Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG
Prompt/Request: I loved you the most
Warning: Slash

"I loved you the most."

Mohinder blinked, startling at the abrupt comment. After three hours of straight silence - silence that was filled with nothing but static as both men took turns trying to find something they could listen to on the radio, but only coming up with one sided talk radio or Christian folk music - the Indian was ready to listen to nothing more than the sounds of the car and the road until they reached their destination. Yet Sylar's words not only caught him off guard, they also instantly made him weary. Whatever it was that the man was getting at, it would surely lead to a fight.

"What?" he asked, trying to - for now - keep the weariness from his tone.

"I loved you the most," Sylar said again. "More than the girl or the fat cop or Petrelli or Maya or any of those other pathetic people you've filled your life with."

Mohinder rolled his eyes in disgust at the other man's comment. He didn't know what had brought this topic on, but it was certainly not something he wanted to discuss. "Well I'm glad to hear that," he snipped. "And here I was getting mixed signals from all those attempts on my life."

"I never tried to kill you," Sylar shot back. "You tried to kill me - you did kill me - but I never tried to kill you."

"Then what do you call-"

"Punishment," he snapped, cutting Mohinder off before he could recite the list of horrible things that Sylar had put him through, a list that they were both very familiar with. "Making us even. That's what I call it, Mohinder."

"Well what do you want from me?" he said tightly, keeping his eyes focused on the road even as his arms shook from the tension. "An apology? A sonnet? A confession of undying love!"

Silence settled on the car once again, yet Mohinder heard the unspoken "yes" loud and clear."


Pairing: Sylar/Bennet
Rating: PG
Prompt/Request: genderbent!Sylar/Noah, adventures as company partners (I'd prefer that Sylar has always been female here, but that's not a requirement)
Warning: Gender Bender, AU, "Het"?

The term "insanely beautiful" took on a whole new meaning with her. She was intense; intimidatingly so - for most people - with piercing brown eyes that bore into you, studied you, saw every flaw and imperfection, peeling away your layers until she finally understood what made you tick.

There were a million reasons why he shouldn't like her - the top one being what she'd done to his little girl - and there were just as many why he shouldn't be staring at her - he clenched down on the steering wheel with near unnecessary force until the worn, golden band around his finger bit into him, reminding him that it was there - and he told himself that he didn't, that he wasn't.

A soft sigh escaped her lips - thin, but tempting with their fresh coat of dark red gloss - as she squirmed in her seat and used her deft, long fingers to pop open yet another button on her blouse, revealing a bit more soft, pale skin. She leaned forward, greedily hogging the cold blast of air from the vent and letting it caress her toned body.

Bennet pointedly turned his eyes back towards the road and told himself the only reason he was loosening his tie was because of the sweltering heat. It really wasn't the best weather to be dressed in such heavy layers and even after years of field work and business suits, he still wasn't used to it, so it didn't really surprise the man that his partner - and he used the term very loosely - was having such a hard time adjusting.

Sylar wasn't at all used to business attire. In her pre-brain stealing days she had been all sweater vests and khaki pants and clunky Mary Janes that made her foot falls heavy and inelegant. (Memories of the girl they had stalked and monitored and driven even further into madness still haunted him. To think if they had just let her be...) During her new life - under the guise of an identity she'd created for herself with the blood and screams of others - it had been nothing but dark clothes that either hid her from suspicious eyes or clung to every inch of her body, showing off the curves that Gabrielle Gray had been too shy to embrace (which ever was convenient to her situation was how she dressed).

Yet the business suit was new, brand new. A gift from mother dearest. Dark charcoal gray jacket and a matching skirt that hemmed off just above her knees. Burgundy blouse with an already low neckline that she kept adjusting and black pumps that brought out the shape of her long legs. It was an impractical ensemble for their line of work, but obviously Angela had been more concerned with making her "daughter" look as professional and charming as possible.

"So where are we headed to today?" Sylar asked, her husky tone dragging him out of his musings. "Anything interesting?"

"Routine," Bennet grumbled. "Just routine."

She turned to him, heavy brows that would have looked ridiculous on any other face furrowing in distaste at his words. "'Routine'? That's no fun," she practically pouted, shifting in her seat until she was all but lounging. "When are we going to do anything exciting?"

"Sorry, Gabrielle, but entertaining you is not part of my job."

Her dark gaze intensified at the use of her real name and Bennet had to fight to keep the triumphant smirk off of his lips.

She shifted again, turning in her seat so that her body was facing his. Long legs crossed smoothly as the hem of her skirt eased up ever so slightly along her creamy thigh. "Sorry if I'm just anxious to see you in action," she almost purred, her eyes hooding seductively as she leaned closer. He could smell her perfume - no doubt another gift - as her hand drifted onto his shoulder, caressing the fabric of his jacket. "Tell me; are there at least any good abilities to feast on? I'm eager for a bite."

It was strange that in an instant the idea of pulling off the road, grabbing her roughly and kissing those thin lips flashed to the front of his mind, but then he remembered Claire. He imagined her, pinned down and screaming, frightened out of her mind as this monster ripped her open and with those same fingers poked and prodded at her insides.

His hand clamped down on hers, gripping it with bruising force as he shoved it off. "Just sit tight and behave like a good girl," he ordered.

Bennet half expected her to turn away from him, huffing like an indignant teenager and glare out the window with a pout on her lips. Instead Sylar merely leaned back in her seat and smiled as if she had seen the flair of his base urges with her own two eyes. He suddenly longed to grab the gun in his holster and empty the clip in her chest.

Soon.

Soon.


Pairing: Peter/Claude
Rating: PG
Prompt/Request: Peter/Claude, fairy tale AU
Warning: AU, Sillyness

"Sir Claude, I am in need of your help."

Claude cringed at the voice that had quickly become far too familiar. Every night for the past week the lad had been coming to the pub, interrupting his peace and quiet with the same old speech. Claude had thought that he was hidden, thought that the smoke and shadows of the back end of the room were enough to make him nearly invisible, but sharp brown eyes had spotted him anyway. "Does the word 'retired' mean nothin' to you, pup?"

Silence and a determined squaring of shoulders was his only answer as the youth once again proved his determination. Yet Claude was not impressed. He had seen far too many bright eyed, eager young pups scampering into his pub, begging for his help. Although most of them got the clue after three consecutive no's. The boy was the first to last this long.

"Sorry, friend, 's like I told ya last night; I'm not interested in going on any quests."

"But my kingdom is in danger," the boy lamented, pulling up a chair across from him and causing the legs to scrape against the rough wooden floor. If it weren't for the tavern's pointed lack of patrons, Claude would have actually been a bit worried about attracting unwanted attention. Yet as it stood, he was in the clear. "A horrible fate will befall everyone in the land if you do not help me."

He shrugged, tapping the surface of his tankard absently. "Not any of my concerned."

The boy stared, sputtering indignantly at his words. "Not your concern?" he repeated. "How can you say such a thing?"

"Simple, I open my mouth an' words come out."

A groan - make that a growl - came from between gritted teeth and Claude half expected the boy to dissolve into a petulant temper tantrum. Not that he could really blame him at this point. The boy was the type that cared too much, that put everyone else before himself, and couldn't understand others acting any differently. Needless to say, Claude's pointed indifference was both frustrating and perplexing to him. "You're not the Claude Rains I heard stories about," the boy accused. "You're not the knight that minstrels wrote ballads about."

"Clearly," he groused, standing up to grab the boy none too gently by the arm. "An' I think it's high time you were headin' home, mate."

The boy yelped, startled, as Claude all but dragged him through the tavern and out into the streets. The abrupt shift from dank, smoke filled air to the crisp, cool midsummer breeze was startling. The outside world, lit by only a few torches and the moon directly above them was just enough for him to make out the indignant scowl marring the boy's face.

"I'll keep coming back," he promised. "You can turn me away tonight, but I'll be back the next night and the night after."

Claude snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, you're a real persistent young pup, but I'm as stubborn as they come. D'ya really think you'll be able ta get me ta join your cause jus' by badgerin' me ta death?"

The boy's mouth drew into a tight line and even in the gloom of the late hour Claude could tell that he was blushing. "I... I'm not giving up. I need help. There are people, innocent people whose lives are in danger."

He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest; because despite the lack of light the kid's big brown puppy dog eyes were still working their magic on him. "I understand, friend," Claude said and he did understand. A long time ago, in another life, he had been someone who had cared, and in that life he'd gotten an arrow in his side for all the good that caring had done him. "But I'm not the one to help you. 'Sides, I'm sure there are plenty of fine, eager young knights out there that would be more than willin' ta offer ya their sword, Prince Peter."

The boy - Peter - stiffened, his eyes widening as he took a hesitant step back. "How... how did-?"

"Ya think I wouldn't notice the crown prince wandering in to my neck of the woods?" he scoffed. "Don't give me much credit, do ya Petey?"

"Well, how did you know?" Peter asked anyway, and if Claude weren't already certain he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, he knew now.

"First of all, ya've got all yer teeth." The prince blushed, pressing his mouth tighter as if to hide the evidence. "Second, ya talk too good."

Peter sighed, brushing his hair out of his face. "If you know who I am, then you know what I have to offer you," he said, and truly he was a tiring thing. "Gold, jewels, anything you want will be yours, just ask."

Claude laughed, because it was too easy. "Anything?" he repeated, looking the boy up and down.

"Anything," he confirmed, completely missing the way he was being studied.

"Kiss me."

Peter blinked, paled as he stared in horror and the reaction alone was almost enough to satisfy the retired knight. "Whuh...?"

"Ya said 'anything', yeah? Well I want you ta kiss me."

The prince blushed, bowing his head sheepishly. "I can't."

Claude laughed, despite his disappointment in the response he had to admit that this was quite entertaining. "Can't?" he said again. "Jus' a kiss, 'your highness.'"

"Well... I can't do that," he answered, embarrassment quickly shifting into indignant anger. "And frankly, you wouldn't want me to."

His ears perked up at that comment. Suddenly things had gotten quite interesting. "That so?" A nod. "Well, what if I were ta help ya out, join your crusade? Would ya be able to kiss me then?"

A shrug and Claude knew that Peter was too innocent and naive to even think of lying. "I don't know. I... maybe."

He smiled. "Well, shall we be off then?"

Claude turned, walking off, not at all bothering to watch Peter's reaction, but from the way eager young feet quicken their pace to catch up with him.