It had been twenty years since the hospital, and Claire still sometimes woke in the middle of the night to blue eyes in the dark.
Turns out that time didn't heal all wounds, at least not entirely. They just scarred over. Claire hadn't seen a scar on her own skin in over twenty years, but she imagined that they were there, at every point of incision from the scalpel at the hospital. The memories were coming fewer and farther between, the flashes a brief annoyance rather than a crippling impairment as they had been in the years immediately following her escape with Sy–Gabriel.
Sometimes she still slipped up and used his old name. Each time he would pause slightly, and Claire wondered if she imagined the brief flash of hurt behind his eyes or the almost miniscule flinch as the word no doubt brought back memories of the things he had done before, the things he had promised never to do again.
Tonight the eyes did not leave her, and so she slipped out of bed, glancing briefly at the clock which flashed 3:06 AM. Her apartment was silent as she slipped on a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt, tying her hair back into a messy bun before picking up her phone.
She didn't keep many contacts in her cell phone. Many of the friends she'd made back before the hospital were wary of her connection with Gabriel and kept their distance; those who didn't were growing old, and wanted out of the spotlight, a place that Claire could never quite seem to find herself outside of. It didn't take her long, then, to find the number she was looking for, and the phone only rang twice before he answered.
"Couldn't sleep?" His voice, which had once brought nothing but terror and a primal fear to her bones, was now oddly comforting in the stark silence of her apartment.
"No," she said, walking out of her bedroom and slipping on her tennis shoes by the front door.
"Nightmares again?" he asked, and she hesitated, glancing at her reflection in the mirror above where her keys hung. The circles under her eyes would disappear soon enough; they never lasted longer than a few hours as her body rapidly healed itself, wiping away all traces of the exhaustion she felt weighing her down. She attempted to smooth down her blonde hair, but strands simply fell out of the bun and hung down in front of her eyes, obscuring her vision. She looked away.
"Do you want to get some coffee?" she asked, exchanging a question instead of an answer.
"I'll meet you in twenty minutes."
–
The diner near her apartment was open 24/7, and Claire took full advantage of that. Though she could not feel the effects of caffeine, there was something about sitting in a diner with other people that brought a certain amount of comfort, a brief glimpse of humanity. Sometimes she would just watch the others, imagining what kind of lives they led. Why were they here so early? Did they have a family? A job they hated? She tried to imagine herself living a normal life like them, but her mind always came up blank. She couldn't remember what normalcy felt like.
Claire smiled at the waitress as she set two steaming coffees in front of her, immediately wrapping her fingers around the mug and reveling in the way her fingers burned and healed almost instantly.
She still welcomed pain. Though she'd only lost the ability to feel it for a few years, it was enough. It remained as one of the few reminders of her humanity, and she clung to it tenaciously. She knew that Peter would balk at the amount of times she sought it out on her own, using it to bring herself out of a flashback or a moment of agitation. The razors under her sink never rusted for lack of use.
The only person who would understand is Gabriel, and she didn't even tell him. Their relationship had changed over the past twenty years. She no longer feared him. There were moments when she remembered the pain and fear he had caused her, where he had a look in his eyes that was too close to the past for comfort, but he had kept his word; Sylar was becoming a memory, and Gabriel was quickly taking his place.
He was the only other person she knew who had the same ability. He looked the same as he had the day she broken him out of his locks at the hospital, and she supposed she did as well. Looking like a teenager for eternity had gotten old quickly, and she often found herself jealous that he had gotten stuck at a more acceptable age, where people would not give him a side glance for being in the public spotlight, speaking at rallies, or even get carded at a bar. He did keep his distance from the public spotlight, however, probably due to the fact that many still remembered what he'd done before.
Claire glanced up when the bell above the door rang, offering Gabriel a small smile as he made his way to her table. His dark hair was slightly mussed up, as though he had been tossing and turning in bed the same as her. She suddenly wondered if he had actually been asleep and she'd woken him up, feeling a small flush cross her cheeks at the thought that he would come so quickly.
"You ordered for me," he said, setting his jacket on the side of the booth as he slid in across from her. She felt his long legs settle next to hers underneath the booth, and she didn't move away as one brushed over hers.
"Black coffee," she said, taking a small sip of her own. "Not a difficult order to remember."
He smirked slightly, picking up his own mug and taking a drink before speaking.
"Perfect," he said, and she smiled.
The silence was not awkward. There were times after the hospital when she had found the silence unbearable. Even after she'd told him she'd forgiven him, the weight of the past hung over them like a heavy blanket, suffocating any attempt at conversation. It was only after a few years of spending time together, mainly with Peter as a buffer, that Claire began to feel comfortable enough to spend time with Gabriel on her own. And he seemed content to wait, allowing her to come to him when she felt it was time.
After ten minutes of sipping coffee, he finally spoke.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. She stiffened slightly, staring down hard at her mug of coffee.
"It's the same thing," she finally said. "Not worth talking about."
"It's worth it if it will make you feel better."
Sometimes the absurdity of her situation still came over her. Here she was, sitting in a diner at 4 AM, talking to the Boogeyman who had haunted her life for years, finding comfort in his presence. 16-year-old Claire would never have believed it, and sometimes neither could 40-year-old Claire.
"It's the damn videos," she said. She felt him shift slightly, his leg brushing over hers again. "They keep coming up again and again. Sometimes people send them to me just for the hell of it. And sometimes I watch them. I don't know why."
She could feel his eyes on her, dark and steady, waiting for her to continue. She kept her gaze on her coffee, the dark liquid providing no reflection.
When they had raided the hospital the night that Gabriel 'died,' Peter had made sure to take as much evidence as possible with them. His hope was that, by releasing this information to the public, he could stir up enough resentment and discontent to get the laws changed, to free the specials who had been taken in under the guise of 'public protection.' It had worked. The amount of evidence was damning. Meticulous files were kept on every 'patient,' including photos and videos. And it was Claire's own file which had gained the most attention after their release to the public.
She could remember the day Peter watched them. It was two months after Gabriel had revealed himself as alive to her. Peter had been working around the clock to sort through the evidence, and had come across her file. There was a USB, and on it was a video of every experiment the doctor had run on her. The look on Peter's face, a mixture of horror and sadness and anger, had stuck with Claire for years. She had insisted on watching the videos with him. Some of the experiments she remembered, and some she didn't. Either way, it was like watching a stranger on the screen.
The video which had been making the rounds again was the one which had shocked the most. It was right after she'd regained the ability to feel pain, and the doctor had wanted to test how far her regeneration ability went. She had watched in silence as her double on the screen, paler and smaller and broken, had screamed as the bone saw delved into her skin, sawing through meat and bone as blood spurted from arteries and veins. Her skin attempted to heal itself, but the saw was relentless, cutting through flesh before it could stitch itself back together. She could still hear the sound of tearing flesh as he gripped her leg with gloved hands, pulling until the last tendons were severed, the 'thud' as the leg hit the metal table, the screams that faded as she wavered in and out of consciousness. The camera zoomed in, watching as her skin began to pulsate, the bone regenerating slowly before the camera lens.
The pain had been unbearable.
Claire pushed the coffee away from her, feeling her stomach turn slightly at the memory. When the video made its way to her social media the day before, she had watched it again. It was a sort of test she created for herself, to prove to herself the past no longer had a hold over her. Clearly, she was wrong.
"I should have let you kill him."
Claire glanced up, meeting Gabriel's eyes across the table. There was a darkness to them that she found disconcerting, eerily reminiscent of the past. She felt a small shiver run down her spine, and looked away.
"I killed him anyway," she reminded him, and he shook his head.
"He deserved much worse."
It was moments like these that Claire began to worry. Gabriel had seemed to put himself on such a narrow path after his redemption that any amount of anger or frustration was pushed beneath the surface. Now, it seemed that he was allowing himself to feel them again, but Claire didn't know where the line was between the past and present; she worried that he didn't, either.
"It's over, anyway," she said, tasting the lie on her tongue even as she spoke. The fact that they were even here in the middle of the night was testament to that.
Silence fell over them again as her stomach began to settle. She picked up the coffee mug, slightly disappointed that the heat was no longer enough to sear her skin. She ignored the part of her mind that suggested this was a concern.
"How have you been?" she finally asked. She knew it was a lame attempt at conversation, especially since they spoke so often, but she didn't want him to picture the video any longer. She didn't want him, or anyone, to think of her like that. It made her feel small and exposed, two things she refused to be any longer.
"Fine," he said, apparently playing along with her distraction. "I finally finished that 3000 piece puzzle," he added, furrowing his thick brows. "No thanks to you, I might add."
"I've been busy," she protested. "Peter's campaign is taking up almost all of his time. Someone has to make sure he doesn't burn out."
"I know." Gabriel sighed, and Claire caught the hint of concern underlying his voice. "He needs a break. Maybe we should kidnap him."
Claire laughed, taking another sip of her coffee. "He would talk your ear off in 10 minutes about the importance of voter retention or something equally boring."
"True," Gabriel said, and Claire felt a small amount of relief at the smile that graced his lips. The darkness in his eyes was gone, the tension in his shoulders replaced by the normal, awkward posture she associated him with.
"I am worried about the rally tomorrow, though," Claire said. "It's too open. There's too much room for error."
"He has great security," Gabriel reminded her. "A group of specials with various powers, and an indestructible assistant by his side. He'll be fine."
After the hospital, Claire had briefly played with the idea of politics. She'd wanted to help make the world safer for specials, especially since she largely blamed herself for their being in danger in the first place. It didn't take her long to realize that the public eye was not for her, and she found herself acting as Peter's assistant instead. He was a natural leader, able to rally people to his side and inspire them to fight. He'd proven that with their assault on the hospital, and he continued to prove it every day by keeping their network open with specials across the country. It made sense, then, that he was the one who eventually found himself running for public office.
After the hospital's various misdeeds had been publicized, swift action was taken. All similar facilities around the country had been dismantled, though Claire knew better than to believe that experiments weren't still happening out of the public eye. Her father had taught her enough about how the government worked from the shadows, getting what they wanted without letting anyone know. Still, it was a victory to know that these larger facilities were no longer officially in action.
There was still pushback. The fear of specials was open, especially when Sylar's misdeeds had been made public. The serial killer who cut open heads and terrorized the city was a special, and he was free now. Gabriel had to stay out of the public eye in order to avoid any legal recourse, often using his power to shift if he found himself needed at one of Peter's rallies. Peter wanted him to openly speak about the past and his redemption, but Claire had been strongly against it. What point was any of it if he found himself behind bars? He was more help outside, as much as she had originally loathed to admit it.
Fear had often turned to violence. There were riots when it became clear that specials were no longer being rounded up, and it had taken the last two decades to slowly change public opinion, to prove that they were not a threat. There were still outliers, of course. Specials using their powers to rob people or stores, to fight, or even to kill. But that was true of those without powers as well, which Peter often reminded the public of. Now, as he found himself running for governor, it looked like he had a good chance. And some people weren't happy about it.
Claire had often tried to convince Peter to take her ability permanently as a form of protection, but he refused. He would never say it aloud, but Claire knew the reason: he didn't want to live forever. Despite his pride in his abilities, and in those of his friends and family, Claire knew that he pitied her the eternity she would have to face. Sometimes she found herself picturing the world in fifty years, with Peter and every friend gone. Every friend but one, that is.
"I hope you're right," Claire finally said.
"I'm always right," Gabriel protested, and Claire smirked slightly, shaking her head.
"Don't let your ego get too heavy," she warned. "Even super strength can't carry that around."
They spent the next few hours talking, going through two pots of coffee until the sun began to rise outside. Claire felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy, and she knew that she had to be downtown in just six hours for Peter's speech. Gabriel noticed and offered to walk her home, an offer which she readily accepted. It was only a few blocks back to her apartment.
They walked in a comfortable silence. Claire pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, feeling the slight bite of the October wind. Winter always brought back memories of trudging through snow, of blood splattered on the stark white ground, of a key cutting through the skin on the palm of her hand as she gave Gabriel life again and again, and he saved hers.
She glanced up when they stood outside her building, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She could feel his eyes on her, and though there was no malice in them, something about being under his gaze still made her feel as though she was under a microscope of some sort, like she was a timepiece he was examining and picking apart in an attempt to understand.
Claire jumped slightly when she felt his hand on her shoulder, his long fingers curling over and squeezing slightly. They did not touch often. There was still something in her that protested at the thought, though not in the same way as she used to. She no longer imagined his finger cutting through her skin, the blood dripping into her eyes as he rifled through her brain. Still, something kept her on edge, and she felt like she could taste her heartbeat in her throat as he looked down at her.
"Sleep well," he said finally, and she nodded, struggling not to pull away from his hand.
"You, too," she said quietly. "I'll see you at the rally?"
He nodded. "In some form."
The thought brought a sense of relief, and she nodded, turning and heading back up to her apartment as his hand fell off her shoulder, leaving a coldness in its wake. And as she lay back down in bed, she fell asleep to the image of warm brown eyes drowning out the stark blue that had woken her up hours before.
Edit: Well, it's been 8 years since I wrote the first story. I'm still in college, working towards a PhD in English. I recently came across my old story and was inspired to work on a sequel. I don't know how often I'll be able to update, but I'm excited to come back to Claire and Gabriel.
