Oneshot Challenge #28 - Fic
Title: Psycho-somatic
Author: lenozzedifigaro
Rating: Pg-13 for swears
Characters: Sylar, Claire
Word Count: 622
Warnings: spoilers for s1-3
Disclaimer: I own no part of Heroes, all rights NBC etc, etc and I make no money off this fic.
Written for Oneshot Challenge #28- Sigmund Freud!
“I do not need therapy!”
Claire glared at Sylar- Gabriel- whatever the hell he was going by, these days- from across the table and set her coffee cup down. “Where’s Peter?” she asked for what felt like the twentieth time. “Didn’t he say he was coming, too? What the hell is taking him so long?”
Sylar shrugged, apparently not at all bothered by the lack of their usual buffer. “I don’t know. Anyway, you don’t think I need therapy, do you? I mean, it’s not as if I’m insane.”
Claire raised an eyebrow and took a long sip of her cappuccino. Sylar crossed his arms.
“Fine, ok. So I may have gotten a little out of hand back then. But I’m different now! We’re all different. You remember our talk, don’t you? That was normal- I can do normal! Really, was that the behavior of a crazy person?”
Claire gaped. “Sylar, you assaulted me.”
“Oh, god, I did, didn’t I? Sorry about that.”
But he was smirking and Claire frowned. She looked around again. “Where is Peter?” she said again. Sylar decided to keep talking.
“Come on, Claire, don’t tell me you actually plan to go along with this- ludicrous- therapy thing.”
“It’s a small price to pay,” she informed him sweetly before scowling at the room again.
“Right, sure. I know they could’ve locked us up and run experiments on us and instead all we have to do is go lie on some shrink’s couch while he tries to insist that we’ve been hallucinating for all this time and that our abilities are psychosomatic-”
“It’s doesn’t need to be like that anymore,” Claire said scornfully. “When was the last time you went to a therapist, Sylar? Freud himself? I didn’t think you were that old…although it would explain a few things.” She laughed into her cup and this time it was Sylar glaring at her.
“Don’t you dare bring up-”
“Oh, why not? I mean, you did kill my father. And your mother’s death- neither of them- had anything to do with me or my family. Forget psychosomatic. You’re just plain-old psychotic. And where the hell is Peter?” she finished angrily, abruptly standing to get a better look around the small café.
Sylar sat back, entirely unconcerned, though admittedly still a little hurt, and glanced over his shoulder.
“Are we done, for god’s sake?”
The room around them dissolved like a daydream to reveal a roomy office with plush chairs and one large desk, behind which sat a woman who was looking rather annoyed.
“We weren’t done, actually, but since you broke character I suppose that will have to do…for now.”
Claire sat back down, still agitated, but smiling once more. “I kind of like role-playing ourselves.”
“Please, you’re that blunt in real life,” Sylar replied. “And anyway, this was supposed to be a group session. We need Peter here if we want this to be effective.”
“Aw, you do read my emails,” Claire said and Sylar rolled his eyes.
“I’m not illiterate, princess,” he replied and their therapist lifted her head from making notes.
“Please, we’re out of the hostile zone. Now, I’m afraid we won’t be able to make up this session with Peter unless you pay out of pocket. Your particular program only covers the once every other week plan. They seem to think you’re some of the more…shall we say well-adjusted? Of the lot.”
Claire feigned joy. “Hear that, Sylar? We’re not crazy. That means you’re naturally a mean bastard.”
“Where the hell is Peter?” Sylar muttered.
“See you next week!” the therapist chirped, as cheerfully as possible. She thought the entire batch of them should be locked up. She shivered involuntarily. Classic cases, all of them.
Author: lenozzedifigaro
Rating: Pg-13 for swears
Characters: Sylar, Claire
Word Count: 622
Warnings: spoilers for s1-3
Disclaimer: I own no part of Heroes, all rights NBC etc, etc and I make no money off this fic.
Written for Oneshot Challenge #28- Sigmund Freud!
“I do not need therapy!”
Claire glared at Sylar- Gabriel- whatever the hell he was going by, these days- from across the table and set her coffee cup down. “Where’s Peter?” she asked for what felt like the twentieth time. “Didn’t he say he was coming, too? What the hell is taking him so long?”
Sylar shrugged, apparently not at all bothered by the lack of their usual buffer. “I don’t know. Anyway, you don’t think I need therapy, do you? I mean, it’s not as if I’m insane.”
Claire raised an eyebrow and took a long sip of her cappuccino. Sylar crossed his arms.
“Fine, ok. So I may have gotten a little out of hand back then. But I’m different now! We’re all different. You remember our talk, don’t you? That was normal- I can do normal! Really, was that the behavior of a crazy person?”
Claire gaped. “Sylar, you assaulted me.”
“Oh, god, I did, didn’t I? Sorry about that.”
But he was smirking and Claire frowned. She looked around again. “Where is Peter?” she said again. Sylar decided to keep talking.
“Come on, Claire, don’t tell me you actually plan to go along with this- ludicrous- therapy thing.”
“It’s a small price to pay,” she informed him sweetly before scowling at the room again.
“Right, sure. I know they could’ve locked us up and run experiments on us and instead all we have to do is go lie on some shrink’s couch while he tries to insist that we’ve been hallucinating for all this time and that our abilities are psychosomatic-”
“It’s doesn’t need to be like that anymore,” Claire said scornfully. “When was the last time you went to a therapist, Sylar? Freud himself? I didn’t think you were that old…although it would explain a few things.” She laughed into her cup and this time it was Sylar glaring at her.
“Don’t you dare bring up-”
“Oh, why not? I mean, you did kill my father. And your mother’s death- neither of them- had anything to do with me or my family. Forget psychosomatic. You’re just plain-old psychotic. And where the hell is Peter?” she finished angrily, abruptly standing to get a better look around the small café.
Sylar sat back, entirely unconcerned, though admittedly still a little hurt, and glanced over his shoulder.
“Are we done, for god’s sake?”
The room around them dissolved like a daydream to reveal a roomy office with plush chairs and one large desk, behind which sat a woman who was looking rather annoyed.
“We weren’t done, actually, but since you broke character I suppose that will have to do…for now.”
Claire sat back down, still agitated, but smiling once more. “I kind of like role-playing ourselves.”
“Please, you’re that blunt in real life,” Sylar replied. “And anyway, this was supposed to be a group session. We need Peter here if we want this to be effective.”
“Aw, you do read my emails,” Claire said and Sylar rolled his eyes.
“I’m not illiterate, princess,” he replied and their therapist lifted her head from making notes.
“Please, we’re out of the hostile zone. Now, I’m afraid we won’t be able to make up this session with Peter unless you pay out of pocket. Your particular program only covers the once every other week plan. They seem to think you’re some of the more…shall we say well-adjusted? Of the lot.”
Claire feigned joy. “Hear that, Sylar? We’re not crazy. That means you’re naturally a mean bastard.”
“Where the hell is Peter?” Sylar muttered.
“See you next week!” the therapist chirped, as cheerfully as possible. She thought the entire batch of them should be locked up. She shivered involuntarily. Classic cases, all of them.