Title: Fire
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Warnings: tragic, sad and crazy Claire is crazy.
Summary: To initiate new life, to join the other side, we need a baptism, but water can't do the trick for Claire, can the fire?
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes if I did, I would have given the series a proper ending *_*
A/N: Sorry? Yeah I know I suck… for all the people who were Reading 'My neighbor, the serial killer' piece, you can check CH 5 now that I reposted it, hopefully without too many errors :/ again sorry; this is sort of my peace offering, part of my series of one-shots called 'Burn it to ashes' (my first project ever and also my first love) and a big difference from the others one-shots is that this one is edited for my lovely Purple Lex, who is part of my therapy group where we sing 'Resistire' aloud o.O
Is a peculiar group, you can joins us if you want, there is Dulce de leche LOL
Every so softly it grows when you don't wear your armor
Crushing the burden and confusion sour
Trembling high on every leaf
Raining light down on your belief
Oh my angel unburdened by the race
I'll go down burning in your embrace
On fire, on fire
My tremolo
You're my fire
"Fire" Daniel Lanois
Blast of little explosions sounded and rose the flames higher. The wood from the floor and furniture groaned, artificial fibers in this or that transitioning between states, wisdom-filled pages of books could no longer share their knowledge as they blackened and disintegrate, and mouthful after mouthful of oxygen were consumed greedily in the combustion.
The red angry flames licked hungrily at the area around her bare feet; the temperature in the room is been severely above normal so she couldn't do nothing as beads of sweat came rolling down all over her face, arms, back, legs.
However she did not hear it, she did not feel, she only saw the red.
Claire was standing in the middle of her room - it was his room the first time - contemplating her handiwork, the bottles of rum finally seemed to accomplish something more than the disappointing tickling sensation as it drowned down her throat. She would always try to get drunk, even when she knew she couldn't. She took one last taste regardless, savoring the bitter tang, and then she thrown the last bottle with enough force that it shattered upon contact against the wall. The flames celebrated its arrival, roaring high and bright around the bottle, pleased to consume and evaporated the amber liquid fueling it more.
Consuming it, burning it, and disintegrating it. The flames were on a mission and so was she.
Her blonde hair cascaded down over her bare back, tendrils of it curving like the flames all around her. She wore a red dress without any back, which only reached middle thigh; a crude satire of her old cheerleading uniform. Claire was on a train wreck ride all over again and the irony of it made her laugh.
Because once again, there was a man among the fire. She laughed harder.
He came to her swiftly, like a moth to the flame. Yet he was without his bloody armor, the one that always tore him away from her. The light played with his unchanging expression until he was a mere breath from her and she could see him fully: the light, the dark, the indistinguishable.
He was angry.
"You need to get out of here," he said in a sharp voice. Nevertheless, his hand came up tracing her collarbone, a soft caress opposite in every way to the mandatory command he had just made. It was almost like he wanted her to stay.
She shivered, entranced; her grim expression dropped. His touch was real fire soaring through her skin. She could felt it, hot from her décolletage to her feet where the flames licking at her toes were doing nothing to her normally unfeeling skin. She had accomplished what she wanted, he was there and she didn't want to let him go again.
"No." She whispered, sucking in a sharp breath when his hand reached her neck. Taking hold of it, she slowly brought her face close to his.
"Damn it Claire, there is no way back from this." He hissed, his eyes were ablaze, roaming unrelenting over her sweaty face.
"I don't care," she rushed, the air in the room was thin and his heated eyes were too much. "I have walked through fire and I didn't burn."
He smirked and the flames rose. "Silly girl, I wasn't talking about that." His lips came crashing upon hers with nearly equally as burning force as his hands took possession of her face, scorching her with his caress. Claire melted into his embrace as the flames started to burn high; her body full of alcohol only served to angry the inferno more. Her red dress blurred and faded, leaving ashes behind as her skin reddened and blistered, carbonizing along with the room. She did not feel the pain, only the desire that threatened to consume her.
"You're my fire." She confessed between kisses.
He stopped; breathing hard, tangling his trembling hands in her soft hair and resting his forehead against hers.
"It is time." He mumbled; the noises of the fire – shelves falling apart, walls groaning from the abuse, pieces of ceiling sagging- was making it impossible for her to heard his words.
"What?" She asked gazing up at him, locked in his embrace.
"Wake up." He commanded.
Claire faltered, frowning in confusion; his fathomless eyes did not leave her. All around them the fire was in its crest.
"I don't understand-"
"Yes you do," he interrupted her, pressing a reassuringly kiss over hers trembling ones. "Now wake up; it's okay I got you. I always did."
Her eyes widened and sensation took her over. She grasped for this world, these flames, around her. Her numb nerve endings came alive again, transmitting hundreds of stimulants, resetting nerve paths, and reaching parts that had been neglected for a long time.
It was too much.
She screamed all of her pain and everything started to go black around her.
But Sylar never left her side.
She opened her eyes warily. She blinked. The bright light of the room burned her eyes and she flinched, moaning and trailing a hand to covert her face. A stinging sensation alerted her.
She felt that, the pain.
Directing her gaze to the source, she found an IV sticking from her wrist; she pulled it out, crying out from the feeling. Her skin was as tanned and untouched as before. She sat up on the bed. It was a hospital bed.
"What the hell?" She expelled between mouthfuls of air.
Peter, who was resting in a chair close to the window, his dark hair a curtain over his eyes, startled up, alerted from the sudden disturbance in the otherwise silent room.
"You're awake!" He shouted unbelieving and, came rushing to her side. His grin was so big that it seemed to hurt. He quickly took hold of one of her tiny hands as his relieved expression surveyed hers. "Thank God," he murmured, his eyes watering.
She felt a pang of guilt as she remembered being the instigator of the incident; there were people, other people, still in her life that could suffer because her reckless attitude, that she had not put into account in her hast to see him again.
"I'm sorry Peter; the fire was my fault, I-"
"Fire? He asked quietly. "What are you talking about?" Puzzled, he frowned. "Claire you were shot," he declared and promptly sat on her bed, still not leaving his vice-like hold of her hand. "Shot by a man who wanted your power; don't you remember?"
The pseudo Arthur Petrelli? She remembered all too clear that particular event; it had been the day that everything started, the day her heart begun to burn for him. But in this particular venture, she was not the one shot; he was the one who received the bullet.
Felling her confusion, Peter continued in an even softer tone.
"He shot Sylar but when you gave him your back he shot you too. After that you were not able to wake up." His eyes were watering again, he looked down, appalled. "We tried everything but you were in some sort of coma."
She blanched as the raw emotions in Peter's voice washed over her, along with the knowledge in his words. Was everything that happened a dream? The images, the sensations, the feelings, were only an illusion?
"Did Sylar... is he…?" Escaped her lips and she stopped, not sure if she wanted to know the true.
"Dead?" Peter finished for her and she felt herself nodding. "No," he smiled. "Your body fell over his and the blood from the bleeding wound on your heart healed him until the injury closed up. He tried to wake you but he couldn't-" Peter stopped, squeezing her hand. "-he never left your side," he admitted.
Claire felt her heart skip a beat. "Where is-"
The door opened and Claire stopped.
"Peter there weren't any gummy bears but-" Sylar looked up from the paper bag he was holding, one hand still in it, and froze, motionless. "-Claire?"
"Sylar," Claire greeted with breathless delight and smiled.
Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, she felt anew again; new force, new life and new burning fire traveling through her veins as her heart beat faster.
He had smiled too.
So comments, criticisms, flaming torches?