The Best Things In Life
Title: The Best Things in Life
Author:
mrs_rezwood
Characters/Pairings: Sylar/Claire, Peter Petrelli
Rating: G
Words: 1, 016
Warnings: None ^_^
Disclaimer: It sucks to be me - I don’t own Sylar or Heroes *sad trombone noise*
A/N: Written for
mission_insane prompt "pink". This takes place after "Beer and Skittles" -
http://community.livejournal.com/sylar_claire/141871.html#cutid1
- but you don't really need to have read it to understand this, it'll just make things a wee bit clearer, is all :D
Summary: Sylar prefers the simpler things in life - like painting a room pink.
Sylar had always enjoyed the simpler things in life.
When he was five, he would often be found leaning against the battered door of his father’s shop, knees drawn up under his chin as the aching cold from the cement stairs seeped up through his legs. He would sit like this and listen to the constant clicking and whining of a thousand little pieces working as one, occasionally dashing inside to point out the clocks whose pieces weren’t working as they should, smiling as his father’s seemingly massive hand would ruffle his hair as a way of thanks.
It was around this age that he found that the ticking would follow him home, as though his heart had become one of those fascinating objects that his father had dedicated his life to. When he looked at people he could hear the ticking in them too, only he did not fully understand why, or what it would later drive him to commit.
When he was ten, he decided that ‘restoring timepieces’ - as his father so affectionately called it - wasn’t really for him. Instead, he opted for a career in Soccer, a sport he exceeded at. He loved the game, the running, the rules; the electricity after a goal was scored.
This only lasted until he was fifteen, when tragedy befell him and his family. It was then that he was forced to follow in his fathers’ footsteps. It was then that the ticking got a little louder, and the world a little more grey.
After that his taste for the simpler things in life got a little gorier…but now everything was different, everything was beautiful.
Everything was…pink.
He sighed heavily and mopped the sweat from his brow, taking a step back to admire his handy work. Well, his and Peter’s…although as Sylar looked over at the empath it became clear that he’d gotten more paint on himself than the walls.
“I thought you said you’d painted a room before”, Sylar asked incredulously.
Peter smiled sheepishly.
“No”, he blushed, “I’d said I’d painted before”
Sylar’s eye twitched, something that had been happening more and more often from spending so much time in the youngest Petrelli’s presence in a small room over the past few days.
“What, like finger painting?”, he scoffed, “No wonder your brother keeps getting surprise bouts of lock-jaw”
“Heey, that’s unfair”, Peter whined with a pout.
Sylar was about to ruffle the shorter man’s hair in response when he remembered who and where he was.
He was Sylar, all-powerful badass who did not ruffle hair or think of little Italian emo puppies in an affectionate way. And he was currently standing in a medium sized room with hot pink walls and white carpet, a place that was his own special version of hell.
He looked down at his hands and clothes, which were currently covered in splatters which matched the walls, and decided he needed to get the hell out of there.
He looked over at Peter and grunted “Kitchen…beer…stay”, and threw a warning look at the other man before padding out into the hallway.
As he walked quietly down the darkened hallway and the wooden mahogany stairs, a thought skipped through his mind like stones across water.
Everything, everywhere changes; this was a fact - a part of destiny and evolution.
Sylar was not the five year old on the stoop anymore, or the soccer player, or the murderer.
But he still enjoyed the simpler things - such as the sight that met him at the end of the stairs.
A small, chubby face with big pink cheeks surrounded by soft black curls stared up at him expectantly. Sylar reached down and scooped up the infant as though she were made of glass, grinning widely as he did so.
“Hello Lily”, he whispered as he nuzzled her hair.
Lily snuggled into the crook of his neck, her tiny arms gripping the front of his shirt, her chest rising and falling like a butterfly fluttering across his chest. He gently swayed from side to side, humming some nameless tune. They stayed like this for some time, until another familiar face emerged from the living room.
Claire quietly padded over to the pair, positively glowing with happiness. She gently put one of her hands on Lily’s sleeping form while putting her other arm around her husband’s waist. She kissed him softly, sweetly and quickly, her nose resting beside his afterwards, their lips barely touching.
“So you finished the room?”, she whispered.
“Peter’s doing the final touches”, Sylar replied, curling an arm around her - something which proved more difficult than he’d first thought due to her enlarged stomach.
Claire ran her pink nails through her daughter’s hair absentmindedly.
“We were just napping after coming back from the doctor”
Sylar grinned, he loved it when she said ‘we’ or ‘us’ or ‘ours’. He felt like he was in some special club, a group of people that only consisted of her, him and the three small individuals between them. Even after such a long time together, Sylar found his feelings for Claire grow stronger with each passing moment.
He stroked her stomach with the back of his fingertips.
“How’re our twins going?”
She grinned, “happy, healthy…”
She looked up into his eyes and smiled widely.
“…boys”
He felt a weird bolt of electricity run through him from the feet up, the same bolt that had hit him when he’d found out she was pregnant with Lily.
“Boys?”, his mouth was open with shock, “both of them?”
She somehow managed to smile wider while nodding gracefully, her blonde hair bouncing.
Sylar instantly felt the urge to run around the house and whoop loudly, and to possibly exchange manly hugs and high-fives with the short Italian man upstairs. He would’ve if it weren’t for the little bundle of joy curled against him, and his soul mate standing beside him, grinning furiously.
The world was a less dark place with them beside him. He knows that things will change, but only for the better.
The world was reborn in his eyes, and every day was as beautiful as the people surrounding him now.
Author:
mrs_rezwood
Characters/Pairings: Sylar/Claire, Peter Petrelli
Rating: G
Words: 1, 016
Warnings: None ^_^
Disclaimer: It sucks to be me - I don’t own Sylar or Heroes *sad trombone noise*
A/N: Written for
mission_insane prompt "pink". This takes place after "Beer and Skittles" -
http://community.livejournal.com/sylar_claire/141871.html#cutid1
- but you don't really need to have read it to understand this, it'll just make things a wee bit clearer, is all :D
Summary: Sylar prefers the simpler things in life - like painting a room pink.
Sylar had always enjoyed the simpler things in life.
When he was five, he would often be found leaning against the battered door of his father’s shop, knees drawn up under his chin as the aching cold from the cement stairs seeped up through his legs. He would sit like this and listen to the constant clicking and whining of a thousand little pieces working as one, occasionally dashing inside to point out the clocks whose pieces weren’t working as they should, smiling as his father’s seemingly massive hand would ruffle his hair as a way of thanks.
It was around this age that he found that the ticking would follow him home, as though his heart had become one of those fascinating objects that his father had dedicated his life to. When he looked at people he could hear the ticking in them too, only he did not fully understand why, or what it would later drive him to commit.
When he was ten, he decided that ‘restoring timepieces’ - as his father so affectionately called it - wasn’t really for him. Instead, he opted for a career in Soccer, a sport he exceeded at. He loved the game, the running, the rules; the electricity after a goal was scored.
This only lasted until he was fifteen, when tragedy befell him and his family. It was then that he was forced to follow in his fathers’ footsteps. It was then that the ticking got a little louder, and the world a little more grey.
After that his taste for the simpler things in life got a little gorier…but now everything was different, everything was beautiful.
Everything was…pink.
He sighed heavily and mopped the sweat from his brow, taking a step back to admire his handy work. Well, his and Peter’s…although as Sylar looked over at the empath it became clear that he’d gotten more paint on himself than the walls.
“I thought you said you’d painted a room before”, Sylar asked incredulously.
Peter smiled sheepishly.
“No”, he blushed, “I’d said I’d painted before”
Sylar’s eye twitched, something that had been happening more and more often from spending so much time in the youngest Petrelli’s presence in a small room over the past few days.
“What, like finger painting?”, he scoffed, “No wonder your brother keeps getting surprise bouts of lock-jaw”
“Heey, that’s unfair”, Peter whined with a pout.
Sylar was about to ruffle the shorter man’s hair in response when he remembered who and where he was.
He was Sylar, all-powerful badass who did not ruffle hair or think of little Italian emo puppies in an affectionate way. And he was currently standing in a medium sized room with hot pink walls and white carpet, a place that was his own special version of hell.
He looked down at his hands and clothes, which were currently covered in splatters which matched the walls, and decided he needed to get the hell out of there.
He looked over at Peter and grunted “Kitchen…beer…stay”, and threw a warning look at the other man before padding out into the hallway.
As he walked quietly down the darkened hallway and the wooden mahogany stairs, a thought skipped through his mind like stones across water.
Everything, everywhere changes; this was a fact - a part of destiny and evolution.
Sylar was not the five year old on the stoop anymore, or the soccer player, or the murderer.
But he still enjoyed the simpler things - such as the sight that met him at the end of the stairs.
A small, chubby face with big pink cheeks surrounded by soft black curls stared up at him expectantly. Sylar reached down and scooped up the infant as though she were made of glass, grinning widely as he did so.
“Hello Lily”, he whispered as he nuzzled her hair.
Lily snuggled into the crook of his neck, her tiny arms gripping the front of his shirt, her chest rising and falling like a butterfly fluttering across his chest. He gently swayed from side to side, humming some nameless tune. They stayed like this for some time, until another familiar face emerged from the living room.
Claire quietly padded over to the pair, positively glowing with happiness. She gently put one of her hands on Lily’s sleeping form while putting her other arm around her husband’s waist. She kissed him softly, sweetly and quickly, her nose resting beside his afterwards, their lips barely touching.
“So you finished the room?”, she whispered.
“Peter’s doing the final touches”, Sylar replied, curling an arm around her - something which proved more difficult than he’d first thought due to her enlarged stomach.
Claire ran her pink nails through her daughter’s hair absentmindedly.
“We were just napping after coming back from the doctor”
Sylar grinned, he loved it when she said ‘we’ or ‘us’ or ‘ours’. He felt like he was in some special club, a group of people that only consisted of her, him and the three small individuals between them. Even after such a long time together, Sylar found his feelings for Claire grow stronger with each passing moment.
He stroked her stomach with the back of his fingertips.
“How’re our twins going?”
She grinned, “happy, healthy…”
She looked up into his eyes and smiled widely.
“…boys”
He felt a weird bolt of electricity run through him from the feet up, the same bolt that had hit him when he’d found out she was pregnant with Lily.
“Boys?”, his mouth was open with shock, “both of them?”
She somehow managed to smile wider while nodding gracefully, her blonde hair bouncing.
Sylar instantly felt the urge to run around the house and whoop loudly, and to possibly exchange manly hugs and high-fives with the short Italian man upstairs. He would’ve if it weren’t for the little bundle of joy curled against him, and his soul mate standing beside him, grinning furiously.
The world was a less dark place with them beside him. He knows that things will change, but only for the better.
The world was reborn in his eyes, and every day was as beautiful as the people surrounding him now.