Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes
03 December, 2009
She was in the library when she saw him. He wasn't exactly being Bond about it. Sylar didn't make empty threats, so it didn't surprise Claire he had shown up. And, she supposed, if he was there to hurt her, he had already had a dozen chances. Claire had quickly relaxed, forcing herself to ignore him, well, for the most part.
Claire shook her head. This was too easy. Grinning as she leaned over the balcony, Claire lifted the heavy tome above her head. Lower lip tucked between her teeth Claire shifted so that the book was centered above a certain man who was sitting reclined back feet on a table two floors.
"Geronimo," she smirked and let the book fall.
The reaction was instantaneous. Sylar shot into an upright position, the book heavy on his lap. The dark-haired man's head craned upward eyes locking on hers as he mouthed a vow of retaliation.
Claire bit back her laughter and pushed away from the railing. It had felt good, pulling one over on him again, catching him off guard. Seeing the…well, playful glare on his face sent a shiver up her spine.
Moving back to her cubicle, Claire curled her legs under her and slipped her headphones in, flicking her music on and her book open. Picking up her pen she began to take neat notes, her handwriting spaced carefully. She scanned the book again, humming happily as she found what she was looking for.
Her pen scratched across the paper as Claire jumped in her seat, her back arching sharply as a cold child slid down her spine. The wet trail of melted ice made her shirt stick in places. Tossing her pen down on the marred page of notes, Claire pushed away from the desk and spun in the chair to face her tormentor.
"Are you happy," Claire asked one hand snaking up beneath the back of her shirt to extract the sliver of ice.
"Are you," Sylar returned as he leaned back against the cubicle behind him.
Claire smiled sweetly, "I'd be happier if you would keel over."
Sylar inhaled and tipped his head back, Adam's apple bobbing. "Wasn't that what you tried to do earlier?"
"No," Claire smirked and tossed the chunk of ice at the looming man, hitting him squarely in the chest. "I was suggesting a book for you to read."
"I'm more of a murder-mystery-romance guy, less compendium of technology A.D. to 1950," Sylar rattled, ignoring the ice that had flopped to the ground after bouncing off of him.
"Really," Claire leaned back in her chair, "I always figured you for a horror-psychological-medical guy."
"Well now you know," Sylar cocked his head to the side. "In fact, we should go see one of my favorite movies. I think you would like it."
"Right," Claire leaned forward, "because for some wacky reason we are suddenly movie buddies."
"We have more in common than you think, Claire," Sylar rumbled as a hand raked through his neat hair, ruffling his pristine composure.
"Yeah, like what," the challenge was clear.
The former timepiece repairman was nothing if not willing to rise to a challenge. He stepped into the sitting woman, his knees brushing the edge of her chair. One arm reached behind her slipping against blonde hair before picking up Claire's notebook and discarded pen. Stepping back he sat on the desk behind him and pulled the chair Claire was sitting in to him. He watched her attempt to hide a grimace as she found herself neatly trapped between his thighs.
Pen in hand, Sylar began to speak, copying his words down as he did. "We were both adopted. Our fathers were terrible role models, our mothers were well meaning, but ineffective. We can't die. We both have issues following the rules. We are so much more than people see. You like pie, I like pie, and we both apparently have childish sides and love to surprise people. Shall I go on?"
Claire shook her head, "Surface stuff. That doesn't mean we have anything important in common."
"So understanding feelings of abandonment are surface connections?"
A roll of the eyes, "Favorite bands, books, movies…experiences."
"Then come see the movie with me," Sylar baited. "If you are so sure we have nothing important in common then prove it."
"Seriously," Claire gestured in frustration at the screen, a gummy bear slipping from her grasp
"Do you get kicked out of theaters often," Sylar asked in amusement, enjoying the reactions of the petite blonde.
Claire glanced at him quickly before turning back to the screen, "What, no."
"Really," Sylar was genuinely surprised.
"Oh shut up," Claire tossed a gummy at him. "This was your plan. You bought out the entire theater. I'll talk if I want to."
Sylar swiped the tub of gummy bears from the girl, popping a few in his mouth. "Will you just admit that you like it?"
Claire turned in her seat, lifting the armrest so she could fully face Sylar. "I like Rick, but Ilsa is a class-A bitch."
He blinked it wasn't the answer he expected. "Why?"
"Look at her, she's a popular girl and she's playing him to get what she wants. He's so in love with her that he doesn't see any other possible choice but to let her."
The way she said the word made it sound dirty. Popular. It was snide, a commentary not about Ilsa but about the type of woman Ilsa was. The type of girl Elle had been. The type of girl Sylar had always seen Claire as. The derision in her voice made him second-guess that.
"You were a cheerleader," he pointed out, waiting for the explanation that was crucial to her analysis.
Claire sighed and glanced at the film before meeting Sylar's dark eyes. "Yeah but I was still the outcast. I was only a cheerleader because my so-called-friend got me a spot on the team. I was persona non grata before that and after the bonfire. I was actually voted Homecoming Queen by the unpopular students because I stood up to the popular girls and this douche bag football player."
That was news to Sylar. Before they had met, she had simply been the Cheerleader, a title that didn't seem to fit her anymore. The picture that had been painted, that he himself had painted, of Claire was of a perfect childhood, frilly pink dresses, always the center of attention.
His face must have given away his train of thoughts because Claire frowned at him. "What did you think I was actually one of the cool kids?"
"Yes," was the simple answer. Sylar wasn't going to lie about it. That would not help his cause.
Claire frowned, "Yeah, I hide it well. For so long I wanted to be special…now, it's the last thing I want."
"All I wanted was for someone to see me for me," Sylar admitted, fingers itching to reach out and stroke her cheek. "I was never good enough for anyone."
"Is that why," Claire left the question unfinished, unwilling to be the one to bring up his murder spree.
Sylar shrugged his shoulders, dark jacket rising up and casting deeper shadows on his face. "Maybe," it was noncommittal, uncertain if it was an accurate assessment but willing to concede it might have been a factor.
"So…Casablanca," Claire shifted the conversation easily. "Not the worst movie I've ever seen."
Sylar leaned into Claire, smiling broadly. "So I was right?"
"I wouldn't go that far," Claire rejected as fingers trailed against the strands of her hair.
Small victories, Sylar reminded himself. Each small victory was won with patience. He was taking ground inch by inch. He refused to be Sisyphus; Sylar would succeed in his pursuit of Claire.
"I was right," Sylar breathed softly, watching each flicker of her eyes and twitch of muscle beneath skin. He stroked the soft length of her hair, letting it slip between his fingers like water. This inch was her patience at his touch. Yesterday she had jerked away from him in a tumult of emotions.
Every inch counted. She wasn't terrified of him, wasn't attempting to kill him, and she wasn't calling daddy on him. Patience was the word. And Sylar was not willing to fail.
A/N: 3/25. Had a lovely dinner, watched the Hawks game, and pumped this out. We're slowly getting to the fluffy and humorous aspect of this story. I wasn't sure how to start this story because it needed to feel like a natural uncovering of their relationship. There will still be introspective moments, but they will become fewer and farther in between. Drop me a line, and happy holidays!