Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83

Disclaimer/Claimer: I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Spoilers: AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3
Word count: ~40,000
Author's Note: Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

Chapter 10: Acceptance is just a state of mind

Sylar turned over, taking in the rare sight of Claire asleep. It was only a half forgotten habit to her now, one she had slipped into on the soft bed. From the thoughts he'd picked up from her mind as she had lay there he suspected it was more to do with slipping into unconsciousness and forgetting for even a short while about her life. He reached out, gently brushing the back of his hand across her cheek and then down to her collarbone. Only her tank top and underwear kept her skin from him, he brushed a strap aside and ran his finger over the exposed skin, before burying his head in her hair.

She always smelt the same to him, with or without perfume, something primal, nothing sickly sweet, or lingering, just a hint of it that made you instantly want it again, just like Claire herself. Tumbleweeds maybe, aromatic, dark, woody and floral all at once, it was the scent of immortality he decided; wondering if he too had an earthy scent that clung to him, like the Earth they could never leave. She of course wouldn't make it that long, she didn't have the heart for eternity, she'd barely made it back the last time.

He slid a hand down to her flat stomach, pushing under the material so he could feel her skin. He didn't really deserve her, he knew that, had he not taken her broken shell from that cell he never could have had the chance. No one deserved her, not really, certainly not that idiot Uncle of hers. Perhaps they thought that she was still the Claire they knew, the one that wanted to be the hero, to help people... only that Claire had never really existed. He'd seen a long time ago now, just how damaging their encounter had been on her young mind, saw 'bio mom' drag the truth from her with blistering ferocity, Claire had only ever wanted to hurt the people that hurt her. Either way they were banking on a Claire that didn't exist, expecting her to accept that this was the best way to fix the world. He sighed stilling his hands. Idiots.

He'd call them, but what could he possibly say to convince them that he knew Claire better than any of them? Peter would be too full of self righteous indignance, that a serial killer that had terrorised her might know more about his own niece than him. Noah, Noah wouldn't even let him speak. His mind had tried to rip him to shreds that day in the bunker, Sylar had barely heard the words, only what his mind had wanted to convey, and he had not been happy to have his 'Claire-bear' clinging to him like that. The others were unimportant; they had neither the power nor the motivation to stand against him for Claire's sake.

But it left him with a problem; Claire's survival depended on her accepting their plan, on returning to the fold and playing nice with the people that had broken her. It was strange; he wasn't used to considering someone else's survival, only his own had ever mattered. But his knack for seeing through the mess to the heart of an issue was not comforting him now; he could see no way to resolve this, not for her. At least not as she was now.

There was an option, he considered it fleetingly, but ultimately he was too selfish for that, and despite his own better judgement he actually cared about her, he liked her this way. Dismissing it he focused on other options.

He supposed he could give himself up, agree to come quietly, to stay in their little cell until they were long dead, and he was forgotten. Fake his death for the media, wouldn't be too hard, he could even force his body to slow the healing process if he needed, make it look real. In exchange they leave Claire to live her life, no more transfusions; no more cells. But she wouldn't go for that, vengeance was all she could see, and even he had to admit, she probably wouldn't like the idea of him being locked away forever. The thought sent an odd shiver through him, drawing a smile. Finally, after everything, he had found someone that cared about him, could he really sit in a cell and let her get on with her life without him? There was that fable, 'if you love something, let it go, if it comes back to you it's yours to keep.' He smirked, he'd done that, in that bunker he'd let her go, she hadn't left. He wouldn't; couldn't do that again; she was his and it stirred something even darker in him than the hunger... his.

Perhaps they should both die? The idea bounced around his skull, the idea had its appeal, he would never have to lose her, and he'd die knowing that neither Peter nor Noah had been able to stop it, that he'd won. He weighed the pros against the obvious cons... not being alive, she shifted and his hand shifted higher with her, a tingle swept down his fingers and across his hands. Dead he'd never touch her again, never see into that gloriously deviant mind, the former cheerleader, cheering for the death of a world that had broken her. He would never be able to replace her; she was unique, like him.

He rolled onto his side, easing her chin gently, so as not to wake her, until her face was next to his. He'd miss seeing her face he decided. That deceptive face, she looked like sunshine, like the angel the world so wanted her to be, men had always stopped and stared at that face, had wanted her for it. Children were comforted by it, her smile; warm enough to light up a room. But it was a mask, a perfect facsimile... if the devil had a face, he would have worn Claire's; sometimes Sylar wondered if he already did. He brushed a finger over her lips, perfectly smooth, he couldn't kill this, he'd never wanted too.

The options were limited. His original idea stirred again. Peter had the Hatian's power, the Hatian still had his power if he could be found. He could take Claire to either of them; have them erase her mind, everything Nathan had done to her. Everything he had done to her. Give her a second chance; let her be the sweet innocent 16 year old indestructible cheerleader again. But he wouldn't have her then... he would still end up in a cell, or in hiding. Could he wait that long, knowing eventually it would be just them... trust that time would give him the chance again to make her his?

He pressed his lips to the skin on her shoulder, trailing kisses until he reached her neck and slid over her sleeping form. His hand slid upwards further beneath her top, and brushed a breast, caressing it gently, as his lips reached their destination and captured hers. He felt the moment she woke up, there was no grogginess; no gentle slide from conscious to unconscious that everyone else got, she was simply awake again.

He felt her surprise to find him over her, his hands already at work on her body, his fully aroused length pressing against the thin material of her underwear. He waited for the protest, for the internal rebuke, there was none, nothing. Her hands slid up his chest, and pulled at his vest until she had worked it free. The appreciation in her mind as she stroked him was always a surprise; he'd never expected her to want him, not like this, to need him perhaps, to need to feel, but to want? Her hands tugged at his slightly longer hair, those strong fingers sending sensations through his scalp that were almost enough to take the strength from his legs. His hands tore at her tank top and the material gave beneath them to reveal her breasts, the nipples already waiting for his touch, hard and long.

It didn't matter how many times they did this, how many times he touched her, how many times he pushed through her virginity; the feeling he got was the same as that first time. Utterly right, every sensation razor sharp, every touch electrifying, the sight of her small, firm, golden body beneath him, above him, it never ceased to amaze him.

Claire's small hand grasped him and he let out a sharp grunt, her sense of touch had faded so much during her time in that cell, sometimes he feared she would forget entirely that it was attached. But as her hand moved, and she pushed him over onto his back he tried to let thought fade, far too easy a concept with her driving him towards ecstasy. Lips went around him and his whole body bucked, and he drew in a breath so sharp he nearly choked on it. She had never offered him this, not once, and he had never asked. Her soft tongue worked steadily against him and he had to curl his hand around the bed spread, concentrating on not setting the sheets ablaze, or pulling her hair out as he fisted his hand in those long golden locks.

He glanced down, having to see her, his eyes widened; it was possibly the most erotic thing he'd ever seen, watching himself disappear into her mouth, a look of concentration on her face, as she attempted to break his control. Her hand grasped his balls, with more delicacy than she usually showed, and he was unable to stop the lightening that burst from his loose hand, blackening the sheets beneath. She looked up from beneath her eyelashes, not stopping her work; her thoughts were the only clue behind amused eyes as to her intent. 'Witch.' He thought silently, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the pillow not bothering to stifle the moan she forced free with her tongue.

Her tempo and insistence increased, he gripped her hair tightly, feeling his toes curling, as his breathing became short bursts. He would have stopped her, but it wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to watch him come apart, wanted to watch him gasping and thrashing beneath her. He obliged, as her hand worked in tandem with her mouth, until he was tighter than he ever remembered being. He brushed the back of her throat, over and over, the contact sending sharp shocks through his now quivering length. He gave her no warning, holding her head firmly in place as his seed burst free, he felt her surprise, she'd never done that before, not that he could tell... like everything about her, it had been picture perfect. Thrusting upwards against her mouth he emptied himself into her, she swallowed it... good girl. He released her head falling back boneless against the mattress; he felt the coolness of the air around his still throbbing length as her mouth left.

Sylar opened one eye, staring at her, that smirk was in place; she was far too pleased with herself. But then he was far too pleased with her as well to call her on it. Her mind was just as smug. He supposed he should have offered to return the favour, but it was honestly too much effort, he felt utterly spent. Her skin slid across his torso, and he ignored it, if it was possible to ignore Claire... it wasn't it seemed, as his hands moved of their own accord, sliding up her back to hold her against him. He almost laughed at her naivety then, she had thought that offering him that, would somehow get her off the hook, let her go back to the blissful oblivion her rare sleep had offered.

"Poor girl." He murmured against her hair, flipping them both over, and holding her fast with his weight. The fire was back in her eyes, her skin flushed pink with desire. She hadn't counted on getting so aroused herself, now she needed him, wanted him... and she'd already taken all he could give for now. She glared up at him, choosing to show him the irritation instead of the desperation that warred inside of her. He considered asking her to beg, she'd only done so once, that night on the Italian hillside, and he wasn't convinced it had been begging, more like surrendering. He wanted her to beg.

"Please." She breathed her hands taking his head so she could kiss his jaw, down to that spot she'd found behind his ear that made him groan. "Please Gabriel." He stilled and threw her back into the mattress holding her down. Fury bubbled over inside of him. He had tried to be Gabriel for her, and she'd rejected him, she'd wanted Sylar. But she wouldn't beg Sylar!

"No." He spat, grabbing her wrists and wrenching them above her head to hold them in place with his power. "Ask me, not him. Gabriel isn't what you want, what you need." He slid his hands down her sides, taking her underwear with him, until he'd slid it off her legs. He stared hard at her, feeling that desperation bubbling to the surface again inside of her, surpassing the irritation. His length hardened again as if at her command, he was momentarily stunned, his body had its limits, and she had most definitely pushed him past them earlier, so he'd thought. He slid up her, letting her feel it, she arched against him, that desperation forcing her to tug at invisible bonds. "You always get what you want Claire. Always." He pressed a kiss to her fluttering stomach, sticking his tongue into her belly button and drawing a sharp hiss from her. She knew what he wanted, he could hear the gears turning in her mind, one thought sharp after another, dimmed only by desire and desperation. He looked up at her from his position at her stomach, waiting.

"Sylar." She gasped, the word breaking in her throat. "Please." Perhaps he should have savoured it, savoured the moment the little cheerleader from Odessa realised she wanted the serial killer, the monster from her nightmares. But the moment those last syllables had left her lips he was another animal, an animal she had created, and let loose. Without hesitation he slammed inside of her, relishing the moment as always, that he broke through the only resistance she would offer. Claire clutched at his shoulders, digging her slight nails into his skin hard enough to mark. With supreme effort he stilled, he felt her irritation, and mild amusement, thinking he was considering her non-existent discomfort... he wasn't. It wasn't enough, this new monster wanted more, it wanted to devour her, to make her scream for him, to take her into himself, to let her see just how she was his. He gripped her face, ignoring the sudden flutter of panic from her, mind reading had never been an ability she liked directed her way.

"What are you doing?" such a brave girl, she didn't really want to know, not really, but she had to ask, his lips brushed hers, it wasn't going to reassure her, there was nothing that could.

"I want you to see me!" He kissed her again, knowing it wasn't enough, the new monster inside of him would always want more of her. "All of me. Like I can see you." He brushed a thumb across her forehead. She was afraid, her head twitched, and he felt her body tense beneath him.

"I don't..." she swallowed the words, she did want, he knew that.

Sylar pushed, with his body and his mind, the combination was electric, her mind opened to him, just like always, locking his eyes on hers, he let go. She screamed, and he thrust into her, pushing further into her mind, letting her further into his. Hiding nothing. She saw his twisted desires for her, like clockwork each idea he'd had to protect her laid bare, kill her, keep her, erase her, ticking away like time bombs within him, as he continued to thrust into her writhing, grasping body. Every monstrous act, he let her reveal them all, the curtains that hid them cast aside by her trembling hands. She wasn't a monster yet, not like him, but she wasn't repulsed, not anymore. He showed her their moments together, there was no good and bad, not to him, every moment with her was one in the same... perfect.

He increased the momentum, of both his body and the images; she was quivering beneath him, her body heaving breaths against his shoulder as she clutched him. He grasped her within her mind, holding her too him, asking only one thing. 'Accept me.' There was nowhere for her to run, to evade, not even from herself. He felt her answer; however much it sickened the little girl he knew now was still buried inside, under all that hate. But he felt it, heard it and thrust into her faster, embracing her mind and body... just like he was always supposed to.

"Always." She rasped against his ear, before the trembling over took her, and she threw her head back, her mouth open panting, gritting her teeth to hold it back as long as possible. He pushed, and felt her tighten around him, dissolving into a wonderful sobbing heap, clinging to him inside and out.

"Mine." He rasped, slipping out of her mind and body, and letting his head fall against hers, the softness of her hair against his cheek bringing him back to earth.

"Yes." She replied quietly, he looked up, surprised to find the tears falling down her cheeks. She brushed them away, looking equally surprised to find them there.

Sylar was content in that moment, Nathan and his goons, dragging Peter and Noah with him, could burst in right now, and he wouldn't have shifted an inch. This was enough, with Claire.