1. Courage; or the Cowardly Lion.
Gabriel Gray: the insignificant watchmaker son of a watchmaker. This was his niche; a near-forgotten alley of a bleak, bleary area in New York City.
Another cold, dreary day.
Sunday.
No watches to fix. He was bored.
He flipped through the TV channels with the remote control. Sitting lazily on the couch, he placed both feet on the coffee table in front of him.
Click. Click. Tick.
He could not even concentrate on what he was watching. He heaved a deep sigh before switching the TV off and headed to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and scratched his head. Mayonnaise and mustard were all that was left. He did not know why he had bought the fridge when he had nothing to fill in the first place. He moved towards the cabinet and found expired cans of tomato paste, baked beans and a packet of penne.
A family of cockroaches was breeding inside.
He was Gabriel Gray; the craven little coward that hid behind those thick-rimmed glasses and plaid shirts and dorky cardigans, not one single strand of hair out of place. This was his niche, the facade he wore for many years.
The years he spent knowing that he was destined for greatness beyond recognition, yet wasn't able to do anything about it, because he wasn't special enough – yet.
He was unaware of her presence skulking outside his window, watching every subtle move he made warily.
This was Gabriel Gray – the Gabriel Gray she never had the chance to meet.
But now she had, even if for a fleeting moment; before Hiro Nakamura whisked her back to the present.
2. Brain; or the Scarecrow.
Sylar scared her alright. Scared her to death.
No, that wouldn't be right. She couldn't die, remember?
So. He scared her, and then she flew away, surmising one-thousand-and-one ways to haunt him back.
Sylar the Scarecrow. Off on a journey to find the perfect braaaain.
It was unintentional for that last statement to produce a jocular effect.
Claire snorted anyway.
3. Heart; or the Tin Man.
Her eyes had widened when he started imploring questions regarding love and hatred and feelings. A wretched creature such as he should not be allowed to mess with her psyche.
Her eyes would have popped out from their sockets when Peter told her that future Sylar was indeed, a good guy. Not the good guy.
Just a good guy.
'A good guy, who named his kid after my dad,' she reminded herself agonizingly.
Noah Gray, Elle Bishop or Angela Petrelli, did it matter anymore? Whatever was keeping his hunger in check had gone, and Sylar was back to his killing ways again. Now the future will change, and she did not even want to know if Gabriel Gray was going to raise this Noah kid in her house in the new future.
She didn't even want to know if Noah Gray would be given a chance to even exist.
Claire gasped softly when the excruciating realization dawned on her. That she was the one who was becoming more and more heartless when Sylar, her seemingly forever-cerebral-and-equally-indestructible arch-nemesis had once been shown and walked the path of redemption – in the other future.
The future she destroyed.
'The future we destroyed together,' she corrected herself.
'Because,' she mused irritably, 'He was doing well until the future, heartless Claire Bennet descended upon Costa Verde and incurred his wrath by indirectly causing Noah Gray's death.'
He was capable of being empathetic; that much Claire knew.
She never understood until now. And now, she was really scared shitless.
Because Sylar could have had a heart – that was, until Costa Verde. Until she ripped it away from him the same way Elle and Angela had.
Because she was condemned to be the heartless one.
Because he might have stolen her heart and never gave it back.
4. Lies; or the Wizard of Oz
Everyone. Everything.
Lies, all of them.
5. Ruby slippers and the yellow brick road
This had been her excursion.
"If you're Dorothy, Mr. Muggles would be your Toto," someone snickered disparagingly by the side of the sofa, as soon as her eyes snapped open. Mr. Muggles seemed to bark in agreement. She lifted herself off from her reclining position, horrified to see who had been watching her sleep.
"Matt Parkman!" she exclaimed, aghast that the mind-reader-turned-dream-weaver might have been killed, his power stolen.
Sylar's shadow loomed over her as he stood up from his kneeling position, then stepping away to unblock her view of the still-switched-on television. An exceedingly happy-looking Judy Garland was holding Toto on screen, before uttering the words that made her body stiffen: "There's no place like home."
'Oh,' she thought.
"And your rendition of 'Somewhere over the Rainbow' made my ears bleed," he shook his head disapprovingly before telekinetically switching off the TV. "Someone needs to make sure that you don't tap your feet or sing in your sleep," he admonished. "You're supposed to watch TV, not the other way around."
"You're not my dad. You," she stressed, "Don't get to boss me around."
"But I was your uncle once," he replied caustically.
"What do you want?"
Sylar shrugged awkwardly. "Just saying good night, I suppose."
Claire narrowed her eyes.
"Besides," he continued innocently, "there's no place like home," he grinned salaciously. "Oh, and the next time I go looking for my heart's desire, I won't look any further than my own backyard. If it's not there, then I never really lost it to begin with," he recited.
Her breath hitched. "This isn't your home," she said through gritted teeth.
He merely raised one eyebrow that might have provocatively inquired, 'Oh Claire, are you really sure about that?'
"By the way," he sneered with that trademark Sylar-smirk plastered on his face, "You do know that those ruby slippers were actually silver in the book, right?" before unflappably leaving the Bennet house.
"Yes," Claire whispered shakily.
I know.
A/N: I know, I know. Heh. Another fic with literary references. Can't help myself. So, how was it? Okay? Not so much? Comments are loved. Also, this fic is written for the lj comm sylaire_chall, prompt: Ruby. :))