Title: Redemption
Rating: R to be safe
Spoilers: Aaaall the way up to 18, and draws from some speculation at 19 onward.
Pairings: Sylar/Claire, Sylar/Mohinder, M/S/C triangle stuff.
Genre: Drama Romance
Warnings: Future!fic, Some slashish undertones in it. As made obvious by the pairings.
Summary: 10 years after the cheerleader was saved, Mohinder has a 'cure' for the superhuman abilities, and Sylar in his clutches. This time a certain ex-cheerleader is going to make sure he gets the second chance he once begged for.
Disclaimer: If Heroes plays out like my prologue predicted, maybe I own it. If it doesn't, I definitely don't.
AN: And with my absurdly short prologue, I cheeearge into ch1.
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Redemption
Chapter 1
He considered it an act of admirable self control not to drop the needle, and nothing short of a miracle that he managed not to yelp, yell, scream, or otherwise make one unmanly sounds of fear that people like Sylar got off to.
His luck and iron will ran out there... and he couldn't manage anything clever, like stabbing the man in the eye with the needle before he tried to kill him. Again. This time there was no telling where Peter had gone, and null chance for him to drop by and save the day again.
Instead, he just stood there. 150 IQ, ten years of schooling, and all he could do was stare motionlessly down at the wide eyes looking up to him. Brilliant.
He had considered briefly several times over the three months he had been studying him what might happen if he woke, how the unpredictable crazy man would react to being tied up and jabbed with needles again. Of the many shades of psychopathy he'd imagined, a silently blank stare was not one he'd gotten around to yet.
The silence was getting awkward, but for the life of him, he couldn't come up with anything better than an amazingly cliché 'We meet again' or horrifyingly campy 'déja-vu' comment. Luckily for him the decision was taken from him, as his patient spoke first, in a voice that brought back unwelcome memories of roadtrips and sticky danishes from suspicious truck stops.
"Where am I?"
He frowned cooly, judging the distance between where he stood and where he could inject the chemical into the IV, and calculating whether he would be able to make it there in time.
The man on the bed simply watched him in silence, apparently expecting him to answer. Obviously ten years had not humbled him.
"You should know."
He scrunched his eyebrows, and.. oh... dammit... why was he pulling that old act again? "I should?"
He sighed, and crossed his arms. Forget terrorizing, this man knew just how to get under his skin without even trying. "Wonderful to know I've left such a 'lasting' impression on you."
The man seemed increasingly flustered, as he looked around the room and at the straps of leather tying him down. "But... but I... I don't even know you!"
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A hot cup of coffee without sugar or cream did wonders to kill bad memories and braincells. Unfortunately both seemed to regenerate just as fast as the other. But what did she expect, it being the tenth anniversary of her father's death?
Her real father. Not the one that smiled, said hello, gave her a check, and shoved her off with her 'uncle' as soon as possible. He could handle responsibility, knew what it meant to put your child's welfare above your own..
He knew it too well.
Blue eyes lost themselves in the swirling tones of black and chocolate within the porceline mug. Ten years since her father pulled a gun without blinking, and fired at the man who had hounded her since her birth. They said he had died before his glasses finished clattering.
Of course, they said alot of things. For all she knew he suffered in agony for hours before he was finally afforded the freedom of death. Sometimes she almost envied his position.
Her mother had died a week before for knowing too much (so the Haitian had told her) and Lyle had been carted off to a new family before she could even make it to Texas to say goodbye. She had never felt so alone as she had those weeks while her other father was avoiding her, and Peter was missing.
But it had passed. It all passed. The bomb she saw painted everywhere, and the death of the painter was avoided, and Peter came home. Even her father seemed to tentatively want to get to know her.
And things... things became almost normal. They were still a family of freaks, and Peter was out saving the world from Sylar more than he was in...but it was a home, and she almost felt like she belonged again. Something she had rarely felt since her powers originally surfaced.
But things never got to stay normal, did they?
Maple tresses brushed across a woolen shoulder as she turned to pick up the phone that had interrupted her.
"Is this Claire Bennet's phone?"
The voice was vaguely familiar to her, and she nodded pointlessly to the empty room. "Yes. And yes, she's speaking."
"I don't know if you remember me, but I have something that the entire world could depend on, and I need you to help me with it."
She swallowed softly, flashes of old speeches her uncle had given her-- long before they had ever learned they were related-- raced through her mind. "And what's that?"
"Sylar."
CH end
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AN: Mmmhmm. Still short. But I'm tired...