Author: hiding duh PM
Sylar/Claire/Peter. Ever wonder what kind of job Elle took after Angela fired her?Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor - Claire B. & Sylar/Gabriel G. - Words: 1,724 - Reviews: 13 - Favs: 34 - Follows: 5 - Published: 10-20-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4608116
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Crap, this is becoming a little addictive. And detrimental to midterm season.
Summary: Ever wonder what kind of job Elle took after Angela fired her?
Spoilers: Through 3x05.
Word Count: 1600
Notes: I am so sorry! But it's Kristen Bell's fault for narrating Gossip Girl.
Spotted: Little C, reunited, at long last, with her hottie uncles! You didn't hear it from us, Upper East Siders, but word on the street is, there's more than one type of 'genes' Uncle McCutie would like to unzip. Let's hope Little C knows how to catch, 'cause both of her uncles are definitely falling.
Claire flipped her phone off, squinting.
"What's wrong?" asked Peter, biting into his bagel.
"Nothing," Claire mumbled, glancing around suspiciously. "I'm just being generally paranoid. For no apparent reason. Nothing to do with the Internet."
Unconvinced, Peter leveled his gaze with hers, eyes narrowing.
"Hey, knock it off," she snapped, covering her ears. "No mind reading mojo today. Please."
"Sorry," he replied, somewhat apologetically. "Old habits."
"Speaking of old habits," drawled a bored voice, "why can't we just go pay a visit to that Walker kid?" A beat later: "Solve all our tracking problems. Forever."
"No," replied Peter and Claire at once.
"Synchronized blocking. Cute," noted Sylar, raising a curious eyebrow, then went back to enjoying his ice cream.
Claire, sandwiched between the two on the cold steps of Penn Plaza, gave a small sigh, extending a hand toward him. "This wasn't exactly our idea, Sylar."
He handed her a venti mocha, shrugging. "It was Mother's, yes," he agreed. "I often like how she thinks."
Peter closed his eyes, jaw muscles clenching.
"Breathe, Peter," Claire whispered, patting his knee.
"Can't say I'm not fond of this change in policy," Sylar continued casually, licking his spoon. " 'One of Us, One of Them' wasn't exactly healthy for me with your father around."
Claire sent him a withering glare. "You're right. 'Cause 'Three of Us' is working out so well. Only four attempted murders in twenty minutes."
As if to punctuate her point, Peter flicked his wrist.
The spoon lodged itself in Sylar's throat.
"Original," Sylar coughed, waving a finger.
Peter's bagel flew away, splattering against a passerby's innocent shoe.
Exasperated, Claire took a sip of her frappuccino, sliding her phone open.
This just in: She may put the hee in cheerleading, but perhaps someone should tell Little C that this? Is no laughing matter. Feast your eyes on this sinful little picture we just received. JPEG blocked by Verizon. Thanks for the deets, anonymice!
"What's wrong with New Yorkers?" Claire demanded, huddling closer to Peter and shutting off her phone.
Sylar's knee touched hers. "Nothing I couldn't fix."
"I wasn't asking you," she snapped, turning to glare at him. "And it was a rhetorical question. And stop hypothetically mass-murdering people."
"You're wasting your breath, Claire," Peter brooded, one shoulder leaning against a massive pillar.
Sylar's lips quirked up. "And you're wasting your energy, brother." He tilted his head slightly. "You should just give in to the hunger, Peter. Let it guide you. Allow it to—"
Claire stuffed a piece of leftover bagel in his mouth. "Eat, okay. Normal things. Not brains, not powers, not anything creepy."
Peter bit back a grin. "I think our target's close."
Claire perked up. "Great—what should I do?"
Peter stared off into the distance, brows drawn together. "Just wait here."
"Yeah, I'm not going to do that," she replied. "I want to help."
Tetchy, Sylar wiped his mouth, glancing at Claire. "Just stay where it's safe, princess."
"I can't get hurt!" she shouted incredulously. "What part of that keeps escaping you?"
Sylar and Peter both cringed, ears twitching.
"Volume control," said Sylar, eyes darkening dangerously. After a pause, he added, almost as an afterthought, "Please."
Claire looked revolted for a moment, then stood up, tossing her empty mocha into the nearest trash can. "I'm changing the policy. 'One of Me, Two of You.' " She marched off, oozing determination. "I'll bring this guy in on my own."
With identical deep sighs, Peter and Sylar stood up, brushing off their respective pants.
"After you," gestured Sylar.
"I'm really going to do it!" Claire shouted over her shoulder, startling a nearby businessman into dropping his newspaper. "Don't try and stop me!"
Peter and Sylar exchanged glances.
"After you," amended Peter.
Sylar gave a tiny amused shrug, then took a few long strides forward, grabbing Claire by the elbow. "Stalking 101, Claire," he muttered softly, brushing his lips against her ear. "Don't draw attention to yourself."
Claire paused, shivering. "Ew. Inappropriate."
Sylar ignored her, his other hand nonchalantly sliding to the small of her back. "Your behavior? I agree."
Peter veered toward them, grabbing Sylar's wrist and promptly removing it from Claire's back. "Watch it."
Mournful, Sylar glanced at his wrist as the bones within it repaired slowly. "I'm teaching her, Peter. Like a proper uncle." His lips stretched wickedly. "And there are so many, many things," he said, voice dripping with promise, "I could teach her."
Disgusted, Claire opened her mouth to object.
"Like what, Sylar?" Peter challenged, seething. "How to be a monster?" His mouth twisted, features darkening. "How to use people? How to destroy lives—"
"How to evolve," Sylar retaliated, baring a hint of teeth. "How to outgrow her limitations. How to—"
Claire rolled her eyes, glancing at the street.
And there, beneath a lamppost, stood a disheveled little man, pacing incessantly and running his hands through his hair, wearing a coat three sizes too big, his eyes darting about nervously—
"Excuse me," she said politely, slipping out.
Neither uncle noticed.
Carefully, Claire inched closer to the man, arranging her features into a pleasant, friendly expression. Quickly, she parted her hair down the middle, twisting each section into a messy ponytail, wiped off her lipstick, and tied her jacket around her waist.
"I'm sorry," she began sweetly, eyes sparkling, "I missed my school bus." Her mouth turned down into a helpless little frown. "And I was wondering if you could maybe help me find another one?"
The man eyed her warily, looking her up and down. "I'm sorry, I'm not—I'm not from around here."
"Oh," she said dejectedly. "It's just... I'm not from around here, either..."
The man relaxed a little. "I'd help you, seriously, but I don't think someone like you should be hanging around me right now."
"These weird guys have been after me for days—I don't even—" he ranted, rubbing his face. "I don't even know what I did. Did I do something?"
Claire's features softened. "I'm sure it's going to be okay."
Jittery, the man shook his head. "No. No, it won't."
"I'm Claire," she offered, proffering her hand.
"Joe," he nodded, seeming suddenly grateful.
"Nice to meet you, Joe," smiled Sylar, looming behind Claire, his suit oddly wrinkled.
"We need you to come with us," added Peter, his right eyebrow suspiciously singed.
With a frazzled laugh, Joe backed away, holding up his palms. "I knew it. I knew it. A hot chick tries to pick me up? Of course. Of course it's a trap." Unceremoniously, he broke into a run, coat billowing behind him.
"Hey, so that worked out great, you guys," Claire grumbled, bolting after him, oblivious to approaching cabs and buses.
Sylar contemplated for a moment, then raised two fingers. "Bag and tag?"
Unimpressed, Peter reluctantly agreed, lifting a hand. "Don't hurt him."
"Same to you."
And then, nothing happened.
Claire was, at this point, on Joe's heels, yards away, disappearing down the street.
Sylar frowned, eyeing his palms. "Are you blocking me?"
"What? No," Peter growled. "I thought you were blocking me."
"I don't have that power."
"Neither do I."
They exchanged a brief glance, then darted across the street, leaping over unsuspecting cabbies.
"Can he suppress powers?" shouted Peter, wind lashing at his cheeks.
"I didn't read his file!" replied Sylar, annoyed. "It'd be like reading the menu and not ordering—"
Peter bounded across the sidewalk, "Okay, you're done talking—"
"Why didn't you read the file?" challenged Sylar, rounding the corner.
Peter skidded to a halt, catching his breath. "I didn't want to know."
Panting, Sylar leaned his palms against a brick wall. "We lost Claire."
Frantic, Peter inhaled, looking around. "If this guy can suppress our powers—"
Sylar's eyes darkened. "Let's go."
"Where are you going?" asked Claire cheerfully, padding over to them, hair tangled most adorably.
"To... save you?" replied Peter, frowning.
"Right," she grinned, putting her jacket back on. "I tackled him into an electric fence. He should be out for a while."
Sylar stalked over to her, inspecting her from head to toe. "And you survived?"
Claire blinked. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Because he suppressed our powers—" Peter started, shoulders hunched, and brushed the back of his hand across her smudged cheek.
Claire paused, then narrowed her eyes. "Did you... not read his file?"
Sylar and Peter suddenly found the ground immensely interesting.
"Oh, wow, Dad's going to love this," she told no one in particular. "Let me summarize so we can go get a real breakfast. Joe can dampen powers for an hour or so. Angela wants to recruit him as one of her sleeper agents."
Sylar looked appropriately impressed, giving her a tiny nod of approval.
Peter, on the other hand, still looked overly concerned. "But why didn't it work on you?"
Claire paused for effect.
"I'm different," she smirked, eyes shining. "Special."
Identical groans were her only reply.
Spotted: Bonding on 34th Street, Little C and her charming uncles. So sweet they might put Hershey out of business. But what's Gran gonna do when she realizes that, in every girl's life, there comes a time when romance trumps reason? Don't say we didn't warn you, Queen A. Until next time—you know you love me. XOXO, Gossip Girl.
Until next time—you know you love me.
XOXO, Gossip Girl.