And Everything In-Between Part 2
Jul. 11th, 2008 06:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
black_hatTitle: And Everything In-Between.
Fandom/Pairing: Heroes/ Sylaire
Rating: R
Word Count: 1, 322
Summary: Sylar finally sees Claire again after years since she escaped from him. But has she escaped what he did to her? He plans to find out.
Disclaimer: I don’t own. Tim Kring and NBC does
Author notes: Part one is linked below.
Part 1
Sylar expected to see hatred in her eyes.
But not as much as he wanted to see hatred in her eyes.
Because Claire had been very special to him before she ran, before she quit. In his arms, this, this was proof you could not run from destiny, and struggling would just lead to pain. Only there wasn’t a trace of black, ice hate but an azure serenity as she leaned against him to walk with no individual resistance, with no separate self. She simply blended into his movements, idly gazing at the changes that had taken place over the years with her mouth open in awe.
Pity.
The hatred inside of him was real. It was the first time he’s felt something in years, with everyone hiding and dying as if none of it—the war, the pointless heroics…him—had mattered at all.
The bad blood with her was something he made and therefore, something to be owned and proud of. Something he spilt between them, of someone related only by name.
He had worked damn hard on that one. There was one draw-back—with the draw-bridge—in his ability. Everyone naturally bled into him: all the hidden things, the mercury poison in the façade. He felt, rather than knew, that she had been cleaned out.
By choice.
Had it been because of what he had down to her foster brother?
Sylar looked at her and listened to her mood. Such a black, dark thing was, indeed, under the pitch white of ignorance, the vacuum of the hollow. So impressionable. This was a different Claire than the one who lived in the cage made of the opinions of others. Once, he had been the same, and his hate started to thrum under his skin, shaking his heart, shocking his nervous system, and he wondered what he would do with her.
Claire met his look with another smile, cautious as a deer in a snake pit. Impossible, but he didn’t want her to have the grace given by ignorance. It wasn’t hard to smile back, gently, and coax her among the rubble and past the sharpened ends of debris.
With how he was feeling, nothing else should be allowed to hurt her. If only she would remember so he could watch her mind break, from a star into a black hole.
&&&
It hadn’t always been like this, between him and the others.
Or rather it had, only it was on their side. Sylar, for his part, had never hated any of them. That would require caring. Their names had only been the address, on the list. Which in itself had to be similar to God marking off names at the gates.
God didn’t care much either.
His first soon-to-be determination to see her destroyed from the inside—the inside first—out was caught in the net of a throw-away last thought. He had cornered the girl who had shocked him in the back and it was an easy trick.
Lured her into an abandoned apartment building, only to push her backwards into a dirty tub filled with moldy green water, and watch the sparks fly and her body convulse. Even then, it wasn’t the way, pure hatred of the specific. It was more…global, with him killing his more sadistic side through her. Upon later reflection, this hadn’t worked.
He liked to listen to the end where layers got peeled away and she regressed with them.
She’s from good stock, our Claire. She’s destined for greatness, Elle. Can I say the same for you?
Good, red, clear stock, blonder and better and smarter and what daddy would have wanted I want to forever be her, all that blood, good stock, should live have
Be good.
Be god, he thought to himself, looking out the finger-print smeared window and listening to the world crawl.
He stood for a moment and looked at the girl’s twisted remains, and he shook his head, smiling. You see, Sylar couldn’t believe it. From what he had seen, she was just another girl in just another hick town jumping up and down in one spot and hoping to show her panties to the stands.
He bent down to move her leg, the one with a remaining, black shoe. She’d lost the other in the struggle. Of course, he’d send this one to the Company. Her lips were twisted and her eyes red.
Seeing red.
He took what he wanted, took the more lively part of her, and left the rest for the rats if they preferred barbecue. They were New York rats, after all.
But the lively part confirmed it, persuaded him in a voice white-blue like Elle, in clipped words that Claire, she had watched her, and it was true, all true, that she had a lineage that would make the Royal Family look like a flea on a tick. And there weren’t a lot of flaws, and the ones that were there were good, oh so good. Cynical smart, common sense, independence, social skills, book smarts, and she was so pretty, she’ll be able to kill them with kindness without even having to lift her shirt, and they’d love her and follow her to the ends-
Shut up, he thought, gritting his teeth and looking down at the sidewalk, trying to hide it, trying to control it. You’re me, now, mine, and I can bury you.
Sparking up and down his neck, and it fucking hurt.
Elle had been afraid of her, the little cheerleader. And Sylar looked through her and saw…something. A shadow of willfulness that was dangerous. Claire wasn’t trying either. It was a natural instinct, itself buried by a relatively good life. She had things that Sylar couldn’t take.
And that’s when it started.
He had researched her up and down, breaking into the passwords he had been collecting for a rainy day. Should have waited. Couldn’t help it.
Sylar had tried. It would have been better to wait, but that spark, those pictures of her happiness and her decisions, just cutting all her limitations as if she was good enough to do so. So he printed out the information and found even more names, more details.
--The subject seems like she hasn’t manifested but it is worth noting, in my professional capacity, that she is a leader among those in her age group. She knows how to give them what they want while keeping her information to herself. She gathers others to her. Her test scores are average but high for the amount of effort she chooses to put in.
--The subject is suspected to have saved a man from death at her own risk-
“There was no risk, you ass,” he whispered, his eyes narrowing. He clenched his fist at his side and didn’t feel the blood welling to the surface.
-taking initiative towards action without support. Her mental endurance in the face of her near ability will be telling.
--Within the years, the subject has adjusted, and unlike others with this ability—in fact, like others with many abilities—she hasn’t let it own her, making her a rarity among-
The spark whispered, mockingly, Hear that, I own you. Now let’s set the ground rules, hon. I don’t like water, so you’ll have to-.
He torched the paper in his hands and the voice caught, breaking like a snap of bubblegum.
Claire Bennet was going to suffer. To her misfortune, Sylar did know better in this area as well. She didn’t care about herself enough, if she could have debased herself through all those years of fitting in, leading through her passivity. Her father had helped as well, keeping her in a globe, her mind getting weaker as her body grew stronger. Her mind, after all, could remember but if she was pushed too far, it could never, ever be fixed. Still she expected to be a martyr, to be the apple of his eye.
Good. He'd strike at someone else.
Someone who was born into an unusual family who was as common and forgettable as air. Until it went missing, that is. Let’s see if water was a thin as it was made out to be…
He'll go after Lyle Bennet.
Fandom/Pairing: Heroes/ Sylaire
Rating: R
Word Count: 1, 322
Summary: Sylar finally sees Claire again after years since she escaped from him. But has she escaped what he did to her? He plans to find out.
Disclaimer: I don’t own. Tim Kring and NBC does
Author notes: Part one is linked below.
Part 1
Sylar expected to see hatred in her eyes.
But not as much as he wanted to see hatred in her eyes.
Because Claire had been very special to him before she ran, before she quit. In his arms, this, this was proof you could not run from destiny, and struggling would just lead to pain. Only there wasn’t a trace of black, ice hate but an azure serenity as she leaned against him to walk with no individual resistance, with no separate self. She simply blended into his movements, idly gazing at the changes that had taken place over the years with her mouth open in awe.
Pity.
The hatred inside of him was real. It was the first time he’s felt something in years, with everyone hiding and dying as if none of it—the war, the pointless heroics…him—had mattered at all.
The bad blood with her was something he made and therefore, something to be owned and proud of. Something he spilt between them, of someone related only by name.
He had worked damn hard on that one. There was one draw-back—with the draw-bridge—in his ability. Everyone naturally bled into him: all the hidden things, the mercury poison in the façade. He felt, rather than knew, that she had been cleaned out.
By choice.
Had it been because of what he had down to her foster brother?
Sylar looked at her and listened to her mood. Such a black, dark thing was, indeed, under the pitch white of ignorance, the vacuum of the hollow. So impressionable. This was a different Claire than the one who lived in the cage made of the opinions of others. Once, he had been the same, and his hate started to thrum under his skin, shaking his heart, shocking his nervous system, and he wondered what he would do with her.
Claire met his look with another smile, cautious as a deer in a snake pit. Impossible, but he didn’t want her to have the grace given by ignorance. It wasn’t hard to smile back, gently, and coax her among the rubble and past the sharpened ends of debris.
With how he was feeling, nothing else should be allowed to hurt her. If only she would remember so he could watch her mind break, from a star into a black hole.
&&&
It hadn’t always been like this, between him and the others.
Or rather it had, only it was on their side. Sylar, for his part, had never hated any of them. That would require caring. Their names had only been the address, on the list. Which in itself had to be similar to God marking off names at the gates.
God didn’t care much either.
His first soon-to-be determination to see her destroyed from the inside—the inside first—out was caught in the net of a throw-away last thought. He had cornered the girl who had shocked him in the back and it was an easy trick.
Lured her into an abandoned apartment building, only to push her backwards into a dirty tub filled with moldy green water, and watch the sparks fly and her body convulse. Even then, it wasn’t the way, pure hatred of the specific. It was more…global, with him killing his more sadistic side through her. Upon later reflection, this hadn’t worked.
He liked to listen to the end where layers got peeled away and she regressed with them.
She’s from good stock, our Claire. She’s destined for greatness, Elle. Can I say the same for you?
Good, red, clear stock, blonder and better and smarter and what daddy would have wanted I want to forever be her, all that blood, good stock, should live have
Be good.
Be god, he thought to himself, looking out the finger-print smeared window and listening to the world crawl.
He stood for a moment and looked at the girl’s twisted remains, and he shook his head, smiling. You see, Sylar couldn’t believe it. From what he had seen, she was just another girl in just another hick town jumping up and down in one spot and hoping to show her panties to the stands.
He bent down to move her leg, the one with a remaining, black shoe. She’d lost the other in the struggle. Of course, he’d send this one to the Company. Her lips were twisted and her eyes red.
Seeing red.
He took what he wanted, took the more lively part of her, and left the rest for the rats if they preferred barbecue. They were New York rats, after all.
But the lively part confirmed it, persuaded him in a voice white-blue like Elle, in clipped words that Claire, she had watched her, and it was true, all true, that she had a lineage that would make the Royal Family look like a flea on a tick. And there weren’t a lot of flaws, and the ones that were there were good, oh so good. Cynical smart, common sense, independence, social skills, book smarts, and she was so pretty, she’ll be able to kill them with kindness without even having to lift her shirt, and they’d love her and follow her to the ends-
Shut up, he thought, gritting his teeth and looking down at the sidewalk, trying to hide it, trying to control it. You’re me, now, mine, and I can bury you.
Sparking up and down his neck, and it fucking hurt.
Elle had been afraid of her, the little cheerleader. And Sylar looked through her and saw…something. A shadow of willfulness that was dangerous. Claire wasn’t trying either. It was a natural instinct, itself buried by a relatively good life. She had things that Sylar couldn’t take.
And that’s when it started.
He had researched her up and down, breaking into the passwords he had been collecting for a rainy day. Should have waited. Couldn’t help it.
Sylar had tried. It would have been better to wait, but that spark, those pictures of her happiness and her decisions, just cutting all her limitations as if she was good enough to do so. So he printed out the information and found even more names, more details.
--The subject seems like she hasn’t manifested but it is worth noting, in my professional capacity, that she is a leader among those in her age group. She knows how to give them what they want while keeping her information to herself. She gathers others to her. Her test scores are average but high for the amount of effort she chooses to put in.
--The subject is suspected to have saved a man from death at her own risk-
“There was no risk, you ass,” he whispered, his eyes narrowing. He clenched his fist at his side and didn’t feel the blood welling to the surface.
-taking initiative towards action without support. Her mental endurance in the face of her near ability will be telling.
--Within the years, the subject has adjusted, and unlike others with this ability—in fact, like others with many abilities—she hasn’t let it own her, making her a rarity among-
The spark whispered, mockingly, Hear that, I own you. Now let’s set the ground rules, hon. I don’t like water, so you’ll have to-.
He torched the paper in his hands and the voice caught, breaking like a snap of bubblegum.
Claire Bennet was going to suffer. To her misfortune, Sylar did know better in this area as well. She didn’t care about herself enough, if she could have debased herself through all those years of fitting in, leading through her passivity. Her father had helped as well, keeping her in a globe, her mind getting weaker as her body grew stronger. Her mind, after all, could remember but if she was pushed too far, it could never, ever be fixed. Still she expected to be a martyr, to be the apple of his eye.
Good. He'd strike at someone else.
Someone who was born into an unusual family who was as common and forgettable as air. Until it went missing, that is. Let’s see if water was a thin as it was made out to be…
He'll go after Lyle Bennet.
