Wonder of it All
Title: Wonder of it All
Author: cameroncrazed
Rating: PG
Pairings: West/Claire, Sylar/Claire
Word Count: 1900
Disclaimer: So not mine. I don’t own anything worth having, and I especially don’t own “Heroes”.
Another drabble series! Here’s 19 drabbles, all 100 words long. Many thanks to
liam22 ,
sigh_lar ,
raitheemohugger, and
holycitygirl for providing prompt words - I think I used them all :) I promise, this is the last new fic - next thing I post will be a chapter for one of the works in progress.
1. When he first spots the kid, he’d thought that the little Peter Pan wouldn’t give him a minute’s worth of trouble. He stumbles away from that encounter with multiple broken bones and a renewed hatred towards flying men.
The second encounter, Sylar watches as the kid zooms around with a blonde in his arms, laughing and screaming. It’s like looking at Petrelli’s doppelganger; that comparison makes him hate the kid and Petrelli both a bit more. He can’t wait to kill the brat.
It’s the third encounter that he vows to himself that West is going to suffer before dying.
2. Struggling against the invisible bonds holding him, he glares at his captor. “I thought we had a deal!”
The dark-haired lunatic tilts his head to the side, and frowns slightly. “A deal? I don’t make deals, kid.”
“I made a deal with Bennet. The Company’s supposed to leave me alone!”
The man laughs again, the strokes the stubble on his chin. “The Company? No. I’m Sylar. And you’re dead.”
West realizes that the bonds just hold his arms to his side, not his feet to the floor.
A second later, a sonic boom is the only thing West leaves behind.
3. He’s not sure what to do to the kid, but Sylar is nothing if not imaginative. It’s a shame that West - Sylar snickers to himself at the ridiculousness of the name - doesn’t have any external appendages to help with flying; it would be so much fun to maim the boy like a insect, ripping off each delicate wing.
Sylar’s contemplating the pros and cons of a thousand shallow telekinetic cuts versus the judicious use of a bullwhip or chainsaw when he realizes what makes the boy tick, what would hurt and distress him the most. The cheerleader. Claire-bear.
Sylar grins.
4. Sylar doesn’t take well to his prey eluding him, just flying off and taking those precious powers away.
Killing the girl isn’t enough. Oh, it will hurt both Petrellis, Bennet, and the flying brat, but it wouldn’t hurt enough. No, he wants them to suffer, especially West.
It takes a day or two to come up with his twisted plan, his plot for how he’s going to steal the girl away from West, make her love him and not her uncle’s doppelganger, lure her over to his view point, the darker side of life. Corrupting the cheerleader will be delicious.
5. This stakeout is ridiculous, Sylar grumbles to himself as he hides in the bushes as West and Claire stroll along the quiet streets. She deserves so much better than West; fine dinners at exclusive restaurants, anything she desires. Instead, the kid gives fast food hamburgers and a pitiful excuse about how his parents had taken his car keys away. He can’t believe she’s settling for this.
He hadn’t dated as a teen since he couldn’t afford to take a girl out for a grand date, but he swears to himself that once she’s his, she’ll never have to settle again.
6. “Oh, my special boy, you’re going to make some girl so lucky one day.” She’d cooed to him, licking her fingers and reaching up to smooth his hair down into perfection. “You’re going to treat your lady like a princess, you are. Just like you treat me, Gabriel. Lay the world at her feet, and she’ll love you forever - just like I do, baby.” As long as he can remember, Virginia Gray had told him how special and wonderful he could be if he just tried.
Even in his memories, she still overwhelms him, leaving him feeling like he’s suffocating.
7. She screams when he whisks her off her feet, the sound cutting off as he blinks them through time and space with the powers of a Japanese tourist he’d stumbled across in Times Square.
She looks around in disbelief. “Oh. My. God.”
“Do you like it?” He can’t help but act like Gabriel.
“Oh, my God.” She repeats, turning to look at him, eyes widened in shock. “Are you going to kill me here?”
“No. Know where we are?” He knows she doesn’t.
“Paradise?” She’s bewildered, but intrigued.
“Close. Hanging Gardens of Babylon.”
Sylar catches her when she faints then.
8. “The hanging gardens of Babylon?” This isn’t happening, it must be a dream. Only in strange bizarre dreams does Sylar sweep her off her feet and whisk her away to one of the wonders of the ancient world. Not that she dreams about Sylar in anything but nightmares, of course, but… it’s got to be a dream. She closes her eyes and pinches her arm.
One eye opens, hesitantly, and then the other. The lush foliage and intoxicating floral perfume in the air remains. Flowers seemingly explode from ceramic pots and rose petals lie at her feet.
“What’s the catch?”
9. “No catch. I thought you might like it.” He’d known that she wouldn’t immediately fall for his scheme. “And since I’m probably the only one in the world who could take you here…” He shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, like the tension isn’t palpable.
“So, you brought me here to look at flowers and then you’re going to take me home and kill me there?” Her words don’t sound harsh, despite the meaning; she’s too enthralled at looking at the exotic plants long since extinct to really care what he’s up to.
“No killing.” He changes the topic. “Where next?”
10. She clings to him as he teleports them to the Colossus, its bronze façade glittering in the bright Mediterranean sunlight, wishing that she had a camera. With a wink and muttered warning of “behave!”, Sylar blinks away unexpectedly.
When he’d promised to not kill her, she hadn’t thought about him leaving her to die in ancient Greece. “Stupid men.” She mentally curses him for doing this to her. Maybe Peter would be able to figure out what had happened…
When Sylar comes back, camera in hand, she hugs him before she can think about it. He’d come back for her.
11. By the time she returns to the twenty-first century - and she has to add “anno domini” to that thought, which is something she’d never considered necessary before - she’s exhausted and more than a little star struck.
Pizza with West just can’t compare to having Sylar help disguise her so she can play dress-up as an Amazon in the Trojan War, standing beside infamous Helen, or as a Roman empress, clad in an indigo- and cerise-colored stola reserved for royalty and letting him feed her peeled grapes.
In comparison, West is really boring. She wonders why she’d never seen it before.
12. He’d had no clue that it would be so easy to poach the cheerleader. All she’d wanted and needed was a little attention, the tiniest hint from a man that she’s special, and she’d all but fallen into his arms.
He tries to pretend that he doesn’t know that part of it was an act so that he wouldn’t kill her or abandon her before returning her to modern times; it’s nicer to think that she wanted him to seduce like that. It’s a bigger boost to his ego to think that he’d succeeded in taking her away from West.
13. West is suspicious, more so than usual. One day, he could have sworn that Claire was in love with him and then the next… distant, cold, jumpy, oddly exhausted, bored with him, all words that he could use to describe her. So cold towards him, it’s like someone’s encased her heart in ice; she jerks away when he tries to touch her. He wonders if she’s cheating on him, then dismisses the idea. She’s not the type. Still…
In the dark, hovering close to her window just like that week when they’d met, he tells himself that he’s being stupid.
14. She double-checks the blinds again, unable to shake the spooky feeling that someone’s watching her. There’s no one under her bed or hiding in her closet - not that she can see, and it makes her wonder if an invisible man’s there, before she dismisses the idea; even invisible men would have better things to do than spy on her. She’s just gotten settled in bed, prayers said and eyes closed, when Sylar appears in her room with a quiet “boo.”
Her subsequent scream brings the entire family running into her room, but they’re too late. Sylar’s already teleported them away.
15. The landing isn’t as smooth as any of the previous ones had been, and he trips and falls, accidentally pulling her down on top of him. He can’t help but notice how her pulse quickens at the contact, a tiny gasp escaping her lips, and he smirks. She’s so ripe for the plucking, and he thinks that this might be the perfect time, but before he can kiss her, someone yells at them.
“Oi, you can’t tumble your little harlot here in my field, you scoundrel!”
By the accent and the language, Sylar realizes that something had gone horribly wrong.
16. “I hate you.” Claire states, matter of factly, glaring at him while struggling to free herself. “I really do.”
“What? I was under the impression that women love romantic evenings in the firelight?” He aims for an innocent tone, but it just sounds snarky instead.
“Firelight, you moron - not a bonfire and angry villagers with torches that want to burn us as witches! God, I can’t believe this! Get me out of this mess - now.”
“Okay, so I can mark medieval England off our list of lovely vacation spots.” He melts the shackles away, then releases her from the stockade.
17. “Um… West? Um…” She’s never had this much trouble dumping someone; it was so much easier to just drive Brody into a brick wall, and the fact that she classifies that incident as easier and preferable to this makes her wonder if maybe Sylar’s rubbing off on her a bit too much. “We need to talk.”
“What about? Is everything okay?”
“Er… well, sometimes two people just drift apart and… um…”
“Are you dumping me?” His voice hits an octave that she’s sure he hasn’t been near in quite some time, and his face turns an unattractive shade of tomato.
18. As he invisibly watches his little cheerleader tell West to get lost, Sylar smiles. She’s not entirely his, not yet, but the fact that she’s dumping West for him is enough. He follows the broken-hearted Peter Pan wannabe home, and then makes his move.
“You do know that she’s been dating me too, right?” He delights in the way that West jumps at his words and sudden appearance.
“You.” West spits the word at him, but Sylar has to give him credit for not running, not fleeing from his fate. Killing West after breaking his heart is so satisfying, sweet.
19. A neighbor had seen a dark-haired stranger, coated in blood, walking away from the Rosen home, but no one believe her when she’d followed up with “and when he got to the corner, he jumped up in the air - and just flew away!”
Claire knew though. Knew exactly what, exactly who had happened. She’d waited for him to show up with some lame excuse, but it the neighbor was the last person to ever see Sylar in Costa Verde.
Of course, since none of them could see in the invisible spectrum…
Claire never did shake that feeling of being watched.
Author: cameroncrazed
Rating: PG
Pairings: West/Claire, Sylar/Claire
Word Count: 1900
Disclaimer: So not mine. I don’t own anything worth having, and I especially don’t own “Heroes”.
Another drabble series! Here’s 19 drabbles, all 100 words long. Many thanks to
liam22 ,
sigh_lar ,
raitheemohugger, and
holycitygirl for providing prompt words - I think I used them all :) I promise, this is the last new fic - next thing I post will be a chapter for one of the works in progress.
1. When he first spots the kid, he’d thought that the little Peter Pan wouldn’t give him a minute’s worth of trouble. He stumbles away from that encounter with multiple broken bones and a renewed hatred towards flying men.
The second encounter, Sylar watches as the kid zooms around with a blonde in his arms, laughing and screaming. It’s like looking at Petrelli’s doppelganger; that comparison makes him hate the kid and Petrelli both a bit more. He can’t wait to kill the brat.
It’s the third encounter that he vows to himself that West is going to suffer before dying.
2. Struggling against the invisible bonds holding him, he glares at his captor. “I thought we had a deal!”
The dark-haired lunatic tilts his head to the side, and frowns slightly. “A deal? I don’t make deals, kid.”
“I made a deal with Bennet. The Company’s supposed to leave me alone!”
The man laughs again, the strokes the stubble on his chin. “The Company? No. I’m Sylar. And you’re dead.”
West realizes that the bonds just hold his arms to his side, not his feet to the floor.
A second later, a sonic boom is the only thing West leaves behind.
3. He’s not sure what to do to the kid, but Sylar is nothing if not imaginative. It’s a shame that West - Sylar snickers to himself at the ridiculousness of the name - doesn’t have any external appendages to help with flying; it would be so much fun to maim the boy like a insect, ripping off each delicate wing.
Sylar’s contemplating the pros and cons of a thousand shallow telekinetic cuts versus the judicious use of a bullwhip or chainsaw when he realizes what makes the boy tick, what would hurt and distress him the most. The cheerleader. Claire-bear.
Sylar grins.
4. Sylar doesn’t take well to his prey eluding him, just flying off and taking those precious powers away.
Killing the girl isn’t enough. Oh, it will hurt both Petrellis, Bennet, and the flying brat, but it wouldn’t hurt enough. No, he wants them to suffer, especially West.
It takes a day or two to come up with his twisted plan, his plot for how he’s going to steal the girl away from West, make her love him and not her uncle’s doppelganger, lure her over to his view point, the darker side of life. Corrupting the cheerleader will be delicious.
5. This stakeout is ridiculous, Sylar grumbles to himself as he hides in the bushes as West and Claire stroll along the quiet streets. She deserves so much better than West; fine dinners at exclusive restaurants, anything she desires. Instead, the kid gives fast food hamburgers and a pitiful excuse about how his parents had taken his car keys away. He can’t believe she’s settling for this.
He hadn’t dated as a teen since he couldn’t afford to take a girl out for a grand date, but he swears to himself that once she’s his, she’ll never have to settle again.
6. “Oh, my special boy, you’re going to make some girl so lucky one day.” She’d cooed to him, licking her fingers and reaching up to smooth his hair down into perfection. “You’re going to treat your lady like a princess, you are. Just like you treat me, Gabriel. Lay the world at her feet, and she’ll love you forever - just like I do, baby.” As long as he can remember, Virginia Gray had told him how special and wonderful he could be if he just tried.
Even in his memories, she still overwhelms him, leaving him feeling like he’s suffocating.
7. She screams when he whisks her off her feet, the sound cutting off as he blinks them through time and space with the powers of a Japanese tourist he’d stumbled across in Times Square.
She looks around in disbelief. “Oh. My. God.”
“Do you like it?” He can’t help but act like Gabriel.
“Oh, my God.” She repeats, turning to look at him, eyes widened in shock. “Are you going to kill me here?”
“No. Know where we are?” He knows she doesn’t.
“Paradise?” She’s bewildered, but intrigued.
“Close. Hanging Gardens of Babylon.”
Sylar catches her when she faints then.
8. “The hanging gardens of Babylon?” This isn’t happening, it must be a dream. Only in strange bizarre dreams does Sylar sweep her off her feet and whisk her away to one of the wonders of the ancient world. Not that she dreams about Sylar in anything but nightmares, of course, but… it’s got to be a dream. She closes her eyes and pinches her arm.
One eye opens, hesitantly, and then the other. The lush foliage and intoxicating floral perfume in the air remains. Flowers seemingly explode from ceramic pots and rose petals lie at her feet.
“What’s the catch?”
9. “No catch. I thought you might like it.” He’d known that she wouldn’t immediately fall for his scheme. “And since I’m probably the only one in the world who could take you here…” He shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, like the tension isn’t palpable.
“So, you brought me here to look at flowers and then you’re going to take me home and kill me there?” Her words don’t sound harsh, despite the meaning; she’s too enthralled at looking at the exotic plants long since extinct to really care what he’s up to.
“No killing.” He changes the topic. “Where next?”
10. She clings to him as he teleports them to the Colossus, its bronze façade glittering in the bright Mediterranean sunlight, wishing that she had a camera. With a wink and muttered warning of “behave!”, Sylar blinks away unexpectedly.
When he’d promised to not kill her, she hadn’t thought about him leaving her to die in ancient Greece. “Stupid men.” She mentally curses him for doing this to her. Maybe Peter would be able to figure out what had happened…
When Sylar comes back, camera in hand, she hugs him before she can think about it. He’d come back for her.
11. By the time she returns to the twenty-first century - and she has to add “anno domini” to that thought, which is something she’d never considered necessary before - she’s exhausted and more than a little star struck.
Pizza with West just can’t compare to having Sylar help disguise her so she can play dress-up as an Amazon in the Trojan War, standing beside infamous Helen, or as a Roman empress, clad in an indigo- and cerise-colored stola reserved for royalty and letting him feed her peeled grapes.
In comparison, West is really boring. She wonders why she’d never seen it before.
12. He’d had no clue that it would be so easy to poach the cheerleader. All she’d wanted and needed was a little attention, the tiniest hint from a man that she’s special, and she’d all but fallen into his arms.
He tries to pretend that he doesn’t know that part of it was an act so that he wouldn’t kill her or abandon her before returning her to modern times; it’s nicer to think that she wanted him to seduce like that. It’s a bigger boost to his ego to think that he’d succeeded in taking her away from West.
13. West is suspicious, more so than usual. One day, he could have sworn that Claire was in love with him and then the next… distant, cold, jumpy, oddly exhausted, bored with him, all words that he could use to describe her. So cold towards him, it’s like someone’s encased her heart in ice; she jerks away when he tries to touch her. He wonders if she’s cheating on him, then dismisses the idea. She’s not the type. Still…
In the dark, hovering close to her window just like that week when they’d met, he tells himself that he’s being stupid.
14. She double-checks the blinds again, unable to shake the spooky feeling that someone’s watching her. There’s no one under her bed or hiding in her closet - not that she can see, and it makes her wonder if an invisible man’s there, before she dismisses the idea; even invisible men would have better things to do than spy on her. She’s just gotten settled in bed, prayers said and eyes closed, when Sylar appears in her room with a quiet “boo.”
Her subsequent scream brings the entire family running into her room, but they’re too late. Sylar’s already teleported them away.
15. The landing isn’t as smooth as any of the previous ones had been, and he trips and falls, accidentally pulling her down on top of him. He can’t help but notice how her pulse quickens at the contact, a tiny gasp escaping her lips, and he smirks. She’s so ripe for the plucking, and he thinks that this might be the perfect time, but before he can kiss her, someone yells at them.
“Oi, you can’t tumble your little harlot here in my field, you scoundrel!”
By the accent and the language, Sylar realizes that something had gone horribly wrong.
16. “I hate you.” Claire states, matter of factly, glaring at him while struggling to free herself. “I really do.”
“What? I was under the impression that women love romantic evenings in the firelight?” He aims for an innocent tone, but it just sounds snarky instead.
“Firelight, you moron - not a bonfire and angry villagers with torches that want to burn us as witches! God, I can’t believe this! Get me out of this mess - now.”
“Okay, so I can mark medieval England off our list of lovely vacation spots.” He melts the shackles away, then releases her from the stockade.
17. “Um… West? Um…” She’s never had this much trouble dumping someone; it was so much easier to just drive Brody into a brick wall, and the fact that she classifies that incident as easier and preferable to this makes her wonder if maybe Sylar’s rubbing off on her a bit too much. “We need to talk.”
“What about? Is everything okay?”
“Er… well, sometimes two people just drift apart and… um…”
“Are you dumping me?” His voice hits an octave that she’s sure he hasn’t been near in quite some time, and his face turns an unattractive shade of tomato.
18. As he invisibly watches his little cheerleader tell West to get lost, Sylar smiles. She’s not entirely his, not yet, but the fact that she’s dumping West for him is enough. He follows the broken-hearted Peter Pan wannabe home, and then makes his move.
“You do know that she’s been dating me too, right?” He delights in the way that West jumps at his words and sudden appearance.
“You.” West spits the word at him, but Sylar has to give him credit for not running, not fleeing from his fate. Killing West after breaking his heart is so satisfying, sweet.
19. A neighbor had seen a dark-haired stranger, coated in blood, walking away from the Rosen home, but no one believe her when she’d followed up with “and when he got to the corner, he jumped up in the air - and just flew away!”
Claire knew though. Knew exactly what, exactly who had happened. She’d waited for him to show up with some lame excuse, but it the neighbor was the last person to ever see Sylar in Costa Verde.
Of course, since none of them could see in the invisible spectrum…
Claire never did shake that feeling of being watched.