title: pinocchio, oh how your nose has grown
rating: PG-13
pairing: sylar/claire
summary: claire wants answers, the kind only sylar can give her. what if sylar's power was a two way street?
warnings: incredibly vaguely spoileriffic for up to fourth season, i think. nothing extremely detailed.
.
And she would cry, "liar, liar!What have I done?
You're no lover and I'm no fighter."
.
She double checks the address she scrawled down quickly, before raising her hand and knocking on the door politely, feeling only slightly ridiculous. Given the situation, she should be kicking the door down, storming in and demanding answers, giving him a good show, not knocking on his door like some self-conscious schoolgirl. After all, it's not breaking and entering if it's a suspected serial killer's house, right?
And it's not like he or anyone else can hurt her for doing it.
Surprisingly enough, a sharp tug on the doorknob is all that's needed to gain access, as she opens the door widely, before crossing the threshold into his apartment. The air assaulting her nostrils is musty, has a sharp foul tinge she's smelled before but can't quite put her finger on, as she steps into his living room, trailing her fingers over his furniture, leaving little trails and flurries of dust in her wake. The living room is bare, not even a TV, sparse quarters save for the usual amenities, not to mention the biggest bookcase outside of a library she's ever seen. A disassembled toaster lies out in array on the worn coffee table, along with a toolkit, spiky black letters jotted down quickly on a yellow legal pad. He must have taken his more personal belongings with him or destroyed them, all the little things that tell you all about a person, their tastes, who they are.
The lack of knickknacks and photographs, despite his well-tended library tells her enough about him, his all-consuming thirst for knowledge. His sad little fantasies about being someone special he indulged with fiction, until somehow a fairy-godmother in the form of a doctor came along and his wish was granted, his fiction suddenly becoming a reality, all because of one book and a phone call.
Taking her time, she scans the titles placed in alphabetical order (he would, she sneers) by author until she gets to S, and there it is Activating Evolution by Chandra Suresh, his copy wedged between The Catcher in the Rye and some book about watchmaking. Of course he has a copy, he was the late doctor's patient zero after all.
Yeah, she read the file.
Strolling into the kitchen, she opens cupboards until she finally finds something worth keeping her interest. A tiny snow globe, small enough to sit in the palm of her hand, nestled between chipped coffee cups meticulously mended. She reaches her hand out for it, before going still, a shiver creeping up her spine suddenly.
"Don't," a voice behind her says sharply, as the snow globe flies out of her reach. "Didn't anyone ever teach you it's rude to touch other people's personal belongings without permission?"
Her eyebrow quirks up, as she whirls around laughing harshly, the sound echoing off the bare walls around them.
"Didn't peg you for the sentimental type, Sylar. Then again, I do remember reading somewhere serial killers often keep trophies from their victims, so..." she trails off, disconcerted when she finally meets his eyes and sees him smiling.
"Did you, now?" He asks, the look on his face amused as he advances towards her. "What else have you read? Any good books lately you're just dying to share?"
Catching the slight, she backs up away from him until her back is against the edge of the countertop.
"Your file," she says, holding her chin up defiantly, as she tries to reach for the knife on the counter behind her. He smirks at her as it whizzes away, into a drawer that shuts as quickly as it opened. "Your past, your family, how your powers work. He tried to hide the file from me, but his hiding places are so predictable."
"Oh, Claire-bear, didn't daddy ever tell you the story about how curiosity killed the cat?" He smiles broadly, running a hand up her arm gently as she struggles to move. "I'm mixing my metaphors here, but I'm sure he was just trying to protect you from the big, bad wolf like any good daddy would."
She shivers, frozen into place as his fingers skim up to her shoulder, tracing her collarbone.
"I can take care of myself," she states blandly, looking away, focusing on a chair, the bookcase, the closed window, anything but him touching her.
"Except for the fact you can't," he states before trailing a finger down her cheek, swiping the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, wiping away the tears she can't cry anymore. "Look at what they've done to you. Indestructible, and yet, still broken. They don't understand that fixing the outside doesn't mean it doesn't leave scars on the inside, now does it?"
He steps back, watches her eyelashes fan against her cheek as her eyelids flutter closed, her bottom lip trembling minutely.
"I read your file," she whispers quietly, eyes still shut. "You know how to fix things, how to fix me. You broke me, now fix it."
"Manners, Claire. You forgot to say please."
"Please," she spits, glaring as he tsks at her, shaking his head. Sighing, he hesitantly steps forward until their bodies are almost touching, and she wonders just how much of his hesitation is part of the act they're both playing.
"Claire, I could give you anything," he trails off quietly, his fingers winding into the golden strands of her blond hair carefully. "Give you the world, even."
"Don't want it. Not from you."
"Then what do you want?" He asks, tone sharper as he tugs hard on a lock of her hair. "To find vengeance? To love? To die?"
She can feel his breath warm on the shell of her ear, wishing with all her might she could move when he runs a hand up her side, his hand only stopping when it reaches the hem of her shirt, toying with it.
"To feel?" He asks, cocking his head to the side before gripping her jaw, causing her eyes to snap back open. "Look at me. Look at me when you tell me exactly what it is that you are here for."
She shakes her head, slipping a hand between them, pressing it against his chest, feeling the harsh rhythm of his heartbeat racing. This is real, she thinks before locking eyes with him and pushing as hard as she can. He hits the wall across from them with a soft thud, his dark eyes never leaving hers, a grin beginning to creep across his face.
"To know," she replies, changing tactics and advancing towards him before crushing her lips against his, raking her nails down his arms that have come up to hold her. She kisses him as brutally as she possibly can, a frenzy of lips and tongue, their teeth clacking harshly as he adjusts the angle, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth and biting down hard. The coppery taste of blood in her mouth overwhelms her senses, as something clicks in her brain, something more than just her conscious reminding her of the wrongness of the situation.
She pulls away, panting hard as she steps back, her hand instinctively flying to the cut on her lips that's already healed.
"Mmm," he says, his dark eyes glittering dangerously, as he licks his lips before giving her a smug smile. "That was... interesting."
She feels it for a second, a small tingle like a jolt of static electricity moving across her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake as her vision blurs momentarily.
"What was- how did you?" She splutters angrily, advancing towards him again. "What did you do to me?"
"Just what you wanted," he drawls, still grinning at her. "Don't be so dramatic, darling. It's not becoming of you."
"I didn't want to-- I mean," she begins, stopping abruptly as her vision swims again, blurring him out of focus before he snaps back into view, having already caught her elbow gently, helping her gain her bearings as she stumbles momentarily.
"Does it tingle?" He asks, as she wretches free from his grip, giving him a scandalized look.
"What does what? Oh my god, I can't believe you would even think-"
"Pity," he says rather unconvincingly, clasping his hands behind his back and blinking at her innocently. "I was hoping it might."
"You," she says, pointing a finger at him, as she gathers herself to her full height and begins rounding on him. "Are such a freak. And stop saying my name like that, like you even care about me being more than just a-"
"Piece of indestructible meat?" He asks, and she nods tight-lipped. "You know I'd never hurt you. I can be a gracious man when it suits me, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I only gave you what you came here for, what you wanted."
Her vision swims abruptly again, jumping like the old TV they had when she was seven she had to thump on the side a couple times before the picture came in clear. She stumbles a little less this time, but still finds herself caught gently by Sylar, as if he anticipated it.
"Oops, that was naughty of me, telling little white lies. Promise I won't do it again, cross my heart." He crosses his fingers in a parody of the old schoolyard gesture of truth, holding them up for her to see. "Not that you need it to tell-"
"Your power," she replies breathlessly, mind racing over all of the possibilities.
"Is apparently now a two-way street, yes," he replies, cutting her off. "I thought you said you read the file."
He smiles wryly at her this time.
"Congratulations, you got what you wanted. Now you have two powers, twice as special. Go call up daddy dearest or grandmummy or your precious Uncle Peter, and tell them the good news," he sneers, waiving his hand in the direction of her cellphone sitting on the coffee table in the living room as it flies into his hand. "Your phone?"
"Will it-- will this go away?" She asks, as she snatches the phone from his upturned palm.
He shrugs, nonchalantly. "Maybe, maybe not."
She flips open her phone, checking it for missed calls, texts, anything, but his stupid apartment doesn't even have reception. Shouldering her bag, she sighs, as Sylar just looks at her, until she begins feeling herself blush again under his dark gaze, her hand involuntarily coming back up to rest on her lips again, as she covers up the action quickly with a weak cough.
"Well, this has been all sorts of-" she stops abruptly as her vision blurs at the edges. "Can you at least tell me why it does that when I'm lying? Isn't that just a little unnecessary?"
Sylar gives her a perplexed look for a moment, eyes scanning over her appraisingly, making her skin crawl. "I don't know, would you like me to take a look and find out?" He asks casually, almost bored. "Discuss my findings with you over a nice cup of chai afterwards?"
"As if," she replies, shaking her head in disbelief. "No thanks on either the voluntary lobotomy or the tea. Knowing you, it'd probably be poisoned. Or worse, roofied."
"Yes," he sighs, rolling his eyes as he sits down in a chair, motioning for her to do the same. "I'm such the nice host I'd serve you poisoned tea, knowing full and well it won't do a thing to you. I could, however, make you stay, you know."
He flicks his fingers, and Claire stops dead in her tracks, before twirling once and sitting down, as Sylar nods his head in silent approval. Narrowing her eyes, she looks at him and he just smiles at her, obviously pleased with her reaction.
"Yes, Doyle is gone. I didn't even need his power, I did it just for you."
"You're sick."
"And you keep trying to convince yourself you don't get off on it," he chides her, scooting his chair closer to her at the tiny table to run a hand through her hair, inhaling deeply the fruity sweet scent of apples, lingering from her shampoo. "Glass houses, darling. And before you say anything sanctimonious about the people I've killed and how we're not the same, I'd just like to remind you we're a lot more alike than you think."
He smiles his most disarming smile at her as he continues.
"Being lied to all of your life by the people you trusted most, feeling like nothing you do is good enough for them, then finding out you can do wonderful things, only for them to reject you. Claire, why don't you get that I understand you, possibly better than you even understand yourself? All those people who lied to you, they lied to me too. But it's okay, I understand how they work now, and don't worry, I'll make them pay for everything they've done to me. Everything they've done to us."
"Your father and his company, Angela Petrelli-" He starts ticking off fingers, as she gets up, slamming her fist on the table hard enough the popping of bones is audible, before they heal back into place again.
"You are so wrong."
"Am I?" He asks her, titling his head to the side quizzically. "I could make you understand, make you just like me. Luckily, I'm a better man. I'd never condemn you, Claire. You deserve better than that."
"You're no man," Claire spits venomously. "You're a monster."
He smiles again, darker.
"And you're a pretty little cheerleader, bouncing around with a big, dark secret. You could be saving lives, curing diseases with your blood. Instead you're hording it all away, out for a little blood and vengeance of your own. Remind me again exactly which side you're on, sweetheart?"
He gets up and slides behind her, pressing against her body frozen in place again. Brushing her hair out of the way, he drops a small kiss, only the briefest brush of his lips, to her shoulder, before biting down hard enough it would leave a mark on anyone else.
Anyone else other than them.
Us.
"Oh, that's right. Daddy told you all those lies, and now that pretty little head of yours is so mixed up you don't know up from down, right from wrong."
"I do too," she spits out weakly, grimacing at how childish it sounds coming from her mouth.
"Then why are you here?"
"For answers," she replies simply, feeling his telekinesis withdraw as she begins shouldering her bag, stepping around him to the front door.
"And now you have a way to get them," Sylar adds, waiving his hand in a graceful arc as the front door opens. "Oh, and Claire? Don't say I never did you any favours, that's the second one so far."
She begins to open her mouth in response, but decides against it, her jaw snapping shut with an audible click, as she walks out the open door, not even bothering to close it. She's already halfway down the corridor before she hears him again.
"You'll get lonely," he calls after her retreating frame. "Even if you reconcile with your past and forgive them for the deception, you'll get lonely. Your happy little family you're going back to right now won't last forever, they're not special like us. One day you'll wake up and realize it. But don't worry, I'll be there."
"I'd rather spend eternity alone than with you!" She yells back, closing her eyes to blink back the phantom sensation of tears in her eyes, seeing the bodies of the people she loves dead, their blank eyes staring back at her in accusation, as he smiles by her side. Their bodies being put into caskets in the ground, one by one, as she ticks off their names in her head.
She whips back around, another retort at the ready, only to find the corridor empty.
"You know," he replies, casually leaning on the door to the stairwell behind her. "It really is a pity it doesn't tingle for you, because that one sure did feel nice."