Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes

02 December, 2009

Claire blinked hazily and shook a curtain of pale blonde hair out of her eyes. The bed across from hers was still empty. Gretchen had yet to come back from the library. Library, Claire bit back the snort of disbelief. She should have known she would be disappointed in the end. She always was.

It was, apparently, too much to ask of the universe that just once things would work out for Claire. Rolling onto her back the young woman curled into herself and the warmth of her bed. She wasn't ready to face the world, let alone go to class or get out of bed. She had lost her father all over again, Nathan was gone, for real. All of those visits, the coffees, the laughter had been a lie. It had been Sylar of all people.

Eyelids slid shut over tear-glossy green eyes. She had watched his body burn…except it wasn't him. It had never been him. Her nightmare wasn't over. Her breath shuddered in her throat, making the flesh tighten uncomfortably.

Claire walked along with the throng of people towards the dining center, she liked crowds, it was easier to go unnoticed. For a long time Claire had sought to be seen, and then she had desperately tried to hide, to hide what she was. She had been burned once too many times by the spotlight. Being a cheerleader had brought her into Brody's awareness. That had been nothing but bad news. Saving the man in the train had brought Sylar. Her birth parents had opened her to a whole new level of scrutiny. She was special and wanted, Samuel had reminded her.

It wasn't that Claire wanted to hide forever. Claire just didn't want to be in…agony anymore. Hiding meant no one saw how special she was. She hated that word. It had been repeated ad nauseam in a variety of tones: placating, condescending, dark, sweet, soothing, and hopeful. The list went on. It was her epithet: Special Claire.

Claire didn't want to be special anymore. She wanted to be normal. She wanted to wake up and chatter mindlessly with her roommate, get breakfast and complain about how dull her professors were, she wanted to get her degree and get a normal job. She didn't want to save the world or work for the Company. She didn't want to sacrifice the life she had dreamed of as a child.

So Claire Bennet, oldest child of Sandra and Noah Bennet, stood in line and handed her ID over to the apathetic cashier. She didn't smile or speak, she just kept moving with the crowd.

The silver spoon dipped in and out of the cereal, sliding noisily along the corn flakes. Each time the spoon dropped it tapped dully on the bottom of the bowl before retracting. The hand attached to the spoon bobbed lazily, its owner detached from the world passing around her.

Claire watched her peers move with purpose, okay, hunger was probably a better descriptor, but they were part of the whole. Claire could fake it with the best, but then reality set in and she ended up sitting alone at the lunch table. Like the nerd she once was. Nerd might have been a bit of an overstatement. Claire wasn't in the math club or anything, but she was smart. She studied and she worked hard. She had a work ethic that wasn't to be scoffed at. West had recognized how smart Claire was, and her biology teacher had noticed it. Sitting in this particular dining call on this particular university campus was proof of her intelligence.

The spoon dropped again before rising. A chair scraped and Claire started, her gaze snapping into focus. Her lungs froze, her lower jaw dropping slightly.

"Hello, Claire," his voice was soft, conversational, as if he were any other guy sitting down at her table and smiling at her.

There was the tightness in her throat again, "Sylar."

Her whole body was stiff as she checked her surroundings. It was a crowded room, busy, if she screamed people would notice. If she screamed, people might try to help, people Sylar would have no issue stopping. Claire looked at him, he was reclining in the chair, his body not directly facing her but his eyes trained on her. Dark hair swept back neatly, mouth upturned a tick, clothing relaxed but still seething power.

"Relax," Sylar recommended, "I just want to talk, Claire."

"Yeah right," the blonde huffed, eyes rolling slightly, "You have a track record."

He sighed and leaned forward, lacing his hands atop the table. "I'm a very patient man, Claire."

"Right, because all of those hasty murders were the definition of patient," Claire shook her head and crossed her arms across her stomach as she leaned back. There was the fire. It sparked in her green eyes brightening them as the young woman's strength reared upward.

Long fingers unlaced as Sylar reached for the abandoned spoon, dipping it into the bowl and scooping up some soggy flakes. Locking eyes with his counterpart, the dark haired man brought the spoon to his mouth. He smiled around the spoon, flipping it in his mouth before pulling it out slowly and pointing it at her. "I was a different man then. I made a lot of bad choices."

There was the little huff of indignation again. "Bad choices, killing a ton of people and stealing their powers is not a bad choice, it's evil!"

"It's not that simple," the spoon dropped back into the bowl with a splash. "Claire, you know it isn't."

"You killed my father," she gritted out, fingers tightening on her own arms.

Sylar reached forward, fingers brushing the back of her hand before she jerked out his reach. "You're hurting yourself."

"Like you even care," Claire sniffed but relaxed her fingers anyway. His hand snapped out, catching her wrist and pulling her left hand into his. Claire jerked, trying to tug her wrist free from the shackle-like grip. The bravado slipped from her manner as she struggled. "Let go!"

Sylar flashed a sad smile and moved his other hand to cup her balled fist. "I am sorry, Claire," his voice was soft. Measured but firm.

"Don't," she said as her eyes tearing and her mouth turned to a sad pout, "lie to me."

"I am sorry, Claire," Sylar repeated, squeezing her hand in his. "I am sorry I hurt you."

"Okay," Claire smiled shakily. "Clearly I'm having a really weird nightmare."

"Do you usually dream about me," Sylar grinned, teeth glinting roguishly.

"Oh yeah," Claire nodded her voice lowering to a husky purr. "I dream about you all the time. Running my hands through your hair, down your chest, pressing up against you…"

"And," Sylar asked softly, leaning forward to match Claire's posture.

"And," Claire glanced up at him through her lashes almost shyly, "jamming an ice pick into your skull."

The chuckle was quiet at first but it built and built, Sylar shaking with mirth. After several deep shaking breathy laughs the man stilled, his face calming. "I'll change your mind, and those dreams will end a lot differently."

Bright green eyes rolled and a half-smile broke across Claire's face, "In your dreams." She regretted it the minute it came out of her mouth, the minute one dark eyebrow quirked up and his dark eyes glinted. Sylar had a way of looking at Claire that made the rest of the world mute and fade.

"Give me a chance," Sylar murmured as he shifted his grip so he could stroke the delicate skin on the inside of Claire's wrist. Her pulse jumped under his touch.

"Not even in hell," Claire said sharply, jerked her hand away and pushed away from the table.

Sylar let her go. Now wasn't the time or the place. Turning, Sylar smoothed a hand over his covered tattoo.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Claire," he called after the retreating Blonde.

He could be patient, just this once. For her. Because she was the most important person in the world to him.

A/N: 2/25. So…had an interesting morning. I was getting ready for work and I managed to drop my only pair of glasses…they promptly broke in half. It was a long blurry day. Happy Holidays!