Fic: Take Everything
Title: Take Everything
Author: kathrynthegr8
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Rating: R
Word Count: 1118
Warnings: Spoilers through season 3, Character Death
Disclaimer: I own nothing you see here.
A/N: Written for challenge #11 at sylaire_chall. Many thanks and cookies to eeyore9990, I'm convinced this sucks, she told me to post it anyway.
Some would find it surprising that he still wants to fly. After all, he has so many other abilities, more than any one person needs really. But flying is different, always had been. It isn't just the power, it's the men who possess it. The Petrelli brothers represent everything Sylar doesn't have; wealth, power, and most importantly family.
For a brief shining moment he had been one of them; even if it was a lie, it was a lie that had made him happy. He had belonged, wasn't alone, and had a history. And all of it had burned down around him, like the fires that claimed Primatech.
It's a funny old world, really. The way everything is circular in the end, how no matter what happens we always return to the beginning. And after meeting his father and realizing his past is not his future, Sylar wants to fly again.
He missed the hunt, and the day he resumes it makes him feel alive. This is who he is and what he's meant to do. It's deceptively easy to track the senator using his agency's own device; waiting until Nathan Petrelli is the only blip on the grid, and walking into his mostly unfurnished penthouse like he owns the place. There is no sound as he makes his way through the hallway and into the bedroom. He shocks Nathan with a bolt of electricity and watches as he crumples to the floor without a word.
The blood that flows free is dark crimson and reminds Sylar of Valentine's Day when he was in grade school. Small red envelopes with his neat handwriting, one for every child in his class. He had always come home with fewer than he'd given, and his boyhood self would shred them one by one over the trash can before his mother could see. The memory flickers and fades as Nathan's crisp white sheets turn red. He finds what he needs in the pre-frontal cortex, runs his fingertips across the grey matter and locates the bundle of neurons that make flight possible.
Sylar closes his eyes with a sigh, and when he opens them, he feels the new ability coursing through his body. He wipes his hands on Nathan's tie as he prepares to leave and ignores the politician's dead eyed stare. The large windows in the room tempt him with the freedom only a dark night sky can offer. He opens them with a flick of his fingers and smiles when the crisp winter air washes across his face. Escape is only a leap away; then he hears her footsteps and that stops him cold.
She is loud for a person so small. His hearing helps, but she makes no attempt to move quietly on the hardwood floors. He could leave now and save himself the trouble of a confrontation, but he hesitates long enough for her to reach the bedroom and open the door.
"Nathan?" Claire steps closer; her arms are raised, and in her tiny hands she grips a large gun. Sylar watches in silence as she sweeps the room with narrowed eyes, not seeing him at first.
She gasps when she does and hisses the words, "I knew you weren't dead." Then she sees Nathan on the bed with his brain exposed and drops the gun. She covers her mouth with her hands, and her eyes go wide with disbelief. "You killed him," Claire whispers, as if scared someone will overhear.
"Two for two. Are you going to keep stating the obvious?" He takes a step closer to her and waits for her to back away; when she doesn't, he takes another. "Was it his weekend with the illegitimate daughter?"
"I came to talk to him." She continues to stare at the dead senator, as if she can't believe what she is seeing. "He's the one running the program that's rounding up people. I-" Her words falter and she stops speaking altogether.
Sylar leans casually against the foot board of the bed and watches her. "I know about his extracurricular activities. Putting an end to those was just a bonus." He listens as her breathing evens out, notices her hands curl into fists at her sides and he knows she is preparing to fight.
"Why?" is all she asks when her eyes meet his for the first time. He tries to ignore the tears that fall down her cheeks. Women cry; it shouldn't effect him at all, especially not her.
He shrugs nonchalantly. "I was hungry."
Claire scrambles for her dropped gun and he lets her, figures he owes her a shot at him. Maybe two.
"Nice weapon," he drawls when she levels it at his chest. "You always bring a firearm when visiting your biological father, or was this a one-time thing?"
"Shut up, Sylar." Her voice is forceful now, she's done crying and all her attention is on him. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know enough." He breathes in and can smell her. The mingled scents of bubble gum and desperation shouldn't shoot right to his groin, but they do anyway. "You probably came here tonight to threaten him to stop his operation. He would have said 'no'. And you were going to kill him."
"No. No, you're wrong." She shakes her head as she says it.
"Whatever princess." He shrugs. "I don't recommend staying here too long; his people will show up soon."
"Why me, Sylar? What's so special about my life that keeps you coming back?"
He doesn't answer her, mostly because he doesn't know the answer himself. But she has become familiar, not a friend or an enemy. They will share immortality together, and he thinks that's reason enough to have a conversation with her when there is opportunity.
"Put the gun down, Claire." He raises an eyebrow. "Or I'll make you."
Claire hesitates a few moments before she lowers her arms and slides the gun into the waistband of her jeans.
"Did he ever take you flying?" Sylar asks with a nod of his head towards Nathan. She shakes her head no and wipes her tear stained face with the palms of her hands. "I'll take you. We need to leave."
He offers her his hand, waits for a refusal and is not at all surprised when she backs away from him with suspicious eyes. "I can't kill you, you know." Understanding that this is a matter of trust for her, a thing he hasn't earned yet, he turns away and walks back to the window. "Maybe next time."
Sylar expects to feel bullets rip though him, instead he is stunned when her fingers intertwine with his.
They take their first leap together.
Author: kathrynthegr8
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Rating: R
Word Count: 1118
Warnings: Spoilers through season 3, Character Death
Disclaimer: I own nothing you see here.
A/N: Written for challenge #11 at sylaire_chall. Many thanks and cookies to eeyore9990, I'm convinced this sucks, she told me to post it anyway.
Some would find it surprising that he still wants to fly. After all, he has so many other abilities, more than any one person needs really. But flying is different, always had been. It isn't just the power, it's the men who possess it. The Petrelli brothers represent everything Sylar doesn't have; wealth, power, and most importantly family.
For a brief shining moment he had been one of them; even if it was a lie, it was a lie that had made him happy. He had belonged, wasn't alone, and had a history. And all of it had burned down around him, like the fires that claimed Primatech.
It's a funny old world, really. The way everything is circular in the end, how no matter what happens we always return to the beginning. And after meeting his father and realizing his past is not his future, Sylar wants to fly again.
He missed the hunt, and the day he resumes it makes him feel alive. This is who he is and what he's meant to do. It's deceptively easy to track the senator using his agency's own device; waiting until Nathan Petrelli is the only blip on the grid, and walking into his mostly unfurnished penthouse like he owns the place. There is no sound as he makes his way through the hallway and into the bedroom. He shocks Nathan with a bolt of electricity and watches as he crumples to the floor without a word.
The blood that flows free is dark crimson and reminds Sylar of Valentine's Day when he was in grade school. Small red envelopes with his neat handwriting, one for every child in his class. He had always come home with fewer than he'd given, and his boyhood self would shred them one by one over the trash can before his mother could see. The memory flickers and fades as Nathan's crisp white sheets turn red. He finds what he needs in the pre-frontal cortex, runs his fingertips across the grey matter and locates the bundle of neurons that make flight possible.
Sylar closes his eyes with a sigh, and when he opens them, he feels the new ability coursing through his body. He wipes his hands on Nathan's tie as he prepares to leave and ignores the politician's dead eyed stare. The large windows in the room tempt him with the freedom only a dark night sky can offer. He opens them with a flick of his fingers and smiles when the crisp winter air washes across his face. Escape is only a leap away; then he hears her footsteps and that stops him cold.
She is loud for a person so small. His hearing helps, but she makes no attempt to move quietly on the hardwood floors. He could leave now and save himself the trouble of a confrontation, but he hesitates long enough for her to reach the bedroom and open the door.
"Nathan?" Claire steps closer; her arms are raised, and in her tiny hands she grips a large gun. Sylar watches in silence as she sweeps the room with narrowed eyes, not seeing him at first.
She gasps when she does and hisses the words, "I knew you weren't dead." Then she sees Nathan on the bed with his brain exposed and drops the gun. She covers her mouth with her hands, and her eyes go wide with disbelief. "You killed him," Claire whispers, as if scared someone will overhear.
"Two for two. Are you going to keep stating the obvious?" He takes a step closer to her and waits for her to back away; when she doesn't, he takes another. "Was it his weekend with the illegitimate daughter?"
"I came to talk to him." She continues to stare at the dead senator, as if she can't believe what she is seeing. "He's the one running the program that's rounding up people. I-" Her words falter and she stops speaking altogether.
Sylar leans casually against the foot board of the bed and watches her. "I know about his extracurricular activities. Putting an end to those was just a bonus." He listens as her breathing evens out, notices her hands curl into fists at her sides and he knows she is preparing to fight.
"Why?" is all she asks when her eyes meet his for the first time. He tries to ignore the tears that fall down her cheeks. Women cry; it shouldn't effect him at all, especially not her.
He shrugs nonchalantly. "I was hungry."
Claire scrambles for her dropped gun and he lets her, figures he owes her a shot at him. Maybe two.
"Nice weapon," he drawls when she levels it at his chest. "You always bring a firearm when visiting your biological father, or was this a one-time thing?"
"Shut up, Sylar." Her voice is forceful now, she's done crying and all her attention is on him. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know enough." He breathes in and can smell her. The mingled scents of bubble gum and desperation shouldn't shoot right to his groin, but they do anyway. "You probably came here tonight to threaten him to stop his operation. He would have said 'no'. And you were going to kill him."
"No. No, you're wrong." She shakes her head as she says it.
"Whatever princess." He shrugs. "I don't recommend staying here too long; his people will show up soon."
"Why me, Sylar? What's so special about my life that keeps you coming back?"
He doesn't answer her, mostly because he doesn't know the answer himself. But she has become familiar, not a friend or an enemy. They will share immortality together, and he thinks that's reason enough to have a conversation with her when there is opportunity.
"Put the gun down, Claire." He raises an eyebrow. "Or I'll make you."
Claire hesitates a few moments before she lowers her arms and slides the gun into the waistband of her jeans.
"Did he ever take you flying?" Sylar asks with a nod of his head towards Nathan. She shakes her head no and wipes her tear stained face with the palms of her hands. "I'll take you. We need to leave."
He offers her his hand, waits for a refusal and is not at all surprised when she backs away from him with suspicious eyes. "I can't kill you, you know." Understanding that this is a matter of trust for her, a thing he hasn't earned yet, he turns away and walks back to the window. "Maybe next time."
Sylar expects to feel bullets rip though him, instead he is stunned when her fingers intertwine with his.
They take their first leap together.