(Untitled)

[ex_regenera246]

Who: Claire & Sylar
When: this evening
Where: clock tower, top of it
Rating: PG-13?
Warnings: With these two, large amounts of emo and arguing?
Summary: Claire tells Sylar to meet her somewhere, and he does.

Comments

[ex_regenera246]

She frowned, and this time it set in across her features and she pulled away. "I want things to change. I want to change." She was vague on purpose, still continuing to keep on her big girl face and keep her tone as even as possible. She knew for a fact he could hear her heartbeat, knew that he knew she was still afraid, but wasn't going to let on to the fact. She didn't need him to protect her from herself and her hurricane of emotion, after all.

"If you want to take it, I can put up a struggle and you can take it from me. It's what you want, isn't it? Or do you like to keep playing the game? Keeping your toy in her place, winding me up and letting me run down, over and over again? Do you not want it to be over, because you don't know what will happen once you break me?" She was treading on such dangerous territory now, and she knew it, but she couldn't stop herself from talking.

He wanted her to be stronger, wanted her to become something more than she was. He had said it, had hinted at it. And she knew the way for the both of them to get what they wanted out of her was for him to stop delaying and just steal what he thought belonged to him. She had become detached from her life outside of purgatory, her emotions were frayed, and her hope was failing her. She didn't care what happened to her because she would recover from it. Right and wrong had become so skewed that they were often the same thing in her eyes now, and she had to question herself more often than not on what she was doing.

"You can make it better. All of it. I'm lost, Sylar! I've lost myself. In you, and in this city, and in the people I've become close to here. I don't even know myself anymore, my dad wouldn't even recognize me. And if you steal it from me, maybe I can go back to hating you. Or at least hating what you've done to me. You liked me better when I did, didn't you? I intrigued you more, at least." And now she was close to crying, her lips trembling and sticking out into a distinct pout.