Title: Punch Bugs Are Just An Excuse At This Point
Fandom: Heroes (Sylar/Claire, Luke)
Word Count: 811 words
Beta: Thanks to Maddie for all her help and being my extra special canon encyclopedia.
Summary: Worst road trip ever. For the Spring drabble challenge over at sylaire_chall


Claire, smirking belligerently at the humming Sylar, flicked off the broken car radio, playing only fuzzy static and tried to go back to ignoring him. She was already chalking this up to being the worst road trip ever - beating even the summer she turned 14, when her mother decided they didn't have enough quality family time under their belts and packed them into their '96 Oldsmobile for quite possible the most traffic-ridden drive to the "Happiest Place on Earth" ever.

At least her father hadn't insisted on playing every travel game imaginable (unlike her current kidnapper travel companion). She and the greasy kid in the backseat were definitely too old to still be amused by I Spy. It didn't help that Sylar had progressed to singing (or mocking a drowning cat, she couldn't be too sure) in the absence of the racket coming from the broken radio.

"Teardrops on roses and fresh shaven kittens,
Bright cooper blood looks better than mittens,
Babydoll ready and tied up with string,
These are a few of my favorite things."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how it goes," she grumbled. The last thing she needed right now was a reminder of the mistake she made last night (well, mistakes really, multiple dear god, she-didn't-know-that-many-times-was-humanly-possible mistakes). She lowered her bare feet from the dashboard and tried to subtly look around for something to stab him in the back of the head with. When she couldn't find anything (and wasn't that just typical), she settled for kicking his thigh instead.

"Are you sure? It sounds correct to me." Sylar sounded way to conniving to not know what was running through her head and it just pissed her off even more. She kicked him again, this time a little wilder. He caught the foot attempting to do serious damage to his groin, and ran his thumb over her sensitive insole.

Well, that plan backfired.

"Not now," she grumbled low enough for only him to hear and tried to wriggle her foot out of his grasp. This wasn't going to be a repeat of yesterday; she wasn't going to let him turn her on so much that she was thrumming in time with the car's engine only to have the Kid asking if they were "there yet?" every five minutes.

"Actually, the lyrics are..." Jr. piped up from the backseat only to be cut off when Sylar took the corner much faster than the majority of DMV instructors would appreciate, and he went tumbling like a Weeble Wobble.

Where the hell did Sylar find this nitwit again, the side of the road? She's still kind of fuzzy on the details of why he hadn't attempted to run away screaming yet (she certainly had tried). And with her playing the part of Sylar's new toy blowup doll, she'd be surprised if Sylar even would even notice that their dysfunctional threesome had whittled itself down to a more comfortable two.

"That was sarcasm, Kid." Sylar sounded more annoyed than usual and she reevaluated the bet she had with herself over how long before she found just the back of his head in the trunk of the car. Currently, she was guessing he had no more than 72 hours (maybe 96 – but only if he didn't ask why they spent the night jumping on the bed again).

"Oh," Luke mumbled, rejected. Claire had to fight back the urge to roll her eyes. Really, it was only a matter of time before they shed some not-dead-yet weight (and then maybe she could convince him that they had better things to do besides chasing his daddy issues around the countryside).

"Are you going to break out into a rousing rendition of Springtime for Hitler next?" Claire joked to lighten the mood some time later after Sylar had finally exhausted the entire Julie Andrews collection. Luke burst out laughing, only to be stopped mid-snort by Sylar's harsh glare in the rear-view mirror.

The car swerved again dangerously in a warning to both of them, but she really couldn't force herself to care. A crash wouldn't kill her after all, just the little cock-blocker in the backseat. Luke groaned after banging his head against the window, and Claire looked back to check on him (but only to make sure he wasn't bleeding on the upholstery, really).

"You do know that not all of us can heal, right?" the moody teenager grumped, still rubbing his head. What a baby. It wasn't like he had a concussion or anything.

"Don't worry, Mommy and Daddy will stop fighting soon." Sylar's hand creeping up her thigh was a welcome distraction as he continued to sing.

Ok, so maybe it wasn't the worst road trip ever.

As long as she remembered to pick up earplugs at the next rest stop.