Claire glared angrily at her crème colored wall. She had been moping around the house all day, and Sylar was sitting contently in his empty room. It had only been a few hours since their last encounter. She was irritated to the point that she was ready to go in there and pick a fight with him, just for the hell of it. She knew she'd get her ass handed to her, but that's how aggravated she was.
Why couldn't he just stick with a habit? Well, maybe this was his habit. Irritating her. Finding exactly what gets under her skin, and pricking at it. And then when she gets used to it, he finds the next spot. It's a never ending process, and he had eternity to perfect it.
Leaning her head back against the comfort of her couch, she sighed softly. There really was no reason to stick around the apartment, even if she wasn't trying to avoid Sylar. There was no TV, no internet, no stereos. There was nothing to do at all. She grabbed her things and threw on some shoes, a few minutes later she was heading out the door. By the time she got to the bottom floor, Sylar was already there, meeting her.
"Where are you going?" He asked quietly, his hands in his pockets.
She was surprised he had beat her down here. Did he fly down the emergency stairs or something?
Instead of snapping at him to go away, she walked past him. "I'm going back to my place to get some things. I can't sit around that apartment with nothing to do, aside from being agitated by you." Her soft green eyes traveled up to meet his dark ones, a careful smirk on her lips.
He didn't say anything else, he was just a shadow behind her as they walked silently together to her family home.
When they got there, Noah was out. He was at work, and Claire was surprised at how perfectly she had timed it. She wasn't too sure how her father would react if Sylar was with her when she came over to get a few of her things. She didn't want anymore drama to deal with. When they got to the door, Claire turned to look at Sylar. "Would it be too much to ask if I asked if you would stay out here and wait?"
Sylar's brows drew together as he stared at her. "I'm going in anyways, Claire."
"Of course you are," she sighed, putting her key into the knob and turning it until it clicked.
They stepped in and Claire led him straight up to her room. Her mother wasn't anywhere in sight, so she slipped into her room quietly to gather a few things. Sylar stood in the room, like a dark, looming shadow on the wall. After a few boring moments of watching her, he walked around to look at the pictures on the wall and the knick knacks on her dresser. "Hm, what happened to the cheerleadering uniform?" He held the last picture of her taken when she was a cheerleader.
"The same thing that happened to the cheerleader. It's gone."
His dark gaze flicked over to her, studying her carefully. The familiar tingle he got when someone told a lie slithered up his spine. She was lying. But about which part? Was the cheerleader really gone? Or was it just the uniform? His gaze traveled down her frame, admiring her toned body that the being a cheerleader had done for her. The cheerleader wasn't gone, she was the one who fought with him everyday. So maybe the uniform wasn't gone either. Instead of calling her out on it, he mumbled softly, "That's a shame. I'd like to see you in that again."
Claire's cheeks flushed slightly, and she turned away from him so he could only see her back. She put a few more things into a duffel bag, making sure to grab her stereo. "I guess we'll have to come back for the TV another time." Sylar's head snapped up, away from the photo of her in her uniform. "No, I'll grab it." He was eager to get something else to do in the house. Anything was better than nothing.
"Are you going to carry it the whole way back to the apartment?"
He hesitated, placing the picture back on her dresser. "Well, I was-"
"I'll just buy a new one. This one is just a generation above the ones with the bunny ears."
Sylar grinned, walking towards her. "I'll even let you pick this one out." Her green eyes met his, and she frowned. "Why, thank you. I know how hard that must be for you, giving someone else the reins." A playful grin masked his lips, and he shrugged lightly. "I'm feeling generous today." Claire's face turned into a shocked one. "Sylar's feeling generous? What is the world coming to?"
Chuckling darkly, he picked up one of her bags, tossing it over his shoulder. "Are we done here?"
Claire grabbed a few of her bags, nodded, and walked out of her room. She stopped in front of a closed door and put her things down. She stepped in quickly, and shut the door behind her. Sylar tilted his head, wondering what was behind the door. Instead of flinging the door open, he was a bit cautious cause he didn't know if it was a bathroom, he waited. A few minutes later, Claire stepped out. She left the door open long enough for him to see a bed and a pale, sickly looking boy.
His brows drew up, he tried to look over her shoulder curiously. The door slammed shut, and she glared up at him. Like all of this was his fault. Like the words he spoke that day brought this fate upon her brother. "This would have happened whether I said those words or not, Claire. I didn't jinx him, there's no such thing." She shook her head in disbelief, and turned away from him to pick her things up. "Don't, Sylar. Just don't." It wasn't a topic she wanted to discuss. "Don't be so childish. Lyle would have gotten cancer whether that day happened or not."
She turned abruptly, her hair falling over her face. Her eyes revealed her anger, it showed pools of sadness, of the misery she had been through in the past 2 years. "You don't get to talk about him, do you understand me? You cursed me that day, trying to make me believe all of your lies. You poisoned my mind, saying that I would have to watch all of my loved ones die. I didn't think it would happen at all, yet alone so soon. And so slowly. Can you imagine the pain he is in?" She hissed, her voice a hushed whisper so she wouldn't disturb anyone. "So, don't. Drop it." He noticed she didn't speak of the pain she was in.
Instead of arguing with her, he kept his mouth closed. Her face was painfully close to his, all of her emotions reflected from her eyes. She was furious with him, but not because he had cursed her. He didn't have that power. It was because he spoke the truth. She wasn't ready to face the truth then, and she wasn't ready to face the truth now. Instead, she'd just keep running from it, pinning the blame on the easiest target. It was easy for her to blame him, she hated him. She didn't understand him, or understand how the hunger controlled him. She wouldn't understand that the monster was silenced around her, so he wouldn't tell her.
They left the house without running into her mother, Sandra. Claire was grateful for that, she didn't want to deal with her mother's fretting. Was she eating enough? Was he making her miserable? Was he hurting her? Was she wearing clean clothes? Did they want something to drink?
When they got back to the apartment, the man at the front door, Jim, helped them carry her things to her apartment. When he left them alone, Claire set her clothes in her room. She put the stereo in the living room on one of the end table she had gotten. They weren't speaking to each other, and Claire enjoyed the silence. Just earlier today they were throwing punches at each other, and now they weren't on speaking terms. After setting up the stereo and tuning into a radio station, Claire went into her room to hang her clothes up.
Sylar went into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for something to eat. After several minutes of slamming the cabinets door shut, he leaned back against the counter. There was nothing in there that he wanted. He wasn't looking for food, he was hungry for something else. He stared down at his hand, blue veins of electricity popping in between his fingers, crackling as he turned his hand over to watch it travel around his hand like a webbed glove. Maybe it was time to go get a new power. Claire's nagging voice pierced his thoughts, and he growled angrily. He could already hear her bitching about it.
He turned back around, grabbing some frozen chicken out of the freezer, setting it into a bowl to defrost in the microwave. Frowning, he tried to tune out her quiet singing as he grabbed some uncooked pasta. Her voice was soft, melodic like an angel's. He poured the pasta into a pot to boil, annoyed with himself and with her. He'd just have be satisfied with chicken alfredo.