A/N: Hello! My first time ever posting in the Heroes fandom and first time posting something written for Sylaire! If you cannot tell, I am excited.

Okay, so this is in response to julyisfree's prompt 'You look ridiculous', which she put up in her latest chapter (10) of her fic My neighbor, the serial killer. I love, love, LOVE her works and highly recommend them. My neighbor, the serial killer in particular is a humorous escape from the usually dark stories on this site :)

The picture I am using for this story was created by her, too (thanks girl!)

Thank you for reading and if you could spare a moment, I would appreciate any bit of feedback – even if it is constructive. I'm sure there are some mistakes in here, so I don't mind being called out on them!

Disclaimer: No, don't own anything even remotely related to Heroes, not even the DVD's (although I should get on that….). So sad.

XxxxxxxxxxX

Claire was so not happy about what she was going to do. 'Please Claire, you owe me a favor; will you, just this once?' Peter's voice echoed in the back of her mind. Last time I ever let that happen, she thought smartly. He had roped her into the situation because he had promised plans with Emma and the other blonde was insistent that he get the thing fixed - soon. Claire did not even want to know how long he had been hoarding it, trying to fix it himself.

It was a warm Friday, promising an abnormally sunny weekend at her disposal – abnormal both for May in the north and for New York City. Unfortunately, it was a weekend that would not be spent outside or somewhere out of the city but rather doing the rounds again at all of the weekend talk shows, per Angela's request. She was starting to think she was too easy-going of a person.

The sign for the shop was not foreboding one iota but she hadn't expected it to be. He can't lure people in if it is, she darkly pondered. It looked newly refurbished with its bright bulbs behind the letters, the clean glass cover over the clock, and the shining coats of paint. The only reason she would not say it was new was the sole fact that Peter had so kindly told her that the ex-serial killer reopened his shop. How quaint, she thought with less mockery than expected as she walked through the door. Claire startled at the little bell that ticked off, announcing her entrance.

So much for writing a note and skedaddling.

Hands in her pockets, she walked up to the desk closest to her, peering down at all the extremely small tools. But he's so big, she mused.

"Over here." She once again startled and looked up. Sylar spun slowly around in his chair, eyes still riveted to a watch he held in his hand. A beat passed. He set it down on the desk he was sitting at and slid his eyes across the room to stare at her. "Claire." There was a note of surprise in his voice.

"Sylar," she nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. It had been...

"I'm surprised to see you after seventeen months, three days, twelve hours and six minutes." He smiled at her. It was strange. If she looked hard enough, she could almost see a genuine streak of happiness in it. By no means was it his usual smirking in that cat-got-the-canary style. Huh, thought he only smiled the one way.

"Yeah, well, I'm only here for Peter."

Sylar held up a hand and she tensed. "Don't tell me – he broke his G-shock watch again." She shrugged slightly and held it up. He shook his head and stood. "He's broken it four times since I gave it to him on his birthday. Here," he held out his hand when he drew near.

Claire gave it to him, careful not to touch him. She furrowed her brow as he walked back to his desk. "Wait, his birthday is end of December."

"I know. He's a klutz, isn't he?" She wrung her hands from where she stood, not sure what to do. Things between them were awkwardly strained, to say the least. She had only seen him a handful of times since the Ferris wheel jump and all of those were with Peter and Emma around. Her Uncle and Aunt-in-law thought he was such a wonderful guy now but she just couldn't get herself to reconcile with that image; not completely. Maybe she was not willing to. So much had changed already.

Just as she turned her foot to go, he called over: "It'll only take a minute. You don't want to have to come back again, do you?" She flushed in embarrassment. Sylar lifted his gaze to hers. She tried not to look into his eyes but the few glimpses she did get revealed a rather sad look. It puzzled her to no end. "I thought so," he whispered and ducked his head over the timepiece again, sitting down.

She reached out and ran a hand along the apparently unused desk as she passed it. No dust on her fingers. Of course. She stopped three steps from the desk her former monster was sitting at. It was so weird that she was standing here, with him dressed in a normal dress-shirt and t-shirt underneath, watching him methodically take apart and re-build a watch, the only sound being his movements and the ticking of the dozen or more clocks in his shop all moving in unison.

"Peter helped me set the shop back up," he said after a minute. With a small curved tool that looked like a miniature version of something she'd seen at a dentist's office, he slid the back of the watch back on, popping it into place. "It's on the house." Sylar held it over to her, flipping the spectacles up on his head and away from his eyes.

Claire took it – but he didn't let go. "Sylar," she said warningly. Warning what, she couldn't be sure of. A fight? She had never been able to hold her own with him physically. Repercussions? She had not wanted to come see him in the first place.

Boldly, she met his eyes with what she hoped was determination showing on her face. She noticed with surprise that they were brown and not the black she was used to seeing – the black with its murderous glint. "You look good, Claire."

She half-frowned. "Uh, thanks?"

He smiled faintly and released the watch. Her hand flew back against her chest; she had been pulling at it harder than she realized. Claire immediately turned to leave when something the lit lamp had revealed caught her eye. She spun back.

"Are you," she spluttered, biting her lips to hold back a disbelieving smile. "Are you wearing a pink shirt?"

Indeed he was. His blue and gray striped long-sleeved dress-shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, unbuttoned in the middle, and revealed a pink t-shirt underneath. Not a salmon pink or faded pink – a bordering on hot pink t-shirt. Sylar glanced down, tongue in cheek, and looked at her again. "You should never let Peter do your laundry – even if it is convenient."

The laugh bubbled up and out of her seemingly out of nowhere. "Oh my God, you look ridiculous! Why are you even still wearing it?"

He shrugged, relaxed. His arms were folded in his lap. "Power went out in my building and I couldn't see what I was grabbing. It looked red in the dark."

With resounding clarity, she realized where she was at and who she was with. Claire took a deep breath and cast her gaze away for a minute, collecting herself again. She couldn't believe that she was laughing – and with Sylar. It had been a while since she had been distracted from her thoughts enough. Life just got so... complicated. Not just because of the Ferris wheel jump but... other things; admittedly, other things as a result of her infamous jump. Specials outside of their small group – Peter, Emma, Molly, Micah, sometimes Matt, and the others – did not want to socialize with her, for fear of discovery, and normal people only wanted to keep her around to up their status. Forget about dating, forget about college, and forget about a normal life.

"Thanks."

"Huh?" She whipped her head back around.

He smiled briefly at that. "Thanks for stopping by – even if Peter made you."

Her lips parted slightly. "How di-"

"You forget I know you, Claire." They shared a long look. Sylar picked up the timepiece he had been staring at when she walked in. "Have a good day," he said suddenly, sounding rather business-like.

"You too," she mumbled. Walking back out, her mind finally processed what she had seen that was inscribed on the watch in his hand. Sylar. She pursed her lips. Maybe there was another person out there that wasn't so happy either. She brushed aside that thought immediately.

"Oh, and Claire-bear?" Against her better judgment – especially with that nickname being used again – Claire looked back at him, her small hand resting on the cold door knob. "Say no to the cameras one of these days. You look ridiculous constantly cutting yourself on TV."

She narrowed her eyes at him. The smirk she knew so well grew across his face, the first time she had seen it in, apparently, seventeen months or more. Claire's eyelashes fluttered with annoyance and she stalked out of the watch shop.

The next time she went on a talk show, she declined the knife.

XxxxxxxxxxX