We recognize the present
is half as pleasant
as our nostalgia for
the past'll be presented
re-cast and re-invented
until it's how we meant it
He really doesn't know what her problem is.
It's an unusual set of circumstances, nothing like the ones he's used to. It's a situation he can't easily figure out, a puzzle he can't automatically solve, and that makes it interesting- and frustrating. Enticing and aggravating. Everything comes with two sides, positive and negative, polar opposites.
That's how they're supposed to work, on that same note; she's the light side, he's the dark. Good and evil, innocence and maturity, naivety and experience- except at this point he has to stop kidding himself. Claire Bennett is not naive; quite the opposite. She sees far too much. She even sees things that he can't, apparently.
(Though, honestly, he's willing to blame that one on women in general).
"Look, I'm sorry if you were looking for me to cause a scene or something, but I've got my o-chem final tomorrow and world history the day after that and far too many personal issues to deal with already, so this will just have to wait until I'm not running on four hours of sleep," the (ex-)cheerleader rants, pulling her hair out of its scrunchie and running a hand through the tangled blonde locks. It's sticking up in front at an odd angle, which makes his fingers itch.
"Well, I think I've got a valid complaint," he retaliates, leaning carefully against her dorm room's wall. He doesn't particularly want to access this room's memories, as he doesn't trust these college students at all. "You thought I was dead, correct? Shouldn't this be a bit more… shocking?"
She had turned back to the explosion of papers that covered her desk once her rant was finished; she doesn't turn away from it now. "Nah. You've come back from the grave too many times now. I knew you'd show up here eventually- you just picked a hell of a week is all."
This is all undoubtedly fascinating, but he still doesn't believe it.
Claire grabs a bulky book from the miniature shelf above her desk, flipping through the pages until she reaches a bookmark, then starts scribbling something in the margins (to his intense annoyance). "Also, Angela called earlier. Seemed to think you'd turn up. She was mumbling something about rising from the grave and a huge catastrophe and burning someone named Millie at the stake- I didn't really pay attention."
Oh, right. He still needs to deal with that woman. Sylar clenches his hands into fists at the thought- damn Petrellis, always interfering. No question of where Claire got her stubborn streak from. Still he's going to focus on the present now... and the future, in a way. "It's the usual fiasco. Come on, Claire, stop beating around the bush. I know you haven't forgotten what we talked about last--"
"Drop it," she growls, finally glaring back up at him. He raises his hands in a mock surrender, grinning, and she huffs in annoyance. "Seriously! We are not talking about that."
"And why not? It's only the logical course--"
"No. You know what?" She crosses her arms over her chest, still scowling. "I'm sick of people only trying to get close to me 'cause they want to sleep with me or something stop looking at me like that. I'm being serious! I mean, with Zach, he always seemed... and then West? And Alex? And now-- God! I just... I just want a friend."
Okay. Of all the sappy things that Sylar has heard in his life, this has to take the cake. Besides, he isn't sure why she's telling him all of this (who the hell are those people, anyway?), and with all the recent events that have happened, he wants to play it safe. So, instead of telling her to stop whining or just telekinetically shutting her mouth, he slides down the wall into a sitting position, rolling his eyes. "Uh-huh. Sorry, did I shape-shift into your therapist for a second there?"
"You have intuitive aptitude," she says, in an accusing tone of all things. "You oughta understand this stuff. Tell me what I'm doing wrong."
She wants him to fix her relationship issues? What, did he turn fluffy with a giant 'Let Me Help You' sign stuck to his head while playing Nathan? Unfortunately, the situation's gotten so far away from what he had anticipated that he can't think up a witty enough response, and he kind of wants to get on her good side. You know- for the future. "Shouldn't you be discussing this kind of nonsense with your roommate? Isn't that what college girls do?"
For some reason, she winces at the word 'roommate'. Sylar senses a story there, but he files it away for later.
"Whatever. It was stupid to think you'd help." She looks a bit disappointed as she turns back to her work, and he kind of wants to shake her. It's not like he's been any good at managing healthy relationships in the past- what the hell is he supposed to say?
"History."
She blinks, but doesn't look up. "What about it?"
"You said you've got a history exam." He gets up and wanders over to where she's sitting, reaching over her shoulder to pick up a textbook with the title 'Late Victorian Holocausts'. She leans away, but doesn't flinch or try to kill him. It's an improvement. "You know why they make you take history classes?"
"Because they like torturing us," she grumbles.
"So you can learn from the past." He waves the book in front of her, and she snatches it back. "So you don't make the same mistakes people have already explored. You've been good about learning from mistakes in things related to your power, from what I've seen. Just apply that to your life outside of... all of this."
She chews on her lower lip for a moment or two, then looks up at him. "You're speaking from experience, aren't you?"
He shrugs, stepping back to sit in an empty chair. Sylar watches her silently as she goes back to scrawling long chains of molecules into the margin of her paper. Well. It doesn't hurt to try new things.
"Chemistry, huh?"
The scratching of pencil against paper pauses, then resumes. "Yeah. I was thinking about going into medicine."
"... you would." He smiles. "After all, then you can blame your eternal health on good eating and healthy habits, and drive all of your patients nuts."
She tells him to shut up, but she bites back a grin while saying it. And he thinks that he could get used to this.
Today marks one entire year since I started this collection of oneshots. Time flies, doesn't it? So, on this anniversary, I'd like to thank you, the readers. I've grown as a writer thanks to this fic, and I never would've continued it if it weren't for all of you. You guys are the best, especially the reviewers- you always make me smile. So, thank you! =)
Also, in terms of credit, the lyrics at the top are from the song "Testing 1, 2, 3" by Barenaked Ladies. It's been my theme for whimsical-mood Sylar for a while now. Kind of fit the ideas for this piece, so I stuck it in.