Sylaire Ficathon - The Naughty Nurse and the Impatient Patient
Three things they would like: NC-17 rating, hurt/comfort, happy endings, Sylar showing Gabriel tendencies
Three things they don't want: non-con, slash, Maylar subtext, Mylar subtext
A/N: So… hurt/comfort was a term that I sorta-kinda understood, but wasn’t positive that I had a really good grasp on, so I started searching for a definition or essay on it or something to help me, and I found this:
Hurt/comfort: is fanfiction with a character being hurt, either physically or mentally (sometimes called 'angst') and then being comforted/nursed back to health/generally cuddled and coddled.
Hmm… Something about the line “sometimes called ‘angst’” caught my attention, like it was a challenge. Is it possible to write a snarky, sarcastic, funny hurt/comfort fic, or are we stuck with angst? This fic is my attempt at light hearted hurt/comfort with a touch of humor. I really liked the idea of the team dynamic that I used in “ Merrily, Merrily”, with everyone working for the Company, so… the team is back :) I hope you enjoy, but if you don’t - I’m working on a really dark and angsty response to this ficathon as well.
And if it seems like crack!fic, well… it was written with the help of a few Cherry Cokes - not the crappy artificial ones, but the ones made with cherry vodka. That might explain a lot :)
Noah Bennet gives the group assembled in front of him a hard stare, trying to play the role of a resolute leader. He’s still not sure about this plan from the board of directors, but he can’t exactly tell his team that. “Thank you for joining me today. I’m going to make this quick. The suggestion has come down that the Company needs to diversify our activities, to provide more services to more people, and we’ve been picked to lead this effort.”
“And if we can cut out all the administrative buzzwords… what are we talking about?” Peter asks what everyone else is thinking.
“Terrorists. Drug lords. Gangs. The powers that be here at the Company have decided that there are more threats out there than rogue super-humans.” Bennet can’t stop himself from a quick glance in Sylar’s direction. “And we’re going to take them out.”
Elle snorts. “Us and what army?”
“I think we are the army.” Sylar drawls. “At least, Peter and I. I’m not exactly sure what the rest of you will be doing while we do the real work. Filing your nails, maybe?” He gives Elle a disgusted look as he mentions her activity of choice during their last assignment together.
She shoots a small burst of electricity at him. “Up yours, Clock-Boy.”
“Please, you two, give it a rest.” Noah takes off his glass and rubs his temples, as if Sylar and Elle are giving him yet another a headache. “Now, for the first mission, we’re going to be coordinating the FBI to take down some drug runners…”
- - - - - - - - - -
“Okay, people, let’s do this.” Mohinder’s voice squawks through everyone’s headsets. “Claire, Peter - you have the lead. Sylar, you’ve got Claire’s back, and Elle - you’ve got Peter’s. Matt, you’re pulling up the rear, be on the listen for sneak attacks. Matt and Peter, you’ll take care of all communication from here on out, I want radio silence from here on out. Suresh out.”
“Such a drama queen.” Sylar mutters under his breath as he takes his position beside Claire on the right side of the warehouse door.
“You’re just saying that because you’re still ticked off that Mohinder’s in charge.” Claire teases him. “Or maybe because he’s the one coordinating with the FBI people - oh, I’ve got it. You’ve got a little crush on that agent in charge, don’t you? Audrey seems like your type. Let me guess - love at first gun shot? You know that it’s going to hurt Matt if you go after her.” She gives him an impish grin, letting him know that she isn’t serious.
“Ha. Ha. As if. You know, we don’t have to do what Mohinder tells us.” He casually comments as they wait for Elle, Matt, and Peter to take their positions, subtly changing the conversation to something that’s been on his mind for awhile. “You don’t have to lead if you don’t want to.”
“Yes, I do. We don’t know what they’re going to react, that’s why Peter and I take lead - so y’all don’t get hurt.” She turns to face him. “Do you really want to be in charge that badly, to go against orders?”
“No, I just don’t want to use you for bait.” Even after all his missions with her, he still has trouble with watching her take blow after blow for his sake. “Let me do this, just for once; I can put up a TK shield that will protect us both. You don’t have to get hurt.” His tone is light, but he hopes she realizes he’s earnest.
He gets a sad smile and a gentle touch on his arm. “It’s my job. Let me do this; it’s the only thing I can offer to the team. And don’t you dare shield me - you know how that will mess up our plans. Please, Sylar. Don’t worry, I’ll…”
‘Hey!’ Matt’s voice rings in both of their heads, disrupting their tête-à-tête. ‘Stop the flirting; we’re ready.’
They turn to see Peter starting the countdown with his fingers. As he curls his last finger down, Sylar uses his telekinesis to fling the doors open and Claire and Peter burst into the room. As they’re met with a spray of bullets, Claire’s glad that she didn’t let Sylar change her mind about taking the lead. While the criminals are horrible shots, Claire does get hit a few times. The first few shots only lodge in her arm and shoulder, but the fifth bullet hits her torso, tearing through her heart. As she falls, vision going black, the last thing she sees is the dark look on Sylar’s face as he reaches out to catch her.
- - - - - - - - - -
Sylar hates these missions, these horribly damned missions that force him to watch Claire die yet again, and he wonders how Noah Bennet can be so passé about sending his daughter out into danger. If it was up to him, she’d work an administrative job back at headquarters or would be safe and sound in the car with Mohinder; Elle too, even though her being in the field doesn’t bother him quite as badly. He knows that his views are horribly out-dated, chivalrous in a time when gallantry is dead, but he can’t help it. He hadn’t had a problem with the women fighting when they were fighting against him, but now that they’re on the same side, he can’t stand not being able to protect them, especially now.
He does the best he can at deflecting the bullets without letting Claire know, letting her think that their opponents are just poor marksmen, but he can’t redirect every shot.
‘Sylar! Elle - they’ve spotted her. Peter’s overwhelmed.’ Matt’s panicked voice in his head makes him turn his attention away from Claire as he hastily throws up shields in front of Elle, and Matt too - just in case he’d been targeted as well. Sylar finds that he’s too distracted by the mêlée going on around him to hold all the shields in addition to his own, so with a glimmer of regret, he lets the one around Claire fall. She’s almost immediately hit, and he knows that it’s a lethal hit.
“Damn it.” Even though she’d been planning on getting hit, that her going down is an integral part of Bennet’s master plan, it’s still not easy for Sylar to deal with and he rushes to her as she starts to stumble. As she takes a last frantic gasp, he catches her and carefully lowers her to the ground. Her erratic heartbeat slows and then stops for what has to be the thousandth time since he’s known her, but the only thing he’s aware of is the blood pounding in his ears and a slightly hazy red shade over everything as his mind screams at him to avenge her. He’s almost unaware of his actions as he uses his telekinesis to throw the crate containers sitting near him around the warehouse in a tornado of metal and steel, letting the containers melt and warp in mid-flight.
When he’s through with his temper tantrum, the inside of the warehouse has been completely rearranged. A few of the drug runners lie dead on the floor but most of the men that he’d been targeting are pinned against the wall, held in place with the reshaped containers, and Peter, Elle, and Matt are huddled together on the ground near him, protected from the debris by Peter’s shield. His attack had been so violent and unexpected that the fight’s over in a matter of seconds. He knows that it can’t have been any longer than that since Claire’s yet to recover from her wound, still lying dead at his feet. Kneeling down next to her, he smoothes a piece of her hair, gently tucking it behind her ear.
“Ok, what the fuck was that?” Elle asks, as soon as she thinks it’s safe to stop hiding behind Peter. “What happened to our plan?”
“I decided I liked my plan better.” It sounds better than ‘I lost my temper’, and he knows that he’ll be dragged back before the Company psychologists if he says that. He gathers Claire’s body in his arms, and starts to walk out of the warehouse; then pauses, and turns back to the other three. “Any problems with that?”
- - - - - - - - - -
The first thing that Claire’s aware of is the sting in her chest as the bullet works its way out and the tightness in her lungs as she struggles to breathe. ‘Bullets are such a bitch’, she thinks to herself.
The second thing she becomes aware of is Matt’s resultant laughter, and she knows that he’d heard her thought. She tries to sit up, but finds that she can’t since she’s being cradled in someone’s arms. At first, she thinks it must be Matt carrying her, since his laughter had seemed so close, but she knows that can’t be the case. The only way she’d ever wake up in his arms is if Sylar and Peter are both down, and the chances of that happening are slim to none. Slowly opening one eye, knowing that the sudden exposure to light is going to hurt, Claire finds that she’s been turned so that she’s facing a man’s chest. Black material clings to him, and black means that Sylar’s got her, not Peter. Claire’s relieved to realize that he’s carrying her, because if he’s able to do that then it means that he’s not injured and that she’s been able to keep him safe through another mission.
“Something funny, Parkman?” Sylar stops walking, turning to snarl at Matt. “Because I don’t see anything funny in one our teammates dying.”
“He was laughing at something I was thinking. I’m okay, Sy. Can you please put me down now?” Claire knows that Sylar had to have known she was awake, there’s no way he wouldn’t be able to hear the return of her heartbeat. “Really, I’m fine.”
He turns from glaring at Matt to look at her, giving her a sad pout. “Well, if you’re sure that you’re fine and that you don’t want to be carried like this…”
She gets a warning from the way his pout turns into a mischievous smirk just a second before he throws her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Ahhh!” The scream turns into a giggle when he gives her a bounce and telekinetically tickles her. “Put me down right now, Gabriel!”
“I’m sorry, Parkman, did you say something? I thought I heard something.” Sylar starts walking towards their van again.
Matt loves watching this particular game play out; it’s one of the few times that Sylar ever gets really playful and fun to be around. “Nope, didn’t hear anything. Must have been the wind.” He falls into step with Sylar, ignoring Claire’s shrieks and laughter. This particular post-mission ritual, which happens almost every time Claire takes a hit for them, distracts him to the point that he’s not paying careful attention to their surroundings. He only hears a brief whisper, a faint ‘three, two, one’, but everything happens too quickly for him to react in time.
- - - - - - - - - -
Boom.
A woman’s scream.
Omnipresent blackness, even with his eyes open.
Sensation of pain, a thousand needles and fire all over his body.
The smell of acrid smoke tickling at his nose, gasoline and burning rubber and melting pavement and the faintest hint of sickly-sweet cannabis and something bitter that he can’t quite place. He can almost taste the vaporized drugs on his tongue, and the smoke causes him to choke.
More pain, almost overwhelming his senses, sharp pain in his chest and a blunt pain in his legs and a burn in his useless eyes as the smoke in the air causes the eyes to water as blood from his head wound slowly oozes down his face. Right behind the pain, however, he can feel the tender of touch of someone cradling his head and someone else’s tears splashing down on his face, mingling with his blood.
“Shhh, shhh, it’ll be okay. You’re going to be okay.” A woman tries to soothe him, only he’s so disoriented that he can’t figure out who it is. It’s not his mother, he knows that much, and at that particular moment he can’t imagine someone else taking care of him. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry. You’re going to be just fine. We’re going to take you back home, and then I’m going to fix everything. Just hang on for a touch longer, honey.”
He feels a warm hand on his cheek, and he turns into the touch and passes out, finally overcome by the sensory overload and the pain.
“Damn it! Peter! Get your ass over here; we need to get back to the infirmary NOW!” Claire screams at her uncle as Sylar goes limp in her arms.
- - - - - - - - - -
While Noah will be the first to admit that Sylar’s not his favorite person, he still hates to see the man in this shape. Sylar looks out of place, weaker and smaller than usual, when he’s stretched out on the bed with a variety of IV lines snaking out of his arm and a large bandage wrapped around his head. Larger than life when awake, it’s just wrong for him to be unconscious in a hospital.
The woman sitting in the chair next to the bed makes a small sniff, and reaches out to touch Sylar’s arm again, as if she’s trying to reassure herself that he’s still there. Noah puts his hand on Claire’s shoulder, and she turns to look at him. “He’s going to be just fine, Claire-bear. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry? Gee, my fi… friend, er… partner just got severely injured in an explosion during our mission. I wonder why I’d be worried.” The look on her face is an exact replica of her patented ‘you just don’t understand’ glare that she’d perfected as a teenager; he’s well familiarized with it.
“Now, Claire-bear…” he starts.
“Don’t even.” She shrugs his hand off her shoulder, and scoots closer to Sylar’s side. “Why won’t you let me heal him? I mean, I understand that I couldn’t help him in the field, but why won’t anyone let me now?”
Noah hesitates, not wanting to have this particular discussion now. Claire’s not going to take it well, and he’d prefer to have it out with her in front of the board of directors. “Err…”
“You used my blood on Elle and Matt - so why not Gabriel?”
He wonders if she’d purposefully used that name or not. It’s not like her growing friendship with the man has been a secret from anyone, but Noah hadn’t realized that they were that close, and he’s not sure if he likes the idea. He hopes that it’s just a slip of the tongue or that she’d referred to Sylar that way as a way of trying to manipulate him.
“Yeah, why not heal Clock-Boy?” Elle asks as she walks into the small infirmary. “I thought I’d find him already up,” she comments as she looks askance at the body in the hospital bed, “not like this. What gives?”
Not this, not now. He cannot deal with Elle and Claire, especially when he’s going to have to tell them that the Company doesn’t want Sylar to have access to Claire’s blood. Oh, the board members trust the killer enough to use him on missions, but it’s been made perfectly clear that he’s a disposable commodity if he should ever fail, and Noah can’t tell the girls that.
“He’s disposable?” Matt sounds indignant and Noah just then realizes that the mind-reader must have come in with Elle. Shit.
Claire’s so close to Sylar now that she might as well be in the bed with him, and Elle’s taking a defensive stance next to his bed, electricity crackling between her fingertips and a disapproving glare on her face. “Disposable?” Claire’s voice goes shrill when she realizes what Matt’s heard. “You’re just going to let him die?”
“He’s not going to die; he’s not hurt badly enough for that. It’s just… well, we don’t want him to become accustomed to his actions not having repercussions. Don’t you see, Claire-bear, that it’d be wrong for him to get used to having ready access to your powers?”
“Don’t call me that, and no, I don’t see how it’s wrong.” She snaps at him, and Noah’s reminded of her teenaged days again. “So, what are you going to do with him then?”
“Let him heal like a normal person, just like anyone else would. He needs a reminder from time to time that he’s not so very special.”
- - - - - - - - - -
There’s a pounding ache in his head, and his entire body hurts. It’s the first thing he notices when he wakes up. The second thing he notices is that there are two blonde women sitting on either side of his bed, and that one of them is clinging to his arm. “Ow.” It’s not the most eloquent thing he’s ever said, but it’s accurate.
“Gabe… I mean, Sylar?” It’s the same woman he’d heard talking earlier, only this time he recognizes Claire’s voice.
His mouth is his dry, and he finds it hard to form words. “Mmph.” He motions at his throat and then at the water pitcher, noticing the IV in his hand as he does so.
She gets the message, and fixes him a drink. Holding the cup up to his lips, she uses her other hand to support his head as he sits up enough to take a sip. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks. What happened?” The last thing he remembers before hearing the boom was Claire’s laughter and then Matt taking a deep breath, then everything had gone black.
“There were some other drug runners, ones not in the warehouse. When they saw what was going on, they blew the place up so that the FBI couldn’t get the drugs. We got caught up in the explosion. You were injured.”
“Why does it hurt?”
“Oooh, I can answer this one!” Elle exclaims. “We work for bastards.”
Sylar just gives her an inquisitive look; he knew that already, and it doesn’t really explain anything.
“They aren’t going to let me heal you, and I’d be willing to bet that they aren’t giving you a high enough dose of morphine.” Claire sighs, and then fiddles with the buttons on the IV pump. “There, does that help any?”
He gives her a sleepy grin, and she discreetly bumps the dose back down. She doesn’t want him to be in pain, but there’s no reason to go overboard either. A loud snore is the only response she gets from him, and she shrugs in defeat. If he’s asleep, hopefully he won’t be hurting.
“Oh, Claire-bear, if you can stop drooling over Clock-Boy here…”
“Shut up, Elle. Sylar’s trying to sleep.” Claire tries her best to ignore her sister and her teasing.
“But Claire…” Elle tries to get her attention by using a sing-song inflection. “I’ve got an idea. A horrible, no good, evil idea that Noah’s going to hate.”
“We’re not going to pierce our tongues, run off to join the circus or the marines, or go shopping for spandex crime-fighting costumes, Elle.” All ideas that Claire’s heard at least once in the last month, and she wonders what Elle’s come up with this time.
“He said that you can’t heal Sy, and that we can’t use blood to do it, but…”
- - - - - - - - - -
“I don’t know about this.”
“C’mon on, Peter, please?” Claire begs, but Elle takes a more direct route and shocks him.
He tries to discreetly rub the spot on his butt where she’d hit him. “Gah! What was that for?”
“You know what. Now heal him.” Elle tosses her hair and points towards the sleeping Sylar. “It doesn’t look like you’re healing him. Do it before I shock you again.”
“I thought you said the Company didn’t want to heal him?” Peter asks the girls, suspicious of their motives.
“Please, Peter. What they said was that I couldn’t heal him - nobody said a word about you. I’m not even sure if they realize that you have Linderman’s powers, since you’ve never used them on us before.”
He thinks about the situation for less than a minute, mostly about what the potential fallout could be if the board decides to make a fuss. It’s not really in his nature to let anyone suffer, not when he can do something to prevent it, so it’s not a difficult decision to make. “Two conditions. One, no one ever tell Sylar that I did this - he’ll be impossible to live with. Two - I’m just going to heal the worst of it. He’ll still have the bruises and cuts, and we’re all going to act like nothing happened. I don’t want this getting back to Noah or the board.”
“Sure thing, cutie.” Elle holds out her hand, like she wants to shake on the agreement, and Peter takes it without thinking.
She shocks him instead and then laughs at the stunned look on his face as he mutters “I really should know better by now.”
Claire’s approach is more earnest, and she hugs him as she whispers “You’re my favorite uncle” in his ear.
“I’m your only uncle.”
“Well, duh, but you’re also my favorite. I promise I won’t tell, and we’ll get Sylar to act like he’s still hurt. You’re the best, really, Peter.”
“Just remember that.” He thinks about his deceased godfather, what Linderman was like, what the power felt like, and he feels a strange feeling inside that he supposes is the healing factor. Grabbing Sylar’s wrist, he tries to focus on healing the worst of the damage, all the broken bones and the perforated lung. Sylar makes a soft sighing sound, and starts to toss and turn, and Peter’s afraid that he’s about to wake up so he quickly bumps the IV control. Once he’s sure that Sylar’s in a deep sleep, Peter finishes his work and then turns off the morphine drip.
- - - - - - - - - -
When Sylar wakes the second time, he finds Claire sleeping in the chair next to his bed. The rest of the infirmary is empty, and there aren’t any lights on. He’s surprised there isn’t more light being put out by the machines in the room, and he looks over at the IV pump, only to see someone had turned it off. Oddly enough, even without the pain medicine, nothing hurts anymore and he can take a deep breath with no problem. He wonders if maybe Claire had gone against orders and healed him anyhow, but his arms are still covered in scrapes and bruises, so he knows that didn’t happen.
She looks so uncomfortable, legs tucked up under her and head hanging off the back of the chair, that he pulls his thin sheet back and telekinetically lifts her up. He moves over slightly, and then lowers her onto the bed so that she’s lying next to him. She doesn’t wake during the procedure, and he’s glad for that fact. Pulling the sheet back up, he quickly falls back asleep.
- - - - - - - - - -
Of all the things that Mohinder thought he’d find in the infirmary the next morning, he hadn’t expected to see that Claire had crawled into the hospital bed with Sylar at some point during the night. He certainly hadn’t expected to find Sylar wrapped around her like she’s a teddy bear and he’s a scared three year old. He looks at them for a minute, trying to figure out who to wake up and how, but he just gives up and walks out, closing the door behind him.
It’s easier just to leave them there and let someone else deal with it. If he just ignores it, then he won’t have to answer all sorts of questions when Bennet finds out. Mohinder can tell from the way that Sylar’s holding her that there’s something more serious going on, something beyond Claire providing comfort to an injured teammate. Oh yes, denial and ignorance of the situation are definitely the best routes for him to take.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Claire.” Sylar pokes her in the side, but she just wriggles away from his touch instead of waking. “Oh, Claire.” Still nothing, and he looks at his companions and shrugs.
“Claire Bennet, you wake up right now and get out of that bed!” Elle gives her a little shock too, in addition to yelling in her ear, but Claire still doesn’t move.
“Amateurs.” Peter scoffs at them, and then gives Sylar a pointed look. “Obviously, you don’t know her as well as you think you do. Allow me.” He leans down and whispers, very quietly, “Waffles.”
Sylar can’t help but laugh at how quickly she wakes up, sitting straight up in bed and asking “waffles?” in a dreamy tone.
“Sorry, I lied.” Peter ruffles her hair. “We couldn’t get you up any other way. I’ll make it to you once we have a little talk; breakfast, my treat. First, we need to discuss Sy’s situation.”
“My situation? What about my situation?” Sylar asks, suddenly suspicious. “What’s going on?”
“We” - and with this Peter gestures at himself and the blondes - “figured out a way of healing most of your injuries, but well… we’d prefer it if Noah and everyone else didn’t know that. Can you just pretend that you’re still hurt?”
Sylar decides not to ask how they’d healed them; Peter was obviously uncomfortable with the subject. “What would that entail?”
“Lying here, moping, and being a whiny little bitch. I think you’d be good at it. I remember when you had the flu last year; you were insufferable - just act like that when Noah’s around.” Elle suggests, and then smiles at him. “Claire and I will wait on you hand and foot. Does that sweeten the deal?”
“So basically just let you two faun all over me and annoy Bennet? I can do that.” It sounds like heaven, actually, but Sylar’s not going to say that.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Claire! Could you please get me something to eat, and another pain pill - please?” Sylar whines as he scratches his hand where the IV’s inserted. “And maybe fluff my pillow? It’s all… flat.” He glares at the pillow, as if it ought to fluff itself.
Noah has to admit that the man sounds miserable. Maybe he should buck the board and let Claire heal him. He watches as Claire runs around the infirmary, trying to find the aspirin. “Hey, Claire, they keep the aspirin in the upper cabinet and the snacks in the second drawer on the right. There should be something he can have - maybe a pudding cup?”
“No, I don’t want that.” Sylar whines dramatically. “I hate pudding cups. They taste like melted plastic. Especially the vanilla ones.”
“What do you want then, Sy?” Claire calls out as she sorts through the snacks. “We’ve got crackers, applesauce… oooh, there’s some canned peaches in here, that would be tasty.”
The look on Sylar’s face is mutinous. “I don’t want any of that. I want real food,” he grumbles.
“Claire.” Noah calls out to her. “Why don’t you run down to the cafeteria and get him some soup? I’ll sit with him while you’re gone.”
“And get me a cherry Coke - a real cherry Coke, made with maraschino juice, not one of those crappy artificially flavored sodas.” Sylar adds in another order, trying to sound as whiny and pitiful as possible. “And some cinnamon graham crackers, too, with peanut butter. My mom always used to give me that when I was sick.” A lie, but Noah doesn’t need to know that Virginia Gray wouldn’t have cared what he wanted. Sylar catches Claire’s attention, and gives her a quick wink. Noah was falling for their act hook, line, and sinker. Really, it’s not a hard act for him to perform - Noah’s not that familiar with him, and doesn’t see that a supposedly injured thirty-something Sylar’s acting a lot like a sick childish Gabriel.
“Sure thing.” Claire closes the drawer, and comes over to fluff Sylar’s pillow and make sure that his blanket is pulled up. She almost kisses his forehead, but stops, realizing that might make her dad suspicious. Turning to face Noah, she asks. “Do you want anything?”
“Nah, I’m good.” Noah pulls out his wallet and hands Claire a ten dollar bill. “Here, on me.” He really does feel bad that he won’t let her heal Sylar; the least he can do is buy him some soup.
Sylar waits ten seconds after Claire leaves, then starts complaining again. “This pillow’s too hard and there’s too much light in here.” When Noah doesn’t immediately jump up to help him, he glares at the man. “Well, aren’t you going to do something about it?”
Rolling his eyes, Noah flips off the light switch and hands him a new pillow. “Happy now?”
“There’s still too much light. Change how the blinds are angled.”
Noah begrudgingly walks over to the window, readjusts the blinds, and starts to sit back down again right as Sylar, with an evil smirk on his face, calls out “Oh, it’s so hot in here - can I have some ice chips, and a lighter weight blanket, and maybe could you adjust the thermostat?”
Sylar almost cracks up laughing when Noah starts growling at him, but that would give away the fact that he’s healed.
- - - - - - - - - -
Claire pushes the door to the infirmary open and walks into absolute chaos. Elle’s fanning Sylar with a folded-up magazine, Peter’s standing on a chair over at the window - she’s not actually sure what he’s doing, to tell the truth, but it looks like he’s turning the blinds one way and then the other, and her dad’s sitting next to Sylar’s bed, reading a kid’s book out loud to him. “What is going on here?”
“Thank God you’re back.” Noah rushes over to take the tray out of her hands. “Is he always this difficult to deal with?” he asks, motioning at Sylar with a tip of his head.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Claire hopes she manages to say that with a straight face, making her way over to Sylar’s side. “Now, I got you chicken noodle and tomato soup since I wasn’t sure what you wanted. Are you going to sit up and eat a bit?”
“Feed me, please?” He gives her the saddest puppy dog eyes and pout he can manage. “I don’t know if I can do it myself, my arm’s broken you know. Oh, and could you fluff my pillow again - your dad doesn’t do it right.”
Apparently that’s the last straw for Noah, who strides to the other side of the room and pulls a syringe off the counter top. As he walks back over to Sylar’s bed, he jerks the plastic covering off, and grabbing Claire’s arm, jabs her with it.
“Ow! Dad!” She would jerk away, but she knows what he’s doing.
Noah bites his lip as he concentrates on collecting a few milliliters of blood, and then pulls the needle out of her arm and turns to fiddle with Sylar’s IV. He injects her blood into the IV line, and then sighs in relief as he watches it flow into Sylar’s arm. “I’m sorry, I’ll take the fall for you, I couldn’t stand it for one more minute. He’s got to be the worst patient in the world.”
They watch as all the scratches and bruises disappear, and then as Sylar rips the IV out and pulls the bandages off his head. “Oh, much better. Thanks, Noah, and thank you, baby.”
Claire’s eyes go wide and she shakes her head in the universal ‘no’ gesture. Sylar looks at her and raises one eyebrow. “No” she mouths at him. This is definitely neither the time nor the place to let Noah that they’ve been dating in secret for a few months.
Peter falls off of the chair. “Claire!” He gives her the most incredulous look, and she realizes that he’s heard her thought. She’d never planned on getting caught like this, so she thinks at him ‘Don’t say a word! Please!’
He looks like he wants to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut.
“Peter?” Noah asks, distracted from thinking about why Sylar had called Claire ‘baby’ by Peter’s fall. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I must have tripped.”
- - - - - - - - - -
“Finally back home.” Sylar falls onto backwards onto his bed. “I’ve never been so glad to get back to this crappy apartment. Ahh, this is so much better than that damned hospital bed.”
Claire giggles, and then pounces on top of him. “Oh, don’t be that way. I had plans for that bed, if you’d had to spend another night there.” Her lascivious tone clues him into the fact that she’d had some sort of dirty idea.
He sits up, propped up on his elbows, to look at her. “Claire, it was a twin size hospital bed with metal rails on both sides. What in the hell could we have done there, especially with the whole lack of privacy?”
She toys with the buttons on his shirt as she looks at him from beneath lowered eyelashes. “Well, I was thinking that maybe - just maybe, if you were a really good boy - that I’d borrow Elle’s nurse costume and we could play Naughty Nurse and the Impatient Patient.”
“Elle has a nurse’s costume? Why would she have that?” Sylar wonders about that for a second, then realizes that Claire hadn’t been talking about scrubs and white orthopedic shoes, and his eyes widen. “Oh. That type of naughty nurse.”
Her look is clearly incredulous at his apparent naïveté, but he doesn’t notice. She sometimes wonders about him and about his obvious lack of experience. “Yes, that type of naughty nurse, like there’s any other type. But since you’re all better now and back home…” she sighs, “well, I guess we’ll have to save that for next time you’re hurt.”
“Oh, I think I’m relapsing. I can’t breathe. Help me, Nurse Naughty.” He lowers his voice and gives her a conspiratorial look. “I think there’s something wrong with my heart.”
“Really, your heart you say - describe your symptoms for me.” She slips his shirt off, and then pulls hers off as well.
“Well, it starts beating really fast at times.” He gasps as she takes one of his nipples between her teeth. “Like when you do that.”
“I can hear it, even without my stethoscope.” She licks the nipple and then sits up. “But that can’t be all. What other symptoms do you have?”
Sylar grabs her left hand and raises it to his forehead, causing her to lose balance and fall on top of him. “I think I’m running a fever.”
“You sure are hot; you must be running a fever.” She trails her hand down his cheek, then kisses him deeply. “Mmm… yeah, so hot.”
Pulling away, he reaches for the zipper on his pants. “And there’s something… different… down here.”
“I bet.” She snorts, then gets back into character. “Oh, let me, sir. I’m going to have to do an examination, so don’t be worried. I’m a nurse, I know all about things down there.” Batting his hand out of the way, she unzips his pants and yanks them down, taking his boxers with them. “Oh!”
“Is there a problem?”
“How long has this been going on?” She smirks at him, and then takes him in hand; he closes his eyes, breath escaping in a hiss as she runs her hand up and down him. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to take serious actions for this.”
“What sort of serious actions?”
“Don’t worry about a thing, just a little medication and physical therapy.” Her touch is firm and steady, and he has no warning that she’s about to stop stroking him. “But first, we need to take care of a few other details.” She kisses him, then guides his hand to her bra clasp, and as he takes her bra off, she undoes her jeans and kicks them off. “Oh, much better. Nurse Naughty was getting mighty uncomfortable like that. Now, back to serious medical matters…” She breaks off in giggles as he rolls them over on the bed so that he’s on top.
“What type of medicine am I going to need? Maybe… something I could take by mouth?”
He kisses down her throat before returning her earlier favor and laving her nipple. It’s only when he starts kissing lower that she gets his innuendo. “No, it’s not an oral medication. I’m delighted… I mean, I’m afraid we’re going to need to have an injection.”
“I don’t mind injections.” His mouth moves back up to her throat as his hands find her clit.
She can’t think like this, as his talented hand distracts her and a light telekinetic touch teases her with light touches to her G-spot. “Oooh. Most patients… Sylar!... most patients don’t like getting shots.”
His words are a heated whisper in her ear. “I’m not most patients. Besides, isn’t Nurse Naughty the one who’s going to get the… injection?” She’s never heard the word “injection” sound any filthier than it does when he says it, especially since he’s timed his entrance with the word, and she can’t stop from moaning as she wraps her legs around him.
“Besides, if I need it for my health…” Every word is slowly uttered, punctuated by a hard thrust. “I’m sure you’re willing to help me, Nurse Naughty.”
She gives up the charade, no longer capable of uttering anything other than pleasured moans and breathy sighs, no longer caring if she stays in character of not, just caring that he continues pistoning his hips like that.
He obviously doesn’t care either as he starts yelling “Claire!” every time she bucks against him, and she knows that he must be close. His attention span is normally very impressive, but for him to forget that she’s his Naughty Nurse… he has to be close. She tightens the grip of her legs around him, and tentatively lowers one hand in between them. As soon as her fingers brush over his balls, he’s gone, and she comes just a second later.
- - - - - - - - - -
A few weeks later…
“What do you mean that he’s in the infirmary again?” Claire asks Elle, seemingly not understanding. “He didn’t even have a mission today, what is he doing in the infirmary?” She starts saving all the open files on her computer and logging off.
“All I know is that the guys were doing some sort of male bonding something-or-other, Peter said something, Sylar said something else, and then Noah shot him.” Elle waves her hands in an exaggerated ‘don’t look at me’ motion. “Mohinder was really unclear on what happened, just that you need to get to the infirmary.”
“He shot him? My dad shot Sylar?” Please, please, please no. There’s only one reason that would happen, and Claire was really hoping they could put that off for awhile longer. “Like it was an accident?” Maybe the gun just went off. Maybe he was aiming at Peter. Maybe she’s screwed and her dad knows about them now.
“Didn’t sound like an accident to me. Mohinder was clear on that part.” Elle adds helpfully, “I remember his exact words. ‘Noah just shot that son of a bitch.’ Sounds pretty intentional to me.” She finally notices the look on Claire’s face, and immediately knows. “Oh. My. God. You’re fucking him. That’s why Noah shot him.”
“Please don’t be so crass, Elle.” Claire doesn’t even try to deny it, knowing that she can’t.
“So, what, you’re dating him?” The way Elle says ‘dating’ makes it sound like it’s some sort of alien concept she can’t wrap her mind around. “Are you on drugs? I mean, I’ll have to report you if you are, but… you’re dating him? You’re dating him? You’re dating him?” She keeps repeating the phrase, putting the emphasis on different words, like she can find a combination of words and tones that will suddenly make sense.
“Drop it. Want to come with me?” Claire’s finished with computer work, and is at the door.
Elle jumps up to join her. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from this little domestic scene, sis.”
The women jog their way through the winding corridors of the Company building. They can hear the heated shouts before they even turn onto the hall the infirmary’s located on. “Oh crap,” Claire mutters under her breath, “this isn’t going to go well.”
“You knew that before. Put on your big girl panties - the same ones that you’ve apparently been letting Sylar take off of you, which I still don’t really understand - and go in there.” Elle pushes the door open before Claire has a chance to gather her courage, and then gives her a little zap to get her moving.
The yelling immediately stops as the men turn to stare at them. “Claire. So glad you could join us. And you brought Elle.” Noah greets her, rather coolly.
Oh, he definitely knows. Sylar’s in the same bed, Peter’s standing on one side of it, and Noah’s standing on the other. She ignores her dad, a difficult thing to do, and walks over to Sylar’s side. “You okay?” She kisses him in greeting, the first time she’s ever kissed him in front of witnesses.
“Just fine and dandy. I needed another bullet wound; it’s just was I hoping I’d get for Christmas.” He leans up to catch her lips again.
Lightly smacking him on the arm, she then twines her fingers with his. “Cute, real cute. I can tell you’re not hurt too badly if you can run your mouth like that.” She then turns to face Noah. “So… you have something to say for yourself?”
“Don’t start with me, Claire-bear. Don’t you have something to say instead?”
“I love him.” It’s simple, but it’s the truth, and it causes Noah to deflate. Of all the things he thought she’d say, that wasn’t one of them.
“Oh.”
“Is that all you’re going to say, ‘oh’? Please. My dad would have ripped me a new one.” Elle butts in, joining the conversation. “Aren’t you going to yell or something about her getting her freak on with killer there? Mmph!” She’s abruptly cut off when Peter puts his hand over her mouth.
“We’re going to go and do something and let you have some privacy.” He tries to lead Elle to the door while keeping her mouth covered, but doesn’t succeed.
“Peter! No fair! It was just getting good!”
“Shut up Elle. We’re… um… bye.” Peter shoves her out the door and starts to leave. “I’ll just put up the ‘do not disturb’ sign as I’m leaving.”
“We have one of those?” Sylar asks and Claire blushes, knowing that he’s planning on there being a repeat of Naughty Nurse again later on. “I didn’t know that. Did you know that?”
Noah and Claire ignore him.
“Are you sure?” The way he asks the question, it’s obvious that he wants this to just be a temporary fling.
“Positive.”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” That’s the main question that Noah has at this time. There are other things to ask, for sure, but they can all come later.
Claire laughs. “Dad, you shot him when you heard. Why do you think I didn’t tell you?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
The room goes silent for a minute, and then Noah sighs. “I guess you have my blessing then, if you want it. You hurt her,” he addresses Sylar, “and I will kill you, not just shoot you.”
“I’d figured.” Sylar smirks at him. “By the way, I won the bet. Claire thought you’d hit me, but I knew - I just knew - you’d go for the gun. Thanks.”
Claire’s eyes go wide and she tightens her grip on his hand before he can keep on talking. “Yeah, yeah, we knew it wouldn’t be pretty. So, Dad, don’t you have something you can work on in your office, far far away from here?” She tries to distract him before he can ask what the terms of the bet were. “Please?”
Noah hesitates, and makes his way to the door. “I’d say that I was sorry, but I’m not. Claire-bear, come find me later, I think we need to talk.”
She sinks into the chair beside the bed and sighs when he leaves. “Well, that went well.”
“Didn’t it, though.” He pauses for a minute. “So, here we are, all alone in the infirmary. Peter already healed me, discreetly of course, so… is the Naughty Nurse going to ride again?” The question is hopeful.
Even though Peter had mentioned the sign earlier, Claire still walks over to check that it’s there and to lock the door. As she walks back over to the bed, undoing her blouse’s buttons, she grins at him. “I hear you’ve been shot. I’m going to have to check that out. Now, tell me where it hurts. I think I should be able to make it all better with a simple application.”
“Application of what exactly?” He watches with curiosity as she lowers one of the safety rails on the bed.
“Well, I thought we’d start with my lips and move on from there…”
As she kisses down his chest, he moans “Love you.”
“Love you too.” She stops her motions. “So, what exactly did you say to him?”
“Don’t worry, it wasn’t too bad.”
“How much does he know?” Claire just can’t get into character fully, not with this still on her mind.
“Not much. He thinks we’re just dating.” He toys with her necklace and with the ring strung on the chain, the one worn underneath her clothing and tucked into her bra so that no one can see it. “I like danger, but I’m not suicidal.”
“Good. I think we’re going to have to ease him into this slowly.” She kisses him again. “Now, about the Naughty Nurse...”
- - - - - - - - - -
If anyone would have walked by about five minutes later, they would have heard screaming. Most Company workers wouldn’t have thought anything about it. Screaming, and yelling, and shrieking are common sounds at the Company. Of course, most of the screams aren’t “Yes!” or “Ride it, Naughty Nurse!” or “Sylar!” and most of the screaming occurs in the cells and the testing labs, not in the infirmary, but that’s beside the point. Most would ignore it and keep on going, just like Mohinder does. Really, he doesn’t want to know and denial’s still his favorite way of dealing with it. Even though Noah knows now, ignorance is still bliss. No sir, he doesn’t hear anything, nothing at all.
Three things they don't want: non-con, slash, Maylar subtext, Mylar subtext
A/N: So… hurt/comfort was a term that I sorta-kinda understood, but wasn’t positive that I had a really good grasp on, so I started searching for a definition or essay on it or something to help me, and I found this:
Hurt/comfort: is fanfiction with a character being hurt, either physically or mentally (sometimes called 'angst') and then being comforted/nursed back to health/generally cuddled and coddled.
Hmm… Something about the line “sometimes called ‘angst’” caught my attention, like it was a challenge. Is it possible to write a snarky, sarcastic, funny hurt/comfort fic, or are we stuck with angst? This fic is my attempt at light hearted hurt/comfort with a touch of humor. I really liked the idea of the team dynamic that I used in “ Merrily, Merrily”, with everyone working for the Company, so… the team is back :) I hope you enjoy, but if you don’t - I’m working on a really dark and angsty response to this ficathon as well.
And if it seems like crack!fic, well… it was written with the help of a few Cherry Cokes - not the crappy artificial ones, but the ones made with cherry vodka. That might explain a lot :)
Noah Bennet gives the group assembled in front of him a hard stare, trying to play the role of a resolute leader. He’s still not sure about this plan from the board of directors, but he can’t exactly tell his team that. “Thank you for joining me today. I’m going to make this quick. The suggestion has come down that the Company needs to diversify our activities, to provide more services to more people, and we’ve been picked to lead this effort.”
“And if we can cut out all the administrative buzzwords… what are we talking about?” Peter asks what everyone else is thinking.
“Terrorists. Drug lords. Gangs. The powers that be here at the Company have decided that there are more threats out there than rogue super-humans.” Bennet can’t stop himself from a quick glance in Sylar’s direction. “And we’re going to take them out.”
Elle snorts. “Us and what army?”
“I think we are the army.” Sylar drawls. “At least, Peter and I. I’m not exactly sure what the rest of you will be doing while we do the real work. Filing your nails, maybe?” He gives Elle a disgusted look as he mentions her activity of choice during their last assignment together.
She shoots a small burst of electricity at him. “Up yours, Clock-Boy.”
“Please, you two, give it a rest.” Noah takes off his glass and rubs his temples, as if Sylar and Elle are giving him yet another a headache. “Now, for the first mission, we’re going to be coordinating the FBI to take down some drug runners…”
- - - - - - - - - -
“Okay, people, let’s do this.” Mohinder’s voice squawks through everyone’s headsets. “Claire, Peter - you have the lead. Sylar, you’ve got Claire’s back, and Elle - you’ve got Peter’s. Matt, you’re pulling up the rear, be on the listen for sneak attacks. Matt and Peter, you’ll take care of all communication from here on out, I want radio silence from here on out. Suresh out.”
“Such a drama queen.” Sylar mutters under his breath as he takes his position beside Claire on the right side of the warehouse door.
“You’re just saying that because you’re still ticked off that Mohinder’s in charge.” Claire teases him. “Or maybe because he’s the one coordinating with the FBI people - oh, I’ve got it. You’ve got a little crush on that agent in charge, don’t you? Audrey seems like your type. Let me guess - love at first gun shot? You know that it’s going to hurt Matt if you go after her.” She gives him an impish grin, letting him know that she isn’t serious.
“Ha. Ha. As if. You know, we don’t have to do what Mohinder tells us.” He casually comments as they wait for Elle, Matt, and Peter to take their positions, subtly changing the conversation to something that’s been on his mind for awhile. “You don’t have to lead if you don’t want to.”
“Yes, I do. We don’t know what they’re going to react, that’s why Peter and I take lead - so y’all don’t get hurt.” She turns to face him. “Do you really want to be in charge that badly, to go against orders?”
“No, I just don’t want to use you for bait.” Even after all his missions with her, he still has trouble with watching her take blow after blow for his sake. “Let me do this, just for once; I can put up a TK shield that will protect us both. You don’t have to get hurt.” His tone is light, but he hopes she realizes he’s earnest.
He gets a sad smile and a gentle touch on his arm. “It’s my job. Let me do this; it’s the only thing I can offer to the team. And don’t you dare shield me - you know how that will mess up our plans. Please, Sylar. Don’t worry, I’ll…”
‘Hey!’ Matt’s voice rings in both of their heads, disrupting their tête-à-tête. ‘Stop the flirting; we’re ready.’
They turn to see Peter starting the countdown with his fingers. As he curls his last finger down, Sylar uses his telekinesis to fling the doors open and Claire and Peter burst into the room. As they’re met with a spray of bullets, Claire’s glad that she didn’t let Sylar change her mind about taking the lead. While the criminals are horrible shots, Claire does get hit a few times. The first few shots only lodge in her arm and shoulder, but the fifth bullet hits her torso, tearing through her heart. As she falls, vision going black, the last thing she sees is the dark look on Sylar’s face as he reaches out to catch her.
- - - - - - - - - -
Sylar hates these missions, these horribly damned missions that force him to watch Claire die yet again, and he wonders how Noah Bennet can be so passé about sending his daughter out into danger. If it was up to him, she’d work an administrative job back at headquarters or would be safe and sound in the car with Mohinder; Elle too, even though her being in the field doesn’t bother him quite as badly. He knows that his views are horribly out-dated, chivalrous in a time when gallantry is dead, but he can’t help it. He hadn’t had a problem with the women fighting when they were fighting against him, but now that they’re on the same side, he can’t stand not being able to protect them, especially now.
He does the best he can at deflecting the bullets without letting Claire know, letting her think that their opponents are just poor marksmen, but he can’t redirect every shot.
‘Sylar! Elle - they’ve spotted her. Peter’s overwhelmed.’ Matt’s panicked voice in his head makes him turn his attention away from Claire as he hastily throws up shields in front of Elle, and Matt too - just in case he’d been targeted as well. Sylar finds that he’s too distracted by the mêlée going on around him to hold all the shields in addition to his own, so with a glimmer of regret, he lets the one around Claire fall. She’s almost immediately hit, and he knows that it’s a lethal hit.
“Damn it.” Even though she’d been planning on getting hit, that her going down is an integral part of Bennet’s master plan, it’s still not easy for Sylar to deal with and he rushes to her as she starts to stumble. As she takes a last frantic gasp, he catches her and carefully lowers her to the ground. Her erratic heartbeat slows and then stops for what has to be the thousandth time since he’s known her, but the only thing he’s aware of is the blood pounding in his ears and a slightly hazy red shade over everything as his mind screams at him to avenge her. He’s almost unaware of his actions as he uses his telekinesis to throw the crate containers sitting near him around the warehouse in a tornado of metal and steel, letting the containers melt and warp in mid-flight.
When he’s through with his temper tantrum, the inside of the warehouse has been completely rearranged. A few of the drug runners lie dead on the floor but most of the men that he’d been targeting are pinned against the wall, held in place with the reshaped containers, and Peter, Elle, and Matt are huddled together on the ground near him, protected from the debris by Peter’s shield. His attack had been so violent and unexpected that the fight’s over in a matter of seconds. He knows that it can’t have been any longer than that since Claire’s yet to recover from her wound, still lying dead at his feet. Kneeling down next to her, he smoothes a piece of her hair, gently tucking it behind her ear.
“Ok, what the fuck was that?” Elle asks, as soon as she thinks it’s safe to stop hiding behind Peter. “What happened to our plan?”
“I decided I liked my plan better.” It sounds better than ‘I lost my temper’, and he knows that he’ll be dragged back before the Company psychologists if he says that. He gathers Claire’s body in his arms, and starts to walk out of the warehouse; then pauses, and turns back to the other three. “Any problems with that?”
- - - - - - - - - -
The first thing that Claire’s aware of is the sting in her chest as the bullet works its way out and the tightness in her lungs as she struggles to breathe. ‘Bullets are such a bitch’, she thinks to herself.
The second thing she becomes aware of is Matt’s resultant laughter, and she knows that he’d heard her thought. She tries to sit up, but finds that she can’t since she’s being cradled in someone’s arms. At first, she thinks it must be Matt carrying her, since his laughter had seemed so close, but she knows that can’t be the case. The only way she’d ever wake up in his arms is if Sylar and Peter are both down, and the chances of that happening are slim to none. Slowly opening one eye, knowing that the sudden exposure to light is going to hurt, Claire finds that she’s been turned so that she’s facing a man’s chest. Black material clings to him, and black means that Sylar’s got her, not Peter. Claire’s relieved to realize that he’s carrying her, because if he’s able to do that then it means that he’s not injured and that she’s been able to keep him safe through another mission.
“Something funny, Parkman?” Sylar stops walking, turning to snarl at Matt. “Because I don’t see anything funny in one our teammates dying.”
“He was laughing at something I was thinking. I’m okay, Sy. Can you please put me down now?” Claire knows that Sylar had to have known she was awake, there’s no way he wouldn’t be able to hear the return of her heartbeat. “Really, I’m fine.”
He turns from glaring at Matt to look at her, giving her a sad pout. “Well, if you’re sure that you’re fine and that you don’t want to be carried like this…”
She gets a warning from the way his pout turns into a mischievous smirk just a second before he throws her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Ahhh!” The scream turns into a giggle when he gives her a bounce and telekinetically tickles her. “Put me down right now, Gabriel!”
“I’m sorry, Parkman, did you say something? I thought I heard something.” Sylar starts walking towards their van again.
Matt loves watching this particular game play out; it’s one of the few times that Sylar ever gets really playful and fun to be around. “Nope, didn’t hear anything. Must have been the wind.” He falls into step with Sylar, ignoring Claire’s shrieks and laughter. This particular post-mission ritual, which happens almost every time Claire takes a hit for them, distracts him to the point that he’s not paying careful attention to their surroundings. He only hears a brief whisper, a faint ‘three, two, one’, but everything happens too quickly for him to react in time.
- - - - - - - - - -
Boom.
A woman’s scream.
Omnipresent blackness, even with his eyes open.
Sensation of pain, a thousand needles and fire all over his body.
The smell of acrid smoke tickling at his nose, gasoline and burning rubber and melting pavement and the faintest hint of sickly-sweet cannabis and something bitter that he can’t quite place. He can almost taste the vaporized drugs on his tongue, and the smoke causes him to choke.
More pain, almost overwhelming his senses, sharp pain in his chest and a blunt pain in his legs and a burn in his useless eyes as the smoke in the air causes the eyes to water as blood from his head wound slowly oozes down his face. Right behind the pain, however, he can feel the tender of touch of someone cradling his head and someone else’s tears splashing down on his face, mingling with his blood.
“Shhh, shhh, it’ll be okay. You’re going to be okay.” A woman tries to soothe him, only he’s so disoriented that he can’t figure out who it is. It’s not his mother, he knows that much, and at that particular moment he can’t imagine someone else taking care of him. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry. You’re going to be just fine. We’re going to take you back home, and then I’m going to fix everything. Just hang on for a touch longer, honey.”
He feels a warm hand on his cheek, and he turns into the touch and passes out, finally overcome by the sensory overload and the pain.
“Damn it! Peter! Get your ass over here; we need to get back to the infirmary NOW!” Claire screams at her uncle as Sylar goes limp in her arms.
- - - - - - - - - -
While Noah will be the first to admit that Sylar’s not his favorite person, he still hates to see the man in this shape. Sylar looks out of place, weaker and smaller than usual, when he’s stretched out on the bed with a variety of IV lines snaking out of his arm and a large bandage wrapped around his head. Larger than life when awake, it’s just wrong for him to be unconscious in a hospital.
The woman sitting in the chair next to the bed makes a small sniff, and reaches out to touch Sylar’s arm again, as if she’s trying to reassure herself that he’s still there. Noah puts his hand on Claire’s shoulder, and she turns to look at him. “He’s going to be just fine, Claire-bear. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry? Gee, my fi… friend, er… partner just got severely injured in an explosion during our mission. I wonder why I’d be worried.” The look on her face is an exact replica of her patented ‘you just don’t understand’ glare that she’d perfected as a teenager; he’s well familiarized with it.
“Now, Claire-bear…” he starts.
“Don’t even.” She shrugs his hand off her shoulder, and scoots closer to Sylar’s side. “Why won’t you let me heal him? I mean, I understand that I couldn’t help him in the field, but why won’t anyone let me now?”
Noah hesitates, not wanting to have this particular discussion now. Claire’s not going to take it well, and he’d prefer to have it out with her in front of the board of directors. “Err…”
“You used my blood on Elle and Matt - so why not Gabriel?”
He wonders if she’d purposefully used that name or not. It’s not like her growing friendship with the man has been a secret from anyone, but Noah hadn’t realized that they were that close, and he’s not sure if he likes the idea. He hopes that it’s just a slip of the tongue or that she’d referred to Sylar that way as a way of trying to manipulate him.
“Yeah, why not heal Clock-Boy?” Elle asks as she walks into the small infirmary. “I thought I’d find him already up,” she comments as she looks askance at the body in the hospital bed, “not like this. What gives?”
Not this, not now. He cannot deal with Elle and Claire, especially when he’s going to have to tell them that the Company doesn’t want Sylar to have access to Claire’s blood. Oh, the board members trust the killer enough to use him on missions, but it’s been made perfectly clear that he’s a disposable commodity if he should ever fail, and Noah can’t tell the girls that.
“He’s disposable?” Matt sounds indignant and Noah just then realizes that the mind-reader must have come in with Elle. Shit.
Claire’s so close to Sylar now that she might as well be in the bed with him, and Elle’s taking a defensive stance next to his bed, electricity crackling between her fingertips and a disapproving glare on her face. “Disposable?” Claire’s voice goes shrill when she realizes what Matt’s heard. “You’re just going to let him die?”
“He’s not going to die; he’s not hurt badly enough for that. It’s just… well, we don’t want him to become accustomed to his actions not having repercussions. Don’t you see, Claire-bear, that it’d be wrong for him to get used to having ready access to your powers?”
“Don’t call me that, and no, I don’t see how it’s wrong.” She snaps at him, and Noah’s reminded of her teenaged days again. “So, what are you going to do with him then?”
“Let him heal like a normal person, just like anyone else would. He needs a reminder from time to time that he’s not so very special.”
- - - - - - - - - -
There’s a pounding ache in his head, and his entire body hurts. It’s the first thing he notices when he wakes up. The second thing he notices is that there are two blonde women sitting on either side of his bed, and that one of them is clinging to his arm. “Ow.” It’s not the most eloquent thing he’s ever said, but it’s accurate.
“Gabe… I mean, Sylar?” It’s the same woman he’d heard talking earlier, only this time he recognizes Claire’s voice.
His mouth is his dry, and he finds it hard to form words. “Mmph.” He motions at his throat and then at the water pitcher, noticing the IV in his hand as he does so.
She gets the message, and fixes him a drink. Holding the cup up to his lips, she uses her other hand to support his head as he sits up enough to take a sip. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks. What happened?” The last thing he remembers before hearing the boom was Claire’s laughter and then Matt taking a deep breath, then everything had gone black.
“There were some other drug runners, ones not in the warehouse. When they saw what was going on, they blew the place up so that the FBI couldn’t get the drugs. We got caught up in the explosion. You were injured.”
“Why does it hurt?”
“Oooh, I can answer this one!” Elle exclaims. “We work for bastards.”
Sylar just gives her an inquisitive look; he knew that already, and it doesn’t really explain anything.
“They aren’t going to let me heal you, and I’d be willing to bet that they aren’t giving you a high enough dose of morphine.” Claire sighs, and then fiddles with the buttons on the IV pump. “There, does that help any?”
He gives her a sleepy grin, and she discreetly bumps the dose back down. She doesn’t want him to be in pain, but there’s no reason to go overboard either. A loud snore is the only response she gets from him, and she shrugs in defeat. If he’s asleep, hopefully he won’t be hurting.
“Oh, Claire-bear, if you can stop drooling over Clock-Boy here…”
“Shut up, Elle. Sylar’s trying to sleep.” Claire tries her best to ignore her sister and her teasing.
“But Claire…” Elle tries to get her attention by using a sing-song inflection. “I’ve got an idea. A horrible, no good, evil idea that Noah’s going to hate.”
“We’re not going to pierce our tongues, run off to join the circus or the marines, or go shopping for spandex crime-fighting costumes, Elle.” All ideas that Claire’s heard at least once in the last month, and she wonders what Elle’s come up with this time.
“He said that you can’t heal Sy, and that we can’t use blood to do it, but…”
- - - - - - - - - -
“I don’t know about this.”
“C’mon on, Peter, please?” Claire begs, but Elle takes a more direct route and shocks him.
He tries to discreetly rub the spot on his butt where she’d hit him. “Gah! What was that for?”
“You know what. Now heal him.” Elle tosses her hair and points towards the sleeping Sylar. “It doesn’t look like you’re healing him. Do it before I shock you again.”
“I thought you said the Company didn’t want to heal him?” Peter asks the girls, suspicious of their motives.
“Please, Peter. What they said was that I couldn’t heal him - nobody said a word about you. I’m not even sure if they realize that you have Linderman’s powers, since you’ve never used them on us before.”
He thinks about the situation for less than a minute, mostly about what the potential fallout could be if the board decides to make a fuss. It’s not really in his nature to let anyone suffer, not when he can do something to prevent it, so it’s not a difficult decision to make. “Two conditions. One, no one ever tell Sylar that I did this - he’ll be impossible to live with. Two - I’m just going to heal the worst of it. He’ll still have the bruises and cuts, and we’re all going to act like nothing happened. I don’t want this getting back to Noah or the board.”
“Sure thing, cutie.” Elle holds out her hand, like she wants to shake on the agreement, and Peter takes it without thinking.
She shocks him instead and then laughs at the stunned look on his face as he mutters “I really should know better by now.”
Claire’s approach is more earnest, and she hugs him as she whispers “You’re my favorite uncle” in his ear.
“I’m your only uncle.”
“Well, duh, but you’re also my favorite. I promise I won’t tell, and we’ll get Sylar to act like he’s still hurt. You’re the best, really, Peter.”
“Just remember that.” He thinks about his deceased godfather, what Linderman was like, what the power felt like, and he feels a strange feeling inside that he supposes is the healing factor. Grabbing Sylar’s wrist, he tries to focus on healing the worst of the damage, all the broken bones and the perforated lung. Sylar makes a soft sighing sound, and starts to toss and turn, and Peter’s afraid that he’s about to wake up so he quickly bumps the IV control. Once he’s sure that Sylar’s in a deep sleep, Peter finishes his work and then turns off the morphine drip.
- - - - - - - - - -
When Sylar wakes the second time, he finds Claire sleeping in the chair next to his bed. The rest of the infirmary is empty, and there aren’t any lights on. He’s surprised there isn’t more light being put out by the machines in the room, and he looks over at the IV pump, only to see someone had turned it off. Oddly enough, even without the pain medicine, nothing hurts anymore and he can take a deep breath with no problem. He wonders if maybe Claire had gone against orders and healed him anyhow, but his arms are still covered in scrapes and bruises, so he knows that didn’t happen.
She looks so uncomfortable, legs tucked up under her and head hanging off the back of the chair, that he pulls his thin sheet back and telekinetically lifts her up. He moves over slightly, and then lowers her onto the bed so that she’s lying next to him. She doesn’t wake during the procedure, and he’s glad for that fact. Pulling the sheet back up, he quickly falls back asleep.
- - - - - - - - - -
Of all the things that Mohinder thought he’d find in the infirmary the next morning, he hadn’t expected to see that Claire had crawled into the hospital bed with Sylar at some point during the night. He certainly hadn’t expected to find Sylar wrapped around her like she’s a teddy bear and he’s a scared three year old. He looks at them for a minute, trying to figure out who to wake up and how, but he just gives up and walks out, closing the door behind him.
It’s easier just to leave them there and let someone else deal with it. If he just ignores it, then he won’t have to answer all sorts of questions when Bennet finds out. Mohinder can tell from the way that Sylar’s holding her that there’s something more serious going on, something beyond Claire providing comfort to an injured teammate. Oh yes, denial and ignorance of the situation are definitely the best routes for him to take.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Claire.” Sylar pokes her in the side, but she just wriggles away from his touch instead of waking. “Oh, Claire.” Still nothing, and he looks at his companions and shrugs.
“Claire Bennet, you wake up right now and get out of that bed!” Elle gives her a little shock too, in addition to yelling in her ear, but Claire still doesn’t move.
“Amateurs.” Peter scoffs at them, and then gives Sylar a pointed look. “Obviously, you don’t know her as well as you think you do. Allow me.” He leans down and whispers, very quietly, “Waffles.”
Sylar can’t help but laugh at how quickly she wakes up, sitting straight up in bed and asking “waffles?” in a dreamy tone.
“Sorry, I lied.” Peter ruffles her hair. “We couldn’t get you up any other way. I’ll make it to you once we have a little talk; breakfast, my treat. First, we need to discuss Sy’s situation.”
“My situation? What about my situation?” Sylar asks, suddenly suspicious. “What’s going on?”
“We” - and with this Peter gestures at himself and the blondes - “figured out a way of healing most of your injuries, but well… we’d prefer it if Noah and everyone else didn’t know that. Can you just pretend that you’re still hurt?”
Sylar decides not to ask how they’d healed them; Peter was obviously uncomfortable with the subject. “What would that entail?”
“Lying here, moping, and being a whiny little bitch. I think you’d be good at it. I remember when you had the flu last year; you were insufferable - just act like that when Noah’s around.” Elle suggests, and then smiles at him. “Claire and I will wait on you hand and foot. Does that sweeten the deal?”
“So basically just let you two faun all over me and annoy Bennet? I can do that.” It sounds like heaven, actually, but Sylar’s not going to say that.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Claire! Could you please get me something to eat, and another pain pill - please?” Sylar whines as he scratches his hand where the IV’s inserted. “And maybe fluff my pillow? It’s all… flat.” He glares at the pillow, as if it ought to fluff itself.
Noah has to admit that the man sounds miserable. Maybe he should buck the board and let Claire heal him. He watches as Claire runs around the infirmary, trying to find the aspirin. “Hey, Claire, they keep the aspirin in the upper cabinet and the snacks in the second drawer on the right. There should be something he can have - maybe a pudding cup?”
“No, I don’t want that.” Sylar whines dramatically. “I hate pudding cups. They taste like melted plastic. Especially the vanilla ones.”
“What do you want then, Sy?” Claire calls out as she sorts through the snacks. “We’ve got crackers, applesauce… oooh, there’s some canned peaches in here, that would be tasty.”
The look on Sylar’s face is mutinous. “I don’t want any of that. I want real food,” he grumbles.
“Claire.” Noah calls out to her. “Why don’t you run down to the cafeteria and get him some soup? I’ll sit with him while you’re gone.”
“And get me a cherry Coke - a real cherry Coke, made with maraschino juice, not one of those crappy artificially flavored sodas.” Sylar adds in another order, trying to sound as whiny and pitiful as possible. “And some cinnamon graham crackers, too, with peanut butter. My mom always used to give me that when I was sick.” A lie, but Noah doesn’t need to know that Virginia Gray wouldn’t have cared what he wanted. Sylar catches Claire’s attention, and gives her a quick wink. Noah was falling for their act hook, line, and sinker. Really, it’s not a hard act for him to perform - Noah’s not that familiar with him, and doesn’t see that a supposedly injured thirty-something Sylar’s acting a lot like a sick childish Gabriel.
“Sure thing.” Claire closes the drawer, and comes over to fluff Sylar’s pillow and make sure that his blanket is pulled up. She almost kisses his forehead, but stops, realizing that might make her dad suspicious. Turning to face Noah, she asks. “Do you want anything?”
“Nah, I’m good.” Noah pulls out his wallet and hands Claire a ten dollar bill. “Here, on me.” He really does feel bad that he won’t let her heal Sylar; the least he can do is buy him some soup.
Sylar waits ten seconds after Claire leaves, then starts complaining again. “This pillow’s too hard and there’s too much light in here.” When Noah doesn’t immediately jump up to help him, he glares at the man. “Well, aren’t you going to do something about it?”
Rolling his eyes, Noah flips off the light switch and hands him a new pillow. “Happy now?”
“There’s still too much light. Change how the blinds are angled.”
Noah begrudgingly walks over to the window, readjusts the blinds, and starts to sit back down again right as Sylar, with an evil smirk on his face, calls out “Oh, it’s so hot in here - can I have some ice chips, and a lighter weight blanket, and maybe could you adjust the thermostat?”
Sylar almost cracks up laughing when Noah starts growling at him, but that would give away the fact that he’s healed.
- - - - - - - - - -
Claire pushes the door to the infirmary open and walks into absolute chaos. Elle’s fanning Sylar with a folded-up magazine, Peter’s standing on a chair over at the window - she’s not actually sure what he’s doing, to tell the truth, but it looks like he’s turning the blinds one way and then the other, and her dad’s sitting next to Sylar’s bed, reading a kid’s book out loud to him. “What is going on here?”
“Thank God you’re back.” Noah rushes over to take the tray out of her hands. “Is he always this difficult to deal with?” he asks, motioning at Sylar with a tip of his head.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Claire hopes she manages to say that with a straight face, making her way over to Sylar’s side. “Now, I got you chicken noodle and tomato soup since I wasn’t sure what you wanted. Are you going to sit up and eat a bit?”
“Feed me, please?” He gives her the saddest puppy dog eyes and pout he can manage. “I don’t know if I can do it myself, my arm’s broken you know. Oh, and could you fluff my pillow again - your dad doesn’t do it right.”
Apparently that’s the last straw for Noah, who strides to the other side of the room and pulls a syringe off the counter top. As he walks back over to Sylar’s bed, he jerks the plastic covering off, and grabbing Claire’s arm, jabs her with it.
“Ow! Dad!” She would jerk away, but she knows what he’s doing.
Noah bites his lip as he concentrates on collecting a few milliliters of blood, and then pulls the needle out of her arm and turns to fiddle with Sylar’s IV. He injects her blood into the IV line, and then sighs in relief as he watches it flow into Sylar’s arm. “I’m sorry, I’ll take the fall for you, I couldn’t stand it for one more minute. He’s got to be the worst patient in the world.”
They watch as all the scratches and bruises disappear, and then as Sylar rips the IV out and pulls the bandages off his head. “Oh, much better. Thanks, Noah, and thank you, baby.”
Claire’s eyes go wide and she shakes her head in the universal ‘no’ gesture. Sylar looks at her and raises one eyebrow. “No” she mouths at him. This is definitely neither the time nor the place to let Noah that they’ve been dating in secret for a few months.
Peter falls off of the chair. “Claire!” He gives her the most incredulous look, and she realizes that he’s heard her thought. She’d never planned on getting caught like this, so she thinks at him ‘Don’t say a word! Please!’
He looks like he wants to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut.
“Peter?” Noah asks, distracted from thinking about why Sylar had called Claire ‘baby’ by Peter’s fall. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I must have tripped.”
- - - - - - - - - -
“Finally back home.” Sylar falls onto backwards onto his bed. “I’ve never been so glad to get back to this crappy apartment. Ahh, this is so much better than that damned hospital bed.”
Claire giggles, and then pounces on top of him. “Oh, don’t be that way. I had plans for that bed, if you’d had to spend another night there.” Her lascivious tone clues him into the fact that she’d had some sort of dirty idea.
He sits up, propped up on his elbows, to look at her. “Claire, it was a twin size hospital bed with metal rails on both sides. What in the hell could we have done there, especially with the whole lack of privacy?”
She toys with the buttons on his shirt as she looks at him from beneath lowered eyelashes. “Well, I was thinking that maybe - just maybe, if you were a really good boy - that I’d borrow Elle’s nurse costume and we could play Naughty Nurse and the Impatient Patient.”
“Elle has a nurse’s costume? Why would she have that?” Sylar wonders about that for a second, then realizes that Claire hadn’t been talking about scrubs and white orthopedic shoes, and his eyes widen. “Oh. That type of naughty nurse.”
Her look is clearly incredulous at his apparent naïveté, but he doesn’t notice. She sometimes wonders about him and about his obvious lack of experience. “Yes, that type of naughty nurse, like there’s any other type. But since you’re all better now and back home…” she sighs, “well, I guess we’ll have to save that for next time you’re hurt.”
“Oh, I think I’m relapsing. I can’t breathe. Help me, Nurse Naughty.” He lowers his voice and gives her a conspiratorial look. “I think there’s something wrong with my heart.”
“Really, your heart you say - describe your symptoms for me.” She slips his shirt off, and then pulls hers off as well.
“Well, it starts beating really fast at times.” He gasps as she takes one of his nipples between her teeth. “Like when you do that.”
“I can hear it, even without my stethoscope.” She licks the nipple and then sits up. “But that can’t be all. What other symptoms do you have?”
Sylar grabs her left hand and raises it to his forehead, causing her to lose balance and fall on top of him. “I think I’m running a fever.”
“You sure are hot; you must be running a fever.” She trails her hand down his cheek, then kisses him deeply. “Mmm… yeah, so hot.”
Pulling away, he reaches for the zipper on his pants. “And there’s something… different… down here.”
“I bet.” She snorts, then gets back into character. “Oh, let me, sir. I’m going to have to do an examination, so don’t be worried. I’m a nurse, I know all about things down there.” Batting his hand out of the way, she unzips his pants and yanks them down, taking his boxers with them. “Oh!”
“Is there a problem?”
“How long has this been going on?” She smirks at him, and then takes him in hand; he closes his eyes, breath escaping in a hiss as she runs her hand up and down him. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to take serious actions for this.”
“What sort of serious actions?”
“Don’t worry about a thing, just a little medication and physical therapy.” Her touch is firm and steady, and he has no warning that she’s about to stop stroking him. “But first, we need to take care of a few other details.” She kisses him, then guides his hand to her bra clasp, and as he takes her bra off, she undoes her jeans and kicks them off. “Oh, much better. Nurse Naughty was getting mighty uncomfortable like that. Now, back to serious medical matters…” She breaks off in giggles as he rolls them over on the bed so that he’s on top.
“What type of medicine am I going to need? Maybe… something I could take by mouth?”
He kisses down her throat before returning her earlier favor and laving her nipple. It’s only when he starts kissing lower that she gets his innuendo. “No, it’s not an oral medication. I’m delighted… I mean, I’m afraid we’re going to need to have an injection.”
“I don’t mind injections.” His mouth moves back up to her throat as his hands find her clit.
She can’t think like this, as his talented hand distracts her and a light telekinetic touch teases her with light touches to her G-spot. “Oooh. Most patients… Sylar!... most patients don’t like getting shots.”
His words are a heated whisper in her ear. “I’m not most patients. Besides, isn’t Nurse Naughty the one who’s going to get the… injection?” She’s never heard the word “injection” sound any filthier than it does when he says it, especially since he’s timed his entrance with the word, and she can’t stop from moaning as she wraps her legs around him.
“Besides, if I need it for my health…” Every word is slowly uttered, punctuated by a hard thrust. “I’m sure you’re willing to help me, Nurse Naughty.”
She gives up the charade, no longer capable of uttering anything other than pleasured moans and breathy sighs, no longer caring if she stays in character of not, just caring that he continues pistoning his hips like that.
He obviously doesn’t care either as he starts yelling “Claire!” every time she bucks against him, and she knows that he must be close. His attention span is normally very impressive, but for him to forget that she’s his Naughty Nurse… he has to be close. She tightens the grip of her legs around him, and tentatively lowers one hand in between them. As soon as her fingers brush over his balls, he’s gone, and she comes just a second later.
- - - - - - - - - -
A few weeks later…
“What do you mean that he’s in the infirmary again?” Claire asks Elle, seemingly not understanding. “He didn’t even have a mission today, what is he doing in the infirmary?” She starts saving all the open files on her computer and logging off.
“All I know is that the guys were doing some sort of male bonding something-or-other, Peter said something, Sylar said something else, and then Noah shot him.” Elle waves her hands in an exaggerated ‘don’t look at me’ motion. “Mohinder was really unclear on what happened, just that you need to get to the infirmary.”
“He shot him? My dad shot Sylar?” Please, please, please no. There’s only one reason that would happen, and Claire was really hoping they could put that off for awhile longer. “Like it was an accident?” Maybe the gun just went off. Maybe he was aiming at Peter. Maybe she’s screwed and her dad knows about them now.
“Didn’t sound like an accident to me. Mohinder was clear on that part.” Elle adds helpfully, “I remember his exact words. ‘Noah just shot that son of a bitch.’ Sounds pretty intentional to me.” She finally notices the look on Claire’s face, and immediately knows. “Oh. My. God. You’re fucking him. That’s why Noah shot him.”
“Please don’t be so crass, Elle.” Claire doesn’t even try to deny it, knowing that she can’t.
“So, what, you’re dating him?” The way Elle says ‘dating’ makes it sound like it’s some sort of alien concept she can’t wrap her mind around. “Are you on drugs? I mean, I’ll have to report you if you are, but… you’re dating him? You’re dating him? You’re dating him?” She keeps repeating the phrase, putting the emphasis on different words, like she can find a combination of words and tones that will suddenly make sense.
“Drop it. Want to come with me?” Claire’s finished with computer work, and is at the door.
Elle jumps up to join her. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from this little domestic scene, sis.”
The women jog their way through the winding corridors of the Company building. They can hear the heated shouts before they even turn onto the hall the infirmary’s located on. “Oh crap,” Claire mutters under her breath, “this isn’t going to go well.”
“You knew that before. Put on your big girl panties - the same ones that you’ve apparently been letting Sylar take off of you, which I still don’t really understand - and go in there.” Elle pushes the door open before Claire has a chance to gather her courage, and then gives her a little zap to get her moving.
The yelling immediately stops as the men turn to stare at them. “Claire. So glad you could join us. And you brought Elle.” Noah greets her, rather coolly.
Oh, he definitely knows. Sylar’s in the same bed, Peter’s standing on one side of it, and Noah’s standing on the other. She ignores her dad, a difficult thing to do, and walks over to Sylar’s side. “You okay?” She kisses him in greeting, the first time she’s ever kissed him in front of witnesses.
“Just fine and dandy. I needed another bullet wound; it’s just was I hoping I’d get for Christmas.” He leans up to catch her lips again.
Lightly smacking him on the arm, she then twines her fingers with his. “Cute, real cute. I can tell you’re not hurt too badly if you can run your mouth like that.” She then turns to face Noah. “So… you have something to say for yourself?”
“Don’t start with me, Claire-bear. Don’t you have something to say instead?”
“I love him.” It’s simple, but it’s the truth, and it causes Noah to deflate. Of all the things he thought she’d say, that wasn’t one of them.
“Oh.”
“Is that all you’re going to say, ‘oh’? Please. My dad would have ripped me a new one.” Elle butts in, joining the conversation. “Aren’t you going to yell or something about her getting her freak on with killer there? Mmph!” She’s abruptly cut off when Peter puts his hand over her mouth.
“We’re going to go and do something and let you have some privacy.” He tries to lead Elle to the door while keeping her mouth covered, but doesn’t succeed.
“Peter! No fair! It was just getting good!”
“Shut up Elle. We’re… um… bye.” Peter shoves her out the door and starts to leave. “I’ll just put up the ‘do not disturb’ sign as I’m leaving.”
“We have one of those?” Sylar asks and Claire blushes, knowing that he’s planning on there being a repeat of Naughty Nurse again later on. “I didn’t know that. Did you know that?”
Noah and Claire ignore him.
“Are you sure?” The way he asks the question, it’s obvious that he wants this to just be a temporary fling.
“Positive.”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” That’s the main question that Noah has at this time. There are other things to ask, for sure, but they can all come later.
Claire laughs. “Dad, you shot him when you heard. Why do you think I didn’t tell you?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
The room goes silent for a minute, and then Noah sighs. “I guess you have my blessing then, if you want it. You hurt her,” he addresses Sylar, “and I will kill you, not just shoot you.”
“I’d figured.” Sylar smirks at him. “By the way, I won the bet. Claire thought you’d hit me, but I knew - I just knew - you’d go for the gun. Thanks.”
Claire’s eyes go wide and she tightens her grip on his hand before he can keep on talking. “Yeah, yeah, we knew it wouldn’t be pretty. So, Dad, don’t you have something you can work on in your office, far far away from here?” She tries to distract him before he can ask what the terms of the bet were. “Please?”
Noah hesitates, and makes his way to the door. “I’d say that I was sorry, but I’m not. Claire-bear, come find me later, I think we need to talk.”
She sinks into the chair beside the bed and sighs when he leaves. “Well, that went well.”
“Didn’t it, though.” He pauses for a minute. “So, here we are, all alone in the infirmary. Peter already healed me, discreetly of course, so… is the Naughty Nurse going to ride again?” The question is hopeful.
Even though Peter had mentioned the sign earlier, Claire still walks over to check that it’s there and to lock the door. As she walks back over to the bed, undoing her blouse’s buttons, she grins at him. “I hear you’ve been shot. I’m going to have to check that out. Now, tell me where it hurts. I think I should be able to make it all better with a simple application.”
“Application of what exactly?” He watches with curiosity as she lowers one of the safety rails on the bed.
“Well, I thought we’d start with my lips and move on from there…”
As she kisses down his chest, he moans “Love you.”
“Love you too.” She stops her motions. “So, what exactly did you say to him?”
“Don’t worry, it wasn’t too bad.”
“How much does he know?” Claire just can’t get into character fully, not with this still on her mind.
“Not much. He thinks we’re just dating.” He toys with her necklace and with the ring strung on the chain, the one worn underneath her clothing and tucked into her bra so that no one can see it. “I like danger, but I’m not suicidal.”
“Good. I think we’re going to have to ease him into this slowly.” She kisses him again. “Now, about the Naughty Nurse...”
- - - - - - - - - -
If anyone would have walked by about five minutes later, they would have heard screaming. Most Company workers wouldn’t have thought anything about it. Screaming, and yelling, and shrieking are common sounds at the Company. Of course, most of the screams aren’t “Yes!” or “Ride it, Naughty Nurse!” or “Sylar!” and most of the screaming occurs in the cells and the testing labs, not in the infirmary, but that’s beside the point. Most would ignore it and keep on going, just like Mohinder does. Really, he doesn’t want to know and denial’s still his favorite way of dealing with it. Even though Noah knows now, ignorance is still bliss. No sir, he doesn’t hear anything, nothing at all.