Welll… here we go again!
Oh, my! I've also just realized that I never put up a warning at the beginning of the first chapter! My bad if anyone was offended!
**Rated M for VERY strong language and adult themes a little later on**
Chapter 2: Second Dates
OoOoOoOoOoO
During the span of her six hour shift, Claire broke five dishes. She dropped one glass of iced tea, one order of hot wings, and two sides of coleslaw on various customers' laps. Twice she changed directions too suddenly due to her slow-processing mind, and collided with her co-worker for the afternoon, Jenna, who just happened to be the bitchiest waitress at Jillie's, as well as already holding a grudge for Claire (though she'd no idea why).
Claire didn't officially classify it as "worst day ever" until she slipped on the freshly mopped tiles of the ladies room and fell to the floor ten minutes before her shift was up.
She walked home slowly, thoroughly defeated by the ass-kicking the day had given her. On the short walk she tried to figure out why her mind didn't even attempt to run functionally.
Every other thought the whole beautiful afternoon was "dad, Sylar, dad, Sylar, dad, Sylar", making it utterly impossible for her to concentrate on anything she attempted. She'd even fouled up taking a piss for Heaven's sake!
And to top it off, they were busy; like way busier than the diner had been in the last few weeks. There wasn't a single moment of peace for the poor waitress, as Ben was constantly trying to get into her head to figure out her problem, and flirting, and Jenna was constantly shooting her nasty looks, as if Claire were some kind of leper. To make things worse, there were the furious customers that were constantly getting the wrong order, or having food spilled on them as Claire was attempting to wait tables and having a complete breakdown simultaneously…and the lousy tips resulting from her botched attempts.
She was staring at the sidewalk, then the steps as she robotically unlocked and opened the front door. Claire was paying so little attention, in fact, that as she swung open the door and lurched inside she plowed right into a wall of flesh. She looked up, startled, "I'm so sorry!" she apologized, her shame increasing when she was face to face with Alan McCowl, her handsy neighbor two doors down.
He smiled at Claire and went back to looking through his mail. "Hey, Claire."
"Hi, Alan," she replied a little timidly, fumbling for her mail key so she had a reason to be out there. "How's it going?" she gave him a little smile as she pulled out her stack of mail.
"Great, actually. And yourself?" he responded, his smile widening at her attention.
Claire's eyebrows raised and dropped in a shrug-like manner as she relocked her box and glanced down at the first piece of mail; electric bill. "Just got off the shift from Hell, actually."
"Ahh," he winced, as if he had any idea as to the depth of her pain. "That's too bad. Makes sense I suppose. Does…that mean you won't be going out to the golf course tonight?"
The invincible girl looked up from her cell phone bill in confusion. "Huh?"
"For the fireworks?" he prompted. "Because," he kept on quickly, "if you are going and you need an escort I would love to accompany you."
Claire blushed and looked back to her mail, trying not to show that her mind was turning over slowly, trying to figure out what he was talking about. Golf course? Fireworks? What—and it struck her like lightening—Fourth of July! No wonder we were so busy! All of those customers probably came from watching the parade. Now that she was getting somewhere, Claire forced her mind away from the unmarked envelope that sat in her hands and back to her neighbor.
"No! I-I mean yes!" she fumbled. "I'd love to go see the fireworks with you."
Alan beamed down at her, his blue eyes brightening. "Great! I'll come by your door around eight?"
"Sounds good," Claire smiled back at him before looking down to the plain, white envelope in her hands. Filled with curiosity Claire turned it over and ripped it open, pulling out a single sheet of paper. Claire unfolded it slowly; a familiar loopy scrawl greeted her in black ink.
Sorry if this is too late; they're watching him, be careful. Give him a chance, Claire.
Peter
Several emotions battled to overtake Claire; panic, anger, curiosity, shock. Peter knew, but Sylar didn't? And wait—Peter knew Sylar was coming to me! "Give him a chance"? Claire unwittingly gave a snort of derision to that line. She didn't care what kind of adventure Sylar and Peter had shared inside the murderer's mind, her opinion on him wasn't changing anytime soon. Frankly I'm appalled that Peter could forgive him so easily after killing his brother, my father! Does Peter think so little of me that I could just forget what he's done and let him into my life? Absolutely not!
"Outrageous bill?" Alan questioned jokingly, though both of them knew it didn't look anything like one, in an attempt to return her focus to him.
"Hmm?" Claire startled again as she looked up and realized she still had company. "Oh, sorry. No. I uh, I told my dad we could do dinner, since he's only in town for a few days. We'll have to make it an early one so I should probably go," she weaved around him more gracefully than she could have all day long and opened the inner door to the building. "I'll see you at eight!" Claire called back as she hurried through, leaving a slightly confused date staring after her.
She slammed the door to her apartment behind her, flicking the deadbolt shut angrily. Stomping into the kitchen, she ripped open the drawer by the fridge and yanked the scrap of paper out, slamming it down to the counter. Claire fumbled with her phone in her pocket and when she finally whipped it out it slipped from her hand and clattered to the tile floor.
"Shit!" she cursed, retrieving the cell and inspecting it carefully. It didn't look as if any harm had come to it. She turned back to the counter and stared at the phone number, then looked down at her phone. Sighing, she punched the numbers in, locating each one slowly in the unfamiliar pattern.
As the phone began to ring, Claire began her pacing. She started loops around the island. The ringing ceased and a deep voice appeared on the other line.
"Hello, Claire," Sylar greeted cheerfully. "I must admit, I didn't think you'd be calling for another decade or so. Actually," he amended, "I was quite sure you were going to erase my note the second you saw it. Miss me already?" his voice did that lowering thing that made Claire's stomach twist.
Claire gave a frustrated sigh, shaking her head, "Sylar, either shut up or get within punching range."
"Is that an invitation to come back to Costa Verde, then?" the deep voice chuckled on the other side of the connection.
"Yeah right," Claire scoffed dismissively, jumping straight into her reason for calling. "So, did you know that you were being watched?" she didn't even give him the chance to respond before she kept on; her paces turned more to stomps as she made a few passes around the living room. "Yeah, my dad popped by this morning, in town on business. Seems someone that they're keeping tabs on happened to be seen in the area yesterday afternoon. Surprised? I was, though I'm not even sure why. Were—"
"Claire," Sylar interrupted firmly; she could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "Relax. Okay? Take a breath. Peter called me this morning; he said he left a note in your mailbox but you were…distracted last night."
"I wonder why," Claire interjected sassily. She folded herself down on the couch and took to fussing over her nails.
"But don't worry. Peter was on the defensive for us. He said the agent only glimpsed me leaving the diner, and he kept her from seeing anything after that. Not quite sure what that means, but knowing Pete he's probably picked up some fun, new power. Empaths."
"You're an empath," Claire pointed out. "Kind of, I guess. Anyways, watch your shit from now on because I am not getting busted associating with you. Especially not by my father. I have to go," she told him.
"Why?" he shot back snidely. "Got a date?"
"Yes," Claire responded, rolling her eyes. "I do."
"With who?" Sylar questioned instantly, something akin to alarm in his voice. Claire smirked, knowing full well that he had expected to catch her lying about such a thing.
"Alan," she told him smugly, though she wasn't quite sure why.
Sylar snorted, obviously not seeing the boy as a threat. "Gonna bring him back to yours again for a nice make-out session before you kick him out?" he asked her, probably thinking back to the memory hit he got from Claire's sofa.
"Maybe," she responded mockingly, sounding not unlike a teenager again. "Got a problem with that?"
"Not at all," Sylar shot back breezily. "After all, I got to share your bed."
Claire snapped her phone shut.
OoOoOoOoOoO
When she had calmed herself down enough that she didn't feel like screaming every time she opened her mouth, Claire phoned her father, as promised. They agreed to meet at the Chinese restaurant near Claire's apartment at six, giving her a full hour to shower and ready herself. She decided on a simple outfit of jean shorts and a black beater, not wanting to be overly dressed for either occasion this evening.
Claire arrived five minutes early and took a seat in a booth in a secluded corner; she didn't know what they would be talking about, but she was pretty sure that no one else needed to hear it. She was staring at the menu without really seeing it and sipping on a Diet Coke when Noah Bennet slid into the seat across from hers. She did her best to smile at her father.
"Hey, dad. How's it going?" she asked him lightly.
He gave her a serious look, but didn't say anything until he had placed his drink order and the ancient Chinese waitress shuffled away.
"I'm just going to come right out and say it, Claire, because I'm sick of beating around the bush. The target I've been having my associate watch is Sylar. Though I'm sure you already know that, because he was seen leaving Jillie's yesterday afternoon during your shift."
Claire's lungs stopped working as she stared at her father, trying to turn her look of abject horror into a casual unconcerned smirk. "So? He stopped by yesterday, but I told him to go back to New York," she pretended to startle, looking up quickly. "Why, where is he now?"
Noah frowned and tilted his head, the fluorescent lights reflecting off of his glasses, obscuring his calculating eyes from view. "New York," he informed her and then sighed, dropping his head slightly. "I wish you would call me with information like that, Claire-bear."
Everyone is gone, Claire-bear. It's just you and me. Claire thought about her dream instantly when her father used his little nickname for her; she couldn't stop the slight shudder that ran through her body. Claire shifted, pretending that that last movement wasn't unintentional. "He didn't bother me," she lied, "he just talked to me and left. I passed it off as inconsequential."
"Nothing is inconsequential with Sylar," Noah argued. "I don't want him near you, Claire. I don't trust him."
"Peter trusts him," Claire mumbled as she looked down at the menu, mostly just thinking out loud. As soon as the words had been spoken Claire wanted to shove them back in her mouth.
Her father glared down at her, jaw setting in the regular Bennet fashion. "I don't care what Peter thinks," Noah growled. "Peter can also copy all of Sylar's powers; he can defend himself."
"What makes you think I can't?" she asked him softly, finally bringing her gaze up to his. She was growing angry now. "I handled him just fine yesterday," Claire pointed out, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat.
"Yes," Noah agreed, "and in a public place. What happens when he gets you alone, Claire?"
He'll make me dinner and try to cuddle with me, Claire thought instantly; she actually had to fight the giggle that wanted to bubble up and out of her throat.
Her overprotective father took her silence as her answer of: I don't know. "How well can you handle him then?" he continued, and Claire tried not to roll her eyes.
"Please," she snorted, finding her grip on her composed, indifferent attitude slipping further and further away. "I can't get hurt. I can't even feel pain," Claire reminded her father.
"There are other ways of hurting someone, Claire," he argued softly, leaning forward and staring her down. "Emotionally, mentally—"
"Stop!" Claire barked as she bolted up from her seat. She tried not to notice as nearby customers eyed her, intrigued by her outburst. She lowered her voice for her next words, hissing them to her father as she grabbed her purse. "I'm sick of you telling me how to handle myself; I'm doing fine on my own. Jesus, you're harder to shake out of my life than he is," she accused her father. She turned to go, but spun right back around. "And for the record, I know what you were talking about, and Sylar isn't even capable of that," she spat, whipping around once more and marching out of the restaurant.
OoOoOoOoOoO
The next person she needed to yell at was her interfering uncle. The second her door was shut behind her she had the phone to her ear, ringing. Claire gave an angry sigh as she reached his voicemail, asking her to leave a message.
After the beep, Claire went right into her rant, "Hey, Peter!" she greeted in a fake, cheerful tone, "Just wanted to call and say thanks for the heads up about Sylar stopping by for a visit! As always I appreciate your impeding on my life, and your attempts to push me closer to that maniac. Speaking of, I've got a few things to say about that whole situation, probably words best spoken in private. Don't bother calling me back, I'm busy tonight. I'll catch you later."
Since dinner with her father didn't take quite as long as she had originally planned, Claire had plenty of time to relax before her date. She zoned in front of the television for an hour and a half before a knock sounded at her door. Claire hurried to the door and opened it, revealing her date for the evening.
He smiled sheepishly at her and extended his arm out to her, pushing a small bouquet of flowers at her face. "Hey, Claire," he greeted, "you look wonderful."
"Thanks," Claire smiled and accepted the assortment from him, sticking her nose to one of the roses and sniffing, "these are beautiful," she complemented, turning to the kitchen and laying them on the counter gingerly. "Let me just find a vase quickly and then we can go."
She began searching through her cupboards, positive that she had at least one lying about somewhere; Sandra made quite sure that her apartment was well-stocked with all the odds and ends that Claire never would have thought of…like a can opener. Or cheese grater.
She finally located the object in question, and was busy filling it with water when Alan's voice sounded near her.
"Are you going to New York?" he asked her, and Claire whipped around to find him eyeing that small piece of paper with Sylar's contact information that she'd left on the counter earlier that day.
"No!" she denied, probably too vehemently she figured, because of the look that Alan gave her. She set the vase down and went to him, removing the paper from the counter and placing it back in the drawer. "No, there's nothing for me in New York," she denied softly, turning back to placing the flowers in water. "Well, some family," she admitted after a moment, "but I'm not really on speaking terms with them right now."
"Oh," was all Alan responded to that. He waited until they were out on the sidewalk before he asked the question he was really curious about. Claire knew it was only a matter of time, and winced when he brought it up. "So…you had company last night?"
"Uh…yeah," she responded, studying the buildings they were passing with more interest than they deserved. "Yeah. He was an…old acquaintance…I guess."
She could feel her neighbor's eyes boring into her. "You don't sound too sure about that," Alan accused her.
"There's nothing going on between us, if that's what you're getting at," she snapped. Claire gave a sigh, regretting taking her aggression out on her innocent date, who was probably considering her more and more insane with each passing minute. "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that," she apologized, stopping and turning towards him. A slight breeze blew through his blonde, shaggy hair. His blue eyes glinted with concern. "I'm afraid you've caught me on a pretty bad week," Claire admitted.
"Don't worry about it," he smiled down at her, drawing slightly closer. He pushed some bangs out of her eyes that the wind had placed there; Claire hated that the action reminded her of Sylar. "Try to forget it all, just for tonight. I guarantee it will be easy once the show starts."
He laced his fingers into hers and tugged her back into motion. "I had to park down the block," he explained. When they stopped in front of a shiny, cherry red Camero, Claire gawked openly. Alan chuckled, "Twenty-first birthday present from my folks," he informed her as he opened the door for her in a chivalrous manner.
Claire thanked him and slid into the car, shifting uncomfortably on the warm, leather seats, her bare skin sticking to it everywhere it touched. She tried to plaster a smile to her face before Alan climbed behind the wheel, however fake it may be.
It wasn't that Claire wasn't fond of Alan; he was a very sweet, funny, responsible guy, and it was obvious that he was very taken with his beautiful, young neighbor. The problem was that everything felt forced with him. Even his kissing, though highly proficient, didn't really do much for Claire. She was hoping that the fireworks would inspire some magical romantic feelings.
They didn't force conversation on the ride to their destination, settling for letting the radio fill the silence. The usually short drive to the golf course took about three times longer with all of the traffic; cars, vans and trucks full of families eager to see the fireworks were all heading to the best spot to view them.
They were lucky enough to get a parking spot right outside the entrance, so after Alan rustled up a blanket from the trunk, they made their way to the greenway by the first hole, where seemingly every other person in Costa Verde were setting up chairs, blankets, picnics.
Alan shook the blanket open and laid it out as flat as he could on the short green grass. They settled down on it, Claire using one arm as a pillar to hold up her body as she leaned back, her eyes fixed on the quickly darkening sky.
Luckily, the fireworks started up soon after they arrived, making conversation impossible over the booming from the pyrotechnics and the squealing of excited children. Alan's hand quickly found hers once more in the dark.
Sparks of red, blue, green, yellow and purple filled the sky in various orders and shapes. They had a nice variety this year, but Claire always enjoyed the classic starburst firecrackers. A single white flash filled the sky, and a few seconds later the tremendous crack accompanied it, startling Claire into accidentally jumping closer to her date.
He brought his hand up to her face and turned it towards him, dipping his closer. This is it, Claire thought. Alan leaned over and pushed his lips to hers; Claire willed herself to feel something—anything. Where was the fluttering? Why wasn't her stomach twisted like a balloon animal? As the kiss deepened, and his tongue slid in her mouth to meet hers, Claire wondered why she didn't feel that electric charge barreling through her nervous system.
Sensing her lack of enthusiasm, Alan pulled away. "Are you okay?"
Claire blushed in the darkness as realization hit her. "I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I just don't know if I'm in the position for a relationship right now. It's not that you aren't great!" Claire insisted, "You are! You're polite and sensitive and you come from a great background!" she frowned when he stared at her quizzically, one eyebrow raised, "Wonderful, hard working parents, stable life, that kind of thing…I'm just…" she scoffed at herself for even thinking the words, let alone about to say them out loud. "I'm finding that those aren't really…the qualities I want."
She gave a bark of laughter at her bizarre explanation. "I know it doesn't make sense. Things are just kind of…"
"Complicated?" Alan supplemented for her.
She gave a huff of amusement. "How'd you know?"
He let go of Claire's hand and leaned back into his own space. "That's what you said last time. Are you sure this doesn't have anything to do with that guy?"
Claire sighed, bowing her head in defeat. "Honestly…" she cursed under her breath, pushing her hands into her hair in frustration. Sylar was the exact opposite of Alan, but even after the fact the way she felt…The way she felt with Sylar was a million times stronger than any other man she'd met. "I think it might. But…not really by choice on my part…We're just kind of…"
"Meant to be?" Alan finished, somewhat facetiously.
Ugh, now he sounds like Sylar, Claire frowned. "He's always going to be a part of my life. It's not something I can help, unfortunately. If things were different…There's just no way I can shake him. I've tried, trust me."
"Ever thought of a restraining order?" he suggested, far too seriously.
Claire burst out laughing. "I have a feeling that wouldn't have much effect. He's not a threat to me or anything…just uh…"
"You don't have to explain," Alan told her, turning back to the fireworks. "I understand."
"I don't know that you do," Claire mumbled, shrugging. "But so long as you know."
"You're off the market," Alan summed up. "It's okay."
Claire didn't like to disappoint people (and she certainly didn't like the term "off the market" being thrown about in regards to her), but she didn't necessarily feel bad for rejecting Alan a second time. Actually, Claire felt something more akin to relief after getting that off her chest, and enjoyed watching the rest of the fireworks, even if things felt a little awkward and tense between her and her ride home.
Though not overly tired, Claire went directly to bed after Alan dropped her off at her door. She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling for a long time, mulling recent events over in her mind. She was considering giving up entirely and going to watch some TV, when her phone rang, scaring half the life from her.
She threw an arm over to her nightstand and groped around for the offending item. When she squinted at the display, she found that the number wasn't one saved in her phone; the area code looked familiar though.
Eyes narrowing, she seriously deliberated just ignoring the call; she ignored the way her heart started to beat faster. Curiosity got the better of her, and she flipped it open and shoved it to her ear. "What?"
There was a slight pause, and then, "Did I interrupt something?"
Claire sighed. "No, I'm just in bed." And why did I just share that information with Sylar? "What do you want?"
"Just wanted to see how your date went," he admitted.
Claire giggled, "You nervous, or what?"
"Should I be?" Sylar questioned, and she could hear the smirk on his face.
"No," Claire confessed, "Just wasn't written in the stars I'm afraid."
"Well I could have told you that," he informed her. "One of these days you should let someone who actually has a chance with you take you out on a date."
She tried not to think about why it was so easy for Sylar to make her laugh tonight. "If you're talking about yourself then, yeah, you have a chance. I should warn you though; it's about equal to a snowball's chance in Hell."
When he chuckled Claire felt vibrations start up in her gut. "Oh, you know it's only a matter of time before you give in to me, Claire."
"You're right," Claire sighed in defeat. "Call me when the rest of civilization dies out," finding that an appropriate ending to their conversation, Claire snapped her phone shut before he had a chance to respond.
OoOoOoOoOoO
After their little tête-à-tête, Claire spent an unreasonable amount of time thinking about Sylar. She couldn't decide if she was more relieved or disconcerted to finally understand why she wasn't attracted to any of the young men that were keen on suiting her. What does that mean?, Claire asked herself, because she wasn't quite ready to allow her brain to register that it meant Sylar really was right about everything. That he truly was the only one that had a chance with her. Why is Sylar the only one that makes me feel something close to human when he's such a monster? She didn't understand, and frankly she didn't quite think it was just.
Suddenly, Claire's hatred of Sylar intensified ten times over. If he hadn't broken me to begin with I'd still be able to feel. Then I'd be able to date a normal guy. It's all that son-of-a-bitches fault, Claire seethed. Tossing over and stuffing her face down into her pillow, she let out a muffled scream of frustration. She bolted up into a sitting position and heaved her fists into the pillow irately.
"Stupid…fucking…jerk!" Claire hissed, wishing with every angry cell in her body that it was Sylar's face she were assaulting, and not a memory foam pillow. "It's not fucking fair!" she cried out, and when she paused and looked down she found wet spots on the lime green fabric; a tear dropped off her chin and added itself to the scatterings.
She beat both fists down once more, then collapsed into the pillow and continued to soak it. Claire cried harder than she had in awhile; perhaps not since Nathan's death.
Recalling her biological father's murder and the man to blame for it only made the tears fall more rapidly, and caused Claire's breathing to become hitched in her throat with each sob.
When she could calm herself enough to weep silently, Claire began to think again. The fact that Sylar could still push her into such a state of anguish not only meant that he still had one strong, solid foot in her life, but also that her adoptive father had been right about Sylar still being able to harm Claire emotionally.
A few tears of lament joined the rest leaving her eyes as Claire regretted how she left things with her dad earlier that evening, especially since she hadn't seen him since Central Park six months ago.
As her mind then floated to that, Claire rolled over flat on her back and stared at the ceiling. Moonlight slipped into her room through her not-quite-closed blinds, casting a soft glow over a good portion of her room. The shadows of the tree branches on her ceiling swayed, and when Claire focused she could hear the wind swirling about outside.
Peter said Sylar saved Emma…says that he's changed, different; "A better man," to quote my dear uncle directly. Well I still want to kill him. But first I want him to undo everything that he's done to me, Claire reflected, I want Nathan and Meredith back, I want to feel pain and pleasure and not at the hands of a serial killer! I want him to fix me!
She stilled then, completely; body and mind. Ever so slowly the thought began to bloom, sending a faint glimmer of hope to her heart. Fix me…could he? If he understands how things work…he could. Couldn't he?
Claire contemplated this for a little while, focusing on taking deep, even breaths. Eventually she pulled herself out of bed and moved to the bathroom, preparing a cold shower as she peeled off her clothing.
Once under the icy water she tilted her face up and let the drops soothe her puffy eyes. She washed methodically but slowly, taking her time under the cold stream to calm and further awaken herself.
Once she was all wrapped up in towels she sat on the edge of her bed and picked up her cell phone. She stared at it for a moment before she finally scrolled through her contacts and selected Jillian's name; the manager and owner of Jillie's diner.
"Claire?" the phone was answered immediately by her boss. "Is everything okay?"
"Jillian, I'm so sorry to call so late. There's a family emergency in New York and I'm flying out in a few hours. I just wanted to let you know I wouldn't be in for at least the next few days. I'm so sorry to do this to you."
"Oh! Goodness, no, darling! Don't worry!" Jillie's voice was filled with concern and surprise; Claire felt bad for lying.
What am I supposed to do, tell her the real reason I want to go to New York? "I'll call you and let you know as soon as I figure out when I'll be heading back. I'm sorry Jillie," Claire apologized.
"Take your time, dear! I'll be praying for you!" Claire felt worse.
The next thing she did was sit down at her computer and get a ticket for the soonest flight into New York City, and then called for a cab. A flight at four a.m. gave Claire three hours to pack up and get to the airport. She grabbed the duffel bag from the top shelf of her closet and began stuffing enough clothes in it for a few days' journey. After packing up her toiletries and taking a glance around she surmised she had everything she needed.
She was just double checking that the toaster, coffee maker, curling iron and such were unplugged when an unfamiliar number rang her; the driver, letting her know he was waiting outside. She told him she'd be right down, making sure to turn off the lights and lock the door behind her.
OoOoOoOoOoO
When her flight landed it was 1:00 pm on a beautiful sunny afternoon. Claire shielded her eyes as she stepped out of the airport, duffel bag slung around her shoulder. It was easy to catch a taxi outside the airport; what wasn't easy was deciding which address to give the driver.
"If you want me to go, you'll have to give me a destination," the grumpy (slightly smelly) man barked at Claire. "Otherwise let a different fare get in."
She figured she could see Peter later on, afraid that if she didn't deal with Sylar first and foremost she would lose her nerve and the whole trip would be a waste. She rattled off the address from memory, as that scrap of paper was all she really had to stare at on her five hour flight.
She rolled down her window and leaned her head against the frame, letting the wind blow through her hair as they zipped through the streets of Manhattan. Though she wasn't paying very close attention to anything, she did recognize that she was actually fairly close to Peter's apartment as well.
When he stopped in front of a higher-class looking building Claire was surprised; someone like Sylar should be living in a rundown fleabag motel, or the basement of an abandoned house, or an evil lair, not a penthouse. She passed the driver the fare and told him to keep the change, which made for a decent tip (especially for having to put up with his smell).
The cab drove away, and the second she turned around and looked up at the building her stomach sank like a brick. Walking up to the door slowly, she extended one finger, looking for his buzzer. There were no numbers, just a list of names; and Sylar's wasn't on there (neither was Gabriel Gray). Her hand hovered there, unsure of which action to take next, and that's when Claire noticed that the vibration/tingling had started again.
Luckily for her, she didn't have to wait long before someone came up to the building, producing a key to the inside.
"Excuse me," she caught the young man as he unlocked the door. "I'm looking for the man that lives in apartment 604? Do you know his name?"
The man frowned slightly and shook his head, as if he were sorry he couldn't help her. "No, I'm on the third floor. Don't go up there. Sorry. If you want to try going up there…" he trailed off, holding the door open for her.
Claire grinned. "Thanks, I really appreciate it."
"I like the stairs," he explained to her as they walked inside, but the elevators are right over there," he pointed, and Claire thanked him again before going in that direction.
The elevator doors opened as soon as she pushed the 'up' button, so Claire didn't spend a lot of time gawking at the fancy looking lobby of the building. Modern art hung everywhere, but this day Claire paid it no attention. The ride up to the sixth floor seemed to take far longer than it needed to, and by the time Claire was standing in front of 604 she felt like her legs were going to crumple right out from under her. Hesitantly, she raised her fist and beat twice on the door.
She didn't have to wait long before it opened, Sylar leaning on the doorframe, delight dancing in his eyes. "Really couldn't stay away, could you?"
She walked passed him, entering his apartment without so much as a greeting. Claire looked around her slowly; it was nice, large, but empty, in Claire's opinion. Cold. No pictures, no books, no art. Just the usual kitchen table and chairs, couch, television, a few empty end-tables.
"Need something?" Sylar questioned her as he shut the door.
Claire turned around, fixing her gaze to Sylar's; he could probably see the desperation in her eyes. "Fix me."
He stared at her for a full minute before he responded. "Are you broken?"
"Yes," Claire notified him. "You did it. Put me back."
Sylar shook his head, frowning. "I've no recollection of such a thing. I think you're mistaken, Claire."
When he said her name, Claire felt that familiar shudder crawl up her spine. "Don't play dumb," she snapped, her anger flaming and burning out the doubt and nervousness that had settled in her core since she stepped off the plane. "Ever since you cut me open and took my power I haven't been able to feel pain or…anything, really, except—" she stopped herself, not wanting to say the words to him.
"Except what?" Sylar asked her, moseying over to where she stood in the center of the living room. When she kept her mouth shut, he circled her slowly, eyes studying her carefully. "Except what, Claire?" he inquired again.
She whipped around when he came to stand behind her, heart practically thudding its way out of her ribcage. "Fix me," she requested again, some of that desperation finally leaking out in her voice.
"What makes you think I can?" Sylar questioned, raising an eyebrow as he stared down at her. He took another half-step towards her; Claire forced her legs to stay where they were currently placed.
"You can," she nodded, growing angry that he was playing with her like this. "I know you can. If you cut me open and broke me then surely you can go back in—"
Her reasoning was interrupted by Sylar's dark chuckle. "I told you, my methods have developed beyond that," he reminded her, pushing a lock of golden hair out of her face. "Remember?"
Claire did remember, all too well, how Sylar had taken his answers from her the last time he wanted them; as she recalled his lips against hers, Claire blushed. She didn't respond, but forced her eyes to pull up from the ground to his eyes. "Tell me you can do it," she demanded, almost frantically. "Say the words."
"I can fix you," he murmured. "Can you fix me?"
Claire ignored his question, focusing only on those first four words as she squeezed her eyes shut and closed the short distance, pushing her soft, pink lips to his. When he wrapped his arms around her middle and crushed her body to his, Claire found her hands coming up to touch his face. It must have been at least a day or two since he'd shaved; the dark stubble prickled Claire's hands and cheeks, sending shocks from her head to her toes.
She was unsure if it were his heartbeat or her own she could feel hammering against her chest, but as Sylar's tongue slid into her mouth to meet hers, Claire found that breathing was somewhat of an issue. She ignored it, since she didn't really need air anyways. When her legs finally seemed to finish their transformation to jelly, Claire wrapped her arms around Sylar's neck to keep upright. She tried to quash the mental debate going on between whether he smelled or tasted better.
She continued to push her lips to his desperately, waiting to feel something that indicated Sylar had fixed her brain; but all she felt were the rush of emotions that always hit her when she was with Sylar, amplified a few hundred times. Murderer, evil, monster, jerk, Claire tried to think as his tongue explored her mouth like he'd been waiting centuries to do so. Psycho, serial killer, maniac!
If the mental bashing were meant to quell the sensations that Sylar was making her feel, it wasn't working. In fact, the sheer absurdity of what she was doing (and with whom) only made her head spin more violently. They stood together, lost in the passionate kiss for several minutes.
As Claire finally pulled her lips from Sylar's with a quivering gasp, she realized the tears had started streaming down her cheeks once more. He didn't allow her to move any further away, but kept his arms locked around her and pushed his forehead to hers. Claire closed her eyes and let the tears fall.
Sylar's hands didn't leave the small of her back, but her head was tilted up by a gentle, unseen force. She kept her eyes closed as Sylar's lips trailed over her cheeks, kissing away the tears there. "I'm done," he murmured against her damp skin. "How do you feel?"
Claire shook her head and buried it into his shoulder, definitely not wanting to look him in the eyes for her next words. "I can't…tell the difference," she confessed slowly. "I always felt something with you."
"Rage," Sylar guessed softly; she could hear the smile in his voice. "Disgust. Anguish."
"No," Claire admitted. "Well, yes, all those things too but…" she pulled away from him, sniffing and bringing the back of her hands up to scour her cheeks clear of tears; he finally released her and she turned away, pacing over to the kitchen and staring out the window above the sink. The sun stared in back at her blindingly. "Other things too; pain, fear, excitement."
The young blonde took a deep breath and turned around; Sylar remained stock-still in the center of the living room, gazing at her, dark eyes alight with interest. Unfortunately, Claire found that when she faced him the whole confessing thing got a lot harder. "Pleasure," she had to drop her head and laugh as she saw one of Sylar's eyebrows arch impossibly high. "Not quite what you think," the former cheerleader backtracked. "I suppose at the point I had been at any sensation would feel like pleasure."
Claire sighed, wrapping her arms around her middle as she leaned against the counter. "I think that's why it didn't work out with Alan. Or…anyone else. No one could make me feel like you did."
"Claire," Sylar admonished, rolling his eyes. "If you keep comparing every guy to me then you really are going to end up alone."
She ignored that comment. "Shouldn't be a problem now, though," she declared, knocking a fist against her skull. "Seeing as how you've taken care of that little glitch."
Claire stepped away from the counter, heading for the door, "Well, thanks for that," she expressed her gratitude lamely. Once more the young girl found her body frozen in place as her personal boogeyman advanced on her. When he spun her around, Claire's eyes fluttered shut and her lips uttered his name involuntarily, "Sylar." I don't want to be trapped here like this, not now, not after that. I can't, I'm not strong enough, I can't fight him anymore. I can't…can't be here… Claire's mind swirled; she vaguely wondered if this was what getting drunk felt like.
The man in question placed his hands on both sides of his fated lover's face, his own eyes closing as he inhaled her scent. "Say it again," he demanded softly, pushing his lips to her forehead. "Please," Sylar requested in a whisper against her lips.
Claire's head buzzed as her body was jolted once again by a current of electricity. "Sylar," Claire repeated against his lips, "Are you shocking me?"
Sylar stumbled back a few steps and laughed, "You caught me," he gave a devilish grin that sent a second jolt through Claire's system. Closing the space between them once more, Sylar slid his arms around Claire's petite frame, dipping his lips down to her ear and taking a hearty whiff of her golden locks while he was there. "Are you quite upset?"
Claire tried to speak, couldn't, settled on shaking her head instead. Butterflies battled in her stomach when she felt his smile against her skin. Tears began to sting her eyes and Claire squeezed her lids shut, willing them away. It just wasn't fair how good this felt. A single treacherous tear escaped through Claire's tear-duct; she didn't flinch when Sylar brushed his finger across her flawless skin to remove it for her, expecting it.
"I want to be better. For you," he told the trembling girl. "Don't be scared to be with a better me."
Claire's mind came back into focus. Pulling away, she frowned, "I don't know any other you than the one that's been torturing me for the last six years," the conflicted young woman shook her head. "And I can't allow myself to stay here when I don't know what I'm feeling, or why," the floodgates opened, and Claire turned away, covering her face with her hands. Damn it all, this is all I need, him seeing me losing it like this. "I can't do this," she muttered, shaking her head again. "I can't do this."
Sylar's hands appeared on her shoulders, stilling the anxious beauty against his chest. "You don't have to do anything, Claire," he soothed. "You don't have to think about what you're feeling, just feel it," he turned her around again, manually this time, and gently pulled her hands away. "Please don't cry," Sylar urged Claire.
Who is this? Claire wondered, a new, unknown emotion filling her. He's so radically different from the monster I've known, but still the exact same… "I can't be here right now," she pulled away again and fled for the door, absolutely relieved when he finally allowed her to escape.
OoOoOoOoOoO
She left the building through the back exit and stood in the alley for a few moments, trying to will the tears to stop flowing. Get a hold of yourself, Claire, she mentally snapped at herself. You can't keep letting him do this to you.
Then, a happening that made Claire think she'd finally lost it, she began arguing with her own mind. "I do it to myself," the words were spoken out loud before Claire even registered them. "He drives me crazy because I let him."
You're stronger than he is. You can fight back. You don't have to settle for him, she thought desperately.
Wiping her cheeks, Claire sniffed. "It doesn't feel like settling. Damn it," she swore as she realized that fact. "Why, why, why, why, why does he make me feel that way?" Claire struck a nearby garbage can with her pristinely white sneakers. Relieved as a small amount of frustration left her with the act, Claire moved closer to the pile of garbage to stomp and punt it thoroughly.
When she stopped she was panting for air, one thought on her mind. One place she might get a few answers. "Peter," Claire Bennet muttered.
OoOoOoOoOoO
It was a ten minute cab ride to her uncle's apartment on the Lower East Side, confirming Claire's already solid suspicion that the two were in fact still cohorts, their goal obviously to ruin Claire's life and sanity.
When she pushed the buzzer by his name, Claire was relieved when he answered. "Hello?"
"Peter, it's Claire; don't be so surprised and let me up." The door buzz sounded immediately, signaling her admittance to enter.
When Claire got to Peter's apartment, he was standing in the open doorway, confusion and delight mingling on his face. "Claire!" he greeted, wrapping his niece in a hug she didn't return. "What brings you to town?"
"You and Tweedledum," she informed him bitterly. "I'd like to talk to you about that."
Her uncle winced and gave her a sheepish half smile, stepping aside to let Claire into his home. "Figured from your voicemail," he recounted.
Claire wandered in, her hands set firmly on her hips. "So you and Sylar are just best buddies now, aren't ya?"
Peter sighed, knowing that this was going to be a difficult conversation. "It's not like that, Claire. You don't understand—"
"You don't understand!" the frustrated girl screeched, spinning around to point an accusatory finger at him. "He didn't slice your head open and grope your brain, breaking you in the process. You weren't the one that had just found your biological parents when he snatched them away! You aren't the one he wants to spend eternity with, so, no, Peter, I don't think you understand!"
Her poor uncle stared at her, speechless. "Claire…"
"I can't!" Claire insisted for what felt like the millionth time that day; her legs finally gave out and she crumpled down to the floor, crying into her hands. Why is this so damn hard? "I can't forgive him, I can't forget him, I can't do anything!" Two angry fists met Peter's wooden floor with a thump.
Peter sat next to her on the floor and wrapped his arms around his niece, pulling her closer to him; he ran his hands over her hair in a lame attempt to soothe her. "You don't have to do anything right now," Peter informed her. "You have time to figure it out; all the time in the world."
"I'm sick of people saying that to me," Claire sniffed, stiffening as she recalled Sylar's words the other evening.
"Sylar—Gabriel is different now, Claire. He's not the man he was before. He's changed."
"It takes a little more than having a nightmare to change someone like Sylar," Claire hissed his name, angry that her uncle would refer to him as anything but the monster he was.
"I was in there with him, Claire. Alone. For years, trapped in his head. It took that long for us to work through our stuff, and it's going to take just as long—longer, probably—for you to do the same."
"I don't want to do the same. I want him to suffer," Claire scooted away from Peter and used her hands to push herself up. Once standing, she shuffled over to a window and stared out it.
"He has been suffering, Claire. He was suffering the whole time. When he's with you…things are better."
She raised a fine eyebrow, eyes never leaving the streets below. "He told you that?"
"Among other things," she heard Peter standing as well, and making his way over to her. "Things that I, as your uncle, would probably be happier not knowing."
Claire hated that that made her giggle and shudder at the same time. "Like what?"
"He's in love with you, Claire," Peter finally spelled it out in black and white. "You knew that, right?"
Love? Sylar can't feel love. Claire wanted to say those words out loud, but couldn't; couldn't say anything. She thought about the way he made her dinner and breakfast, lying wrapped up in his arms, his lips against hers, and closed her eyes, leaning her head against the window frame wearily.
"It's true. I didn't really believe it myself but…" her uncle trailed off, and it seemed that both of them had run out of words.
"Aren't you…still mad?" Claire turned to face him, confusion furrowing her brows. "Have you honestly forgiven him for everything?" she knew she was grasping at straws. If Peter had decided that Sylar was an okay guy now nothing was going to change that.
He surprised her by answering, "No. Not everything," her uncle pulled her into a hug. "He hurt you a lot. And that I'll never forgive him for. But he wants to make it up to you. And," he added, pushing her back and focusing his brown eyes to her green ones, a small smile playing on his lips. "If it hadn't been for Sylar we never would have met to begin with. You wouldn't have found out who you really were. You're a Petrelli," he informed her. "And Petrellis can accomplish anything they want."
"I don't even know what I want," Claire admitted, turning back to the window. "When I think about him I just want to scream and kill something. But when I'm with him…" Claire was starting to think that this whole New York expedition had been a terrible idea. She should have just stayed in Costa Verde with her head stuck in the sand, not giving a thought to maniacs or betraying uncles.
Claire walked about the apartment living room restlessly. "I should just go home," she sighed after a while. "If I go back to Sylar's…" she couldn't finish the thought, honestly not knowing what would happen. "And staying here is just making me angrier with you," she made her way to the door, turning back to Peter, who had followed her. "I'll keep in touch. I'm sorry it was such a crappy reunion."
Peter Petrelli shook his head, giving her a sad smile. "You have stuff to work through. I understand. Come back anytime, Claire. You're always welcome."
They said their goodbyes and hugged. As soon as she stepped out of the front door to the building, her phone rang; Sylar.
"What?" she barked into the phone.
"Do you have a plane ticket yet?" Sylar asked her.
Claire stopped walking. "No…I didn't know when I would be leaving."
"I'd like to save you some money and get you back to Costa Verde, if you'll allow me to."
The fact that he could fly because he killed and then impersonated her biological father for several weeks was enough to get Claire seething once more. "I'm not flying with you," she bit out.
"You just left Peter's, right?"
"Yes…" Claire answered slowly, bewildered by his change of subject. She didn't even have the chance to ask for an explanation; suddenly his voice sounded behind her and in her ear at the same time.
"We don't have to fly," he explained, snapping his phone shut as Claire whipped around in astonishment. "Ran into Hiro a few weeks ago. Man, teleporting is fun. And convenient," he added. Claire just stared at him. "So? Can I take you home?"
She thought about it; thought about the killing her bank account took with the unexpected flight out to New York, thought about how she was missing earning precious dollars at her job right then. Then Claire thought about the tall man before her; thought about cuddling into him under the cover of darkness, thought about the kiss they shared hardly an hour ago, thought about the mental and emotional breakdown she suffered in front of him shortly after.
She sighed. "Peter called you, didn't he?"
"The second you left," Sylar answered honestly. "Let me just pop you back home," he insisted, wrapping one of his large hands around her delicate one. "And I'll leave you right after."
They were in her living room when the words tumbled out, "You don't have to leave." Just saying it made her heart jump up to her throat and her stomach drop to her feet.
"If you don't want me to," Sylar murmured, pulling her closer to him, "then I won't," he uttered against her hair as he kissed the top of her head. He led her to the couch and sat them down, leaning back with Claire in his arms. His finger twitched and the television popped on and began flipping through channels.
Claire tried to relax against his hard body. When she closed her eyes the whole staying up all night and randomly flying to New York thing got to her; with her face against his chest and her arms curled up between their bodies, Claire fell asleep.
OoOoOoOoOoO
Well there's chapter 2! I'm leaving my page breaks in this time, and I would like everyone to take a second and hit the review button; let me know if you like the standard page breaks or this better, and which one makes it easier for you to read!
THANK YOU, once again, to my multiple betas and dedicated readers! You're the ones that make this story worth writing!
Love and Peace to all,
Raiast