A/N: Hello again! Did we reach chapter ten already? Yes people we have!
Thanks to all! Reviewers (anonymous and not), the ones who alerted, favorited and such, you all made my day.
Ok confession time, some of your reviews made me laugh with the hilariousness, seriously people eyed me weird in the train on my way home and I made a mess while drinking tea some time later.
But I adore any and all of your comments.
And I thought, if I have such clever readers… I propose a challenge. I've noticed the lack of Sylar/Claire stories over here and I know there are some brilliants writers, probably some of them are reading this or maybe there are people who want to write this pairing but are in need of a little push, so my question is: if I gave a prompt in each chapter would someone write a drabble, vignette or one-shot? (50 words minimal, it isn't much right?). Send a PM, let a review, whatever, I'm willing to make the art of your story as an incentive.
Let's shake this place, shall we?
Ok this would be my prompt for today: 'You look ridiculous'
I would LOVE if someone took it 3
So recommendations; Heroes rebirth from the ashes by Oldblueeyes and Hello Again by PensAreAwesome are both awesome stories. Go read them!
To my friend and beta Purple_Lex: girl I should make you a monument for all your help, you rock.
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes I only borrow the characters for fun; I owned 4 cactus but my dog ate one :´(
Contrary to what some people might believe, having the job of taking care of an infant is quite the tricky task.
It's not complex per se; there isn't much science in changing a diaper or heating the milk at the proper temperature or making mashed potatoes. Nope, he had lived off of mashed potatoes at one time; he would probably gladly accept the doughy concoction again considering what his wife made him eat nowadays.
The hard part lies in the irrefutable fact that it is a very demanding activity. Nothing at all like most other jobs are - consuming a few of your hours per day – as instead it is a 24 hour, sucking-your-life-out-of-your-bones kind of responsibility. And it is more demanding when in your life-curriculum there isn't antecedent of this – you know, with the whole being a new parent and all – and this experience could be the deciding factor in succeeding or totally failing, especially if the only precedent you have when you search 'family matters' in your memories is an image of a family whose core values reside in the lies, appearances, and the prestige of a legacy that wasn't worthy of all the pain and betrayal it brought with it.
Certainly not the best of examples.
His family wasn't an ordinary one by all accounts. Their integrants – and he spent a lot of hours mulling this over - are -in some cases were- represented by: the loving mother who holds double standards and enjoys hobbies like manipulating people and stealing socks, the dad with the perpetual frown perched on his face who had tended to ignored you – and then you learned the hard way why he wasn't home much and what a good thing that was when he had ignored you when you were a kid, you know with the whole stealing-powers-hugs you avoided – and lastly the big brother with the brilliant smile and head-first attitude who was too much of the golden boy and wasn't enough of a selfless person but all in all he was still someone who had totally loved the world, even with his last breath.
Fifty percent of said family was dead now -give or take a few numbers- he kind of had been right between the 'fallen in battle' list at some point. It was no wonder why he wasn't looking forward to raising his own with those same ideals he had been raised around. He didn't want his family to end like that.
Then add to that the fact that your extracurricular activities may or may not include saving the world from time to time and, well, hell yes committing to this kind of responsibility is quite demanding. Being a father is hard.
But totally worth it, Peter Petrelli contemplated with wonder; because everything that Annabel did was living prove that it was.
Peter had thought that he would never obsess about something again; at least not like he had before, in a time when his life had been completely dedicated to saving everyone else's life to the point that he often disregarded and sometimes sacrificed his own. It consumed him like a flame on dry grass; nothing else mattered as long as the count of people saved was maintained at a high number.
He shook his head lightly.
His own good deeds had been to somehow atone for his own family's past mistakes. What a fool. Now years had passed since and he could remember those memories with a hint of bitterness in his mouth. Days after days passed with a lot of them that were lived in the hospital helping, in the streets saving and rarely in the place he called home, barely crashing for a few hours, just to wake up and start it all over again.
A continuous circle of self-eroding.
And even after all the sacrifice, he had fallen short. A realization came with tearing flesh that left a tangy taste in his palate; a hard true. Even with all the tough work, he couldn't save them all. He couldn't save Nathan. Heck, he couldn't even save himself after that. The farce – Nathan not being Nathan but rather being Sylar - was the catalyst for his wrenched heart to finally acknowledge the despair residing there, the sensation of failure and depression pushing him even farther away; causing murderous feelings. It was a very dark time for the empath, one in which the heat of betrayal and the thirst of revenge were his primal necessities.
His alibi.
Yet something remarkable came from that segment of his life and it flourished from the black abyss like a last glimpse of hope.
A dream starring a shy blonde who had left him speechless in a park with her music.
She saved me from myself, Peter thinks now with keen clarity. Had it not been for the intense impulse of rescuing his last hope at happiness, Peter would never have gone so far. And it was very far as the other person starring in the dream was none other than the murderer of his brother.
Sylar.
No, if it had not been for Emma, he would had let Sylar rot forever in that place – his own hole of piteous empty ruin, a nightmare he found out later - and instead dodge the issue, searching for an alternate solution because he still wanted to stop Samuel and he still was the hero, the only one; there were too many lives at stake to not do a thing. But the anguish on her face, the pain in her eyes reflected in the dream, was enough to help him leave his hatred aside and want to make things right.
Following the dream's prediction, he let Sylar be the hero.
Thinking about that now, Peter has to contain a snicker. Who would have thought that from that specific adventure he would not only gain the love of the girl but also the opportunity to get to know the man who would become his closest friend? His brother by bond if not by blood.
Destiny has a really weird sense of humor.
The mental years in the prison allowed him to see the change in Sylar, from the power hungry guy to the loyal and insecure man. Of course, in the beginning of their enterprise, Peter beat the hell out of the guy with gusto – come on, who wouldn't have done the same?
Peter was only human after all.
The man had deserved that and more, nevertheless soon the lack of response – whether physically or verbally - from Sylar made the empath pause in his continued exerted wrath. He lost his steam and instead he settled for full-primeval-glares. And then the glares resulted in a tight cross word or two and then those meager words became actual conversations. A progression of sorts. He digested this later as being simply human behavior.
They kept each other sane in a world made only to crumble their hopes.
However, through small talk, Peter's optimism, and Sylar´s will to be better, a fusing of sorts took place. Their disjointed minds became one with one imperative objective: to get out of there and save the world. Though in the middle of all that, somehow Peter found himself forgiving his long-sworn enemy.
Yet another well-played move on destiny's part.
Forgiving Sylar was probably the hardest and most emotionally-demanding experience in his whole life –and he knew about emotionally demanding - but it left the empath weightless. Peter was relieved from a heavy burden he did not know he had carried until then. It was a fresh start for both of them and it was the key to crumble the giant wall that separated them from the real world.
Matt Parkman had been a devious genius.
Of course, that lessening of their animosity was nothing compared to the outstanding event that followed, but Peter liked to think that although the years that followed Claire's free fall from the Ferris wheel were hard ones, it was worthy of all the sacrifice. They had even reinforced that subtle connection that had linked all of them together in the beginning.
The former nurse slowly turned around, his eyes leaving the window he had been looking through to now land a few inches below, to gaze at caramel locks and trace the cupid bow of his daughter nose. Annabel had just fallen slept in his arms with her head resting softly in the crook of his neck. A tiny smile played over his unshaven features. Earlier, after a nutritious meal that had consisted mostly of apples mashed, his little one had been really restless – emphasis on the word really- with all the crawling she had been doing across the floor. Though someone might think that crawling wasn't the fastest of ways to travel, Annabel defies every rule, he thought, amused as he recalled actually jogging behind her, trying to keep her in his line of sight.
Peter let himself be contented with his fatherly pride.
She was really growing up, his little baby girl. Soon she would be really running on her own two feet. The former nurse walked a few steps into his living room, a tiny smile playing on his lips as he recalled the day he entered the Hospital's room and saw the tired but satisfied face of Emma as she presented him with a little bump wrapped in a soft pink blanket. "Pete, this is Annabel, your daughter," she had said. The first instant he laid eyes on her, he knew he was a goner. He fell helplessly in love and couldn't contain the shit-eating grin that followed.
Emma and Annabel were his life, his new obsession and adoration now, and he would do anything to ensure their safety.
"Pete." Micah's solemn face flicked on into the computer's screen that rested over his mahogany desk's office, startling him for a short-lived second before he nodded in acknowledgment. "Hey Micah. I'll be with you in a minute, buddy," he muttered.
Though many believed that Peter had settled down for good, very few of them actually knew about his daily hobbies. All of them assuming that he had set to take care of Annabel all the time, they believed he lazily lounged around his home using the vast wide world web to keep himself amused. Ha, ha. Well, though the former was true, the later was slightly different.
"Okay honey," Peter murmured in a soft voice. "Daddy has some business to attend to."
Carefully maneuvering himself and with the gentleness that only practice could give, he put the sleeping baby down in her crib, making sure to turn on the baby monitor that was connected to the one he held in his office. Peter raced down the stairs to where his friend was waiting.
"You managed to make her sleep," Micah commented, faking pride in his voice; his lip was slightly curved up as he tried to hide his amusement. Micah Sanders had become somewhat like a son to Peter and even his co-workers faithfully believed it to be a true fact – courtesy of a wicked scheme born from the head of his so-called best friend. Peter let them believe whatever the hell they wanted; the curly-haired boy had certainly earned that place.
After Micah's close encounter with death and without the support his group had provided, the technopath felt in need, seeing as he didn't have many places to go, and Peter was more than happy to offer a place to crash for the instigator of 'REBEL'. Micah was taken under his wings. And frankly, it was the only option. Sylar's place was anywhere and everywhere at that time and he would be dammed if he let the boy sleep in whatever garbage deposit the unkempt man had been residing in for the week. It was funny seeing as Sylar now keep his place obsessively tidy.
Neat freak.
So Micah spent a couple of months with him and Emma and in the meantime they both got to know the kid more: his past, how he had lost both of his parents, his dreams to honor both of his parents by being a hero and making them proud, and his hopes for the future. Additionally, Micah had been the push that the empath had needed to officially begin the phase that he liked to call his 'politician career', which really wasn't much of a career and more of a necessary thing to do.
Something that someone had to do.
He was the guy who constantly visited senators, sent projects, wrote letters, imposed pressure, and idealized the new company – after all, he was full of ideals. However, by the end of the day, Peter was somewhat left with a feeling of emptiness. He wasn't cut out for this kind of job. His acquaintance with Tracy Strauss came in the form of two benefits: one to be able to leave his work in her more capable hands and two to help her reconnect with her long lost nephew. Tracy, just like Micah, was also alone in the world, so they soon found solace in each other. The compromised parent left his musings as he cast a playful smirk to the electronic screen. "I always manage, thank you very much."
Micah snorted playfully but he wasn't going to contradict Peter in his parental capabilities. "Whatever you say, Pete." He knew how passionate the other man was about it.
"So how's Tracy?" Peter crashed in his seat across the computer.
"Good; she is being loaded with projects but you know her, she always likes to have her hands full."
"Yeah, I know." Peter nodded in agreement. Tracy was a very talented and strong-minded woman when it came to her element, somehow like a female version of Nathan working in the senate. "So what do you have for me today?" Through the entire virtual surveillance and high position in the company, Micah was a good source of information for an outside person like Peter. Being constantly informed was the plan for him to keep his family safe and if in the process he could save someone else, then that added to the advantage's list.
"Well I've been busy these days; there have been changes on the board," Micah added. "And then they asked me if I could work on a device which is implanted subcutaneously; it releases a substance that weakens some secondary effects in meta-humans such as fear, anxiety, anger."
This certainly drew Peter's attention. He leaned over his desk, some bangs of his long hair falling over his eyes; he moved them hastily to the side. "A tranquilizer that works long term?" He asked, puzzled. "I thought that was more Mohinder and Emma's research field."
"Yeah but the catch is that they want it to work through wireless connection," Micah explained.
Peter leaned back, thinking as he absentmindedly scratched his chin. "That sounds really–" he faltered while searching for a word. The implications for such a device made the empath exact a modicum of worriment in his gut. "-invasive," he settled after a while.
"For now it would only be applicable to dangerous prisoners with powers." Micah added as a way to lessen the concern on Peter's part but it was true that ever since the request, he had been unsteady about the project as well. "And it's a hard one too," he continued, pressed to tell all the details to his friend. "It held me occupied for a few days; I was starting to think that I couldn't do it, when I remembered a contact I had made back in the days when the REBEL's team worked underground." Micah paused, remembering with a hint of nostalgia when his squad was in full swing. Though these days people aren't being chased, there was a evoking sense of pride in the doing of unseen vigilante work rather that working under the roof of the company. "His name is Ian Middle; he has a variety of technopathy, though he works without a physical medium of propagation. He modulates electromagnetic waves, whereas my ability works only in a short range."
Peter scratched his chin again as he lifted one eyebrow. "Right and what does that mean?" The young man had a tendency to get lost in the details of his explanations and when the theme was a topic of his interest, he was the only who could understand.
Micah bit his lip, being caught in his short rambling. He conceded, "Basically, he has a wireless antenna in his brain."
Peter huffed through his nose. "Oh well that sounds… carcinogenic." He remembered his medical's lectures when he was in full-nurse-mode. "So what happened?" He prompted, wanting to know more.
"Nothing," shrugged Micah through the screen. "I haven't been able to contact him nor by extraordinary ways or ordinary ways." Peter gave him a questioning look. "I used a phone," Micah relented, "but there was no answer."
"Well maybe he decided to leave the country or something," said Peter after a while; after all, it wasn't a weird occurrence. Many had left the country after Claire's reveal.
"Even if that was possible-" Micah said as he leaned forward in his seat; he was serious again. "-that his signal was somehow blocked therefore making me impossible to contact him, there is an additional factor that doesn't fit."
"Which one?" The former nurse asked curious.
"His website is still operating. He even made a few posts these past days, like a weird one that said '221 shadowed man' but was hurriedly erased a short while later."
Peter didn't want to say what he was thinking but the young man always appreciated his honesty before. "Micah, don't you think that maybe, like many on your team have done, this guy does not want anything to do with your organization or you for that matter?" He hoped he had not been so rash; it was a rough topic for the kid.
Micah glanced aside. "Believe me, I thought that too… but he fully supports specials as being treated like equals in all forms, it doesn't seem like something he would do so…"
"You want me to call Molly, don't you?" Peter blurted. He couldn't be fooled by the young man. His intentions were clear now. Molly and Micah, once the best of friends working for a common purpose, had been having an off and on kind of relationship over the years. Although Molly still believed in the spirit that had been REBEL, the new setting in the world had somewhat dimmed her enthusiasm - oh she was still willing to help if the cause seemed right, but the alluring sense of commodity that a normal life had to offer was irresistible.
Peter had to hold back a snicker. She reminded him of Claire in some aspects and even more for the other fact that had made her disagreement with Micah bigger. She was still mad at him for turning sympathetic eyes on the ex serial killer, who in her eyes would forever be the man who took away her parents, forsaking her of a normal childhood. And although Sylar was more than willing to make up for the girl, Mohinder was in no way letting him near the young woman, so that left the grudge still firmly intact. The good doctor didn't let anyone close to the girl for that matter.
"Well that definitely would be an option," Micah mumbled somewhat dismissively, but Peter knew he missed his childhood friend a lot more than he would let show in his face.
"Teenagers," Peter whispered, amused. "When are you going to make up with her?"
Micah rolled his eyes. Although he posed as a grown-up man most of the time, the gesture revealed how young he still was. "When she says sorry."
Peter groaned "Okay, I'll do it," He conceded sternly. Micah had spent a lot of time with Sylar, that was for sure. The kid was stubborn and bitchy, just like his mentor in life.
"Thank you. Oh and Peter?"
"Yes?"
"The Haitian is here."
"Renee?" Peter spluttered, totally puzzled. "I thought he was dead." He frowned. After the formal dissolution of the old company, Renee had left the country, like many others. Peter had thought that he had gone to his native village in Haiti and then when the earthquake happened and they didn't hear any more news from him…well he thought the worse. All of them did.
"Yeah me too, but I saw him a few days ago with Noah in the company, though it was only briefly."
"Well I'm glad that he's alive." Peter pondered; he was happy. The Haitian had been the one to point him in the right direction when he later found out about Nathan's death. "But Renee and Noah working together-" He trailed off and cleared his throat. "-they have a track record that's pretty interesting."
"Interesting indeed."
Both heads directed their attention to the third party that had arrived behind Peter without them noticing.
"Sylar." Peter uttered, taken aback. It had been a while since the last time he had seen the reformed man in person, least of all comfortably leaning in the threshold of his office's door listening calmly to their conversation. Who knows how long he's been there. "What the hell?"
Sylar took a big breath as he lifted both eyebrows. "The door was open. Seriously, Peter, you should consider locking it; this is New York after all." He gave the empath a condemning look. "And while you're at that, please consider cutting your hair." He pointed to Peter's unshaven and messy appearance while acting cool as ever, though there was something wild around the edges, an anxiety. He could sense it and if he could then Peter most likely would too.
He tried to divert their attention from it by picking up a frame and gazing at it nonchalantly, achieving avoidance from the wandering of his own thoughts as his eyes took in the homely feel of the paramedic's house. The little details like the toys laying around, the baby's new smell, combined with Emma's floral perfume, the homemade cooking resting in a plain white dish on the stove.
Although he would never admit it out loud, it was one of his dreams to own a house in the suburbs, raise his child, make waffles and maybe even own a dog. Wishful thinking. He knew it was stupid and unattainable - he had long passed the frontier of being worthy of such graces - but it was a nice thought to think about; more so when he was feeling grumpy and volatile, like today. He left the picture frame in its place and waved at the artificial image transferred onto the screen while approaching Peter's desk. "Hi, Micah," he said, trying to sound cheery enough; it had been a few weeks since he had seen the Sanders boy.
"Hey," Micah greeted back, oblivious of the bags under Sylar's eyes and the dark aura flowing around him that could not be sensed through the range of Peter's web cam. But he was not oblivious to the way the ex-serial killer had sneaked up on them. "You know Peter has a point, normal people usually call before entering a house," he added with a hint of mirth.
"Yeah, normal people do a lot of things," Sylar belittled, not really into it. The tiredness in his demeanor slipped through. "Too bad I'm not by any means normal," he mumbled. He had been called out on his lack of socials skill too much these days to really care. To hell to normal.
"Why did you come?" Peter cut to the chase. He – unlike Micah - could see the flesh version of Sylar in front of him and was quickly aware of the rather on-edge appearance of the watchmaker, even when he was purposely hiding it. "This is usually your work time," he pointed out suspiciously.
"Yeah I know but I feel like breaking the routine a little, you know?" He smirked, discarding Peter easily. "So what were you two talking about?" He not-so-subtlety inquired. "Any big news from the company bunkers?" The truth was that he was fishing for information from whatever sources he had; but being the guy who everyone despised left the former villain rather short of options to turn to. Peter and Micah were probably his only ones and that they were together in one place - well more or less - made it all the more better.
Alarms went off in Peter's mind. Usually Sylar revoked with snarky comments when he was feeling triumphant about something or worried; he didn't look very victorious, more like dangerous with his dark demeanor. "Stop bullshitting me, you wouldn't have left the shop to come here if something important hadn't happened."
"Maybe he has no shop because Claire burned it down," Micah added. He was kidding but the possibility wasn't so unlikely. He knew the girl could be a handful most of the time.
"Very funny, kid," Sylar deadpanned. "How are you doing in your cubicle nowadays, 'company boy'?" He snarled.
Micah's black eyes flashed. "I don't work in a cubicle," he promptly said. "I have my own office, one that you have already seen: big windows probably double the size of your shop; ring any bells?" He smirked.
"Keep dreaming."
"Micah, will you please stop antagonizing Sylar?" Peter snapped. He would rather deal with his ten month old daughter running around and throwing mashed potatoes at him all day than deal with his two grown up friends. "And you," he pointed at Sylar. "Look, I know you," he firmly declared, flashes of all the things they had endured together rushing to the forefront of his mind. "Probably more than anyone here, so tell me what happened?"
Sylar glanced from one face to another. Feeling pressed by the scrutiny of his friends, forcing him to make a quick decision. He had already involved Claire in all of this and look where it got him; the fiery blonde was mad at him and he kind of had made a fool out of himself in front of her. To add matters he had followed her to her work without her noticing it like an actual creep for fear of pushing her away even more.
Maybe he was crazy like so many people claimed him to be.
But these were his friends, his only allies in this damned life. What do they say about friends? That they are always there when one needs help? I think so. He fixed his intense gaze over them "Guys, I think the shit has hit the fan."
A weeping sound from the monitor on the desk interrupted their confused faces. Brown eyes and black ones stared accusingly at Peter. He lifted a finger.
"First a father, then a hero." He ran towards his daughter's room.
Big gulps of hot, black liquid were pulled down by the muscles in her throat, warming her insides and stirring her senses to life again. Claire stilled, holding the cup of coffee in her hands as her eyes took inventory of her surroundings. The company halls weren't full and at its peak yet but her most punctual coworkers would soon flood the facility. She sighed, placing her back against the wall of the corridor and letting her mind fly freely. Maybe being surrounded by normal people, or well at least people who didn't share a horrendous past with her, would be a good idea.
Though she wasn't expecting much.
She had made quick work in her otherwise slow morning routine, hurriedly working her way out of the 'murder house'. Making a face, she exhaled noisily. It was funny but she used to call it that during the hours she was working, some inside joke that only she could get. Nevertheless, should she still call the place that?
For one thing, it wasn't exactly a house… but she wasn't a picky person so those little details didn't bother her; and then on the other hand, the other word perhaps denoted certain connotations that had reached its expiration.
For instance…. There wasn't murder.
Well not exactly, she conceded, but there had been attempts…. For one, she had tried to get rid of Sylar using gravity as her ally and secondly her pierced stomach, courtesy of the drunken guy who tried to stab her with a beer bottle.
Hardly a representation of a murderous plot or area, though.
However, this was an inconsequential detail in the whole scheme of her life; and what a scheme it was.
Lately, many things had happened in the past roughly 24 hours that made her question her life's new state. Or her sanity. Sylar had revealed himself as some kind of protector for his tenants – and she had though he was collecting followers like those affected by the Samuel Sullivan syndrome. The same man had also stretched said benefit to her, too. Perhaps the service was included with the price of the rent? This reminded her to always read the tiny letters in contracts, nice advice for future endeavors. Just as she had somewhat made peace with the unlikely landlord and his idea of protecting people – strange as it definitely was - he had stepped out of the door –correction, her window - and was - elegantly as ever – half nude, proceeding to inform her that she would be protected as equally as his other tenants, with the added bonus of being followed around.
Protected by Sylar, nonetheless. Shit, her life had reached the 'Hell' level.
These were the kind of things that fuck people over. Yet his poke had pierced through her and she was starting to think it was a trait that only he possessed. However, blacking out all of the questionable I-get-you levels, for as much as she flatly refused to admit it, there was something she couldn't deny: Sylar was not the kind of person who would suggest danger like that without a foundation of reasoning for the idea. Yes the guy was psychotic, scary and downright crazy sometimes – not to mention creepy, the kind of creepy that made people invent restraining orders back in the day - but he was smart; he had instinct. Somewhat like her dad. If he didn't have it, he would have been dead by now.
And this frightened her more than having Sylar attached to her hip from now on. The doubt, the sneaking suspicion that someone could be after her, after specials in general. This wasn't just affecting her life, this was affecting everyone.
"Claire; I see you're early today." The blonde lifted her head, resurfacing from her consuming thoughts. She saw Dr. Gibson approaching her with a warm smile. She slide a convincing grin on her face too; well, at least she thought it was convincing. "I thought I'd come in early. I wanted to see Ryan before he goes to school." It wasn't completely untrue, Claire always looked forward to seeing the boy, but she couldn't say the whole true, either. Nope, silence is my friend for now.
"Bad night, eh?" Madeline asked with a note of sympathy. Apparently, not even the ridiculous amount of makeup she had put on could hide the bags under her eyes. Claire relented; it was silly to deny the fact.
"What gave me away? The kind-of wasted face or the coffee in hand?" She joked halfheartedly.
Madeline laughed. "Both, actually." She turned caring eyes on the short blonde and co-worker, signaling to the end of the corridor. "Do you want to go to my office? We could talk there."
Claire bit her lip, thinking it over; perhaps she could use an ear, of course omitting a few facts, stylizing some trues. Just the story of her life. She nodded. "Okay, lead the way."
Both women sat facing each other. Claire had always liked Madeline's office: the white colored walls, the openness in it. She particularly enjoyed the warmth offered by the early morning sun shining brightly over the buildings. A beautiful landscape of the awakening city. Madeline interrupted her peaceful calm state as she sighed and placed both hands on the clear surface of her desk.
"So what is bothering you?"
A lot of things, Claire inwardly marveled. The echo of her earlier contemplations danced messily over the edges of her fickle mind. They were mostly the thoughts centralized on despising a lone character and everything that revolved around him but for the sake of not upsetting her calm state – not to mention that talking about Sylar with a therapist was a big no; she wasn't that far gone yet - she merely derived them to press on more urgent matters – correction, the other one was urgent too, but this one held an imperative note based not only in her own need for commodity but on other persons, too.
"I was thinking that I have been so busy with moving and Ryan, that I kind of lost some of the bulletins; has there been any news?" She asked with thinly veiled curiosity. "Any terrorist threats maybe?" She kept on and she inwardly slapped herself. Okay Claire, slow down.
Meredith looked a little taken aback as she wrinkled her delicate brow. "Not that I would know; everything is the same to me," she answered thoughtfully. "Well with the exception, that is, of the new board."
Claire relaxed a little in her seat, her shoulders slumping as her gaze lowered a little. "Yeah, I heard about that." She trusted Dr Gibson; the woman seemed very invested in her job as to let anything really important out of her reach and, more importantly, Claire could rely on her as a friend. She wouldn't lie to her but…. The corners of her mouth slightly curved up. "So no psychos out there?" Apart from the one living next to her, that is. Claire felt as if she needed confirmation that everything was fine, that everything was still normal. Why she was believing Sylar's words? Most probably the psycho was merely exaggerating things and he wasn't as smart as everyone made himself out to be.
The doctor lifted and eyebrow as her mouth pursed in concern. "Claire, did something happened to you?"
Life is happening to me, Claire cringed. Of course her inquires would hit the weird factor. "No, I'm just curious, that's all," she reassured with a big smile. The doctor would never understand the upside-down turn that her life had been taking these past weeks, nor the conflicting feelings she had been developing and nor the raging war she was fighting against them. "Everything is peachy."
The frown on the older woman didn't instantly fade as she nodded somewhat timidly, but she did let it pass. "Claire, I wanted to use this opportunity to let you know of something that has been bothering me."
Or maybe not, Claire panicked. Did she know she was living next door to a serial killer and talking on a daily basis with him? Was she going to fire her? Imagine if she had to beg Sylar for another term to pay the rent. "I'm sorry, I don't have the money, I´m unemployed," she would say and he would lift those comically-big eyebrows of his, twisting that horrible mouth of his into a smirk and he would respond "Oh but Claire, there are so many ways you can pay me…." Oh God shivers all over. Perv. Claire twisted her nose in distaste.
Meredith gave her a strange look, staring at the girl for a moment as she seemed lost in her own thoughts, she cleared her throat noisily, gaining her attention again. "As you already know, Ryan is in our custody," she slowly stated while leveling the girl with a serious face. Claire deflated in her seat again and forgot all about her impromptu dream-nightmare. Nope, she apparently still doesn't know."His case has fallen into a sort of legal void; believe me, we're working on it. Yesterday I talked with Senator Strauss and she assured me she would put pressure on the senate, but as for now, laws about adoption of gifted children are at an impasse," she explained and Claire nodded sadly.
It was true that a lot of things had changed over the course of the last five years but a lot more needed to be done. She calculated that a handful of decades would pass before all the dust from her jump settled and meta-humans could walk assured on solid earth.
"Ryan is a very mature boy for his age and he completely understands his unlikely situation but at the end of the day he is still a boy and I've noticed some apathy from him, more so these past few days." Claire recalled that the boy had been sleeping more and eating less but she had thought it was because he had started school again. God how could I have discarded it so easily?
"I know you've been spending a lot of time in his company and you're the only person who he seems to really like." Claire smiled a little; at least that was true. Ryan was shy and fearful with other adults like Dr. Madeline but in her company he relaxed, probably because he felt her as the closest person around in age. "I was thinking maybe you could take him out and away from the company this weekend? Take him to the zoo or maybe to see a movie?" She asked hopefully and immediately added, "Please, if I'm being inconvenient for you or you already had plans for the weekend, let me know if it's a problem."
Claire paused, considering the request. No, she didn't have any plans for the weekend other than sitting around in her apartment, maybe receiving a call or two from her mother, eating ice cream and contemplating her life for hours upon hours to no end. "Frankly, I would love to; we could both use the distraction." She smiled until her mouth ached. Maybe she looked like a crazy blonde psycho but to hell everything; Sylar would not ruin her weekend.
"Honey, I'm home." Matt paused in the doorway, putting down his keys, along with the bag he was holding, on the table by the front door.
He had risen early today with the single thought of getting everything ready for the romantic lunch he was orchestrating for the day. Today was his first off-duty day in a while. Matty was at school and he wanted to surprise Janice with some little details he remembered she liked. As of lately, he had neglected their relationship. Matt was working nonstop at the station and on top of that he was helping Noah Bennet with yet another arising threat to Specials. The company man owed him big time, that was for sure.
His eyes momentarily came in contact with the clear glass bottle holding a certain caramel-colored liquid. The bottle was sitting over the deep ruby wood table parallel to the door, peeking out of the bags. It held a symbol to his infatuation with alcohol, but it ran deeper than that as it also meant he was years away from the last memory he had of using his abilities. He contended himself with drinking clear pure water nowadays.
"I'm here." He heard the voice of his wife trailing off from the kitchen. He followed it, entering the hallways, finding that they were bathed in shadows. His fingers made contact with the light switch on the wall. Fiddling with it until he took hold of it, Matt frowned when he discovered that the lights over him didn't turn on. "Great, the fuse must have blown again," he muttered annoyingly as he blindly reached his destination. He squinted his eyes as he saw Janice's back, the edges of her figure not very clear as she was sitting in the shadows. "Honey, did you know that we were without power again?" The question was accompanied with a hand that he gently placed on her shoulder; she turned.
"Hi honey," she answered dryly but the features were all wrong. Instead of his wife's face, he was meet with a black figure. A person clad in black cloth from head to toe.
Matt gasped and retreated his hand from the strange apparition. "What are you doing in my house?" He snapped and reached for his service weapon resting in the holster concealed by his jacket. The weapon was ready to shoot in seconds with the expertise that only an old cop possesses. A hand took hold of the weapon from behind him, surprising him. Matt was met with another shadowed figure.
The metal glowed an incandescent red before he threw the item to the ground, cradling his burned hand and letting out a curse. The cop hastily tried to put distance between him and these two strange figures, moving backwards. From the corner of his eye, he saw another shadowed man trailing along the edge of the wall like a ghost. Three shadowed figures now trapped him against his kitchen counter. He scanned his surroundings; there was nowhere to go. This situation called for extreme measures. Matt concentrated, sending out a mental command to back off, but nothing happened. Blank; his mind is blank. His mouth hung open as the confusion took over.
The one who was sitting at the table impersonating his wife laughed, no longer using the voice of Janice. "You should check your water supply more often." He pointed something shiny at him and before Matt knew it, a dart was deeply embedded in his left shoulder. He grunted in pain, the object pumping its content and spreading a hot sensation throughout his body, quickly turning his muscles to jelly. "Mind readers can't do the trick when they are drugged."
Everything went black.
OMG don't hate me!
Will Peter manage to make Annabel sleep again? :/
Will Sylar learn to knock before enter like a normal human being? *_*
Will Claire have a nice weekend without Sylar? XD
All this answers and a lot Sylar/Claire cuteness -yes I said cuteness- in the next chapter of 'My Neighbor, the Serial Killer'
Please let a review :-)
Kisses.