Rating: R
Characters: Claire/Sylar with shades of one sided Peter/Claire
Summary: She grows lean and hungry over the weeks he gives her to the city but she's remarkably resilient, determined to escape even as doubts eat her from inside in a way the radiation never can.
Authors Note: This contains violence and is possibly a DARK and CREEPY fic.
Sylar takes his time with her.
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The world is silent, an ash white hell she'll never escape even when he lets her run free in the city, lungs burning in her chest. He watches her, perched high on the skeletal buildings, and listens for her lone heartbeat, the wild pulse of her thoughts as he lets the warmth of her memories wash over him. She grows lean and hungry over the weeks he gives her to the city but she's remarkably resilient, determined to escape even as doubts eat her from inside in a way the radiation never can.
It's then he understands.
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He leaves her gifts, corpses of people she knew. Sometimes he takes their powers, others just the pleasure of their death. He's careful with who he chooses, knows what'll push her too far and make her useless to him. He taunts her with threats against her family when he leaves Zach's broken body but he doesn't tell her he can't find them, not with the Haitian keeping them hidden.
Too much hope will destroy his hold on her.
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When she dies of starvation the second time, eyes clouded and lips blue he takes her to one of the salvageable lofts he's found. It takes a touch of water to her lips and the damage to her body unravels. She sleeps for days and he watches her, pale and drawn by her nightmares. He's found if he lies close enough to her and wills himself to he can see her dreams, taste her fears. She dreams about him and Nathan, their faces melding together, breath hot on her face.
Sometimes when she's tired, body worn down by him, she'll turn to him in her sleep and curl her body around his, arms opened wide to accept him, to seek comfort he doesn't know how to give. Sylar thinks of his mother, her fingers in his hair and he holds Claire to him, listens to the jump of her heart, the echo of Peter's thoughts inside. He wills Candice's gift to the surface when she wakes and her lips are dry, warm on his when she cries against his mouth, I thought you were dead.
She's ready, so worn down by time and grief that she's the one to reach for him, to start, her fingers sweeping across his belly with urgency. I want, I want she says and he rolls them over, closes the space of unused air between them to take her mouth and her body.
She rises and falls, voice a breaking melody he's only imagined and this is more complete than any victory he's taken from the dead bodies of the people Mohinder lead him too. Look at me he says and when she does he lets the image fall away, Peter's kind face vanishing.
No she says but her hands pull him towards her and it's his name she whispers against the pillow as she falls apart under him, surrendering in ways she doesn't yet understand.