Chapter 14: Wither

The next morning was difficult. First, Sylar had to mentally kick himself at least half a dozen times not to fall asleep, then watch Claire's withdrawal when she woke up, disgusted that she had snuggled up to the warm body by her in her sleep. After that had to deprive himself of eating the offered breakfast for effect when he was very hungry already. No matter, if he has any hunger pains, at least he doesn't have to fake it all.

But the greatest blow came went Claire popped back into the room to announce that she had contacted Rebel and the leader of the resitance was going to send Rachel over with a vial for blood that they would use to look for residual inhibiting formula levels in his system.

Given that there would be absolutely none residual levels to be found as he was just hunky dory, letting them take a sample to see if the LAWR could find a way to help alleviate his symptoms did not seem like a very good idea. Surely Noah Bennett would've already doubted if he had any problems at all, but thankfully Claire was a lot more naïve and believing in a sense of good. But if he suddenly recovered, that would be suspicious for her as well, not to mention he would loose his greatest weapon in making the girl he obsessed over feel for him. Unless...

Sylar was not much interested in the medical field before as he was indestructible, nor did he spend much time reading up on the subject when he used to have his eidetic memory. But he did have his intuitive aptitude and his body, a working mechanism that could be understood, fixed, are alternatively, broken at will. While he could not have something in his blood that he hasn't been injected with for a long while, he could still produce abnormal bloodcount levels if he concentrated on his now fine tuned shifting abilities after he had figured out what exactly he had to do to achieve that. What was he simulating having? Long term side effects of a drug, the only drug that could affect him in this way as it was specially designed to do so. A sensitivity, a susceptibility reaction to it, in other words, something that his tormentors at the company were well aware of and documented as being true at that point. It resulted in a stomach inflammation that he could replicate in his blood test results now. All he had to do was raise his white blood cells count, adjust protein and platelet levels and add in some vitamin deficiencies for supposed impaired digestion. Of course there were other things that marked an autoimmune inflammation inside a human body. He couldn't name them all, but he could feel little particles swinging one way or another, adjusting themselves, following the lead he has given them by shifting what he could already figure out.

Maintaining that state was a grueling mind exercise, so he was quite happy when Claire had finally appeared and pricked him with the needle. He wasn't totally confident in having produced the effects he had desired though. He would've been a little uneasy if it was Mohinder who would've looked at his results, but he knew rebel was a child after all, brainiac or not, communicating with a diagnostic tool or not. As for the LAWR, they were more specialized in smuggling evolved humans away from danger, than anything else.

Claire disappearing for a while somewhat unnerved him, but she got back with a backpack full of anti-inflammatories by night time, suggesting he had managed to successfully trick them again. "You'd better take a whole pack at once," she advised. "We're not sure if it's gonna have any effect on you, but it might..." She then resorted to the method she knew worked and got her massaging cloth, "Rebel says you should be getting better very soon. There's no reason why not. We could take another sample in a few days' time, then we'll know for sure."

Sylar put a hand on hers, on his stomach, as she was slowly rubbing it, "I'm all right tonight. You should go have a proper sleep." In fact it was him, who needed that sleep, but could not, in her close presence.

Claire looked into his eyes sadly. Indeed, apart from some twinges, she could hardly feel anything bothering him. Why was she feeling guilty then? Because she took part in the systematical torture of two dozens of evolved humans perhaps? "I'm sorry..." She trailed off.

Having not had acquired mind reading, Sylar was not sure what she meant. "What should you be sorry for, Saint Claire?"

"Don't call me that. Sarcasm is not needed. You know as well as I know I'm not a saint. I've lived my life, closing my eyes not to see things I didn't wanna see, and I didn't need my memories wiped for it either! I wanted to have my perfect life I could never have and if it wasn't so, I choose to ignore what didn't fit to feel happy."

"We're all self absorbed. We're all sinners. Accept it. That's why we are called humans."

"I thought I was better than that."

"Oh, you're a megalomaniac too, aren't you? Better than everyone else, more superior? These are feelings that are inscripted in any of our brains, believe me. They all love being sinners because they are weak and surrender to the pleasure."

"Look, I merely wanted to say I was sorry for my family's involvement in you choosing the dark side."

"Well, guess what, people like me would be miserable in heaven."

"I'm also embarrassed for being associated with the exploitation of people with abilities."

"Not all sinners have to suffer for their sins. Not you, little Claire, stuck here as a prisoner just like me. Not with your truthful, soulful green eyes paving the way for all sinners to find redemption," he turned her hand over and held it in his, "if I wanted saving my soul, I'd turn to you. You are the special, unique person I'd always thought you'd be."

Claire rolled her eyes, "would you please leave that??" She pulled her hand out of his, "so you don't need me tonight?"

"I always need you, little Claire."

She sighed and looked out the window. As far as she could see, grassy planes. She was nineteen years old and not made for this. Immortal or not, she had dreams, achieving things from own effort, having fun, seeing the world and its miracles, having friends, meeting a guy, perhaps kids...here, she didn't have as much as a person to talk to, if we didn't count the serial killer, who was supposed to be her utmost enemy.

She didn't think this through with all its implications when she kidnapped Sylar, she simply wanted to do what was right. No matter how much she'd debate it in her mind, the state of affairs always stood as her selfishness wishing herself away from what was her prison as well against what was morally fair. She should give in to it then. It was nonsensical being annoyed with herself for having slipped closer in her sleep to the only man she could have for who knows how long. It's not that she intended becoming intimate with him, but avoiding him was of no use, what's more, counterproductive. This was reality and reality was that there were only the two of them in their world. She could not be out here all alone. Alone in her bed, alone in her every day routine, alone in her head.

She was thankful that Sylar was not exactly who she had thought he was, from what she could deduce from his life story. He was never really given a chance. Perhaps she could show him how it would look like if somebody really cared? She could start by asking one more thing from Rebel tomorrow. Maybe they could extend the magnetic field restricting Sylar to the house, as opposed to the small bedroom only. But before that, she will make sure he was comfortable and that she was there if he was sick at night.

Once more to Sylar's surprise, she wordlessly climbed onto the bed next to him. She changed the compress on his stomach again, then let go and tried to shape one of the pillows in a way she would find it comfy. "It has been a long day and I didn't sleep too much last night. Just wake me up if something's wrong." She wiggled into a comfortable position and closed her eyes to show her intentions.

Her dark companion frowned, undecided. Was he safe to sleep now too? What if she checked on him at night and found that he was completely fine? Would that be acceptable? He did say after all he was feeling all right. Sylar turned to his side. He could see her better that way. Little Claire. She looked even smaller curled up like that. He flicked a finger and pulled the covers over her, only leaving her face out. The girl opened her eyes for a moment and smiled thankfully, a bit too drowsy to engage in any other kind of communication. Smiling! At him! Those shapely, arched lips felt so inviting, but he knew they really weren't inviting him, not yet. He imagined her tongue battling with his and not with words this time, her paradoxically soft, indestructible skin under his fingers, her full, modeled breasts pushing against his chest...

His cock responded nicely to the mental image, pressing insistently up against the fabric of his pants, stiffening and enlarging. Sylar grimaced, resisting the urge to start to stroke himself. Oh, no, he was a bit off course here. He was supposed to be unwell, not masturbating next to her! He had to clear his mind of her, replace it with something neutral, negative even. If only his penis would comply and behave the way he wanted it, like the rest of his body usually did.

He pictured the inside of a watch, balance wheels and springs, lever escapements and pallets. And by the time he mentally restored a historic and rare Roskopf, his libido was under control. Allowing himself to venture out his own head, he listened to her breathing, that became regular and hypnotizing by now. Hopefully monotone enough not to arouse him again.

Sylar attempted a look at Claire again. Some of her blond hair fell across her face. He could have telekinetically moved it out the way, it would have been less likely to wake her, but he felt like he had to touch her. His fingertips reached out and he softly brushed her hair back. The gentle movement set him into a different state of mind, he had no longer wanted to claim her senselessly. Sleeping peacefully she looked like an angel with golden hair, pure and true to herself, shining bright in his darkness.

Despite his tiredness and his internal, sharp clock that could've told him, Sylar had no idea he had been watching her for over an hour now. It was one of the very rare times he had found peace.

Tbc