If she asked them for the world they would give it to her. If Claire tried to kill them, if she lied to them, if she called them murderers and vowed to turn them over to the government… they would forgive her. She could ask for their trust by claiming that traveling to that nightmare future would be the best thing for them… and she would receive it. They would lie for her, fight for her and give their lives for her. Even if she didn’t ask them to.
Unforntally Claire is ignorant of the depth of which Elle and Gabriel’s love for her runs. She has been for six years. Even now Claire doesn’t fully trust them, struggles to accept that they have changed, holds lingering fear of them, and denies the sexual attraction Peter knows that she feels for the blonde woman and black haired man.
Peter desperately hopes that this changes in the near future, hopefully before Cassie is grown and he and Emma are dead and buried. For if Claire continues to ignore that boundless devotion filling his siblings eyes…. then she really will be alone for the rest of her life.
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It is terribly humid out here in the middle of Hawaii, the feeble wind blowing sluggishly through the open window of the hotel barely enough to cool the sweat from the back of her neck, which is laid bare thanks to her recent pixie cut. Claire stands in the middle of the floor, a thin cotton shirt and panties barley covering a body that looks 19 despite being 231. She looks at the piece of worn and wrinkled paper in her hand, contemplating calling the number that was scrawled there ten years ago in purple ink. A number that Claire would never admit to knowing by heart, for this phone number will connect her to her only two connections in the world.
Peter and Emma are long dead, buried in some centuries old cemetery in Vermont.
Her parents turned to dust in the ground years ago, the location of their homes and graves forgotten by their daughter some 60 years ago.
Lyle ceased having anything to do with her after her non ageing became too obvious back in 2025, insisting that he’d be treated as a peohidle if he was seen with her.
Cassie’s grandchildren now have great-grandchildren of their own, none of which Claire has ever seen let alone knows even by name.
All of her spouses have passed away long ago.
(Andy from cancer at 24.
Laura drowned at age 25.
Robert died at age 35 from AIDS that he had picked up from some whore.
Melanie from some unknown cause.
David and Tabitha had both died from suicide years after they had left her upon learning of her ability, David from hanging and Tabitha by slitting her wrists.)
Claire has no actual friends for that would mean taking the time to get to know them, gaining the courage to revel her secret, and waiting for their rejection or acceptance. Claire’s found that the first is more common then the second.
She doesn’t have lovers often, but when she does the men and woman are always one night stands. Their are names unspoken, the wedding rings shine dully in the dim light, and after a round or two Claire will leave them feeling even less connected then before.
The only connection she has is one that has been simintously intertwined and yet hovering on the edge of her life for over 200 years. A connection with two people whom were once psyopathic and sadistic murderers, who loved her niece like their own daughter, and who completely emptied the mind of her second wife, Melanie, some 120 years ago when Melanie became abusive toward her.
Two people that she has not seen for 10 years, and as not heard from for 12 years.
Gabriel and Elle.
In the back of her mind Claire knows that she should call them, for she recognizes that she is lonely and depressed and if she continues this desolate existence it will only get worse. She knows that they would be more then willing to talk to her all night if she wanted. Claire knows that they would come to see her in an instant if she asked them to, even though Elle is still terrified of flying. Claire knows that neither Gabriel nor Elle would judge her for living this way or mock her for this lonely existence that is partially self-induced.
She should just call. She’d feel better once she does. That’s what a normal person would do.
Claire makes no move to pick up the phone on the bedside table. She continues to stand there in the middle of the room until the sun has risen, the bright golden light bathing the room almost blinding her.
Claire does not call because she is not normal.
She is not normal because she is angry and terrified and lonely… and she doesn’t know how to tell them, “I need you.”
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Claire never knew who the father was of the child that was growing inside her. It doesn’t matter now, for her body expels the infant three days into her eighth week of pregnancy. There is a heavy pressure in her abdomen, a strong squeezing sensation, the feeling of something small and semi-hard leaving her body, and it is done.
Claire looks at the small and bloody lump on her bathroom floor, the barley human features distuigshible to her unageing eyes. Most woman, most mothers, would be devastated at a miscarriage such as hers.
Claire is not most woman, nor is she most mothers. In a way she is glad that her ability refused to allow her body to keep the infant. If it had Claire knows that she would have quickly grown to love the child. She would have named it and bonded with it and been kept awake at all hours of the night by it’s cries. She would have watched it learn to walk and taught it to read, seen it’s eyes light up when she walked into the room and she would have worried about what ability it would develop.
Claire would also have been forced to watch the child live, grow old, and die.
Just like everyone else.
Claire is relived that this happened. Really she is.
She wouldn’t have been able to go through that. She knows she wouldn’t.
There is a problem however. As relieved as she is, something inside her has been stretched to the breaking point. Claire knows that she can’t go through this either. At least not alone.
Claire doesn’t remember dialing the number, but the call goes through and she is hearing Gabriel’s voice for the first time in 40 years.
Before he can get the second word out Claire tells him. She tells him about the pressure and the blood and the tiny infant on her floor. She tells him of the relief she felt because she didn’t have to watch and that she can’t do this by herself.
It’s not “I need you”, but it’s as close as she can get right now.
Gabriel understands through, for he tells her that everything is going to be alright and that Elle is throwing some stuff in a bag and they’ll be there soon.
They are coming, even though she did not ask them to.
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It took about 300 years. Three hundred years of anger and tears, fear and joy, revelations and confessions, respect and trust.
Sometimes Claire has a hard time believing it, but all of this…
Tripping over high heeled boots not her own as she stumbles out of bed in the middle of the night.
Waking up to Elle’s spark kiss and feeling Gabriel’s warm breath on the back of her neck.
Fights that consist of screams from Gabriel, arcs of blue electricity and burnt flesh from Elle, and clenched teeth and tight muscles from herself.
Knowing that they are hers, just as she is theirs.
A gentle kiss pressed on her forehead.
Lazing around the house in a black t-shirt that is so large she is practically swimming in it.
Hearing Elle’s gleeful and still slightly insane laugh.
Watching silently as Gabriel brushes Elle’s hair back from her face, the worshipfulness in his gaze suggesting that she is his angel sent from heaven.
Experiencing the urge to knock them upside the head even as she falls unconditionally and irrevocably in love with them once again.
Both of them coming home drenched in blood and she doesn’t say a word, just shoves them into the vehicle and then they’re running for their lives once more.
Resting her forehead against Elle’s, their eyes closed and her hand softy stroking her face. They simply breathe.
Seeing Gabriel’s smirk of amusement as she stands toe to toe with him, her head barley reaching his chest as she screams her head off.
She falls asleep in a tangle of limbs and sandwiched between two overly warm bodies. One small and blonde and smelling faintly of ozone, while the other is large and dark with a faint musky odor.
Feeling that warm glow in her stomach whenever Gabriel gazes at her with the same worshipful expression that he gives Elle.
Coming home to see 12 charred cookbooks on the kitchen floor, her wife sitting on the counter pouting while her husband casually throws water on the raging fire in the sink, and resigning herself to another round of bad take out.
Being secure in the knowdgle that Gabriel and Elle will never leave, no matter how much they fight or what happens in their future. Claire trusts them implicitly, just as they trust her.
Not having to look behind her to know whose hand it is that grasps hers, the blue sparks traveling along their intertwined fingers seeming to bind them irrevocably together.
Seeing Gabriel’s eyes darken with lust as he kneels on the edge of the bed, his cock hard and leaking as he watches Elle’s fingers pumping and twisting inside her as her thumb pushes harshly against her clit, the spark of electricity running over the over-sensitized nerves causing Claire to bite down on Elle breast in her mouth to stifle her scream as she comes.
Being able to say “I need you” or “I love you” and knowing that the same is true for them.
Witnessing their heart in their eyes as they look at her, and knowing that hers is reflected back.
It is all normal.
She wants it, needs it, hates it, loves it, is sometimes annoyed by it, and can’t go back to living without it.
This immortal life that she is living with Gabriel and Elle?
It is her normal.