Title: Hey, Montana
Genre: Television
Series: Heroes
Characters: Claire Bennet, Gabriel "Sylar" Grey
Spoilers: 1x20-Five Years Gone (String Theory)
Rating: PG
Summary: What went unseen; Sylar implied to dark!Peter that he'd killed Claire, but we now know that isn't true. So...what happened?
Author's Note: This is set in the String Theory Universe, inspired partly by new facts from Volume Three. Minimal spoilers for Volume Three, though.
_____
Hey, Montana, take your daughter back
From the bathrooms of Angeles Vall
She believes in destiny
Her names always misspelled
Waitressing to pay the rent
Drinks to quell the smell
Of people breathing way too close
Folks who don't mean well
No one sees the color of your eyes
No one sees your smile
No one knows the secrets that you hide
No one sees you cry
_____
"Even if I wanted to kill you, I can't."
The rounded edges of the table cut into her clenched hands but she couldn't find the strength to release them. The rough texture of the ceiling above her blurred in and out as she fought to reach a state of unconsciousness; her healing ability refused her the comfort.
"And believe me, I wanted to."
The top of her head was lying near her arm; any errant movement would send it flying to the floor. Why that fact fascinated Claire, she didn't know, but the idle thought that she wished she was a blonde again reverberated through her mind. If she was going to die, she wanted to look like herself. She wanted to look like Claire Bennet.
Claire wasn't dying, however, at least not according to Sylar.
"I've been looking for you for four years, Claire. Four long years of pretending to be Nathan, thinking that a sense of family honor would have you reaching out to your father," he explained, leaning over far enough to look into her eyes as he continued. "Tsk, tsk, Claire-bear. No love for bio-dad?"
As Sylar slid back out of sight, continuing his delicate examination of her exposed brain, Claire ground her teeth and replied, "Nathan is a..." She paused and closed her eyes before she spoke again, in a quieter tone, "Nathan was a sperm donor. I have a Dad, but Nathan wasn't it."
Again, Sylar slid forward and spoke to her face. "How is old Noah? Still alive and kicking, I hope?"
Claire kept her face smooth and unreadable as she answered, refusing to give the madman even an inch of emotion. "He's good. Mr. Muggles died a few years ago and he's yet to get a new dog. I'm afraid Mom went soon after. He hasn't got a new one of those, either."
Sylar smiled that peculiar amused smile of his and replied in the same indifferent tone. "Sandra was a wonderful woman, very open and generous. You could have learned a few things from her."
"Like what?" She asked indignantly, forgetting for those brief seconds of outburst who she was, who she was with, and just what was happening.
"Like fear," Sylar hissed at her suddenly, startling her back into reality.
"I'm afraid of you," Claire replied immediately, tilting her head as she studied his upside down face. The slight tug of his fingers where they were deep within her flesh was painful and she stopped the movement immediately. "I've been afraid of you since you were a shadow on the wall of that locker room in Odessa. I'm tired of living a life ruled by fear. Tired of changing my name and my looks just to stay out of your hands." She smiled ruefully. "I'm here, you're doing your thing, and I can't die. You said so yourself."
"You can suffer, though," Sylar noted quietly, his eyes going distant as he again moved back out of sight. "I can make you suffer horribly."
"You won't."
"You have the strangest ideas in your head, Claire," Sylar whispered as he removed his appendages and senses from her head and stood stiffly. Claire watched from the corner of her eye as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pocket knife with bloody fingers. He flipped the blade open so that it glinted in the sunlight and Claire turned her head to watch him better.
"If you're intending on cutting your finger, you might want to wash your hands first. You won't be able to tell your blood from mine," Claire pointed out. Sometime during their unusual and surreal conversation she'd unclenched her hands, though they still held the table loosely.
Sylar glared at Claire and continued his experiment, pressing the shining tip before jerking it away. A drop of blood welled on the sticky surface of his finger before sliding to the side and away. Another drop swelled before following the same path. Two sets of eyes waited for another crimson drop to appear in vain. The small cut had healed.
With a smile of smug satisfaction Sylar turned to stare at Claire. Their eyes locked, dark brooding black to clear cutting blue, clashing silently as both wondered what was going to happen next. Sylar had mentioned his yen to kill her, but since it was an impossible feat he would have to make new plans. As for Claire, she'd spent four years running from this very occurrence. Now that she'd stopped running, and had no reason to start again, what was she to do? It all depended on Sylar.
With a sigh he stepped back to her side and reached for the severed portion of her head, the skull cap making a rough sucking sound as her unattached skin slid along the bone. Claire shook lightly as he pressed the appendage against the opening above her sightline. The feeling of her body reaching for and reattaching itself was deeply disturbing and Claire knew that she'd remember the sensation in her nightmares for years to come.
When the sensation had stopped, and Sylar had moved back, Claire moved for the first time in over an hour. Her body protested the sudden movement no matter how smooth she tried to make it. Her feet prickled with the rush of blood and her legs burned as she stood. Blood had tried in several strands of her unnaturally dark hair and left her feeling dirty as she turned to stand before her would-be slayer.
"What now?"
With a smile and a shrug Sylar created the illusion of Nathan around him, the bloody visage of Gabriel Gray disappearing behind the mirage. "I've got what I want. In a way, so have you."
"How so?" She whispered roughly, the trembles of her body subsiding.
"You don't have to run anymore," Sylar replied simply as he adjusted the illusionary tie around his neck and started for the door. "President Petrelli has appointments, however, so I'm afraid I do. If you'd see yourself out..."
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