He cursed himself for that pitiful display of chivalry. "I'll make them pay...I swear it." It sounded so stupid now that he thought about it. It's not that he didn't mean it, he did. He meant every word of it. He just didn't expect it to come out so...corny. Whatever, it seemed like the right thing to say to hysterical woman. Maybe she'll forget he even said it. He highly doubted it. Woman don't forget anything. He was tired and angry and just wanted to go back to bed. But now his mind refused to let him fall back asleep. He could still feel her touch hot on his face. She probably wasn't even aware she had done it and he wasn't planning on telling her when she woke. No, he would keep that his little secret. Poor little Claire. Always the victim. She just couldn't catch a break. One of the drawbacks when people know you will live forever. She should have disappeared like he did, break ties with everyone and assume a relatively quiet life. Eventually those who knew the truth would die. They would all die. Why go through the trouble of keeping up appearances?
A feeling of hypocrisy washed over him. He was lying to himself and he knew it. Sure, he did disappear. He kept the killing to a minimum. Tried not to cause a fuss. But break ties? He tried. And failed. Of course, she never knew about it. He had dropped off the Company's radar. He stopped terrorizing the Petrelli's. Made it a point not to cross the path of Parkman. Moved halfway across the country to rid himself of those "heroes". Given up on plans of a so-called world domination. Waking up after being trapped in another person's mind and body for nearly 2 years really changes your perspective. But her...
He was able to resist for six years. Not a day didn't go by that he didn't think of Claire. Sometimes, on the darker days, he'd walk off the edge of a building just to feel his body mend and be reminded of how important she really was to him. How, once upon a time, when he told her they should start building bridges because they would be there at the end of time, he had meant it. He thought of her bright eyes, that sun-kissed skin and those blond curls, wondering what she was doing. How her life was now. Was she happy? Discontent? Ignoring her potential, like always? Curiosity got the best of him and eventually her sought her out.
She was a second grade teacher in a small Texas town. The students called her "Miss B". He would sit on the outskirts of the school grounds in a park, holding a book but never reading it, always with his ear tuned to her classroom. He could hear her read the children stories or disciplining them for violating "quiet time". He never moved from that bench during the school hours, smiling to himself when he would catch the sound of her cursing under her breath whenever the class clown acted up. Or when he could hear her, during lunch, whisper a hope that she would see her own daughter learning to write in cursive and playing kickball. He never dared to go closer, never dared to try to catch a glimpse of her. He just listened.
He did that for 4 months.
Realizing that hearing her voice was not going to be enough, he assumed another random identity and took a job as a temporary maintenance man for the school. Mr. Johns, the friendly maintenance man, just so happened to break his leg in a nasty ladder mishap and was going to be out for a month or so until it healed. He couldn't pass the opportunity up. His first day on the job, a light just so happened to blow in Miss B's classroom. He smirked to himself the entire time he walked down the hall to her room, knocking gently on the door. He fantasized about her reaction if he had looked like himself. He remembered that he never spoke to her after the whole "trapped as Nathan" incident. Did she know the truth of what happened? That he had killed her biological father? But did she also know it was her grandmother and Noah's idea? She would surely not be happy to see him.
After years of the mundane he'd welcome the fight. He didn't want to hurt her, knowing he could never leave a mark, he would just enjoy the back and forth of broken bones and bruises that would heal as soon as they appeared. Those thoughts were temporarily expelled as soon as that door opened. He inhaled sharply when she let him in. Her eyes bright, her hair pulled back into a sophisticated ponytail, dressed in a simple but pretty gray sweater dress with black flats. She was just as short, her face just as innocent, not looking like she had aged a day yet she had a certain glow of maturity. He fought the sudden urge to flick her across the room, something that seemed to be tradition when she was in his presence.
He finally exhaled. "You have a light out?"
"Yes sir. Right over there in the corner," she answered sweetly. "Come on in. We were just making some drawings of our favorite animals."
It took him two hours to fix that light...
A whimper escaped her lips and he immediately turned to look at her. She was on her back now, sprawled out, mouth slightly open, sleeping deeply. Maybe he had "suggested" a little too hard. He hoped she'd be easy to wake in the morning. Or maybe he'd let her sleep. He could always just scoop her up and carry her to the car. It wouldn't be the first time today...
The memories of the day's events flooded back to him and the rage threatened to tear his insides apart. His throat burned with an emotion he was not ready to accept when he saw her in that room, lifeless on that table, wires falling from her body. And those forceps...Noah was going to pay. He didn't know when but he had an idea how. Claire probably wouldn't be too happy if she could see his thoughts right now. Or would she? The only outward emotion he'd seen from her was the tears that woke him. Even in the six hours they spent in the car, she seemed only slightly despondent. Shock, he reckoned. Would she want the same kind of retribution he was now envisioning?
A smirk spread across his face. What if this was it? What if this was the final straw? He pictured the two of them...him forcing Noah against a wall, feeling his throat as he struggled to swallow. Seeing that pudgy stupid face of his turn blue, on the verge on unconsciousness...then Claire steps up. He would hold him still for her. She would use her hands at first, slapping, punching and scratching at him. Then maybe some blunt instruments. A bat? Overdone. A chair? No, she wasn't a professional wrestler. No, she would reach into the band of his pants and take out his gun. He would watch and smile, seeing Claire-Bear pistol whip her own father. She would ignore his pleas. Then, at the point where he could take no more, he'd release him. Noah would drop to the floor, spit out his own blood and beg. Claire would silence that with a bowie knife, Sylar would hold his breath, watching her sink the knife into his skin, his acute hearing taking in every snap of the tendons, his nose harassed by the smell of fresh blood, all of his senses relishing in seeing the fate that Noah once bestowed on him (and failed) befall him. And then he'd feel Claire's small hand grasp his and she'd pull his head down to hers. Her eyes would shift and meet her father's, making sure the last thing he saw before death took him was his daughter pressing her soft lips against his, their fingers intertwined...
He snapped out his sadistic little daydream to feel her move against his arm. She was still asleep, but her hand had found his and she lazily laced her fingers through his own. His eyes widened but he didn't pull away. Her hand was small but warm and he could have sworn he felt her pulse surge from her fingertips and into his own body. He looked at her face. The shock of the fact that she still looked like that bouncy, annoying little cheerleader hit him. She had to be in her early 30's by now. 30 years old and the Company still couldn't leave her be. Her own father...
The subject of betrayal and fathers was something he was well versed in. Even after all these years he was still bitter and the thought of his real father and adopted father made his blood a little more than simmer.
"At least they are both dead now," he thought to himself and smiled.
The pressure of her fingers increased as she groaned in her sleep, snapping him out of his loathing thoughts. The sound seemed to pull at a place deep in his stomach and he forced himself to start thinking of a plan for the days ahead. They had to stay on the move, stay random with the driving. He'd stay on the westward path, going through Kentucky. Maybe go north toward Wisconsin. He could always go back to the house he owned under a false identity in North Dakota. But what about Claire? How long would she stay with him? She'd no doubt want to be rid of him soon. His eyes were heavy and his mind slowly drifted away, images of Noah broken and bleeding, Claire in that gray sweater dress and his quiet, abandoned home filled with a girl's laughter.
a/n Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far. I am going to try and update this story at least once a week. As long as nothing crazy pops up in my life the updates should be more like twice a week. Hope you enjoy :D
