i'm not even scared to come cure your past, or try to reinvent it

[agentstatus]

who | Claire Bennet (agentstatus) and Sylar (intuitivelyapt)
what | Claire and Sylar run into each other while they're out ~finding themselves~ and share a heart-to-heart.
where | a motel in Breckenridge, Colorado.
when | prior to her run-in with Sam Winchester (huntedhunter), but after she's started hunting with Jo Harvelle (incaution).

Comments

[intuitivelyapt]

In a way, Sylar guessed he found what he was looking for on the road. The sense of constant transition. City to city, none of it mattered. He kept surviving, kept living and breathing, no matter how much he wished it would all stop sometimes. As long as he kept moving, he couldn't think of it too much. He couldn't think about how no one was there for him. The only person left who even pretended to give a damn was some kind of demon succubus. That was the only company he could attract now. Demons

[agentstatus]

Even if it had been years, decades, centuries since she'd heard it instead of months, Claire would know that voice anywhere. Her instinctive reaction was, of course, to tense up in surprise mingled with fear, but it quickly shifted into a defensive kind of tensing. She'd gotten better about that fight or flight response, and so while the muscle lines were visible in her neck and hands as she slammed the trunk shut, it had an edge of frustration and danger rather than meek worry.

Her eyes fell on Sylar, cold gaze turning hesitant the longer she stared, but the derision remained firm. Silence passed as she tried to figure out where to even begin to address that offer. The lack of pleasantry wasn't any more than what she'd give to any of the others who'd used to be her friends.

Maybe it should have been. Maybe the appropriate response was to be scared of Sylar -- he had killed again, after all, but she couldn't bring herself to see him as the boogeyman again because of that. Not really. Not when it was as much her fault as it

[intuitivelyapt]

He didn't like the coldness of her gaze. There was something off about it, something wrong. He wanted to ask, to make sure she was okay, but he wasn't entirely sure he was still allowed that privilege. With Claire, or anyone. That was why he left, in part. Sylar wasn't sure he still deserved his hard-fought redemption. But he couldn't tell anyone, couldn't let everyone down.

"Not quite. This is just lady luck smiling down on us." His smile was thin-lipped and sarcastic, just as much of a defense mechanism as her newfound caustic attitude. "Of all the cheap motels in all the world."

He bent to pick up one of her bags, choosing not to give her any further decision in the matter. If she didn't find him useful, she might make him go away. Wasn't that how everyone treated him?

"I'm telling the truth. If I had known you were going to be here, I wouldn't be."

[agentstatus]

When he moved to pick up the bag, her gaze narrowed. That was her bag, but at least it meant he wasn't going to touch Jo's. For a minute, she just stared in annoyance, then hoisted Jo's duffel up and pulled the strap onto her shoulder, pulling the motel key from her pocket.

"I'm not sure luck is the right word," she responded with an all-too-bitter smile before turning to head toward the room without so much as a thank you. Her and Jo's room was a good way from Sylar's, a half dozen doors between them or so, but close enough to be uncomfortable still. Hell, the same motel at all was close enough to be uncomfortable.

While they were walking under the deck, down the row of rooms, she turned over her shoulder to cast him a judgmental look, sizing him up. He didn't look so good, all things considered, and she couldn't help but wonder if he'd thought the same thing when he first looked at her. How are you? It was what she wanted to ask, but there was no way it was coming out of her mouth