20
Sleight of Hand
Inspired by "Already Gone" by Kelly Clarkson
"Looking at you makes it harder but I know that you'll find another that doesn't always make you wanna cry.
It started with a perfect kiss, then we could feel the poison set in, 'perfect' couldn't keep this love alive.
You know that I love you so. I love you enough to let you go.
… And I want you know you couldn't have loved me better, but I want you to move on, so I'm already gone."
November 26, 2010
"So what was the big secret?"
Claire turned to glance at Peter where he leaned against the cool brick side of a hedged retaining wall encasing the front of 536 First Avenue in New York City. Afternoon sunshine cast shadows over his position with the beige building and its rows of red sill windows at his back, one of the trees lining the walkway settling its wavering foliage at his feet while he tinkered with Gabriel's necklace. Perhaps it was the recent memory of her beloved uncle having been infected with the killer's ability for intuitive aptitude and the murderous gleam that had darkened his eyes, or she supposed that it simply could have been the way his shoulders were slumped over the project keeping his fingers busy, clinging to the wedge of autumn darkness surrounding them as they waited, but whatever the cause she could have sworn that the olive green undertones characteristic of Petrelli eyes were absent in his at that moment. They were a deeper tint of brown than she remembered while his irises poured over the details of the watch face pendant in his worried hands. Her own sense of intuition, honed by unpredictable and often dangerous circumstances over the years not so unlike that of her father's, hadn't felt entirely well in a while but there was something about their brief moment of peaceful waiting that settled heavily around her shoulders. There was no imminent danger to fear per say, but something was out of place about the man at her side that she couldn't quite put a finger on, something that perked on the edges of her subconscious, something that felt a lot like a warning.
She was plucked from the distraction of watching the deft movements made by his left hand, the edges of his palms around the base of his fingers and wrist as well as the finger pads themselves being curiously absent of calluses when his black pupils flashed upwards to meet her own causing a full body shudder to twitch her muscles all the way to her toes. Claire tore her gaze away to pay attention to the foot traffic before them once more, pedestrians leisurely waiting around the curb to either catch one of the yellow taxis patrolling for fares or for their walking signal to turn at the stoplight. "Only Sylar can destroy Sylar."
That was what the corrupted version of Peter Petrelli had whispered into her ear shortly before his death, or what she had presumed to be his death since he technically no longer existed thanks to the wonders of time and space displacement. Of course, that particular Peter's destruction also came with the unpleasant exchange of another Sylar's life, one that Claire had come to think of as maybe being a more pure representation of the man that he was capable of becoming – a selfless champion when the time came, a real hero despite his flaws. But she didn't want to think about him. Not when she was teetering on the edge of her own personal precipice, any influence on her judgment no matter how subtle holding the potential to tip her in one direction or another. Claire needed a clear head and a clearer conscious for what she was about to do, for what she had to do, for her, for him, for all of them.
"Yeah, I know." The dismissive tone in his voice to what she had thought of as a revelation temporarily stole the words from the tip of her tongue. Peter used the hem of his shirt to polish away his fingerprints from the glass of the watch face before tucking it back into his pocket. The conspicuous setting of the tiny hands being placed at 11:53 PM did not escape her attention.
Seven minutes to midnight, she thought, just like the doom's day clock. If everything goes according to plan this time, maybe we won't be there anymore.
Pushing aside her uncle's odd behaviors, Claire's focus pressed back to where it belonged when he indicated that it was time to move without even a flicker of a glance at his wristwatch. As they crossed the street towards the section of NYU campus labeled as the Skirball Institute of Biomolecular Medicine, they caught sight of an all too familiar figure. Lingering outside the revolving glass doors of the Langone Medical Center was a man standing tall and proud, his lean physique displayed in a sharply tailored black suit, rich silk tie, and highly polished shoes that had to of cost a moderate fortune. His hair was neatly slicked back, somewhat predatory but fully exposing his unusually seductive features which wore a genuine smile for the first time in as long as her memory could immediately grasp. Everything from his stance, general body language, and bold chuckle screamed confidence, strength, and control but was also warm and welcoming. It was noticeably difficult for passersby to not return the healthy grin in his presence.
What Claire saw was neither Gabriel nor Sylar but an entirely new animal altogether. And who else should be at his side but Peter Petrelli, dressed similar to his powerful companion, but otherwise the same benign, amusingly animated Peter that she knew and loved right down to the occasional jerk of his head to clear the overgrown hair from his vision.
They hadn't seen her and Peter approaching as they were thoroughly engrossed in whatever conversation they were holding with one another but when Claire came within closing distance of the former brothers, Sylar peered down at his watch and tapped on it in a gesture that it was time for him to leave. Peter gave him a mysterious wink before turning on a heel and heading down the walk, eventually evaporating into thin air as he went. Sylar casually strolled back into the towering example of educational progress with the words New York University Medical Center emblazoned across the front.
Claire ran in after her target and quickly became turned about and lost in the confusion of moving bodies. She swiveled one way and the other, spinning all around but Sylar was nowhere to be had and neither was her uncle. Like the other Peter appropriate to the timeline, he had completely disappeared. Biting her lip in frustration, Claire crossed her arms tightly across her chest and examined a map display that plotted out various floors belonging to the Tisch Hospital, Skirball Institute, Rusk Institute, Ehrman Medical Library, Schwartz and Harris divisions, and almost gave in to the disgruntled feeling settling in her stomach, having absolutely no idea where to start looking.
Just as fast as she had been lost though, Claire was found again. A pair of soft hands crept up soundlessly behind her to fold over her eyes, the warm body they belonged to leaning down to gently whisper in her ear. "You didn't call."
A pang of guilt pierced her at the sound of disappointment in the deep rumbling voice that reverberated all the way down her spine. "Gabriel?" The hands released her so that she could turn around and face her charge, the smirk of amusement painting his features giving her no other choice than to lift her spirits again. "I'm sorry. I couldn't stay."
"I know," he smiled reassuring. "Come, walk with me. We have a lot to talk about." She couldn't be sure if an ability were at work there or if it was something in his easy demeanor that had evolved over the years since their last meeting, but the air around his person took on a strange calming effect like a sedative without symptoms of fatigue or mental haze. Together, they walked hand in hand at a lazy pace, Gabriel intermittently waving and grinning at people they passed on their way to a place called the Haupt Glass Gardens. It was inadvertently funny how alien a clean shaven face was on him after having spent time with more carefree and tattooed versions of the man, though he would never really be rid of the stubborn shadow of impending hair growth along his jawline and chin. He was ink free in that universe but there was an inner light and innocence about him that reminded her of his hippy and nerd past, and Claire couldn't help but notice that not only one, but nearly a dozen different watches adorned his right forearm all ticking away times independent of one another.
"I just want to start by thanking you, Claire," he spoke softly as they entered the beautifully colorful conservatory. Tropical birdsong filled the air around the oasis of aquatic gardens. Koi, goldfish, and catfish splashed around in ponds rimmed by lush green palms and ferns. Orchids, bromeliads, succulents caudate and other species of insectivorous plants ignited the grounds with an abundance of life and scented the breeze. Rehab patients took respite in the fresh surroundings, steadily placing one foot before the other with the assistance of crutches or basking in the sunlight while rolling along a path in wheelchairs, the high pitched squeals of children's laughter echoing in the distance.
"If you hadn't come to help me when you did, I never would have had the opportunity to be here, in this place, doing what I really love. Before I met you, Harvey, the man that was running my father's watch repair shop in his absence had needed to retire. He was aging. His eyesight was failing, and his hands weren't steady enough to handle smaller components anymore. We didn't have the money to replace him with another technician and Gray and Sons was my mother's only real source of income. I was going to be forced into giving up my scholarships so that I could run the place myself." Gabriel paused to examine an orchid that had started to wilt, waved a hand over the delicate flower, and smiled humbly as a breath of new life unfurled the petals and returned them to their original pallid grace. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
His eyebrows drew together in pensive thought for a moment, the most troubled that she had seen him yet. "I can't imagine what that would have been like, having to drudge away in that place day after day. I know that I would have done it for Virginia. I couldn't just leave her all alone without a way to take care of herself, but I'm glad that I didn't have to. That place kind of resembles my own personal hell."
"How is Virginia?"
Gabriel didn't miss her hesitation to ask the question. A mysteriously knowing smile crinkled the corners of his eyes in response. "She's here. You'll see her in a minute." He leaned down a touch to speak in a conspiratorially low voice. "I found a way to fix her." His grip on her hand tightened in a comforting gesture as they continued on their walk.
"Thanks to the… generous amount of money that you left behind after our night together, I was able to support my mother and finish my engineering doctorate. And my M.D. And a Ph.D. in neurosurgery, specializing in stereotactic operations among other things." Pride for his accomplishments collided with a secondary surge of guilt for having abandoned him as she did only to be washed away by wonder for his newfound sense of peace. Gabriel picked up on her turmoil as easily as if he had known her all along and lifted his free hand to take her chin, tilting her face upward so that she had to meet his eyes. "And thanks to you, I found my interest in biology and two of my best friends."
"Peter?"
"Peter," he laughed heartily. "If I hadn't gone to that bar to meet you, we never would have had a reason to start talking, and he probably wouldn't have stumbled onto his interest in Dr. Suresh's work. And of course, if I hadn't been able to stay in school then I may not have met my dorm roommate."
"Let me guess, Brian Davis?"
"The one and only," he chuckled. "Life was a little touch and go there for a while when the three of us started levitating our beds. Poor Brian, he had the hardest time of all with accepting his ability. I don't think we made it through a single weekend for the first year without a trip to Ikea to replace the furniture after one of his accidents."
"You hate Ikea."
"You have no idea," he smirked. "And when Peter started to fly… I don't think I'll ever forget the night that we had to pull him in through the window because he had gotten stuck in the air upside down.
"We sought out Dr. Chandra Suresh who, needless to say, was very surprised when we brought him a copy of Activating Evolution since he hadn't actually written it yet, and we eventually learned to control what was happening to us. Along with his son, Mohinder, we all began studying genetics and more or less founded an entirely new branch of medicine for the 'special' community. We made a pact to help people like us, the ones that needed help learning how to handle their powers, and those that were better off without them."
Claire stopped dead in her tracks when she witnessed Elle Bishop in a set of pepto pink nursing scrubs come down the opposite side of the path with who she could have sworn to be Hiro Nakamura in a wheelchair, a section of his hair having been shaved away in a place along the scalp where his tumor could have been safely removed, but there were no post-op staples, bandages, or any indication of a surgical scar. He threw his arms up into the air, cackling with laughter like one of the children and shouting "yatta" as they went. And on the other end of the Koi pond, she recognized Matt Parkman talking to a woman that looked almost exactly like Tracey Strauss. They weren't in medical uniforms, and she didn't believe that they were patients. The mismatched pair seemed to be idly chatting while they made up miniature mesh bags of rice and rose petals, twining lengths of ribbon around the ends to close the tiny parcels.
"My own personal thanks aside, Claire, it's because of you that all of us are here today. Because of you, we've able to save hundreds of lives and change countless others for the better. All of this is for you."
They came to stop around a bend in the winding trail around the north end of the conservatory where an archway covered in spiraling vines of ivy was occupied by a group of people configuring slats of white lattice work, one of them being her biological father, Nathan Petrelli. "And this is where my wife and I will be renewing our vows tomorrow." The breath was instantly sucked from her lungs.
"You're married?"
"Happily," he grinned from ear to ear. "Sometimes it feels like we've been together forever.
"I want you to come tomorrow," he spoke after a moment of silence. "I never would have met her if it wasn't for you. My life never would have been the same without her in it." The earnest intensity of his dark eyes made it impossible to say no.
Claire watched the great love of her life bound away to giddily join his spouse's side, having promised that she would attend the next day's ceremony. Observing the crowd come together, she wondered what it was that she had been expecting. Surely she hadn't held out some obscene hope that Gabriel would wait for her to return after having only shared what amounted to a one night stand. It wasn't like she could blame him for moving on. He had no other memories of her other than that one occasion or any knowledge of their past life together. Inwardly, she chastised herself for not being happier about the changes that she had brought about.
Having been raised by Virginia Gray, moonstruck and overbearing as she was, Gabriel had retained the meticulous discipline and ethic of the original version of himself. But since he hadn't been pigeonholed into a life of desperate boredom and misery, he was allowed to flourish and grow as intended in a more appropriate academic arena with his true peers. He had gained a trustworthy support network of friends that helped to share the burden of wielding abilities, and most importantly, he had finally gotten the help with controlling his urges that he had always deserved. And he had the found the love that he had always desired.
The woman captured in his arms, short in stature and with long brunette locks, kept her back turned while she pointed out where she wanted things arranged by Nathan and a freshly reemerged Peter leaving Claire endlessly curious about the enigmatic creature that could have stolen Gabriel's heart so thoroughly. Virginia Gray and Angela Petrelli gabbed away like old friends as they went down a buffet taste testing samples from a catering company. Another blonde that she have sworn was Tracey gave Peter a devilish wink, tapping her fingernails on a champagne glass and causing Claire to do a rapid double take between her and the twin remaining preoccupied with Parkman. Chandra and Mohinder Suresh wandered onto the scene from another direction, each carefully toting lengths of a white lace fabric to be handed over to Nathan. Her bio-dad levitated to the top of the lattice work construction with the cloth to pin them into place. She caught his eye when he had finished and Nathan waved, flashing his famous shark smile at her only to be chided by Peter for something that she couldn't hear from where she was standing. The younger Petrelli lifted away from the ground to speak with his brother in secret, Nathan nodding in agreement about something and the rest of the group going on about their business as if nothing had happened. She had no reason to think so, but Claire couldn't help getting the feeling that everyone was going out of their way to ignore her.
Had they come into a world like others seen before where Gabriel, having been turned into a force for good, had sent her spiraling down the path of evil? Or did they once again not encounter her in their travels? Without Sylar's trek for power, it seemed that Noah Bennet's efforts to shield her from the world were nearly always successful as only the ability hunter and her uncle were capable of tracking her down. But that didn't feel quite right in her gut either. There were signs of regenerative effects in some of the patients that she had witnessed, and the efforts of everyone to disregard her presence were a little too… coached. They knew her, she was certain of it, but still found herself unable to explain anything happening around her.
"Looks like we finally found a way to save Nathan without blowing up half the world."
Claire jumped at the sudden of appearance of Peter by her side. His routine of popping in and out as he pleased was really beginning to wear on her nerves. "Yeah. He looks great."
Peter's viper eyes bore down on her critically before twinkling with mischief like he knew that they weren't really speaking about Nathan anymore. "Good old Nathan," he smirked. "Lobbyist, senator, presidential candidate, and all around shark. At least he's a shark on our side this time. Gabriel hasn't done too bad for himself either as the CMO around here."
So he had been snooping for information during his disappearing act. Claire didn't know who he could have talked to, although she fleetingly wondered if it was himself, but found herself a little more forgiving. "He's never killed anyone, has he?"
"Not intentionally." Claire swallowed thickly, her mind already conjuring ideas on how their plan could have gone wrong. If it was too good to be true, then it had to be, right? "And never for power."
Peter snatched one of the stemmed glasses from the tray of a serving staffer that passed them by. He swirled the dark red liquid inside around the bowl of the glass, giving it a sniff. "Pinot? Really?" he muttered to himself before draining the wine in one gulp.
"Operations don't always go according to plan. Clinical trials can go wrong. Sometimes patients had adverse reactions to medications or procedures that no one can see coming until it's already too late. And sometimes people just die, Claire. It's an unfortunate part of being in medicine, and just a part of life and human nature."
"Except for us."
"Except for us," he agreed. "Where to now?"
"Tomorrow," Claire whispered. "He's marrying his wife again and wants us to be there."
"We should probably find some better clothes then." Peter had a point, she thought. Claire was still stuck in the same black cutoffs and t-shirt that the last Sylar had given her to wear, and chains and gothic design hardly seemed appropriate for a formal occasion. "And maybe a shower somewhere." Peter pretended to wipe away something on his shoulder so that he could inconspicuously do a smell check on his own shirt. Living life on the run didn't leave them a lot of spare time to clean up, and in a bitter fit of irony, the ability to stop the flow of time in its tracks did little to help.
November 27, 2010
Claire couldn't have imagined designing a more beautiful landscape for the day's events if she had done it herself. The white stretches of lattice work that the crew had been putting together the day before were crafted into a temporary altar fixture, droves of pink and white apple blossoms having been encouraged to grow over and throughout the assembly overnight. Panels of white lace fluttered in the draft from where they had been woven together along the ivy archways creating a defined seating area that continued to let bright sunshine filter down and illuminate the floral grounds around them. And though it felt an easy seventy degrees beneath the glass dome of the garden, Claire suspected that Tracey's influence was responsible for the creeping frost that stenciled glittering geometric patterns over the surfaces of the immediate surrounding area and crystalized flower petals into delicately reflecting shards of colorful glass.
Angela and Virginia were sitting beside one another in the front row of seating. If she wasn't mistaken, Claire thought she could see Noah and Sandra and Lyle, Meredith on the other side, and both of her mothers perched on the edge of their chairs in excitement. Strewn throughout the crowd were the familiar faces of just about everyone they knew. Matt Parkman and his family, the twins with Micah Sanders parked between them, Chandra and Mohinder, Hiro and his friend Ando, Elle Bishop, the Haitian, Brian Davis, and a few members of the Sullivan carnival troupe were all present among the chattering throng as well as dozens more whom she didn't recognize. Peter and Nathan waited at the end of the aisle with Gabriel in their best suits, the trio straightening one another's ties and laughing together like the brothers they could have been. And if the air had been stolen from her upon seeing Arthur Petrelli stroll down the walkway to join his wife, Claire was sure that she would never breathe again when Samson and Gloria Gray took their places at the front, hand in hand.
Time traveling; I should have known when I saw him wearing all those watches. Exactly what all has he figured out how to "fix"?
And then it began to snow. Chilled flakes danced through the air from an unseen origin, shining in the sun and subtly scattering its rays giving her the impression that if she stepped out of the area it would resemble a giant snow globe full of swirling glitter. Virginia clapped excitedly, but it wasn't for the weather anomaly. The bride had arrived with Emma and Gretchen in tow as bridesmaids.
She took her time marching gracefully down the aisle, her flowing white dress trailing behind her and a long veil obscuring her features from view until reaching the end. A part of her wanted to get up and move because from where she and Peter had been strategically seated they couldn't see the event taking place as clearly as she wanted. A larger part of Claire craved the ability to just be numb to her surroundings. It hadn't been entirely real until that moment, that in giving Gabriel the life he had always wanted, the cost was giving away hers.
Peter faithfully waited at her side the whole time, far more interested in her reactions than the stimulus itself, and at one point taking her hand so that their fingers could wind together in a gesture of solidarity. But they could have been a million miles apart and she wouldn't have known the difference.
Time, she thought. It's an abstract and altogether irrelevant kind of philosophy invented by mortal men to give themselves something to measure their lives by. In the grand scope of things though, any life, however great, flashes by in a fraction of a second going unnoticed by the universe. Even Hiro Nakamura, the self-professed master of time's intricacies, who held the power to travel unimaginable distances would eventually succumb to the principle rule that governs all. Almost all anyways.
But what of those that are doomed to exceed such basic laws of life? Many would enviously regard immortality as a blessing; perhaps some glorious prize to acquire in the search for perfection. And then there are those that could only ever view a drastically extended lifespan as a curse. The knowledge that one will inevitably live to see the passing of all those around them that have managed to impact their life is a heavy burden to bear, particularly alone. Friends, family, peculiar strangers that boldly stood out from a sea of faceless, nameless masses, they would all bow down to time's superiority long before she could hope to join them. And lovers…
Maybe Newton's laws of motion said it best. When a first body exerts a force on a second body, the second body simultaneously exerts a force on the first body. Both bodies are equal in magnitude and opposite in direction. The acceleration of a body is parallel and directly proportional to the net force acting on the body, but if a body experiences no net force, then its velocity is constant. Without interruption, Gabriel's life, and therefore Sylar's, was destined to travel the same path over and over again. And when Claire tried to manipulate his course, they were both equally thrown in new directions, their trajectories always opposing one another.
Action and its equal and opposite reaction. Cause and effect. One was always relative to the other, failing to exist in the same time and space, but never existing without its counterpart. If there was anything at all that Claire could walk away with from their adventures, it was the concept of equivalent exchange.
There's a reason why it is said that nothing in the world comes for free. A new life may be purchased, but it is done at the cost of another. For Gabriel to find peace, to be complete, Claire had to sacrifice any hope she had of them being together and raising their child as a family. Sylar died so that Gabriel could live, and Claire had bought time. A vast, inconceivable amount of time stretching outward into the great black of the universe faster than light particles could travel to meet it. Time to be alone.
"We can try again," Peter quietly offered as he waited in the wings, ever ready to catch her before she could fall and piece her heart back together as it broke. At the tender age of nineteen Claire Bennet had experienced more of life than many centurions. She had tasted innocence, chaos, death's grievings, hatred, and love. All of her experiences coalesced into a formidable growth of personal character that blossomed as she stood by watching the panels of white lace flutter in the breeze, flakes of snow sweeping across her skin and leaving a soothing caress of cool.
There were so many joyous, shining faces in the crowd; all clapping in sync with the celebratory chime of church bells from some far off tower. Through the twirling of rose petals warm brown eyes fell upon her accompanied by an equally proud smile that welcomed her to join the side of her sacrifice. Gabriel gave her a grateful wave which she returned without hesitation.
"No." Sylar had been stopped, the world saved, and the timeline, for all intensive purposes, restored. Their mission was done. Claire wiped away the last tear she would ever shed for Gabriel Gray again with a sad little smile born of incomprehensible joy. It was finally his turn to be happy.
Gleeful cheers erupted around them to punctuate the only remaining question. "Where do we go from here?"
"Home. Let's go home."
She was only vaguely aware of Peter moving behind her until a set of familiar warm arms were wrapping around her middle. "You really do love him, don't you." It was so much more of a statement than a question, absolute in confidence.
"I do. I really do."
"And you're willing to give up everything so that he can be happy, even if it's with someone else."
"I am."
He sighed in her ear, his moist breath tickling as it rolled down her neck, and the familiar motion made Claire acutely aware of why Peter hadn't been himself in a very long time. The way he had behaved around Gloria Gray, becoming uncomfortably attached to her, and the way that she had looked at him as if she had known him all his life. How Sylar had traded glances between them, reluctant to believe that they were in fact related because of some notion about Peter being attracted to her. After his encounter with Flint, Jesse, Knox, and the German, Peter had been filthy and covered in dried blood, but there wasn't so much as a bruise or scrape on him afterward. How dismissive he had been about Sylar's ability to take care of himself, even after it was apparent that he wasn't the same man they had originally known. The way he had held her in his sleep in that motel room and how he took so long to get back to her after being startled awake in the dead of night. The song he sang in the shower, their song. How he had kept some measure of control over himself when infected with the intuitive aptitude, refusing to kill Emma or her when Peter had gone so far as to attack his own mother and brother in the past. How he had been able to use multiple abilities at once with precision when Claire hadn't been able to believe that her uncle could have chosen to keep the hunger after finding a way out. The suitcase full of stolen powers had been an all too convenient ruse that other versions of Sylar and Peter had seen through easily. And there was the way that his eyes changed, always following her, and the baby softness of his skin that was almost unique to regeneration. Come to think of it, Claire hadn't actually witnessed anything that had happened when Sylar had supposedly killed Noah.
"How long has it been you? The whole time?"
"The whole time," he answered quietly. Peter's voice was no longer Peter's and neither were the arms holding her. "What gave me away?"
"I've seen that trick before." Claire turned to face Sylar in earnest. "You couldn't change being left handed when you were pretending to be Nathan. And you could look exactly like me, but you couldn't fake being pregnant. Kind of like how you can't consciously turn off my ability, or keep control of your shape shifting while you're asleep." He rolled his eyes at the memory. He wasn't supposed to have actually fallen asleep as he did but not even he could resist that level of fatigue forever.
"You have to admit that I'm getting a lot better at this."
"I'm pretty sure Peter doesn't grow a full beard every two days." There was another sarcastic retort in the making but she cut him off before the words could leave his mouth. "Why? Why would you do all this? Why would you make me see all this?"
Sylar's eyes wandered around his feet for a moment as he took a deep breath, maybe steeling himself for whatever her reaction would be. "I had to know that it was real."
His gaze met hers as intensely as they ever had. "Our whole lives have been manipulated by other people, Claire. We've both been filled with lies since day one and sometimes I don't know what's real anymore. These abilities don't make it any better. You say you love me and maybe it's not a lie, but do you really love me, or do you feel that way because it's what I want to believe? Do I really love you, or is that just what I feel because I feel everything that you do? Does it snow because we make it, or is this all just another ploy by the Company? The first time we met it was because you had come back in time to kill me for something that I hadn't even done yet. Your family helped turn me into the monster that they hated in the first place."
"They used me. Just like they were going to use you and make Peter blow up New York. I was just a tool."
"I know. I did this for both of us." A gentle thumb came to smooth over her bottom lip when it threatened to tremble. "You needed to be sure that what we have is real just as much as I did. It's never going to be easy, Claire. We're never going to be normal or have that life that I know you really want. There's always going to be doubts."
"I don't have any doubts. Not anymore."
"I do." Claire pulled back, cringing as if he had just slapped her across the face. "Forever is a very, very long time, Claire, and we're both going to be around to see it. Who's to say that you won't change your mind in a year, in a hundred years, or a thousand? I couldn't take it. Who knows what I'll do?"
"Shh." Claire pressed a finger against his lips to silence those far off worries. A meeting of their lips relinquished all of her secrets, letting him read into the truth of her as he pleased, memory, thought and emotion, mind, body and soul. It wasn't a trick. There was no plot beyond what they had made their own, only an unwavering devotion. "Does that feel like I'm going to change my mind after all of this?"
"No, but –"
She kissed him again until they were both equally breathless. "If you were really that much of a fatalist you never would have gone through so much trouble to find the right answer. So what if we got together because the Company wanted us to. So what if you believe because I do as long as we're both doing it together."
"Forever –"
"Oh screw forever. It's overrated anyways. Just give me a thousand years to change your mind. You won't even miss them, I promise." And then he was the one kissing her senseless, the both of them blissfully unaware of how the congregation had turned their triumphant smiles upon them.
"Sylar?"
"Hm?"
"Where's the real Peter?"
A rather devious Cheshire grin, even by his standards, split his face in half from ear to ear. "He and your father both are right where I left them. They're probably not very happy with me right now, but they're safe and in whole pieces."
Claire was afraid to ask what that meant but figured she would end up finding out sooner or later anyways. "What about Hiro? Please tell me you didn't kill him for his ability."
"He's safe and sound in the hospital, recovering from a remarkably successful operation to remove his brain tumor. I believe the attending surgeons called it a miracle."
"…you didn't."
"I did," he shrugged. "Redemption is a process, Claire. It doesn't happen overnight. And apparently it doesn't happen without help either. Still love me?"
"We might have to change that thousand years deal to a hundred."
"I'll take what I can get," he smirked. "Let's go home."
"I like the sound of that."
"Congrats, man, again." Peter gave his buddy a good natured slap on the back as Sylar and Claire evaporated from sight. "I don't know how you always make this stuff work out but I'm glad it does."
"It's all about a good sense of timing," Gabriel laughed, making a show of adjusting one of the dozen wristwatches strapped to his arm. "And having a little help from my friends."
"Are you ever going to tell me why you wanted to renew our vows here?" Claire brushed a dusting of snowflakes from the skirt of her wedding dress, her artificially darkened locks spilling over her shoulders as she did so.
"Nope." Gabriel gave her a devilish smile. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"
"A few times but it never hurts to hear it again."
He took her hand and pulled until she was in his arms where she belonged. "I love you enough to move mountains with my bare hands. I love you enough to play Superman with your uncle and repeatedly save the world on the weekends. I love you enough to completely rewrite the entire history of the world over and over and over again. I love you enough to put up with watching The Notebook on demand, on a regular basis. And I love you so much, I keep masochistically turning back time to get another dose of your father shooting me in the ass and your mother with Mr. Muggles just so you can spend some time with your family."
"I think I would be happy if you loved me enough to remember to put the toilet seat down when you're done."
"Baby steps, sweetheart."
"Or if you loved me enough to let me buy that cute pair of Manolo Blahniks I saw. Or even if you loved me enough to take the dishes out of the dishwasher when they're done every once in a while."
"Don't push your luck."
Peter snapped a picture of the happy couple, biting his lip to avoid cracking up with laughter. "I'm gonna go grab some more champagne. Let me know when you're ready to the cut the cake because if you're going to smash it into her face again I wanna get it on film this time."
"You wouldn't dare."
"I love you enough to help you pick icing out of your hair later," Gabriel chuckled. Claire huffed and feigned an attempt at storming away in mock irritation only to be whirled back around again. "Claire Bennet," he sighed, placing his hands on either side of her face, "I have loved you for a thousand years. And I'm going to love you for a thousand more."
"Do you love me enough to dance with me to the Christina Perri song?"
"I want a divorce."
"Come on, Peter could get more pictures while we dance. The kids would love it."
"Fine but I had better get lucky tonight."
"Shut up and kiss me."
Sylar was right when he had said that Peter and Noah probably weren't very happy with him. As he and Claire rematerialized in the motel room where their scuffle had gone awry so long ago, she saw that the well-meaning duo were indeed exactly as he had left them. Bound, gagged, and fuming.
It felt like a lifetime had passed since she and Sylar had stayed in the modest accommodation, on the run from the Company and fearful for their future. Her clothes were still laid out on the bed. His blood on the floor was still wet. A cup of coffee on the table was still steaming hot reminding her that really it was only a moment ago that Sylar had lured them into the room pretending to be her while she waited in the trunk of a car in the parking lot. His plan had worked alright. The bait and switch had misdirected and confused the hell out of everybody, especially her.
Noah's furious eyes followed Sylar everywhere, his trigger finger visibly itching where his hands were tied to the chair behind his back and fastened to his ankles to prevent any hobbling escapes. Sylar gingerly peeled back the layer of silver duct tape sealing his mouth shut over the wadded up sock that had been stuffed into the cavity so that he could speak with his daughter.
"I'll get you for this, you sorry son-of-a-"
The sock was quickly crammed back into the Company man's hateful pie hole. "See? Everything's business as usual."
Like her father, Peter had been more or less hog tied to a chair, hands tightly drawn behind his back and looped at the ankle, except his seat had tipped over onto its side on the floor when he struggled against his bonds in futility. Foul words that Claire hadn't known were in her uncle's vocabulary rumbled in his throat. Another dirty sock shoved into his mouth and held in place with a swath of duct tape muffled the verbal assault but not enough for them to have difficulty understanding what he meant to say.
"Now, why would I want to do something like that to myself, Petey?" Sylar goaded him from his perch on the end of the bed. "A dirty act like that is so much more fun with company. No pun intended, Noah."
Bennet muttered something unintelligibly that put a flush of embarrassment in Claire's cheeks. "Dad!"
"Can you believe he kisses your mother with that mouth?"
"Both of you, all of you, knock it off. This is childish, and immature, and just really stupid." Suddenly she had the entire room's rapt attention.
"Sylar didn't kill you guys because he loves me. That's right, I said it. It's kind been an elephant in the room for a few years now and I think it's time we all admitted it." Noah's eyes narrowed at his sworn enemy, another barrage of crude insinuations about Sylar's relationship with his mother interrupting Claire's flow.
"No talking," she snapped back at him. "I have the floor now. It's my turn." Her searing focus burned holes into Sylar until he wiped the smirk from his face. "And they're not going to hurt you either, because they love me." Claire met three agitated pairs of eyes to make her point clear. "Sylar loves me. You guys love me, and I love you too. And… I… I love Sylar." Peter's chair bucked and thumped across the floor as he thrashed about.
"Can't you guys see that we're all on the same side here? We all want the same things."
In a gesture of good will, Sylar wagged a finger at Peter's fallen chair so that it was raised back upright by telekinetic forces. "You're welcome," he said in response to a garbled "thank you".
"Now we're going to release you guys, but you have to promise to behave. There's no reason for anyone to get hurt here when we can all work together."
Sylar got up to free his captives, taking his precious time doing so, and Claire somewhat suspected that he was making the process slightly more painful than it really needed to be. Peter wasn't happy but he kept his end of the bargain. Her uncle eyed the former hunter like a caged animal but wordlessly rubbed his wrists where the straps had worn the skin raw. Noah was not as easily subdued. The second the older man was free, there was a flash of metal followed by a loud bang and a miserable moan from Sylar. Blood gushed from between his fingers where he applied pressure to the already healing wound in his left buttock.
Fortunately the Company man seemed content with his single glory shot, which Claire was reticent to admit he might have deserved. Noah put his gun away with a devious grin of his own, watching his arch nemesis fumble to pry the bullet out of the fleshy tissue. "I've wanted to do that for a long time."
"You were so much more fun tied up and gagged," Sylar groused, carelessly tossing the bloody metal slug on the floor.
Sometime later, when the truce between the men in her life was more defined and official, Sylar caught up to Claire. The warmth she felt in his embrace and the doting kiss that he planted on her cheek felt genuine enough. It was just too bad that she knew him so well because his worries were betrayed by his always expressive eyes. There was still another storm cloud mucking up their happy horizon.
"I think your father and I have finally found something we can both agree on."
"What's that?"
"We both want what's best for you. And we both want you to be happy." His fingers trailed up and down the inside of her elbow leaving goose bumps behind, the other hand resting comfortably on her swelling stomach.
"What about you and Peter?"
"He's still not talking to me. He'll warm up to me eventually though."
"So what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"I don't need a lie detector ability to know you're not telling me the whole truth, Sylar."
His lips blazed a hot trail over her neck and the side of her jaw that he could reach without moving before he answered. Claire's eyelids fluttered to a close, helplessly enjoying the affection, but she knew too well to keep a clear head if it was bad enough for Sylar to use such a distraction tactic. "You know I love you, right?"
"Yes. So why do you have a 'but' face?"
He paused, puzzled for a second by her unfortunate choice of words, and then spilled his guts. "There's one more thing that I need to do."
"Oh God, what now?"
"Just a little thing," he swore. "You'll never even know I'm gone."
To be continued…