Chapter 4: Obligation

A few nights later on Claire's duty

Right after her father left the building, Claire headed down to the basement. It was one thing suffering her father's weighing up looks on the matter and Angela's ire for having mingled into her affairs, but the young woman wanted to check on her pet torturer and serial killer's condition herself. Only Peter had given his approval for her taking up an interest in Sylar health, but even with him she could see that he had trouble keeping his emotions under check to the detriment of morals. Before, nobody really knew the extent of the killer's sufferings, and it was perfectly fine that way, as far as the younger Petrelli was concerned.

The blond couldn't live her life that way. She had things to prove, and mostly to herself. All the people she looked up to during her younger years, disappointed her in some way. Her father, Peter, Nathan, even West Rosen. There was one important person left in her life she didn't want to be letdown by and that was herself. She had standards and she would live up to them. What she knew is who she was. And who she was, was special, and in a different way than the obvious.

Beaconing over to a couple of guards to follow her, who were not surprised by her actions having seen her on previous nights, Claire strolled into Sylar's cell apparently as relaxed and airy, as if she would've been taking a walk on an peaceful, refreshing morning beach instead.

She found the serial killer on his bed this time, her presence prompting him to sit up, toss his feet to the ground and give her the lookover that measured her up. "Would you like some thanks from me?" He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes and staring straight into hers.

"You took away my pain, I took away yours," Claire waved airily, "I thought you might like the poetic connotations of such a turn of events," she commented, "or the irony in how I feel your pain, but not in my own body."

"Not quite."

"Oh, how could I forget? You're a fan of torture. Perhaps even when you're on the receiving end."

"No. You've not quite. Taken it away. The pain, little Claire. Perhaps you're still to acquire any power that forces people do things your way? Some useful active power."

Claire dilated her pupils mockingly, "wanting to get them to lower your doze more, how cheap would that be Sylar? I'd like something more intriguing from you."

"For your entertainment? You've provided that yourself in the example of the cosmic joke God left behind. You made a choice Claire, you thought it was good, but was it what you really needed?"

"What I really need is to kill you," Claire hissed, knowingly taking the bait, "but what's the fun in it if there's no hunt?"

Sylar laughed, "I love that evil streak of yours," his supporting fingertips leaving the edge of this bed as he stood up for the chance of perspective in the conversation. He had to get to his full hight, cause he really didn't like this role reversal where the blond pulled any of the shots. "You and me, are so alike, aren't we? Wonderful abilities, own codes, heritage, looks? We're not most people, you know what I mean?"

"Don't kid yourself on. There must be thousands of individuals with abilities on the planet by now."

The killer paled a little, momentarily considering if he should grab for the headboard, but then decided to continue. If he could carry on interacting her when he didn't even have her ability yet and she stabbed him just before he'd taken her power, he certainly could now. "How many of those know how to use their powers? Properly or at all? Or realize they had them?"

"Uh, and that's the part I don't really care about. You underrate normalcy, consumer comforts, tv brainwash, an innocent kiss..."

"When did I say I'd underrate a good fuck?" "

"It's not what I came for, futile conversations."

"But you did come for a little touching," he taunted her, having figured out that she could tell how he was feeling if she was allowed bodily contact. It was easy as it was reciprocal. Claire might not have been under any drugs to physically weaken her, but even though his overpowering convulsions, he did sense her feelings last time they touched for the moment, her resentment of the world, her anger against everything that didn't make sense or fit, and her determination to fight it and figure it all out.

Claire rolled her eyes. It had surely been easier to deal with a half delirious Sylar. But she had some duties for the company. Judging by his behavior, her enemy did not need more of her mercy. However, in that case the opposite might be true, a situation her father feared all along. That Sylar was too well, too strong and that he could even maybe use some of his powers when not under heavy drug influence. That was one thing she had to check, no matter what.

She stepped to him right up hastily and raised her hand. He shrunk back a little from her touch, reflexes still sluggish as her abrupt move surprised him. Her finding out that he'd put up a brave face and was barely able to stand was inevitable. He stood still for her second, frustrated when she made a more slower attempt to reach him this time. He hated being at their mercy and knew he had to gain from the present situation to be at all comfortable in his skin. If he could make her satisfyingly discomfited and embarrassed when touching him, it was half the winnings.

The serial killer was eternally grateful he'd previously tucked his shirt into his pants and that he tied the laces on his pants tight too. The girl had to touch skin, and surely not extremities either, so much he'd figured. Therefore he could just watch smugly as Claire winced when tugging the shirt didn't work and she had to resort to getting hold of the top of his trousers. Will she or will she not notice the offensive bulk in the front of his pants, a reaction that her closeness caused.

She wasn't sure what to make of his flinching away earlier, but she wasn't going to contemplate it. She'd rather get this over with as soon as possible. The short blond gave the laces a definite yank, not caring how much they pulled and pressed into the anti hero's otherwise well muscled abdomen as she finally managed to get his top clothing item free.

Sylar didn't anticipate his body giving up on him again, but Claire's rough handling of his midsection aggravated those cramps he had some trouble keeping under control anyway. The superhuman college student's fingertips barely brushed his dark, curled hairs around his bellybutton, and she was already overwhelmed with two strong events. First of all, he grabbed for one of her shoulders for support as he bent over, his knees week, and secondly and most overpoweringly, her fingers transmitted to her brain what she felt Sylar was experiencing.

"Whoa!" She yelped under both the pressure and the realization of how wrong she was suspecting he was in control.

The tall man sagged onto her a little bit more. The time of pretenses was clearly over and there was no point to it. The young woman had to gather her strength not to fall over. "Jesus, Sylar, what's the matter? Not having murdered anybody lately dims your mind? What's your point?"

"I'm still spry enough for someone who died several times. And I don't run from a fight," he managed, reminding her of his greatest card against her ever.

"All right, you need to lie down, now," she disregarded the killer's words and helped him over to the bed.

He sat down slowly and gingerly, then sagged to his side, pulling his legs up. All further communication was severed by him closing his eyes.

Claire sighed dejectedly and tossed the covers at him in a heap that'd previously fallen onto the floor. "Well, that was...you always so lucky with your prison guards?" She muttered, not expecting an answer. She so wasn't looking forward to another conversation with Mohinder, and the rest of the company's main bosses.

Tbc