Sylar was more than pleased when Claire took him up on the offer to fancy up his house a bit. They had traveled to the nearest big box store and he let her put whatever she wanted in the cart. Well, almost everything.
"Claire, I refuse to let you get that," he said, putting a horrible pink bedspread back on the shelf. "Even if it would go in the room I never use."
She busied herself with the redecorating for a few days while he stowed away in his study, working feverishly to sort out the mountains of information he had written down. They fell into a sort of routine in the first few days, he'd make breakfast, he would go to the study, she to whatever room she was working on. He'd hear a tap at his door and she'd walk in with lunch for both of them, eating on one of his desk while he'd fill her in with any relevant information he'd uncovered. They'd split to work again before meeting in the kitchen to cook dinner together.
He cursed himself for allowing such a routine to stick. It wasn't that he hated it, it was that he was enjoying it too much. Every cold can of soda she brought to him, every plate of scrambled eggs he made for her only fueled his paranoid notion that it was just a formality to Claire. That ugly little voice in the back of his mind would rip and tear any glint of hope that sprung up when she would, without provocation, run her hand down the length of his neck before resting her cheek on the back of his head. He imagined his face was always in a sort of grimace, torn between smiling and being filled with doubt, each night when she curled her small frame back into his, laying her hand over his as they drifted off to sleep.
Claire's sudden crying fits were still happening at least daily. They never spoke of them unless she broke down in front of him, in which he would cradle her against his chest and mutter what he believed to be calming musings, like one would do with an upset infant. But he knew every time it happened, always keeping his ear tuned to whatever room she was in. The first time it happened, he had jumped from his chair, making it halfway down the hall before stopping himself, the voice in his head telling him to let her ride it out. It would be better for her. It still pained to hear her sobs, talking to herself, pleading with a god that wasn't there to turn back the clock. As the days went by, the prayers turned to a sort of morbid, hateful eulogy for her adopted father and he smiled. It was one of the steps he was familiar with in the "grieving for the seriously emotional damaged".
After a week and a half, Sylar was glad to have finally finished sorting through the information that was important to their plan. Step 2 was forming the plan itself, something he was not looking forward to. He was getting some fresh air on the back porch when Claire stepped out, her forearms covered in splatters of slate grey paint.
"So are you gonna teach me to fight or what?"
He was actually relieved that she finally brought it up, as he was looking for any excuse to put off step 2 for a little bit. He kept his head straight, looking out over the field, weighing the pros and cons of the idea generating in his head. He decided to go for it, setting his coffee on the small patio table before crouching down quickly and sweeping both of Claire's legs out from under her with his own. He bounced back up to see her flat on her ass, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment and her green eyes shooting daggers at him. Ah, the good ol' days.
"What the hell, Sylar! I wasn't even ready!" she spat.
"That's the point. You think those guards are going to just stand there waiting for you to brace yourself?"
She just curled her lip at him before bending her body back, raising her legs in the air and jumping straight back up on her feet. Sylar's eyebrows shot right up at such an athletic display. He was not expecting that.
She smiled smugly at him. "Yeah, I still got it," she said matter-of-factly, before lunging forward and surprising him with a mean right hook.
He stumbled back, his eyes blurred and a dull pain in his jaw as he instinctively raised his hand to toss her back. He stopped himself right before she flew from her feet, remembering that wasn't part of the lesson. Instead, he jumped over the railing of the porch and ran out into the open field. He heard her quick steps as she followed him out there. They stopped and stared each other down, Sylar's blood pumping in that old familiar way, Claire's normally bright smile now twisted in a tight lipped grimace. He decided to test her instincts, he was going to make movements and not announce them, just to see her reactions. He took one step to the right, To his delight, she stepped to her right, keeping the space between them the same as it was. He tried it again, and again she followed.
"Excellent," he praised. "Don't ever let them catch you from the side."
He watched as she opened her mouth to speak, most likely a sarcastic comment, but she quickly closed it and simply nodded at him. He continued, this time jumping right towards her. She jumped back, throwing her arms up to block her face, a smart move but not what he expected her to do. She must have seen the confusion on his face.
"I played a lot of Street Fighter with my brother," she answered simply.
He continued a series of striking moves, offering praise or advice on each attack. He would mix it up, sometimes doing the same move several times in a row before switching gears to multiple attacks. After a solid thirty minutes, they were both drenched in sweat, Claire's yellow shirt splattered with drops of blood from a few moves she needed to work on. She was breathing heavily and lifted the hem of her shirt up to wipe her filthy face. That quick flash of her smooth stomach sent a jolt right down his spine.
"Ok," she panted. "Day one is done."
He fought the urge to strike at her once more when she bent over and rested her hands on her knees but he held back. He walked toward her, intent on patting her on the back but she flinched and threw her arm out quickly, catching him in the chest with a blow strong enough to knock the wind out of him. Her eyes widened and she gasped, realizing quickly that he wasn't try to hurt her.
"Oh shit, honey, I'm sorry!"
The fact that he was temporarily out of breath and his heart felt like it was bruised was completely forgotten. She had called him by a pet name. All he could do was force a grin as she cupped her blood stained fingers under his jaw. It was glorious.
"I'm fine," he said finally. "Let's get cleaned up and get dinner started."
"I don't feel like cooking," Claire said.
"I really don't feel like it either," Sylar agreed, feeling suddenly lazy. "How about we go out tonight. There's a small steak house about 40 minutes away."
"I'd like that."
***********
Sylar didn't know a simple pair of jeans and a grey sweater could look so enticing. Claire had stepped out of the bathroom, her hair loosely curled and falling past her shoulders, her face done in simple but gorgeous makeup and a silver necklace with a diamond pendant he'd never seen her wear around her neck. He was rooted to the spot in front of his dresser, taking in the curves of her calves and her hips in those dark jeans that seemed to be painted on. His eyes traveled up to the sweater, the fabric clinging to her torso and stretched taut across her chest, the cut low enough to allow a hint of her cleavage to show, that tiny necklace resting between her breasts. He felt a sudden wave of jealousy at that piece of jewelry.
"Is it that bad?" she said.
He finally pulled his gaze to meet hers. "Huh?"
"The outfit. It's too much isn't it?"
"What are you talking about? It's fine." More than fine he thought.
She turned her back to him to fetch her shoes from the closet. He watched with increasingly hungry eyes as she bent over right in his line of sight to scoop them up. "It's just that I didn't want to go out to eat looking like 'who done it'. And it's been weeks since I've had a reason to, I don't know, gussy myself up. I didn't over do it did I?"
Sylar resisted the urge to sigh. Women. "No. You look nice. Now, if you would've came out here wearing a micro-skirt and silver go-go boots, it might be a different story." He immediately pictured her sauntering out of his bathroom in said outfit and he licked his lips, a gesture he was thankful Claire hadn't seen. He shook the inappropriate thoughts from his mind and changed the subject. "Where did you get that necklace? I like it."
"I would hope so, seeing as how it's yours. Well, maybe not yours in the sense that you wear it, but I found it in the storage room when I was cleaning it out. It was in an old shoebox. I figured you wouldn't mind..."
Sylar took a few steps forward to her to get a better look at the piece. Where did it come from? He couldn't remember. "I don't remember... Do you mind?"
Claire raised an eyebrow, not understanding what he was asking until he reached out and placed his hand against the pendant. The history of the necklace came flooding back to him at breakneck speed and he stumbled back a bit once the truth was revealed to him. The first emotion that hit was overwhelming guilt that he didn't recognize it. The second was a quick wave of selfishness and the wanting to rip the necklace from her neck and hide it forever.
It was his mother's.
He took a cleansing breath and opened his eyes to see Claire, looking concerned and holding the necklace tight in her fist. Her quickly darting eyes and slightly trembling lip brought him back to reality and he forced a smile. "Sorry, didn't expect to see that much," he said truthfully.
"What the hell was that?"
He leaned back against his dresser and ran a hand through his hair. He saw no reason to lie to her. "I didn't recognize it. I should have. That necklace was my mother's."
"Oh," she said. "Was?"
He could tell from her tone what she was asking.
"Yes. She died several years ago," he said, hoping she wouldn't want details.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized. "What happened?"
He bit his lip. "There was an accident. It happened a few days before the fiasco in New York. You remember, when Peter almost blew it up."
"Yes."
He sat down on his bed, facing her. This might be a little harder than he thought. "I used Isaac's power and painted the prediction of the 'exploding man' destroying New York and I panicked. Back then, I was insane with the hunger but the notion of millions dying because of me was something I was not ok with. I called my mother, who I hadn't spoken to in a while. I brought her a present. A snowglobe. She was a collector."
Claire stepped toward the bed and sat next to him, listening intently.
"She was always telling me how special I could be. She had such high hopes for me. That night was no different. She started in with the 'special' speech. I told her I was already special. She had no idea about my power, you see. I just wanted to show her what I could do. Well, needless to say, it scared the shit out of her. She locked herself in her room. I sat at her door, apologizing over and over and over. When she finally came out she looked like a wild animal. She kept asking me what I had done with her son. She tried to attack me with a pair of scissors. We struggled and..It was an accident. I wrestled her hand away and it went right into her own chest. She died from it. "
He felt Claire's hand rest over his own. "Jesus, Sylar." It was all she could say.
He forced himself to look at her. To read her face. To see if he could detect disgust. He found none.
"I didn't mean to hurt her. It was all my fault."
She just shook her head. "I'm so sorry. Do you want me to take it off?"
A small part of him wanted to scream 'yes' but it was only a very small part. He cocked his head to the side and thought for a minute. This was one of the last trinkets he had to remind him of his mother. At the same time, it had been years since her accidental death. What was the purpose of keeping this necklace now? He had completely forgotten about it for no telling how many years til now. No, it was time to let it go.
"No. Keep it. It's beautiful on you. If you wouldn't have told me, I wouldn't have known the difference."
"You sure?"
He grinned, baring his teeth. "Positive."
************
Their dinner was wonderful. They gorged on perfectly cooked steaks, fat and fluffy baked potatoes and vegetables that Sylar was able to verify were freshly grown on a farm only ten minutes away. Claire seemed fascinated by this particular power he possessed. She spent a good chunk of the evening passing him items and asking him to give her the history of it. He suspected she was only being so overly curious to lighten the mood and put the earlier conversation behind them. He was grateful that it was working.
"So do you get these flashes every time you touch something? That's got to be distracting."
"No. After a while, you learn to turn it off. Now I don't see anything unless I want to," he said, sticking the last piece of steak into his mouth.
She finished her last bite of potato, leaving the skin untouched. "I wish I could do something like that."
Sylar raised an eyebrow. "What happened to the whole 'I just want to be normal' thing?"
She shrugged. "I'm going to live forever. That's something I have no control of. All I can do is not get hurt. I'm just saying it might be fun to have something else I could do. Help pass the time."
She was preaching to the choir on that front.
They ordered dessert, he a hot fudge sundae, her a piece of pecan pie a la mode. Claire was raving about her treat. He felt his stomach flip when she reached across the table and forced him to take a bite of the pie. It wasn't nearly as good as the glimpse he caught down her shirt as she fed it to him.
By the time they got back to his house, it was late. Claire excused herself to the bathroom to change. Sylar settled into the couch, watching a documentary on Greek architecture. After the third commercial break, it occurred to him that she had been upstairs for a while. He tuned his acute hearing toward his bedroom and he could hear the splash of water and her humming softly to herself. Unable to resist, he headed to his room and knocked softly on the bathroom door.
"Come in," she called out.
He opened the door but immediately gave her his back when he saw her. She was laying in his giant tub, big bubbles filling it, threatening to cascade over the side. He felt the heat from the steamy room hit his face and the heat from something else creeping down his back. She was just a few feet away, soaking wet and naked. He swallowed hard.
"Don't be such a prude," she called to him. "I'm covered up."
He turned back to her slowly, seeing that she was right. Her small body was hidden under those white bubbles. They crept up and around her shoulders, only leaving her face and top of her uncovered. A few had stuck to her chin and he laughed.
"What?" she asked.
"You have a bubble goatee," he said, hopping up to sit on the wide marble counter where his sink was.
Her cheeks flushed just a little and he saw her hand come up from the soapy water and wipe them away. "Did you need something?"
"Just checking on you. You said you were gonna change but never came back down."
"Ah," she nodded. "I was looking at this tub and after all that food, it was too tempting to pass up. It's like a little mini-hot tub. Only I can fill it with bubbles. It's been years since I had a proper bubble bath."
The air caught in Sylar's throat when he watched her shoot a leg straight up out of the water, her hand following. He watched as she used the washrag to run from her ankle down past her knee where it disappeared into the water. She couldn't help but notice his reaction and laugh.
"That's not funny," he said. "You shouldn't tease."
"If you didn't have such strong reactions I wouldn't be tempted to do it. It's the faces you make that make me do it," she smiled. She looked down at her hands. "I'm starting to prune. Will you hand me that robe?"
Sylar hopped down and grabbed a fluffy, navy colored robe and went to set it at the head of the tub so she could reach it. To his surprise, she stood right up to grab it from him and he visibly shuddered. The suds still covered a lot of her skin, shielding the tips of her breasts and the valley at the apex of her legs. Dense streams of bubbles were rolling down her skin, revealing more and more of her stomach and her thighs. He noticed the collection on her breasts were slowly sliding down and he wet his lips. She cleared her throat and he snapped out of it, turning to leave her to her privacy.
"You did that on purpose. That's not nice," he said, his voice sounding slightly strained, matching the tightness growing in his jeans.
He only heard her chuckle as he flew back down the steps.
******
Sylar found her in the kitchen several minutes later, clad only in the bathrobe, her hair still damp and curling around her freshly scrubbed face. He remained unannounced, watching her as he leaned against the door frame. She was pouring herself a big glass of tea and took a big gulp and began to just stare out in the middle distance.
"I swear, you must drink at least a whole gallon of that tea a day," he said and he took pleasure in seeing her jump out of her skin a little.
"Don't do that! I about pissed myself," she chided, taking another drink.
"If you didn't have such strong reactions I wouldn't be tempted to do it. It's the faces you make that make me do it," he mocked. She rolled her eyes at him, flashing a knowing grin before bended straight over in front of him, rummaging through the cabinet.
Sylar was both thankful and disappointed that the robe she wore was as long as it was. Any shorter and he would have seen something he was fairly sure would be the end of him. He fought the urge to wave his hand and force the fabric to ride up higher to sneak a peek.
"You fight dirty, you know that," he groaned.
"I learned from the best," she said and he wasn't sure if she was referring to him or someone else. He watched as she pulled a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread out and began toasting it, sliding to the fridge to pull out the small package of cream cheese. She grabbed the first knife she saw, a long, thin and very sharp carving knife. He raised an eyebrow and she saw it.
"What did I saw about that eyebrow?" she asked again, standing on the tips of her toes to try and reach the paper plates in the cabinet above the stove. She was still too short to reach so Sylar, instead of just walking a few feet to get them for her, lifted her in the air without moving a finger. He sat her back down softly and she continued as if nothing unusual happened. Then again, that sort of display of power was normal to her.
"Thanks," she said, arranging everything out on the kitchen island.
Sylar walked to the other side of the island and faced her. "I can't believe you are eating again. You practically stuffed yourself to the point of explosion just a little while ago."
She gripped the knife in her hand tight, her knuckles turning white. "Hey, I don't wanna hear it. Earlier you about killed me outside. I'm sure I burned about a million calories then. A little late night snack isn't gonna kill me."
He could see the real annoyance on her face at his comment. Unable to resist, he kept pushing. He spread his hands across the surface and leaned in close to her. "Uh huh. Your idea of a little snack is 4 pieces of cinnamon toast?"
"Shut up or I'll stick this somewhere unpleasant," she warned, brandishing the knife in his face.
He shrugged. "I wish you would. I doubt you could break skin," he said.
"Don't tempt me. I'm warning you," she seethed, hastily spreading cream cheese on the fresh toast.
"You wouldn't do it. There is precious cream cheese on that knife and I know you wouldn't waste a dollop of that."
To his surprise, she actually followed through on her threats. He watched in what seemed like extreme slow motion as she let out a squeal of annoyance and raised the knife high in the air before bringing it down. He held his breathe and his eyes widened and he was unable to move as he saw the direction of the blade, his heart stopping and his lungs burning as he watched in horror as the blade dug into the ring finger on his left hand. The last thing he saw was the smug look on her face and the splatter of blood on her cheek before everything went black and he could think no more.