(no subject)
Title: Define Dangerous
Characters: Sylar, Claire.
Spoilers: Up to Season 2.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2295
Chapter: 8/?
Previously: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7
Summary: While escaping the Company, Sylar meets up with someone from his past. Together, they must piece together some semblance of normality after years of captivity. Future AU.
By the time Claire and Sylar arrived in the city, sleep seemed like the best thing in the world. They pulled up to the Memphis Sweet Motel a little after midnight. The neon vacancy sign flashed on and off, drawing Claire and Sylar in from the highway with promises of beds and a hot shower. That promised seemed to fall flat on its face by the time they arrived to their chosen rest stop.
The locals were a bit scary. A man help a bleach blond woman over a missing step in the staircase to the second floor. She hung onto his shoulders, steadying herself and they fumbled onward towards their room. The both of them looked positively drunk. Definitely the type that would rent a room for an hour and then split so the woman could go back to her waitress job at some truck stop diner.
After they parked, Claire refused to budge from the car. She eyed the couple suspiciously and then took in the overall sight of the place. Pieces of the roof seemed to be falling off and there were large craters in the sidewalk that could be seen through the garbage that littered the walkway. “You don't expect me to sleep here, do you?”
“Better than the cells back at Primatech, don't you think?” Sylar didn't wait for her answer. Instead, he stepped out of the car and let the sound of the car door closing behind him end the conversation. He had an annoying habit of always needing to have the last word but Claire for the most part allowed him to do so. After all, she knew some of his other bad habits and this one was minor compared to those.
Gathering her courage, Claire eventually got out and stretched her legs. She wrapped her arms around herself and glance around. Her mother used to talk about visiting Memphis and seeing Graceland, the home of that really old, tacky singer Elvis. She wondered if the tackiness of the hotel matched the tackiness of the singer in any fair degree.
“So, Sylar.. is this where you film all your porn?” She asked, her amusement the only weapon against the bad vibes coming off this place in the bucketfuls. He rolled his eyes and continued on to the front lobby. Claire imagined he slept at places like this often, at least back before his extended stay at the company. The life of a criminal was not all glamor and flashy superpowers, apparently.
“Go ahead and laugh but it'll keep us under the radar.” Sylar finally answered as he waited for her by the lobby. Claire's eyebrows arched as he held open the door for her like a gentleman. He looked at her, looking at him and suddenly caught himself in the act of doing something courteous. For an instant, he appeared embarrassed until he marched inside and let the wooden screen door slam shut on her nose.
Claire rubbed her nose with her fingers, wondering what the hell just happened. For a second there, she could have sworn Sylar was acting almost human but politeness usually was as foreign to him as snow to Texas.
“..so give us your best room.”
She shrugged off the weirdness and entered the lobby just in time to catch the end of Sylar's sentence. The insides were about as disgusting as the rest of the place, from the peculiar stain on the carpeted floor to grungy man working the front desk wearing a wifebeater.
“Aww, honeymooners. Ain't cha sweet?” The manager smiled and showed a few gold teeth causing Claire to pull back in revulsion instinctively. While he rifled through a bunch of keys hanging on the wall, searching for just the right room for the newlyweds, Claire opened her mouth to protest but Sylar wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The strangeness of that motion cut off all words she could have spoken, leaving her tongue-tied and more than a little disturbed.
“That's right.” Sylar played along and placed a few twenties on the counter. He rubbed her shoulder and pulled his lips into a grin. Claire could swear he was enjoying this a little more than he should have been. “This here's my girl, Sara. She's the sweetest thing and she can cook real good too.”
“I'll give ya room 351. It's the honeymoon suite.” The manager returned with a metal key, not one of those newer plastic credit card type hotel passes that Claire was used to. He winked to Sylar and added, “Just twenty-five cents to turn the magic fingers on.”
Claire strained to ignore the conversation, finding it for the most part uber-creepy. This was doing nothing good for what little she had left of her sanity. Sylar patted her on the ass causing her to jump, a little playful flirtation before her mind imploded in on itself.
Before she could get over the shock of his hand against her ass, Sylar grabbed her arm and led her out of the lobby. He whispered in her ear loudly enough for the manager to overhear. “Just wait til I get you up to the room, darlin'.”
By the time they left the lobby, Claire finally gathered her thoughts enough to reply. She covered her face with her palm and groaned over all the bad imagery that those words brought to her mind. “Oh dear, god.”
Most of his flirting died down by the time they retrieved their bags from the car, though Claire still caught Sylar's delighted grin every now and then. He was playing the role well, though she wasn't sure whether that was to continue the cover story or solely to amuse himself as Claire's expense.
She trudged up the stairs of the motel to the third floor, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep and forget the weirdness this night had brought. She only hoped that the bed was not in the shape of a heart though maybe a champagne glass jacuzzi would be worth getting the honeymoon suite. Wasn't that what places like this were supposed to have? She sighed, doubting the motel would have sprung for anything that fancy.
“We're here. Home sweet disgusting home.” Claire unlocked the door and then pocketed the key. The insides were about as wonderful as the rest of the place. Not very. A part of her wondered if Sylar had chosen this place solely based on the fact that he knew it would creep her out. After years of training and practice, that man knew how to torture people pretty damn well.
Sylar darted past her and dropped his stuff on the floor, eagerly heading for the bed. The only bed in the whole room. He didn't even bother to get under the covers, too tired to take the energy to waste the energy it would take to turn down the bed. He mumbled something against the pillow that sounded to Claire like, “Tomorrow, you get to drive to Washington, DC.”
“You're the only one of us who has a driver's license.” Claire pointed out as she chucked a bag of her things on the floor. Equal bits of amusement and annoyance crept into her voice as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Even if it is stolen.”
“Then I'll steal one for you if it'll make you happy.” Sylar was in no mood to argue the finer details of this plan. He yawned and put a pillow over his head, blocking out the light from the room and the noise emitting from Claire's mouth.
Claire rolled her eyes and began to wiggle her feet out of her new shoes. That wasn't exactly the answer she was going for here. There was no doubt in her mind that if Sylar obtained an id card for her, it would only be through illegal means. She didn't need anyone getting mugged, or worse, on her account.
Though she wouldn't be able to obtain one for herself these days legally. The company erased her records when they'd brought her in, destroying all proof that she was ever been born or lived any sort of life before they came to fetch her on that hot spring night. It was the best way to cover their tracks and one more item to add to the growing list of things stolen from her.
Claire forced herself to deal with the more important matter at hand. There was only one bed. One bed in the whole room. One bed that currently Sylar was attempting to fall asleep in. At least he left her some room on their honeymoon king sized mattress. There was no way she was sleeping next to him though. “Um.. so which one of us is sleeping on the floor?”
“That's a leading question, Claire.” Sylar opened his eyes and grinned. “The choice is yours though. You can sleep on the left side of the bed or you can sleep on the floor. I'm comfortable where I am and if you try to make me sleep on that shag 1970s carpet, I will hurt you.”
Claire wasn't sure if that was a joke or not. She crossed her arms and sighed, coming to a decision. “This was all part of your plan, wasn't it? Get me alone, in bed--”
“Oh yes,” he rolled over and yawned, curling up on his pillow. With deep sarcasm, he added, “I've lived for the moment when I could molest your barely postpubescent body. Stop bitching and go to sleep already.”
“Hey, I'm 24. And I'm very curvaceous.. and I'm--” She retorted but stopped herself halfway through her rant of why he should want to molest her. These were not good things to be sharing with him.“I'm going to go to sleep now.”
“Thank you.” Sylar replied, happy to have her finally shut up.
Claire tentatively laid down in bed, making sure that no part of her body was within a minimum couple of inches from his. They needed their space. They needed lots of space.
When she was finally ready to fall asleep and get some rest, Claire realized she'd left the light on. It glared at her from overhead, keeping her from the sleep she so desperately wanted to partake in. She closed her eyes, willing it to go away but it refused to relent in its efforts to keep her awake.
From the comfort of her bed and the warmth of the sheets, Claire eyed the light switch all the way across the room, on the far wall. Why was it so far away? She reached out a hand in vain, if only her arm was only ten more feet long. She would have been able to touch it then. Times like these she wondered if there was anyone out there with the superpower to stretch their limbs like in one of the comics Zach used to read.
Her eyes then fell on Sylar who was still trying to fall asleep. He was just the man for this particular job. Sometimes it was good to be traveling around with a telepath. “Hey, can you wiggle your nose or whatever and switch off the lights?”
Sylar lifted his hand against the pillow, pressing it closer to his ear in order to keep out the rest of the world. Right when she was about to ask again, he accepted her request and raised his hand to shut off the light.
Nothing happened.
Claire watched as he moved the pillow from off his face and looked at the light switch. He glared at it with as much concentration as he could muster this late at night.
Still nothing happened.
He sat up in bed, focusing his mind until it was sharp and unyielding in this effort. Yet, Sylar still failed to accomplish much of anything except wearing himself out further.
After several unsuccessful attempts, Sylar gave up and plopped back into bed. He crossed his arms and nearly growled his answer out. “No, Claire. I can't. Why don't you do it, okay? Make yourself useful for once.”
Sitting up in bed, Claire wore a look of total shock and incomprehension. “What do you mean, you can't?” When Sylar refused to answer, she asked again, “What-- don't you have your powers anymore? That's impossible.. I saw them working fine yesterday.”
“I don't want to talk about it, Claire. Now shut up about it.” He raised his voice, clearly stating his boundaries on the subject. Clipped words displayed the power she would combat if she were ever to cross those boundaries. A frightening stillness came over the room, as Claire found herself suddenly afraid to move and far too close to him to be comfortable. It was times like these she remembered what an animal he could be and how untameable. Then softening a bit, he added, “Just get the lights, would you?”
Shakily, she rose from the bed. Claire had to stop herself from tiptoeing across the room. She promised herself somewhere between running away from the guards back in Odessa and almost getting caught in the shopping center by the police in Blue Ridge, that she would not be afraid anymore. She wouldn't give people that kind of power over her. Ironically enough, it had been Sylar himself that had showed her that there was another way to do things rather than walking around life with your tail between your legs. “Okay, well, goodnight then.”
The light flicked off. And suddenly she was alone in a room with a man who thought murder was a pastime and had snapped at her unexpectedly only moments ago. Life was chock full of these fun little I-hope-I-don't-die kinda moments.
...to be continued..
Characters: Sylar, Claire.
Spoilers: Up to Season 2.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2295
Chapter: 8/?
Previously: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7
Summary: While escaping the Company, Sylar meets up with someone from his past. Together, they must piece together some semblance of normality after years of captivity. Future AU.
By the time Claire and Sylar arrived in the city, sleep seemed like the best thing in the world. They pulled up to the Memphis Sweet Motel a little after midnight. The neon vacancy sign flashed on and off, drawing Claire and Sylar in from the highway with promises of beds and a hot shower. That promised seemed to fall flat on its face by the time they arrived to their chosen rest stop.
The locals were a bit scary. A man help a bleach blond woman over a missing step in the staircase to the second floor. She hung onto his shoulders, steadying herself and they fumbled onward towards their room. The both of them looked positively drunk. Definitely the type that would rent a room for an hour and then split so the woman could go back to her waitress job at some truck stop diner.
After they parked, Claire refused to budge from the car. She eyed the couple suspiciously and then took in the overall sight of the place. Pieces of the roof seemed to be falling off and there were large craters in the sidewalk that could be seen through the garbage that littered the walkway. “You don't expect me to sleep here, do you?”
“Better than the cells back at Primatech, don't you think?” Sylar didn't wait for her answer. Instead, he stepped out of the car and let the sound of the car door closing behind him end the conversation. He had an annoying habit of always needing to have the last word but Claire for the most part allowed him to do so. After all, she knew some of his other bad habits and this one was minor compared to those.
Gathering her courage, Claire eventually got out and stretched her legs. She wrapped her arms around herself and glance around. Her mother used to talk about visiting Memphis and seeing Graceland, the home of that really old, tacky singer Elvis. She wondered if the tackiness of the hotel matched the tackiness of the singer in any fair degree.
“So, Sylar.. is this where you film all your porn?” She asked, her amusement the only weapon against the bad vibes coming off this place in the bucketfuls. He rolled his eyes and continued on to the front lobby. Claire imagined he slept at places like this often, at least back before his extended stay at the company. The life of a criminal was not all glamor and flashy superpowers, apparently.
“Go ahead and laugh but it'll keep us under the radar.” Sylar finally answered as he waited for her by the lobby. Claire's eyebrows arched as he held open the door for her like a gentleman. He looked at her, looking at him and suddenly caught himself in the act of doing something courteous. For an instant, he appeared embarrassed until he marched inside and let the wooden screen door slam shut on her nose.
Claire rubbed her nose with her fingers, wondering what the hell just happened. For a second there, she could have sworn Sylar was acting almost human but politeness usually was as foreign to him as snow to Texas.
“..so give us your best room.”
She shrugged off the weirdness and entered the lobby just in time to catch the end of Sylar's sentence. The insides were about as disgusting as the rest of the place, from the peculiar stain on the carpeted floor to grungy man working the front desk wearing a wifebeater.
“Aww, honeymooners. Ain't cha sweet?” The manager smiled and showed a few gold teeth causing Claire to pull back in revulsion instinctively. While he rifled through a bunch of keys hanging on the wall, searching for just the right room for the newlyweds, Claire opened her mouth to protest but Sylar wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The strangeness of that motion cut off all words she could have spoken, leaving her tongue-tied and more than a little disturbed.
“That's right.” Sylar played along and placed a few twenties on the counter. He rubbed her shoulder and pulled his lips into a grin. Claire could swear he was enjoying this a little more than he should have been. “This here's my girl, Sara. She's the sweetest thing and she can cook real good too.”
“I'll give ya room 351. It's the honeymoon suite.” The manager returned with a metal key, not one of those newer plastic credit card type hotel passes that Claire was used to. He winked to Sylar and added, “Just twenty-five cents to turn the magic fingers on.”
Claire strained to ignore the conversation, finding it for the most part uber-creepy. This was doing nothing good for what little she had left of her sanity. Sylar patted her on the ass causing her to jump, a little playful flirtation before her mind imploded in on itself.
Before she could get over the shock of his hand against her ass, Sylar grabbed her arm and led her out of the lobby. He whispered in her ear loudly enough for the manager to overhear. “Just wait til I get you up to the room, darlin'.”
By the time they left the lobby, Claire finally gathered her thoughts enough to reply. She covered her face with her palm and groaned over all the bad imagery that those words brought to her mind. “Oh dear, god.”
Most of his flirting died down by the time they retrieved their bags from the car, though Claire still caught Sylar's delighted grin every now and then. He was playing the role well, though she wasn't sure whether that was to continue the cover story or solely to amuse himself as Claire's expense.
She trudged up the stairs of the motel to the third floor, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep and forget the weirdness this night had brought. She only hoped that the bed was not in the shape of a heart though maybe a champagne glass jacuzzi would be worth getting the honeymoon suite. Wasn't that what places like this were supposed to have? She sighed, doubting the motel would have sprung for anything that fancy.
“We're here. Home sweet disgusting home.” Claire unlocked the door and then pocketed the key. The insides were about as wonderful as the rest of the place. Not very. A part of her wondered if Sylar had chosen this place solely based on the fact that he knew it would creep her out. After years of training and practice, that man knew how to torture people pretty damn well.
Sylar darted past her and dropped his stuff on the floor, eagerly heading for the bed. The only bed in the whole room. He didn't even bother to get under the covers, too tired to take the energy to waste the energy it would take to turn down the bed. He mumbled something against the pillow that sounded to Claire like, “Tomorrow, you get to drive to Washington, DC.”
“You're the only one of us who has a driver's license.” Claire pointed out as she chucked a bag of her things on the floor. Equal bits of amusement and annoyance crept into her voice as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Even if it is stolen.”
“Then I'll steal one for you if it'll make you happy.” Sylar was in no mood to argue the finer details of this plan. He yawned and put a pillow over his head, blocking out the light from the room and the noise emitting from Claire's mouth.
Claire rolled her eyes and began to wiggle her feet out of her new shoes. That wasn't exactly the answer she was going for here. There was no doubt in her mind that if Sylar obtained an id card for her, it would only be through illegal means. She didn't need anyone getting mugged, or worse, on her account.
Though she wouldn't be able to obtain one for herself these days legally. The company erased her records when they'd brought her in, destroying all proof that she was ever been born or lived any sort of life before they came to fetch her on that hot spring night. It was the best way to cover their tracks and one more item to add to the growing list of things stolen from her.
Claire forced herself to deal with the more important matter at hand. There was only one bed. One bed in the whole room. One bed that currently Sylar was attempting to fall asleep in. At least he left her some room on their honeymoon king sized mattress. There was no way she was sleeping next to him though. “Um.. so which one of us is sleeping on the floor?”
“That's a leading question, Claire.” Sylar opened his eyes and grinned. “The choice is yours though. You can sleep on the left side of the bed or you can sleep on the floor. I'm comfortable where I am and if you try to make me sleep on that shag 1970s carpet, I will hurt you.”
Claire wasn't sure if that was a joke or not. She crossed her arms and sighed, coming to a decision. “This was all part of your plan, wasn't it? Get me alone, in bed--”
“Oh yes,” he rolled over and yawned, curling up on his pillow. With deep sarcasm, he added, “I've lived for the moment when I could molest your barely postpubescent body. Stop bitching and go to sleep already.”
“Hey, I'm 24. And I'm very curvaceous.. and I'm--” She retorted but stopped herself halfway through her rant of why he should want to molest her. These were not good things to be sharing with him.“I'm going to go to sleep now.”
“Thank you.” Sylar replied, happy to have her finally shut up.
Claire tentatively laid down in bed, making sure that no part of her body was within a minimum couple of inches from his. They needed their space. They needed lots of space.
When she was finally ready to fall asleep and get some rest, Claire realized she'd left the light on. It glared at her from overhead, keeping her from the sleep she so desperately wanted to partake in. She closed her eyes, willing it to go away but it refused to relent in its efforts to keep her awake.
From the comfort of her bed and the warmth of the sheets, Claire eyed the light switch all the way across the room, on the far wall. Why was it so far away? She reached out a hand in vain, if only her arm was only ten more feet long. She would have been able to touch it then. Times like these she wondered if there was anyone out there with the superpower to stretch their limbs like in one of the comics Zach used to read.
Her eyes then fell on Sylar who was still trying to fall asleep. He was just the man for this particular job. Sometimes it was good to be traveling around with a telepath. “Hey, can you wiggle your nose or whatever and switch off the lights?”
Sylar lifted his hand against the pillow, pressing it closer to his ear in order to keep out the rest of the world. Right when she was about to ask again, he accepted her request and raised his hand to shut off the light.
Nothing happened.
Claire watched as he moved the pillow from off his face and looked at the light switch. He glared at it with as much concentration as he could muster this late at night.
Still nothing happened.
He sat up in bed, focusing his mind until it was sharp and unyielding in this effort. Yet, Sylar still failed to accomplish much of anything except wearing himself out further.
After several unsuccessful attempts, Sylar gave up and plopped back into bed. He crossed his arms and nearly growled his answer out. “No, Claire. I can't. Why don't you do it, okay? Make yourself useful for once.”
Sitting up in bed, Claire wore a look of total shock and incomprehension. “What do you mean, you can't?” When Sylar refused to answer, she asked again, “What-- don't you have your powers anymore? That's impossible.. I saw them working fine yesterday.”
“I don't want to talk about it, Claire. Now shut up about it.” He raised his voice, clearly stating his boundaries on the subject. Clipped words displayed the power she would combat if she were ever to cross those boundaries. A frightening stillness came over the room, as Claire found herself suddenly afraid to move and far too close to him to be comfortable. It was times like these she remembered what an animal he could be and how untameable. Then softening a bit, he added, “Just get the lights, would you?”
Shakily, she rose from the bed. Claire had to stop herself from tiptoeing across the room. She promised herself somewhere between running away from the guards back in Odessa and almost getting caught in the shopping center by the police in Blue Ridge, that she would not be afraid anymore. She wouldn't give people that kind of power over her. Ironically enough, it had been Sylar himself that had showed her that there was another way to do things rather than walking around life with your tail between your legs. “Okay, well, goodnight then.”
The light flicked off. And suddenly she was alone in a room with a man who thought murder was a pastime and had snapped at her unexpectedly only moments ago. Life was chock full of these fun little I-hope-I-don't-die kinda moments.
...to be continued..