Forever is a Lonely Word
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes! For shame!
Chapter Four
For a week walked around New York on autopilot. At first it was as if the run-in with Peter were only a dream, one that she only felt the aftertaste of the next morning before it burned away in her subconscious, insignificant and fleeting. She went to work at the parlor on her normal shift, did her Thursday grocery shop, paid the rent to the half-dead landlord on the first floor.
The only change that she couldn't control was her stomach, which was finally starting to show. A fellow waitress at the parlor noticed it first, and discretely brought a bag full of old maternity clothes for her. Claire was touched by the gesture and only wished that she could have expressed it, but she figured the kindest thing she could do in return was leave it alone. It was safer that way.
By the middle of June the pregnancy was ridiculously obvious, as if she had blown up like a balloon over night. It gave her more of an impression than ever that this baby was an unnatural occurrence. She caught site of herself in a store window and stopped short in surprise.
What she didn't realize was how much would be determined by that one moment of pause. She was staring at her own reflection when she felt someone else's eyes focused in the same direction. Her first instinct was to avert her gaze.
Her second instinct was to run.
"Claire!"
Noah Bennet was fast in pursuit, but she could outrun him. It would be easy. She almost smiled as she blasted through the intersection, paying no heed to the cars he'd have to dart to reach her.
"Claire—watch out!"
Instinctively she flinched at the blare of the horn. In the split second before the taxi was supposed to hit her she cursed herself for her thoughtlessness—getting hit would surely slow her down, and then he'd catch her. Invincibility was useless here.
She scrunched her eyes tight in anticipation of impact. What she wasn't expecting was the sensation of someone's firm arms latching onto her and the sudden feeling of weightlessness.
When she opened her eyes again she was facing an unfamiliar wall in an unfamiliar room.
"Careless," a familiar voice sneered.
Her heart thudded audibly in her chest. She wondered if he heart it, too. "Sylar?" she gasped, and then he spun her around to face him, his hands still clamped on her arms.
"Your actions have consequences, Claire. Surely you've realized that by now. Or do I have to teach you again?" asked Sylar, his voice low and threatening.
The moment of entrancement was over, and she jerked out of his grasp, only because in that moment he decided to let her go.
"I didn't ask for him to show up," Claire snapped, adjusting her sleeves.
"But you knew he would."
She froze. His voice had changed again. It was getting to the point where she could heard the subtle shifts and know when he was treading in dangerous territory.
"Peter Petrelli?" Sylar asked lightly.
"I didn't ask for him to show up, either. I sent him away—"
"You were compromised."
"So you want me to just—what? Disappear? Cease to exist?" Claire vented. "I'm still here, Sylar."
"Then surely you're starting to understand. You will always be here, Claire."
She shook her head, trying not to meet his eyes. They were glinting in a way she had never noticed before. Protective. Guarded, almost.
The baby, she realized. And in that moment she saw she had more power than she thought.
She sighed. "I will always be here," she repeated ambivalently, unsure what her objective was in this conversation. A part of her was screaming for him to leave, another part desperate for him to stay—but she had to come to terms with the fact that in the long run, it wouldn't matter.
In her moment of reflection she was startled at the unexpected pressure of Sylar's hand against her stomach. She reeled backward, but he only smiled.
She stared at him, at a loss. "You don't get to touch me," she finally said.
Choice words. His predatory stare repulsed her, and she knew she wasn't the only one summoning images from that terrible night. She took another step back defensively, as if he would reach out to touch her.
"Do you think it's any fun for me if you struggle?" Sylar asked lowly. "No. No, that's not me, Claire. I can wait for you. We've got all the time in the world."
"Then I will never stop struggling," Claire shot back. "The day I stop struggling is the day Claire Bennet dies."
"Claire Bennet is already dead!" Sylar's voice was suddenly loud enough that she flinched. Noticing this he visibly relaxed, unclenching his fists and lowering his shoulders. He turned away from her. The control of the conversation shifted back to his side of the room. "You made a mistake letting Peter and Noah find you."
"I didn't let them find me. In case you haven't noticed, I've given up everything and anyone I care about so they wouldn't—"
"You weren't careful enough. You should've left the moment you saw him at the door."
"What, jumped out the window?" she asked with a caustic laugh.
"Don't be ridiculous, you're with child."
"Immortal child," she said under her breath.
Sylar deliberately put his face in her immediate line of vision. "We are not taking any chances," he said, his voice measured and slow. "You stay away from them. All of them."
"It won't happen again," said Claire.
"No, it won't." He considered her expressionless face for a moment, then backed up, disgusted. "I'll make sure of that."
She remembered gasping in a breath, the notion of his words understood in a sweep of terror, but he was gone before she could say a word. Her unuttered protests dissolved into a single cry as she sank to her knees, knowing she would never see Peter or her father again.
After a few hours of sitting catatonically against the wall she determined that she was in a warehouse, and that it was now dark outside. She finally closed her eyes, numb to anything real, anything that concerned here and now and the baby. Her thoughts grew vaguer the longer she sat there—she wondered how Sylar had gained his transport ability and then, in another flash of horror, she realized Hiro must be dead. And now, thanks to her, Peter and her father would be, too.
With a sharp intake of air she flew to her feet, her mind suddenly whirring. It was a feeling she could only compare with being brought back from the dead that first time, lying on the coroner's table, suddenly excruciatingly aware of every sound, sight, and touch.
There was only one coherent thought in her head: revenge. She was going to make Sylar hurt. She was going to make him feel every shred of agony he'd put her through in this past year.
And she knew exactly how she meant to do it.
She wasn't expecting to be afraid.
Since she saw the daylight skimming in through the doors of the warehouse, she had set on her plan of action. It was final. Unchangeable. She knew when she creaked open the doors to the warehouse, greeted by the stretch of near empty city streets, that there was no turning back.
It only took a few minutes to get to her apartment. She wasn't very far at all. If anything, it made her decision more difficult to follow through; she had anticipated having more time. In her mind she could almost make her decision feel like the right one if she just had the time to justify it, the time to—to what? Explain to her unborn child the horrible thing she was about to do? Make it understand that it was all for the best?
Because it was, really. She wasn't doing this just to punish Sylar. She was doing this to save the baby. That way, at least, one of them would be spared from the hell of Sylar's control.
The stairs in her apartment never seemed to stretch on so long before. She had to stop on the third floor to level herself, catch her breath. A man passed her and gave her double take, his expression a mixture of disapproval and concern, but she disregarded him. He didn't matter—none of them did, really. Everyone she cared about was dead, and if they weren't dead at this moment, they would be soon enough.
When she finally made it into her apartment it occurred to her how ridiculous it would be to do it here, alone with the cockroaches. Not that it needed to be poetic. Really, it just needed to be fast and efficient, before he caught wind and tried to interfere.
She stepped over to her bedside table, the pad of her footsteps drowned out by the beating of her hear, so that she might have been floating. She slid the drawer open and saw the blade gleaming back at her. It wasn't hers. It was the last tenant's, and she had any incentive to get rid of it.
Maybe it was fate. But she couldn't think that way, because what fate would leave her no other option but this?
She grasped the knife in her fist, knowing this would have to be swift. A shot of adrenaline ran through her entire body. "I'm so sorry," she said, and she meant it. She was so, so sorry to this baby, and she hoped that if she were ever to join it in death that it would understand.
Her hand wasn't even shaking as she raised the knife above the back of her neck. The fear was there, overwhelming her, but she was completely dissociated from it. Gone.
She clenched her eyes shut and jammed the blade through her skin, and the two of them went tumbling into the darkness.
Thanks so much to the people who reviewed, I really appreciate the input. I'll try and write up the next chapter as quick as I can. :)
