Word Count: 637
Summary: He finds her on the roof.
Previous Chapters: 1
When she wakes up the next morning, he’s lounging on her couch, his feet propped up on her glass coffee table. He’s watching some news bulletin featuring recent killings in the area. Apparently, the killer has been taking the left feet of his victims as a trophy.
He, from Claire’s prospective, would find the scene ironic, but she doesn’t say anything, heading back to her bedroom instead, so he hides his smirk and stares at the television.
Of course, Sylar has been aware of Claire's waking since the moment her feet hit the floor, but gives every outward indication of unawareness. For his part, he’s determined to wait out her grief, however long that takes.
He didn’t expect it to be this hard, though. Oh, he knew it would be difficult for her—she’s the emotional type, after all—but he didn’t expect it to be so hard for him to listen to her cry herself to sleep last night.
He did it, though. He sat in that chair with his eyes closed and listened to her desperate cries for over an hour. And when she was finally asleep, he left her apartment in favor of a grocery store and purchased over three hundred dollars in groceries, which he brought back to her apartment and put away. Then he threw out the container of eggnog, purely out of spite.
Now, he does his best to afford her privacy as she goes through what he assumes is her morning routine. Eventually, she comes back out to her living room and walks around to face him. She’s only wearing a long, oversized t-shirt and socks, and her hair is wet from the shower, but to him, she looks perfect. It takes a few moments of silent staring before she sits down opposite him on the couch, pulling her shirt over her knees, which she pulls to her chest. She rests her chin on top of her knees, and stares unblinkingly at him.
She looks vulnerable for the first time since he’s known her, fragile and slightly broken. He figures she couldn’t have remained innocent for one hundred years though, and time and loss catch up to everyone eventually. It doesn’t matter that it’s intrinsically different for them, for they still have to watch it happen—over and over again to every person they’ve ever cared about. Everyone, that is, except each other.
“Why are you here?” Claire asks after a few minuets pass.
For all intents and purposes, he tries to appear as nonchalant as possible. For all he may be able to take, he doesn’t honestly know how her outright rejection will affect him. He refuses to let her have that power over him. Sylar just shrugs in answer to her question. “I thought it was about time to pay my favorite cheerleader a visit,” he says noncommittally.
Claire rolls her eyes, “I haven’t been a cheerleader since you met me.”
“You’ll always be the cheerleader to me, Claire,” he says.
“Just like you’ll always be the serial killer?” she throws back.
Sylar stares at her for a moment and sighs. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Maybe the timing isn’t right. Maybe she’s just too far gone to remember that part of herself. Or maybe, maybe he imagined all of it. But then she looks at him with that vulnerable and broken half-smile and he thinks she might be coming around to what he tried to tell her all those years ago.
“I think,” she begins slowly, looking at him almost pleadingly, “it would be best if we left both the cheerleader and the serial killer in the past where they belong. We’ve both changed too much for that.”
And Sylar nods because he recognizes that it is her first step to accepting him.