Assent (4/?)
Title: Assent (4/?)
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Word Count: 2858
Rating: R for language and violent imagery (future chapters will be rated M)
Warning(s): I don't own Heroes. Spoilers through end of Season 3 to be on the safe side. Future-fic, technically.
They had stopped at a Walmart in a small town in Kentucky. Claire made a fuss about going into the store dressed as she was, but after he pointed out the local folk and that she wouldn't be the worst looking person there by far, she finally got out of the car. They shopped quickly, stocking up on food and drinks and clothing, before hitting the road and heading northwest. Sylar clicked the radio on to a retro station and set it low, relieving the uncomfortable silence. He glanced at her in the passenger's seat. She had her legs crossed and was leaning on the door, staring at the scenery passing by. He hadn't asked why she was still wearing his shirt and boxers even though she had new clothes. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He turned his focus back to the road. They had just passed into Indiana.
“So why are you so hell bent on revenge on my behalf?”
He rolled his eyes and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Of course she wouldn't let it be. Women.
“Can we talk about it later?”
“You said the same thing last night.”
“Yes. It's not 'later' enough.”
She crossed her arms, pouted and turned away from him.
“...is it later yet?”
Sylar let his head loll back and let out an annoyed sigh. He glared at her. She was still pouting. He furrowed his brow. He didn't know if he wanted to kiss her or strangle her. “What makes you think my revenge is all about you?”
“You said otherwise last night.”
He gripped the steering wheel tight. “I could've been lying.”
“You've never lied to me before. Why start now?”
She had a point. Everyone always kept poor little Claire out of the loop. Treated her like a child... But he knew that some of the details she wouldn't be ready to hear right now. He wouldn't outright lie, he would just...withhold.
“Hello? Are you gonna answer me?”
“It's complicated.”
She shifted in her seat to turn towards him. “We have the time.”
He shifted as well. “Despite what you may think, I am not completely without compassion. When I found out what was happening to you, it did not sit well with me. Maybe it was the memories of when I was trapped helpless in one of those cells. Being experimented on. When I realized that it was Noah behind it and...I couldn't let that stand.”
“Uh huh,” Claire said. She clearly wasn't buying that. “So say if it was...Matt Parkman. Or Peter. You would've done the same thing.”
“Probably not.”
“Ok, so then why me?”
He was getting annoyed. “You didn't deserve that. There was absolutely no reason for them to take you against your will. They were using you for their own gain. And Noah...let's just say that I know firsthand about horrible father figures. I knew that Noah would be furious, knew that I would be the last person he would expect to see. Especially rescuing you. I imagine right now that he is at his wits end. Not only because you escaped. But because you are with me.”
“So you're saying you were empathetic.”
“I am only human, Claire.”
“Yeah, a human that murders people to take what doesn't belong to him,” she spat.
“People have been murdering for personal gain for thousands of years. I didn't invent the concept.”
She huffed.
“Besides, like I said earlier. It's been years since I came across anyone with an ability I found suitable to add to the collection. My hands have been clean for 5 years.”
“That still doesn't cancel out all that you've done.”
“You're right. It doesn't. But let's not forget that I wasn't entirely at fault there. I'm sure you remember, it was Noah that egged me on and who made me who I am.”
She let out a hiss at the sound of his name. “That son of a bitch...”
“So now you know what I told you years ago. Your father is the real villain, when all is said and done. I guess you just needed to experience that on your own before you could understand.”
She didn't say anything. The air was filled with the soft sounds of an old U2 song.
“You know, I never quite forgave him for what he did to you,” she said softly.
“What?”
“When I found out the truth about you and Nathan. I was furious at you. You killed both of my biological parents. But I was surprised that I was more angry with Noah and Angela than anything. We didn't speak for almost 3 years. And even then, things weren't the same.”
Her tone was somber and Sylar was uncomfortable. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for what he did, but he didn't want to lie to her. The sick feeling in his stomach pulled at his mind and maybe there was a little bit of remorse. Not because he killed them. But because their death hurt her. He wasn't sure if he would've felt the same way several years ago. This overwhelming feeling to repent to her was gnawing at his gut.
“I'm sorry for the pain I caused,” he said, under his breath.
To his surprise she laughed. “Right, ok.”
“I'm serious.”
“No you're not. Don't lie to try and placate me. I've had enough of that to last a lifetime.”
A lifetime. For her, that length would come to feel like minutes. As would it to him. “I am not lying. Am I sorry for killing to gain powers? No. But I am sorry that sometimes those actions adversely affected you.”
“Since when do you give a damn about my feelings?”
He bit his tongue. He was going to have to tread lightly with this answer. “Since I came to the realization that you are going to live forever.”
She shot him an unconvinced glance.
“Do you remember the day I killed Nathan?”
“How could I forget?” she spat.
“I know it's not the most pleasant memory. But do you remember what I said to you? About building bridges?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
Silence. The tension in the car was palpable. He almost dared to continue talking, but by the change in her posture and the scowl that left her face, he reckoned she got the point he was trying to make. He was reluctant to say anything else. No need to lay it all on the table so quickly. Like she said, they had the time.
A few more hours passed by and they crossed another state line into Illinois. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the music; she would turn up the volume and sink back into the seat. At first he thought it was to drown him out. But his keen ear soon realized she was singing along and deduced she was trying to drown herself out. He didn't call her out on it. He even felt himself smile as he heard her meek little voice sing along to an old Justin Timberlake song. He grinned even wider as her voice seemed to gain confidence on the chorus. The lyrics “what goes around” were no doubt a literal representation of what she was thinking.
After a quick retreat at one of the many rest stops, Claire reclined her seat and curled on her side and fell asleep. He found himself stealing glaces at her too often. His palms itched at the urge to run his fingers along her spine. He cursed himself that he couldn't resist when a long, wispy lock of her hair flew from the air of her cracked window. He tucked it behind her ear, the small whimper she let escape when his finger grazed her earlobe ringing louder than sirens in his head. He gritted his teeth and tried to go over all the parts needed to make a grandfather clock.
The sun had set and the stars were out, the night clear and crisp as he continued on a rural highway in the middle of Illinois. He glanced at the clock. He'd been driving for 13 hours. His back suddenly felt stiff and he desperately wanted to do nothing more than stretch out on a soft bed. He drove a little farther, pulling off in a little town outside of Springfield. He left Claire in the car to check into the motel, keeping his ear on the car, just in case. He was thankful that this place was a hell of a lot nicer than the last place they stayed. He thanked the clerk and went back to the car to wake Claire up.
“Claire, wake up,” he shook her gently.
“Wha?” she yawned.
“C'mon. I got us a room for the night.”
She practically sleepwalked to the room.
Once inside, she dropped onto one of the two queen beds and yawned loudly. “What's for dinner?”
Sylar rolled his eyes at her. He grabbed two french bread pizzas from one of the bags. They were still frozen. He saw her eye them with a bewildered expression.
“No need for ice packs and a cooler with me,” he smiled. He took them their packages and held one in each hand. She watched as his hands turned red and a feeling of heat took over the room. Almost as soon as it started, it stopped and he handed her one, the cheese on top melted and the bread crisp.
“Thanks,” she said, with her eyebrow raised.
He took his place on the other bed and turned the television on.
“Will you put it in the travel channel?”
He did as she asked. They sat and enjoyed their food while watching a special on Hawaii. He could hear her contented sighs, seeing her relax and seem to get lost in the images on the television. He watched as she absentmindedly ran a hand across her stomach, making little figure eights. His breath caught in his throat when she moved under the shirt (his shirt) and he imagined how soft her skin had felt... Shaking the image out of his head, he grabbed his bag and headed to the bathroom to shower again. He felt the stiffness in his body wash off in waves under the intense jet stream. Fleeting images of her still body...her closed eyes and that feeling in his throat when he held her hand came over him and he turned the shower knob to the coldest setting for a few moments. He turned the water off and shook violently, enjoying the feel of all his muscles moving at once despite thinking he was a spitting image of a shaggy dog. He put on a pair of baggy sweats and fell back onto his bed.
Claire hadn't moved an inch. She turned to look at him and her cheeks flushed a faint pink. He smirked to himself. A sense of self-satisfaction coming over him; it was obvious she found him aesthetically pleasing. He immediately thought of her earlier that morning, seething at his snarkiness wearing nothing but that white towel. Her body was much more appealing when it was unscathed and rich with color and not lifeless. He clenched his fist at the haunting vision...
The room he had found her in was nothing but blinding white concrete. He never understood why doctors and scientists, especially the despicable kind, were compelled to have their work space look that way. Her body was on that bed and looked like anyone in a hospital would, except for the tight buckled straps around her legs and arms. Long, deep incisions, deep enough to expose bone, had been made down the length of both her legs. Another perfectly round chunk was missing from her stomach. He could see her intestines and it almost made him ill. The worst part was the silver instruments...forceps and clamps and things he had never seen before, shoved into these wounds, forcing them open. Keeping her from healing. It was only after taking in such horrors that he realized she was naked, save a sheet that had been draped over her pubic area. A quick jerk of his finger and the IV that was no doubt pumping drugs into her was removed. He hovered over her face and he watched as her eyes opened and she lifted her head. He watched, feeling pity for her as she saw the insides of her own body. She opened her mouth to scream but he was quick enough to mask it. And he thought sound manipulation was useless. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head and she fainted.
He was in awe of such a disgusting display, all orchestrated by her own father. He couldn't bring himself to touch her, an unexplainable fear he might somehow cause more damage came over him. With a wave of his hand the silver tools flew from her body and he watched with a never fading fascination as the skin stitched back together. Moving swiftly, he used the power of his mind to unbuckle the straps while he used his hands to physically remove the remaining wires connected to her body. He had thought he had removed everything when he saw one last tube resting between her newly healed legs. His stomach turned when he realized where that tube was inserted. He had to turn his head away, trying to push the images out of his mind of what was at the end of that tube, thankful that she would heal any damage he might cause by removing it so quickly. He refused to use his hands for that. The tube hit the floor and he watched, unable to stop the bed underneath her stain with blood....
At that point, the rage within him exploded in a way he hadn't felt in years. He caught hold of himself just in time, placing his hand over every computer and monitor in the room, absorbing their data (a little trick he picked up from a notorious cyber criminal a few years back) before destroying them with electricity. He had no time to assess the information he just took, so he kept it dormant in his mind as he worked quickly to tear the room to pieces. He opened a small cabinet under one of the sinks and found clean scrubs. Again, refusing to lay a finger to her naked body, he levitated her a few inches off the blood-soaked bed, sliding the thin, dark blue material over her skin. With a quick, tight tie of the pants string he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.
Running as fast as he had ever remembered, he ran through the dark halls, trying to recall the last time he saw a window. He rounded a corner and met face to face with two agents. Without even slowing his pace, he plowed toward them, cutting their guns (and hands) from their body. He felt a light mist of blood as he passed them. He found a window and broke it before jumping out from the 5th story. He slowed their fall using a power he hadn't used since regaining control over himself as a sign of respect for Nathan. He doubted he would mind using it now, given the nature. He felt Claire fidget and wake, allowed her to see what was happening and the building they were fleeing before bursting into flight...
The sound of the bathroom door shutting brought him back to the present. He levitated a bottle of water from one of the bags to him, feeling much too exhausted to get up, and tried to pay attention to the television. A commercial came on for a local computer repair service and it hit him that had yet to decipher the data he absorbed from the Company's machines. He sat up on the bed and folded his legs in the lotus position and began to access that part of his memory, closing his eyes in concentration. He was immediately flooded with information. He took a few seconds to do an internal search, thinking about Claire's file. Some of the data he already knew. He skipped past the information regarding her history and her ability and stopped when it came to the logs regarding her recent stay there.
As he expected, they were running various tests on her DNA. That was standard. They were testing new medications to try and stop the healing. He scowled at the thought. But then there was something else. Something he did not expect, not even from the Company. This was beyond unforgivable. This was beyond sick. He looked down to see his own hands shaking in anger. He now understood why someone had implanted a tube in the most personal of areas...
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Word Count: 2858
Rating: R for language and violent imagery (future chapters will be rated M)
Warning(s): I don't own Heroes. Spoilers through end of Season 3 to be on the safe side. Future-fic, technically.
They had stopped at a Walmart in a small town in Kentucky. Claire made a fuss about going into the store dressed as she was, but after he pointed out the local folk and that she wouldn't be the worst looking person there by far, she finally got out of the car. They shopped quickly, stocking up on food and drinks and clothing, before hitting the road and heading northwest. Sylar clicked the radio on to a retro station and set it low, relieving the uncomfortable silence. He glanced at her in the passenger's seat. She had her legs crossed and was leaning on the door, staring at the scenery passing by. He hadn't asked why she was still wearing his shirt and boxers even though she had new clothes. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He turned his focus back to the road. They had just passed into Indiana.
“So why are you so hell bent on revenge on my behalf?”
He rolled his eyes and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Of course she wouldn't let it be. Women.
“Can we talk about it later?”
“You said the same thing last night.”
“Yes. It's not 'later' enough.”
She crossed her arms, pouted and turned away from him.
“...is it later yet?”
Sylar let his head loll back and let out an annoyed sigh. He glared at her. She was still pouting. He furrowed his brow. He didn't know if he wanted to kiss her or strangle her. “What makes you think my revenge is all about you?”
“You said otherwise last night.”
He gripped the steering wheel tight. “I could've been lying.”
“You've never lied to me before. Why start now?”
She had a point. Everyone always kept poor little Claire out of the loop. Treated her like a child... But he knew that some of the details she wouldn't be ready to hear right now. He wouldn't outright lie, he would just...withhold.
“Hello? Are you gonna answer me?”
“It's complicated.”
She shifted in her seat to turn towards him. “We have the time.”
He shifted as well. “Despite what you may think, I am not completely without compassion. When I found out what was happening to you, it did not sit well with me. Maybe it was the memories of when I was trapped helpless in one of those cells. Being experimented on. When I realized that it was Noah behind it and...I couldn't let that stand.”
“Uh huh,” Claire said. She clearly wasn't buying that. “So say if it was...Matt Parkman. Or Peter. You would've done the same thing.”
“Probably not.”
“Ok, so then why me?”
He was getting annoyed. “You didn't deserve that. There was absolutely no reason for them to take you against your will. They were using you for their own gain. And Noah...let's just say that I know firsthand about horrible father figures. I knew that Noah would be furious, knew that I would be the last person he would expect to see. Especially rescuing you. I imagine right now that he is at his wits end. Not only because you escaped. But because you are with me.”
“So you're saying you were empathetic.”
“I am only human, Claire.”
“Yeah, a human that murders people to take what doesn't belong to him,” she spat.
“People have been murdering for personal gain for thousands of years. I didn't invent the concept.”
She huffed.
“Besides, like I said earlier. It's been years since I came across anyone with an ability I found suitable to add to the collection. My hands have been clean for 5 years.”
“That still doesn't cancel out all that you've done.”
“You're right. It doesn't. But let's not forget that I wasn't entirely at fault there. I'm sure you remember, it was Noah that egged me on and who made me who I am.”
She let out a hiss at the sound of his name. “That son of a bitch...”
“So now you know what I told you years ago. Your father is the real villain, when all is said and done. I guess you just needed to experience that on your own before you could understand.”
She didn't say anything. The air was filled with the soft sounds of an old U2 song.
“You know, I never quite forgave him for what he did to you,” she said softly.
“What?”
“When I found out the truth about you and Nathan. I was furious at you. You killed both of my biological parents. But I was surprised that I was more angry with Noah and Angela than anything. We didn't speak for almost 3 years. And even then, things weren't the same.”
Her tone was somber and Sylar was uncomfortable. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for what he did, but he didn't want to lie to her. The sick feeling in his stomach pulled at his mind and maybe there was a little bit of remorse. Not because he killed them. But because their death hurt her. He wasn't sure if he would've felt the same way several years ago. This overwhelming feeling to repent to her was gnawing at his gut.
“I'm sorry for the pain I caused,” he said, under his breath.
To his surprise she laughed. “Right, ok.”
“I'm serious.”
“No you're not. Don't lie to try and placate me. I've had enough of that to last a lifetime.”
A lifetime. For her, that length would come to feel like minutes. As would it to him. “I am not lying. Am I sorry for killing to gain powers? No. But I am sorry that sometimes those actions adversely affected you.”
“Since when do you give a damn about my feelings?”
He bit his tongue. He was going to have to tread lightly with this answer. “Since I came to the realization that you are going to live forever.”
She shot him an unconvinced glance.
“Do you remember the day I killed Nathan?”
“How could I forget?” she spat.
“I know it's not the most pleasant memory. But do you remember what I said to you? About building bridges?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
Silence. The tension in the car was palpable. He almost dared to continue talking, but by the change in her posture and the scowl that left her face, he reckoned she got the point he was trying to make. He was reluctant to say anything else. No need to lay it all on the table so quickly. Like she said, they had the time.
A few more hours passed by and they crossed another state line into Illinois. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the music; she would turn up the volume and sink back into the seat. At first he thought it was to drown him out. But his keen ear soon realized she was singing along and deduced she was trying to drown herself out. He didn't call her out on it. He even felt himself smile as he heard her meek little voice sing along to an old Justin Timberlake song. He grinned even wider as her voice seemed to gain confidence on the chorus. The lyrics “what goes around” were no doubt a literal representation of what she was thinking.
After a quick retreat at one of the many rest stops, Claire reclined her seat and curled on her side and fell asleep. He found himself stealing glaces at her too often. His palms itched at the urge to run his fingers along her spine. He cursed himself that he couldn't resist when a long, wispy lock of her hair flew from the air of her cracked window. He tucked it behind her ear, the small whimper she let escape when his finger grazed her earlobe ringing louder than sirens in his head. He gritted his teeth and tried to go over all the parts needed to make a grandfather clock.
The sun had set and the stars were out, the night clear and crisp as he continued on a rural highway in the middle of Illinois. He glanced at the clock. He'd been driving for 13 hours. His back suddenly felt stiff and he desperately wanted to do nothing more than stretch out on a soft bed. He drove a little farther, pulling off in a little town outside of Springfield. He left Claire in the car to check into the motel, keeping his ear on the car, just in case. He was thankful that this place was a hell of a lot nicer than the last place they stayed. He thanked the clerk and went back to the car to wake Claire up.
“Claire, wake up,” he shook her gently.
“Wha?” she yawned.
“C'mon. I got us a room for the night.”
She practically sleepwalked to the room.
Once inside, she dropped onto one of the two queen beds and yawned loudly. “What's for dinner?”
Sylar rolled his eyes at her. He grabbed two french bread pizzas from one of the bags. They were still frozen. He saw her eye them with a bewildered expression.
“No need for ice packs and a cooler with me,” he smiled. He took them their packages and held one in each hand. She watched as his hands turned red and a feeling of heat took over the room. Almost as soon as it started, it stopped and he handed her one, the cheese on top melted and the bread crisp.
“Thanks,” she said, with her eyebrow raised.
He took his place on the other bed and turned the television on.
“Will you put it in the travel channel?”
He did as she asked. They sat and enjoyed their food while watching a special on Hawaii. He could hear her contented sighs, seeing her relax and seem to get lost in the images on the television. He watched as she absentmindedly ran a hand across her stomach, making little figure eights. His breath caught in his throat when she moved under the shirt (his shirt) and he imagined how soft her skin had felt... Shaking the image out of his head, he grabbed his bag and headed to the bathroom to shower again. He felt the stiffness in his body wash off in waves under the intense jet stream. Fleeting images of her still body...her closed eyes and that feeling in his throat when he held her hand came over him and he turned the shower knob to the coldest setting for a few moments. He turned the water off and shook violently, enjoying the feel of all his muscles moving at once despite thinking he was a spitting image of a shaggy dog. He put on a pair of baggy sweats and fell back onto his bed.
Claire hadn't moved an inch. She turned to look at him and her cheeks flushed a faint pink. He smirked to himself. A sense of self-satisfaction coming over him; it was obvious she found him aesthetically pleasing. He immediately thought of her earlier that morning, seething at his snarkiness wearing nothing but that white towel. Her body was much more appealing when it was unscathed and rich with color and not lifeless. He clenched his fist at the haunting vision...
The room he had found her in was nothing but blinding white concrete. He never understood why doctors and scientists, especially the despicable kind, were compelled to have their work space look that way. Her body was on that bed and looked like anyone in a hospital would, except for the tight buckled straps around her legs and arms. Long, deep incisions, deep enough to expose bone, had been made down the length of both her legs. Another perfectly round chunk was missing from her stomach. He could see her intestines and it almost made him ill. The worst part was the silver instruments...forceps and clamps and things he had never seen before, shoved into these wounds, forcing them open. Keeping her from healing. It was only after taking in such horrors that he realized she was naked, save a sheet that had been draped over her pubic area. A quick jerk of his finger and the IV that was no doubt pumping drugs into her was removed. He hovered over her face and he watched as her eyes opened and she lifted her head. He watched, feeling pity for her as she saw the insides of her own body. She opened her mouth to scream but he was quick enough to mask it. And he thought sound manipulation was useless. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head and she fainted.
He was in awe of such a disgusting display, all orchestrated by her own father. He couldn't bring himself to touch her, an unexplainable fear he might somehow cause more damage came over him. With a wave of his hand the silver tools flew from her body and he watched with a never fading fascination as the skin stitched back together. Moving swiftly, he used the power of his mind to unbuckle the straps while he used his hands to physically remove the remaining wires connected to her body. He had thought he had removed everything when he saw one last tube resting between her newly healed legs. His stomach turned when he realized where that tube was inserted. He had to turn his head away, trying to push the images out of his mind of what was at the end of that tube, thankful that she would heal any damage he might cause by removing it so quickly. He refused to use his hands for that. The tube hit the floor and he watched, unable to stop the bed underneath her stain with blood....
At that point, the rage within him exploded in a way he hadn't felt in years. He caught hold of himself just in time, placing his hand over every computer and monitor in the room, absorbing their data (a little trick he picked up from a notorious cyber criminal a few years back) before destroying them with electricity. He had no time to assess the information he just took, so he kept it dormant in his mind as he worked quickly to tear the room to pieces. He opened a small cabinet under one of the sinks and found clean scrubs. Again, refusing to lay a finger to her naked body, he levitated her a few inches off the blood-soaked bed, sliding the thin, dark blue material over her skin. With a quick, tight tie of the pants string he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.
Running as fast as he had ever remembered, he ran through the dark halls, trying to recall the last time he saw a window. He rounded a corner and met face to face with two agents. Without even slowing his pace, he plowed toward them, cutting their guns (and hands) from their body. He felt a light mist of blood as he passed them. He found a window and broke it before jumping out from the 5th story. He slowed their fall using a power he hadn't used since regaining control over himself as a sign of respect for Nathan. He doubted he would mind using it now, given the nature. He felt Claire fidget and wake, allowed her to see what was happening and the building they were fleeing before bursting into flight...
The sound of the bathroom door shutting brought him back to the present. He levitated a bottle of water from one of the bags to him, feeling much too exhausted to get up, and tried to pay attention to the television. A commercial came on for a local computer repair service and it hit him that had yet to decipher the data he absorbed from the Company's machines. He sat up on the bed and folded his legs in the lotus position and began to access that part of his memory, closing his eyes in concentration. He was immediately flooded with information. He took a few seconds to do an internal search, thinking about Claire's file. Some of the data he already knew. He skipped past the information regarding her history and her ability and stopped when it came to the logs regarding her recent stay there.
As he expected, they were running various tests on her DNA. That was standard. They were testing new medications to try and stop the healing. He scowled at the thought. But then there was something else. Something he did not expect, not even from the Company. This was beyond unforgivable. This was beyond sick. He looked down to see his own hands shaking in anger. He now understood why someone had implanted a tube in the most personal of areas...