Disclaimer: If you recognise it, I don't own it.
AN: Thanks Maria, Wisdom of Insanity and Ambrosien for reviewing! I'm glad you're enjoying Sylar. Here's another short chapter, but it's pretty Sylar-heavy, and the next one will be longer.
19
The thing about Angela's hand is – it's right there, and Claire can't take it.
She got Peter and Nathan safely into the other room. They'll sleep now. Elle's with Bob. She's watching Sylar. And Angela's not alone. So everything's okay.
But it doesn't feel okay. Claire leans back in her seat and folds her arms. They suddenly feel so frail and empty, and she realises that Angela sits like this sometimes, with her arms neatly folded, and she wonders if Angela feels this way too. So empty. So alone. She wants her mom – her dad – Nathan, even, strange and unfamiliar as hugging Nathan still is. She wants Mr Muggles's fast little heart beating excitedly beside her own. She wants Peter. She wants the sweet, maple-syrup-and-poster-paint smell of her small son.
What Claire has is Sylar. And Angela's hand, which Peter or Nathan might take and find comfort in, but she – they – can't. So much for handholding and hugs.
But there are other things Claire wants. Claire wants the rough scrape of the windowsill. The air turned to ice as it tears her. The clean clear blaze of pain. And then the thoughtless euphoria as she lies there on the road, her broken body pulling itself together again, fixing and mending and erasing every trace of damage, the total silence in her mind. The peace of it.
"You said you could fix me."
She's broken into Sylar's reverie. For a moment he looks like he doesn't know what she's talking about. He glances at Angela like he'd rather not discuss this in front of her. "Is now really the time?"
"No, I'm sure when my dad gets back he'll give us plenty of quality family time." Her voice is dull. The sarcasm doesn't quite work. Probably because Gabriel here isn't her family. Possibly because she can't stop seeing Victoria Pratt in the woman between them.
"Why?" He's honestly curious.
"Pain is – " But Claire has to stop. Because she doesn't know what she can say. And then she just feels angry, because Sylar's tricked her into telling him so much already. "It's mine." She says flatly. "You took it. And I want it back."
Sylar stares at her for a moment. Then he smiles. Maddeningly. "I could give you something else," he suggests.
Claire doesn't understand. And then she does. "Fuck you," she spits. Gets up with a traitorous scrape of her chair legs. How dare he. How dare he, when her arms are aching for that boy, that perfect little boy who will never exist. She never heard him call her mom. Never saw him smile. But she knows that she will never be able to imagine it right, because the reality would be – would have been – surprising and amazing and not at all what she expected but wonderful, purely wonderful, and she'll never see it now. She'll never hear it. She'll never know.
Her heart hurts. Her eyes blur.
The lights flicker.
Light shudders in and out of being. The fluorescents hiss and buzz. "Elle."
"No."
Sylar stands. Angela on the bed, Peter and Nathan next door, her family safe in hiding and on assignment. The lights go out.
And flicker on. Claire is in the hallway. The school hallway. Outside the locker room. The light wavers, but doesn't go out this time – of course not. It didn't go out again until –
No. It had already gone out. Because it went out and Jackie said – Jackie said –
Run.
Claire's soaked in blood and she's in the hallway, there's blood on the ground but no girl lying there, blood on the Homecoming banner and sticky, viscous blood matting Claire's hair and most of it's hers – but some of it's Jackie's. She can't have travelled in time. Her cheerleading uniform has Jackie's blood on it, her own blood on it, and most importantly she's wearing her cheerleading uniform. Angela's gone. The hospital's gone.
And Claire's in the hallway, the hallway, the hallway –
The figure in the cap. The coat and the cap. The faceless man.
If you think you're dreaming you pinch yourself and it doesn't hurt. If you're already running your heart's hammering too loudly for you to remember when exactly you started crying with terror. If you're running past the trophy cabinet and Peter's not there you've gone too far.
Claire has gone too far. The locker room. Pitch black. She holds her breath, tries to stifle the sobs, but God she's just so scared, and she can hear the faceless man coming for her.
"Claire!"
He's not supposed to have a voice.
Run. The hallway. The banner. The trophy cabinet and Peter is not here. Claire screams his name.
Someone grabs her by the wrist, whirls her around. She shrieks and hits out, kicks, and he slams her against the lockers but she doesn't feel a thing, just breathless panic at his strength, just a wrenching fear at how close he is, the faceless man, the killer. If she could stop screaming she could see his face. But she can't.
She can't.
"Claire, it's me. Stop it. Stop it!"
He tears off his cap and throws it to the ground. Forces her chin up, and for one dizzy moment Claire can't understand what Sylar's doing under the faceless man's cap. The hallway swims. There's no gap. One moment he's holding her against the lockers, the next Sylar's holding her up, her feet have somehow misplaced the ground and she's clutching at his coat with fingers she can't feel. The adrenaline's caught up with her and it kicks.
"Come on. We're getting out of here. Stand up." Sylar demands.
Yes. They need to get out of here. They shouldn't be here.
This is the worst place.
"We're in hell."
Sylar makes an exasperated noise. "We're not in hell," he says irritably. "We're in high school. And it's not even a real high school. The one with the mental ability's come back for Angela, he's the one who put us here and we have to go. Stand up."
Angela. Clarity. Someone's trapped them in a nightmare so he can get to Angela. The world hasn't ended and they're not in hell. Claire's found her footing.
"How do we get out of here?"
Her voice is still shaking. But with a small nod, Sylar lets go of her, and together they try the doors, the windows. Everything's shut tight except the loop of the locker room, the hallway, and the trophy cabinet – blood on the floor, the banner. Empty space where she should have met Peter. Empty space where Jackie's body should be. Claire can't take much more of this.
"It's a loop. A pattern." He says.
"But it's wrong."
Sylar stops. "Maybe it's not wrong enough."
No.
Not here, she wants to plead. Not in front of the trophy cabinet, she wants to say. This is where she met Peter. But she can't say anything. There isn't another way. And after all – Peter never really loved her, did he? Peter didn't love her enough to save her from Sylar.
And Peter doesn't love her enough to save her from what she does now.
X
The hospital. Sylar's on the floor and his arms are empty. It takes a moment longer before Claire opens her eyes, and by that time he's standing, feeling like he's been hit by a train. They're back. Angela's safe on the bed, Peter's helping Claire to her feet, and Nathan's pacing the hallway outside the room, talking to someone on his cell. "What happened?"
"I heard Claire scream." Peter says. "When we got in here you were both passed out on the ground – there was this guy – " He shakes his head. "He was a blur. I couldn't see his face, I can't remember what he looked like."
"The one with the mental ability."
"Yeah. And another guy, wearing a hood. We chased them down the hall but it was like – they disappeared. We just couldn't see them anymore. They got away." Peter's so frustrated. Both killers – or, no. Two killers. There may be more than two. "What happened to you?"
"Trapped us like Angela," Claire says huskily. "A nightmare."
She's pale. So strange to see her trying to collect herself now, when the sight of that school sent her into a blind panic only moments ago. Sylar wonders if there's a similar place in Angela's mind. Something that overrides everything she's made of herself. Someplace she thinks of as hell.
"Parkman's coming back." Nathan says, coming back into Angela's room. "He's bringing Molly with him, so as far as she knows you're Gabriel Gray." That's for Sylar. "What happened?"
Claire's been standing awkwardly at Peter's side, but when Nathan turns his attention to her she shakes her head. Bites her lip. And goes over and hugs him. He looks surprised for a moment, then his arms come up around her. "Hey. It's okay."
"I know." She says. Doesn't sound like it. And she doesn't let go. Nathan looks at Peter over her head.
"What happened?"
"We got trapped in a nightmare. Hers." Sylar says.
Nathan glares at him. This seems to be his default position on Sylar so far. "How'd you get out?"
"We broke the pattern."
Claire goes still in Nathan's arms. Then she breaks the embrace and looks up at him. "I let him kill me."
"You did what?" Nathan lets go of her abruptly and takes a menacing step towards Sylar. Claire grabs his arm.
"It's not his fault," she says quickly. "It wasn't real. I did it to save Angela."
Sylar folds his arms and tries not to smile. Kill her? She thought fast and lied convincingly, he'll give her that – Nathan shakes off her hand, but doesn't come any closer. Peter is wearing a dark look but doesn't say anything. And Claire's eyes threaten Sylar with a fate worse than death if he says a word. He won't. He'll just relive it later – Claire in his arms, clutching at him like he's the only real thing in the world, her body betraying her in countless tiny, maddening ways as she kisses him and tries to pretend she doesn't feel anything – hell, he's reliving it now, and though he doesn't dare smile… Claire knows.
She turns away. It's a small victory.
When Parkman arrives, they hear him coming. He calls Nathan when he's parked, for one thing, and then he's careful to give them plenty of advance notice as he walks down the hall.
"Matt Parkman to see Angela Petrelli! Matt Parkman coming down the hall! Matt Parkman is here!"
Parkman appears in the doorway, with a small girl in tow – Molly, that's right, her name's Molly. She looks like she's dying of embarrassment. He's heard about her before, somewhere, but he can't remember what ability she's supposed to have. Molly. His fingers itch.
"Hi." Parkman says lamely.
"Mind telling me what that was about?" Nathan asks.
Parkman shrugs evasively. "My ability, you know. Sometimes I pick stuff up… I don't know. Doesn't seem fair to sneak up on people."
But his eyes flickered between Peter and Claire when he said it, and Sylar knows he knows. And so does Nathan.
Peter greets Parkman warmly. Like a man with nothing to hide. Parkman says how great it is Peter survived, Peter says thanks, Parkman can't quite look Peter in the eye and his gaze stays firmly away from Claire when he's talking to Peter. Predictable. Boring. And then Peter tells Parkman about the attack, and what happened to Sylar and Claire – adjusting the minor detail of how they broke the pattern, for Molly's benefit. Sylar fills in the gap with his own lie. "She thought it was the killer, but when I took off the cap and she saw it was me – " He spreads his hands. Smiles. Dear old uncle Gabriel. Nothing to be scared of, Claire, not anymore.
It's hardly a lie at all. She nearly fainted with relief. Held onto him. And the level of cognitive dissonance there is – frankly, a little disturbing. Claire won't look at him when she confirms the story. Parkman knows it's a lie, but that doesn't matter.
Parkman sighs. "I gotta be honest with you, Peter. I couldn't get into Angela's head when she was conscious, and now she's… locked down. I really don't think there's anything I can do."
"You're Claire." The little girl speaks up. Claire smiles uncertainly at her, Molly relaxes. Gives her a dazzling smile back. "I saw you at Kirby Plaza. Matt says Peter's your uncle, but I thought he was your boyfriend."
She laughs. No one else does. Parkman looks like he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. And then Peter saves the day, smiling down at Molly, talking lightly. "Claire's my niece, Molly. And she's also my best friend."
"Close family, huh?" Molly's watching Claire with longing, and belatedly, Sylar remembers where he's heard her name. He killed her family. The dad… something cold. That's right. Ice. Not an ability he particularly misses. The mom was useless; he got her out of the way first. The kid – Molly – he never did find her. She mustn't have been home.
Shame.
"Pretty close," Peter affirms, but there's guilt in his eyes now. Nathan folds his arms.
"You have no idea." Sylar says, amused.
"Okay." Parkman says loudly. "I'm going to try again. If everyone could just – just kind of step back."
If everyone could just – kind of step back while Sylar opened up that thick head of his, that would be great too. And probably a lot more helpful. With Matt Parkman's ability… but Angela's comatose form gives him pause.
You're better than that, Gabriel. You're stronger than that. You're my true son, my strong son, and I know you have it in you to be truly special. Angela's soft, sure voice echoes in his head. She told him about his father. How Arthur overcame a hunger similar to his own. And how she knew he could be better than Arthur ever was. And then Peter told him about a future where some unimaginable version of himself raises Claire's son, fights that hunger every day, talks about the hunger with bitterness and loathing.
What if it was to save you?
But he knows the answer. And so he resists the temptation to tear the ability straight out of that useless lump Parkman. Watches him squint and turn his head this way and that, as though listening for a radio signal that doesn't exist. Watches him struggle. Watches him give up.
Sylar catches Claire's gaze and she's seen it too. She lays a hand on Parkman's arm. "Try again."
"You don't understand – "
"Try again."
"There's not even a wall," Parkman expostulates. "There's just silence. There's nothing. Nothing to hang on to, nothing to break through, nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry, Claire. But I can't help you."
"I can."
They all turn to look at Molly. She looks smaller now. Frightened. "I can find him. He's the one. It's him."
"It's who?" Parkman asks, frowning.
"The one worse than the boogeyman. The nightmare man. The one who can see me," Molly whispers.
Sylar suspects he knows who the 'boogeyman' is, and is kind of insulted that the kid thinks this nightmare guy is somehow worse – even remembering Claire's terror when he took her ability, comparing that reality to the total meltdown her nightmare induced. Even so. He'd like to have another chance to show Molly how scary he can be – and what is it she can do? He folds his arms uncomfortably. Fingers itching.
Too many people try to start talking at once. Parkman's saying no, absolutely not. Nathan's saying vague, can-do things in an authoritative manner, trying to take charge of the situation, automatically putting his own family's welfare over someone else's. Peter's earnestly telling Molly they can protect her.
"This guy's not precognitive, or he'd have known Nathan and Peter were here. We still need a plan before we try anything with him. We need a mind reader. A decent one." Sylar speaks quietly, but Claire tunes out the white noise. She looks at him like she knows exactly what he's implying. What he's suggesting.
"Dad's the one with the plans, we'll wait for him. Matt will do fine. He's got incentive." Claire gestures Molly-wards. He didn't really expect her to encourage him to crack Matty open. It's still disappointing. Sylar shrugs.
"Molly." Claire says, earnestly. She rests her hip on Angela's bed, leaning down to Molly's level. "I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But Angela's my grandmother. She's my family. And we need her to help us save the world, and I'd do anything – I've already done things. Scary things. Things I never wanted to do."
"That's debateable." Sylar murmurs.
"Shut up." Nathan. Seems to have pipped Claire and Peter to the post. And – yes, there it is. The glare's on full force.
Peter takes the seat beside Claire, so he can talk directly to Molly too. "If you decide to help us, it won't matter if he can see you. We've got people. Resources. We can hide you in a safe house until the nightmare man's dead. Claire's mom and her brother are in a safe house, you could stay with them. They've got a dog."
They've got a dog. Oh, of course. That makes sense. But somehow between them Peter and Claire are convincing this little girl to help them, and Molly does seem tempted by the prospect of staying in a house with a dog. It shouldn't be surprising. Peter Petrelli has the mind of a child, after all.
Speaking of which…
Nathan glances at Parkman. "She'd be protected from everything. Anyone who wanted to hurt her."
Both men turn to look at Sylar. Is he that obvious? He smiles pleasantly. Wonders what's the most shocking thing he can think loudly about to annoy Parkman – Claire is too obvious. Gives a little too much away. But there's something else about Claire Parkman won't want to hear. You know, don't you? About Peter and Claire.
Parkman looks at him, startled. He frowns like he's trying to send a message back, but Sylar can't hear anything. Doesn't matter. Sylar smiles. The Petrelli family's worst-kept secret. I knew as soon as I saw them together. You know, and I know, and Nathan knows, and Peter knows Nathan knows but Nathan doesn't know that. Angela knows everything. Bennet probably does too, but since Peter's still alive I assume he's repressing pretty hard. Claire's trying not to know. And now you know what we know, and doesn't this room suddenly feel a lot smaller?
Parkman's sufficiently distracted from the issue of Molly. He rubs his forehead, hard. But Sylar doesn't feel like stopping yet. Kissing Claire might be something he'd rather keep to himself for now… but killing Claire…
By the time Parkman and Molly leave, having agreed to wait for Bennet before they make any plans, Matt Parkman's white and he keeps wincing. He's trying to block it out, but Sylar's stronger than he is. Stronger already. Insistently pushing thoughts at him. Pulling those ropes nice and tight, that was an image Parkman didn't like much. And he really hated the saw. So did Sylar, for that matter, but in the absence of his telekinesis he'd had to make do – Claire crying and begging him not to cut her, yes, he lingered on that one for Parkman's benefit. The way her hands gripped the sides of the coffee table. How white her knuckles were. The way they relaxed, near the end. Went limp. The way she stared at the ceiling. Locked inside. And mixed with all these things the softness of her skin, perfume caught in her clothes, her hair, the way her lips parted. Tears on his fingertips, before her blood washed them away.
Parkman's shaking when he pulls the door to.
Sylar might resent other people having powers he doesn't, but there's no denying it.
Having a mind reader around is fun.