Title: what little girl doesn't dearly love a wolf?
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Carol Ann Duffy
Warnings: future!fic
Pairings: Sylar/Claire
Rating: PGish
Wordcount: 270
Point of view: third
Prompt: Sylar/Claire, I wanna be bad
It only takes a hundred years. Looking back later, she'll realize how short a time that is for an immortal. But then, then it felt like every moment dragged.
He never actually touches her. Kills everyone she cares about, Mom and Lyle and Dad. Both dads. Peter. She still tries not to think about that, about what it took for Peter to die.
But she watches the years pass, the changes in society, babies wither to nonagenarians. She never ages, never gets a wrinkle or a scar. Never bleeds for longer than a heartbeat.
He's always there. She can feel him when she can't see him, a puff of air on the back of her neck, a shiver down her spine.
But he never touches her. Never speaks to her. Just always there, the only other one like her in existence.
He kills everyone else. Anyone cursed with that little twist in their genetic code. He finds them and takes their ability and leaves a corpse behind. She never gets there soon enough because she's only a healer.
She used to bring them back, in those first decades, if she got there before the funeral, before the reporters, before the police. That only happened a couple of times.
But after a hundred years, she's tired of being the hero. It's exhausting and she's alone. She misses people who knew, who understood.
He's a monster, but he's the only one left.
He hasn't touched her in a hundred years and she still shudders at the feel of his skin on hers. But she'll get used to it.
Eventually, she'll crave it.
