Title: Sylar's Scapegoat
Author: Okibe Yemoun
Warnings: Read warnings on individual parts for details, but main ones are non-con, bondage and humiliation.
Spoilers: This was started in October 2009, but has been adapted to fit in with most of S4 up to the middle of Let It Bleed (so Sylar got Lydia's power but didn't get the tattoo of Claire). It takes place at the end of Claire's Freshman year, so several months after S4.
Notes: This is a sequel to "Bittersweet Revenge". Written for the heroes_bingo on LiveJournal; the titles of the chapters are taken from the prompts on the bingo squares. Many thanks to redhillbones, dragynflies and filmchickjen for all their comments and suggestions.
1 - Voyeurism
Bonus kinks: masturbation, mind control
Claire lay on her dorm bed and stared up at the ceiling. She had showered and changed back into her own clothes, including underwear. The jeans were hot and restrictive in the warm air, but it felt good to feel normal again after two days with Sylar's bizarre clothing fetish. He had probably ruined little summer dresses for her forever.
Everything was so familiar that it was hard to believe she had ever been gone. Her things were exactly where she had left them; in fact, aside from the new dresses lying in a bag in her closet and the expensive shoes, there was little physical sign that Sylar had ever abducted her. He had given back her phone and her schoolbooks and even allowed her to drive back to Arlington on her own once they retrieved her car, miraculously intact exactly where they had left it on Friday.
It was hard to believe that only that morning, Claire had been kneeling on the floor in his father's kitchen, Sylar's hard cock in her mouth. Claire's hand went to her upper chest, half expecting to still feel his sticky seed streaking her skin. She had only glimpsed herself in the mirror afterwards, just before she showered, but it had been enough to see the white smears on her face and chest. Disgusted, she had scrubbed herself thoroughly and concentrated on being nice to Sylar so he would let her go. Amazingly, he did.
Now that she was rested and safe, Claire thought back on the last forty-eight hours and felt a twinge of arousal at the way Sylar had used her. As awful as most of the ordeal had been, Claire had to admit it was the most thrilling thing that had happened to her in months. Maybe she had gotten too used to being pursued by Sylar and government agents; in retrospect, her normal life at college seemed rather bland.
A rush of arousal dampened her cotton panties as she remembered their very last encounter, when Sylar had gone down on her in the Dodge Aries before letting her go back to her car. It had been Sylar's turn to kneel on the floor, jammed between the seat and the dashboard. Sitting on the bench seat, her bare feet on the dashboard, Claire had been so excited after the long drive punctuated by telekinetic fondling that she had even grabbed Sylar's long greasy hair to keep his tongue in the right place, momentarily giving up any pretence that she didn't want this.
"Ugh," said Claire out loud, disgusted at the thought that she had actually enjoyed being abducted and raped. Was it even rape if she remembered some of it fondly? "Get a grip, Claire. It was Sylar, for Christ's sake. The guy who murdered Nathan. And Molly Walker."
The thought of Sylar murdering an innocent twelve-year-old girl was enough to dampen her arousal. Her thoughts were further interrupted by Gretchen's return from her parents'. For a moment, Gretchen smiled and looked as if she was going to hug Claire, but then her face fell and she went to put her duffle bag on her side of the room. Claire sat up and they faced each other, each sitting on their own bed.
"Hey," said Gretchen, flicking her long hair back with an awkward half-smile. "So… How did the weekend with Creepy Guy go?"
Claire shook her head. "You have no idea how weird it was."
"So, you… sleeping with this guy?" asked Gretchen, her large dark eyes narrowing jealously.
"Um, kind of," said Claire.
There was no point telling Gretchen that she wasn't since Sylar had threatened to do this again. That was the agreement; he let her go, but only if she let him take her again. Even if Claire lied about it, Gretchen might eventually see them in a compromising situation. The way Gretchen's face fell almost broke Claire's heart.
"Well, I'm glad I was a useful experiment."
"It's not like that," said Claire, desperately wishing that she could explain the situation fully. But she had to take Sylar's threat seriously, and he had ordered her to tell no one what had really happened. "Gretch… It wasn't my idea. Sy- Simon and I… we've known each other for years and… I guess I always knew it would come to this, but I didn't want to cheat on you like that. It's just that he... um, he can be very persuasive."
"Did he force himself on you?" asked Gretchen with alarm, her censorious expression changing to one of concern.
"No, no, he didn't," said Claire, horrified at how easy it was to lie to her well-meaning girlfriend. If Gretchen thought Claire had been raped, chances were good that she would tell Noah Bennet and Claire really wanted to deal with this problem on her own. Sylar was angry enough with her father as it was. "It wasn't like that."
Claire remembered saying something similar to her mother the first time Sylar had violently assaulted her. Still, she could sort of justify this lie by the fact that she had, on the whole, enjoyed the sex with Sylar. If he hadn't been so intent on the weird control games -- hobbling her with cable ties and making her kneel naked on the floor -- she would have almost been fine with the idea of continuing to have sex with him. Not that the weirdness itself wasn't interesting on some level. And the fact of the matter was that, for some strange reason, Claire was attracted to Sylar.
Besides, this wasn't the first time Claire had let a man have sex with her since she'd started her relationship with Gretchen. The thought made her wonder if Gretchen was right, and their relationship was just college experimentation after all -- on Claire's part at least.
Her soulful dark eyes full of sorrow, Gretchen turned away and started unpacking her bag in silence. Claire didn't know what to say to make things better. If she told Gretchen the truth, she would put Gretchen's life at risk. If she continued to pretend that she had had sex with Sylar out of her own free will, Gretchen was going to think Claire had deliberately cheated on her. And since that was the truth -- with Ryan at least -- that was how Claire would have to play it.
"I'm so sorry," she said finally. "It's complicated."
Perhaps sensing the anguish in Claire's response, Gretchen gave her a wan smile, but continued unpacking. Claire didn't pursue the conversation further; she hoped that the little smile meant that her first relatively normal, happy relationship ever wasn't going to be entirely destroyed by Sylar's libido. Given a few days, they might be able to patch up their friendship.
In an effort to get things back to normal, Claire went over to her desk and began work on her biology assignment. Even if Gretchen didn't forgive her, there were only another couple of weeks of school before the summer break. After that, Claire would be staying with her mom for a while and then working the summer job her dad had found her, and she would no longer have to lie to Gretchen.
Claire sighed as she realized she would be lying directly to her parents then; she hoped Sylar would have the sense to be discreet until she could convince him to give up on the scheme altogether. Maybe she could introduce him to a nice young man; he'd had sex with Luke after all. The thought cheered her up far more than it should have done. In the meantime, she would just put up with Sylar's crap until she found a way out of the situation.
* * * * * * * * * *
The stench was overpowering. Even holding his sleeve over his mouth and nose, Sylar could smell his father's rotting corpse long before he entered the bedroom. Even then, the odor of putrefaction was not enough to prepare him for the sight of the decaying body on the floor beside the bed. Batting away the flies that buzzed around the overheated room, Sylar felt bile rise to his throat and had to run outside where he was violently sick.
He sat on the porch for a while afterwards, affected by what he had seen and ashamed of his reaction. Sylar was no stranger to death. He had murdered over fifty people, most in cold blood, some for their powers, some almost by accident. He had sliced open skulls and observed the dying electrical activity in countless brains, using his bare hands to uncover the areas where abilities lurked, not caring when his often hasty prodding damaged the brain and extinguished the owner's life.
But this was different. Sylar usually left the bodies before they were cold, long before their muscles relaxed and expunged fluids and gasses, and way before putrefaction could begin. In fact, out of all the people he had murdered, he had only accompanied a couple beyond the first hour. Elle's was the only one he had stayed with until rigor mortis was complete. Perhaps even back then, Sylar had felt the need to punish himself for what he had done by watching the beautiful warm body he had held just hours earlier turn into a ghostly rigid corpse.
"Fuck this," exclaimed Sylar, using a violent blast of electricity to ignite a pile of timber in front of the house.
The blue lightening reminded him of Elle standing beside him in chains, smiling with delight as he acquired and demonstrated her power. Sylar remembered his bare skin still tingling from the electrocution she had put him through, and the elation he had felt when he realized that he had obtained her power simply because he knew how she felt -- and because he wanted her. The memory did nothing to ease his irritation.
Steeling himself once more, Sylar returned to the bedroom and blasted off the side wall of the trailer, rolling the corpse onto the ground outside. Keeping a good distance between himself and his father's remains, Sylar dug a deep grave and threw the body into it with little regard to how it fell. He waved the dry earth back into the hole and stared at the mound of brown soil for a moment.
As a grown man, Gabriel had stopped really believing in an afterlife, whatever his adoptive mother told him about heaven and angels. As far as Sylar was concerned, that putrefied cadaver was all that was left of Samson Gray; the man who had sold him, who had murdered his mother, had died alone and his corpse had been left to rot. Sylar smiled, satisfied that his father had met the end he deserved. But as he continued to look at the grave, he felt moisture collect in his eyes. He wiped away the tears impatiently and set about the real purpose of this visit.
Having ascertained using Molly Walker's power that his father was dead, Sylar had decided that it was time to take possession of his father's few assets; the house in Newark, a private pension he had apparently taken out some decades earlier, a bank account and a credit card. Unable to use his original identity, Sylar had drifted through the past couple of years, surviving on theft and manipulation, but never able to lead a normal life for any length of time. It hadn't mattered when the lure of each new quarry kept him moving from place to place, living hand-to-mouth, entirely focused on his purpose. But now… well, now, things were different. The hunger was gone, leaving behind the emptiness of a lonely life newly bereft of purpose.
Sylar ran his hands through his long hair, annoyed at the weakness that threatened to overwhelm him. Nathan, Gabriel, Sylar… Parkman had fractured his soul until he sometimes forgot who he was. It was worse than the breakdown he had suffered because of the shape shifting.
He still wanted to be Sylar, powerful, confident, unstoppable, but he couldn't kill. He had tried to murder Angela Petrelli, but had felt compelled to stop in mid-slice. After his altercation with Peter -- and whatever that Dudley Dogood had done to him with the Haitian's power -- he couldn't even slice a forehead. It had now been over a year since his last ability kill, that pathetic man who could disintegrate objects, and if he was perfectly honest with himself, Sylar didn't even want to kill anymore, even when a power he had long coveted stared him in the eye. He had seen Molly Walker trembling before him and had felt compelled to give her a reassuring smile. The result was the same; a few minutes of apologizing and he had her power, but he had come away feeling weak and impotent.
Deciding that staying out here would bring nothing good, Sylar took a couple of boxes of his father's belongings and started the long drive towards his most remote safe house. He stopped off at an unassuming motel -- not the one he had visited with Luke a year earlier -- and ate at a nearby diner. Sitting alone at a table, Sylar felt unexpected tears sting his eyes; he wiped them away angrily. Pathetic, needy Gabriel, no doubt; he doubted Nathan Petrelli would have shed any tears for Arthur.
"You okay, hun?" asked the large waitress, noticing him pawing at his eyes.
"Yeah... No," said Sylar. "I just buried my father." The waitress made sympathetic noises as she cleared the table, so he continued. "I never really knew him. He sold me when I was four."
Ignoring the waitress's puzzled look, Sylar frowned. His own memories were now reinforced by the visions he had picked up from his red cart and toys, leaving him with a single certain fact that confused the hell out of him.
"It makes no sense… he loved me," said Sylar. "I saw it. He smiled at me and took me bird-watching with him because he enjoyed my company. But he beat my mother. He beat me and then he sold me. Why would he do that?"
"Some people are seriously messed up," said the waitress; he could tell from her tone that she suspected he was one of them.
Sylar decided that he didn't need the hassle of arousing her suspicions. "Can I have another of those ice creams? That one was really good… Kayla," he said, reading her nametag.
The waitress gave him a warm smile and went off to get his new order. Sitting at the table, Sylar amused himself by drawing mind pictures of Claire on the back of a napkin. Imprinting was one of his least useful abilities; the power to transfer an image from his mind onto a flat surface didn't come in as useful as he'd originally imagined. Actually, he hadn't thought about it much at the time; it was just another one of those abilities tucked away for future use.
"She looks pretty. Is that your girlfriend?" asked the waitress when she returned.
"No. Well, kind of." Sylar thought about his dirty weekend with Claire and grinned. His smile faded as an unwanted image of Claire hugging Nathan clouded his mind. "I don't get along so well with her family… Though ironically, her dad kind of inspired me to hook up with her. He was a real lothario; a girl in every town -- secretaries, interns, assistants. He started at 15 and never looked back. I'm kind of… well, I was more of a late bloomer." A really late bloomer. "My adoptive mom disapproved of sex so much it's no wonder she never had kids. But I guess now I know what this guy got up to, I feel like catching up."
"Well, a handsome guy like you shouldn't have any trouble catching up," said the waitress flirtatiously.
Sylar chuckled, considerably cheered up. Yes, he had some catching up to do, and the fact that he could do it with Claire just made it all the better. His inexplicable inability to kill made it difficult to murder her family as originally planned, but with Nathan's memories as inspiration, he now thought that corrupting Claire would be far better revenge. He could also use her to work out some of the frustrations of his life; an indestructible scapegoat to a psychopath on the mend.
Nearly a week on, Sylar half wished he had kept hold of Claire -- it would certainly have made sex easier to come by -- but he didn't want her to come with him to investigate his father's death, and he certainly didn't want her around if he was going to be obliged to buy her tampons. Besides, in order for their relationship to continue, Claire needed to think that he was still über-powerful Sylar the sadistic killer; he feared that keeping her with him would reveal way too much of the woolen-clad watchmaker still struggling to emerge beneath the surface.
On the other hand, he reckoned she should be past her inconvenient feminine problem by the weekend, when it would be time to pay her a little visit.
* * * * * * * * * *
When Sylar went looking for her the following Saturday evening, Claire was at an end of year mixer, wearing a red cocktail dress that emphasized her broad hips and shoulders. Her hair was up in a style that suited her pretty round face; as usual, she was wearing way too much makeup, but it made her blend in with her sorority sisters, equally slutty and vacuous in their fancy dresses. Sylar emulated a girl who was throwing up outside and would probably be leaving soon; using Parkman's power, he easily avoided conversations with the girl's friends and was able to concentrate on following Claire.
Her roommate wasn't there and although Claire had desultory conversations with some of the girls, and spent some time dancing, she seemed at a loss what to do with herself. A couple of boys tried to chat her up, but she brushed them off easily. There were a lot of couples at the party; Sylar saw Claire watching wistfully as one of her friend sneaked out into the yard with her boyfriend. After a moment's pause, Claire also walked out into the warm night air. Intrigued, Sylar shifted back into himself and followed.
Claire was standing on the back porch, looking up at the stars. Sylar used a power that worked well in these situations, standing in plain view, but obfuscating his image so that although Claire could see him if she looked in the right direction, she wouldn't actually notice him. She didn't look around, though; once she had finished pretending to look up at the stars, she lowered her head and looked at the couple she had followed. Sylar's heart skipped a beat.
The thought he read when he tilted his head at her was disappointing. I wish Gretchen was here to kiss me like that. Gretchen. She was watching a man and a woman kissing passionately and she didn't even have a thought for Sylar? The realization annoyed Sylar and awakened his evil impulses. If Claire liked to watch, he was going to have some fun with her.
Sylar looked over at the couple. They were kissing a few yards away, leaning against a tree; the man's hands were groping the woman's ass while she ruffled his hair. Even at this distance, Sylar could see their tongues entwined. The sight sent a shot of arousal down to his privates. Looking at Claire, he could tell that she was affected too; her lips were parted and her face seemed slightly flushed. A plan began to form in his mind.
Feeling particularly frisky, the couple moved further out into the trees and bushes lining the edge of the yard. Claire hesitated, but a 'Follow them and watch' mental order by Sylar made her walk out into the yard so that the couple was still in sight. Grinning wickedly, Sylar followed and sent an order to the couple; almost immediately, the girl broke the kiss and sank to her knees, undoing her boyfriend's flies. Claire gasped audibly and moved closer, hiding behind a tree, her eyes glued to the couple.
Sylar was pleased to find that the girl they were watching was experienced. She pulled her boyfriend's light brown erection out with a smile, apparently looking forward to sucking it; she either saw it as an act of love or she genuinely enjoyed sucking cock. Sylar supposed it was possible for a woman to like this; Luke had enjoyed doing it to him and maybe Claire would come to like it too. He would just have to make sure she did it often enough to overcome her current dislike. The thought of forcing Claire to blow him regularly excited Sylar almost as much as watching the couple in the yard. Still concealed by the obfuscation power, he stroked the front of his pants lightly.
The girl was sucking in earnest now, the man's long hard dick vanishing halfway into her mouth on each movement of her head. The guy's hand was resting on his girlfriend's hair and he was watching her blow him with a tender smile. Claire was still watching in fascination; she was breathing heavily now.
The man groaned a little as the girl changed the angle of her head and more of his cock disappeared into her mouth. Holy fuck. Sylar had no idea any woman's mouth was that deep. Claire looked similarly shocked, but less aroused; apparently, watching one of her friends deep-throating her man wasn't that big a turn on after all. Sylar hoped the sight might give her ideas for the next time he had her on her knees, but for now, he was more interested in seeing her turned on by her voyeurism.
Before the guy could come down his girlfriend's throat, Sylar sent another order to the couple. The girl pulled off and got on her hands and knees on the ground. She pulled up her party dress, revealing lacy pink panties and the garters suspending her stockings. Sylar was amazed at how lucky he was to have chosen such a highly-sexed couple for his demonstration. The man dropped to his knees behind the girl and pulled her panties down. Claire's interest was immediately renewed; Sylar even noticed the almost imperceptible way she shifted her hips as she became aroused.
The man's dick disappeared completely in his girlfriend's pussy, reemerging as he pulled back out before plunging in again. The girl moaned and bit her lip as her boyfriend grabbed her hips to hold her in place while he fucked her. Claire was panting. Her hand rose to her breast, fondling herself lightly. Sylar licked his lips in anticipation and had to hold back from ordering her to do what he wanted to see. He did however order her to watch the couple and imagine herself in the girl's position, on her hands and knees with Sylar fucking her. It worked better than he had anticipated; with no further prompting, Claire lifted her red dress and slid a hand between her legs. Sylar almost groaned out loud.
The guy fucking Claire's friend doggy-style was almost forgotten as Sylar watched Claire, fascinated by the movements of her hand. She slid her other hand under her dress; crouching down for a better view, Sylar could see her hands working inside her cotton panties. It was exciting, but unsatisfactory, so he had to plant another suggestion to get her to push the underwear out of the way; some day perhaps he would convince her to do without altogether. She pushed her panties down to the top of her hips, leaving them stretched tight across her flesh like a makeshift bond. Conscious that someone might see her like this, Sylar extended his power of obfuscation to Claire, ensuring that even the couple still rutting on the other side of the tree wouldn't notice her.
Claire used her left hand to spread her lips open while the other hand rubbed her clitoris. Sylar watched her short red fingernails flashing back and forth in her light brown hair as she worked to bring herself to her peak, her eyes still on the couple. He had to resist the urge to stroke himself too; he didn't intend to waste his seed on the inside of his pants when Claire would soon be wet and panting, more than ripe for the taking. Sylar grinned at the sight of her leaning against the tree, the top half of her body decent except for her closed eyes and bitten lips, but the lower half almost obscene, the fancy skirt on her dress pulled up to her waist, her panties tight around her hips and her little fingers working her clit. He almost wished he had brought a camera.
It took Claire several minutes to reach the start of her climax, when her legs began to tremble and her body was coated in sweat under the elegant dress. Grinning wickedly, Sylar walked out from his hiding place, timing his appearance so that Claire climaxed just as she realized he was standing watching her. She stifled her cry of pleasure, but there was no hiding the way she panted and shivered, scrunching up her face as if in pain. Sylar thought he had rarely seen anything more exciting and beautiful.
Clair stared at him, leaning against the tree with her hands still in between her legs, her cheeks burning with shame. Not giving her time to wallow in her humiliation, Sylar crooked a finger to lift her a few inches up the tree so that her hips were level with his. Claire closed her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek, and spread her thighs without a word, her taut panties digging into the flesh on her upper thighs. Almost pushed over the edge by this simple gesture of submission, Sylar unbuckled his belt with alacrity, tore off her panties and thrust into her moist sex, tearing the obstacle at the entrance without difficulty.
"Aw, did you miss me already?" he drawled, unable to refrain from gloating.
"Obviously not," said Claire through gritted teeth. "I was doing fine without you."
Sylar laughed and thrust harder, banging Claire's body against the tree and listening with pleasure as she bit back a moan with every thrust. Sylar knew she was scared that the couple would see them. Like in the photo booth, it gave Sylar great satisfaction to see Claire so afraid while he knew that no one would in fact notice them.
Sylar had never had sex standing up; he tried to hold Claire up telekinetically, but his power struggled against the onslaught of his own hips. Afraid of falling, Claire wrapped her arms around his neck, her strong thighs grabbing his hips. Sylar kissed her mouth hard and gripped her hips mercilessly to keep her up. He could feel her sliding down the tree as he lost control of his powers; chances were good that they were now visible to anyone who cared to look this way.
Sylar knew he should try to regain control, but Claire's tongue was in his mouth, her thighs were like a vise around his hips and her pussy was tight around his shaft. The smell of her shampoo and cosmetics combined with her natural scent, more pronounced following her orgasm, intoxicated his senses. Sylar broke the kiss and nuzzled her earlobe, making her shudder as her little hoop earring brushed against his nose.
Maybe this was better than taking abilities after all. It was certainly more fun for Claire who was now groaning with abandon, milking him with every thrust until he came inside her. Sylar leaned heavily against Claire, keeping her physically pinned to the tree as the aftermath of his own pleasure subsided slowly and he was able to use his abilities again.
"I knew this was a good idea," he said, pulling out and lowering Claire to the ground again. He wiped his mouth in case it was covered in her lipstick.
"You… you used an ability," she said in a low voice, breathless and apparently too stunned to straighten herself immediately. "I didn't even realize. You made me do that."
"Yes. Well, I made you watch your friends." Sylar smirked. "I didn't tell you to enjoy it that much."
Claire leaned against the tree, looking disgusted. Sylar could see blood and semen starting to trickle down the inside of her leg; noticing his smirk, Claire pulled her dress down. The couple they had watched earlier was gone, leaving them alone amongst the trees, but Claire still looked upset by what had happened.
"You're an incredible fuck," said Sylar; it was the first compliment that came to mind.
"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically, though she looked less upset. "That makes me feel so good about myself."
Sylar chuckled. "Okay. You're a beautiful, intelligent woman who also happens to be a good fuck." He stretched his arms; regeneration or not, holding her up against the tree had been a strain. "You're surprisingly heavy. Maybe I'll tie you to the tree first next time." Sylar looked up at the smooth bark, considering how he could achieve that.
"As long as you don't use cable ties," said Claire, looking around for her panties.
Tucking his softened dick into his pants, Sylar raised an eyebrow; did Claire just agree to be tied up next time they met? It set his mind racing. Now that he had access to his father's credit card, he would be able to make some online purchases. Even though Claire wasn't currently his captive, he still liked the idea of her being his sex slave, and it seemed logical that a slave should be tied up. If she didn't like cable ties, he would get her something else.
Claire found her panties, lying torn on the ground where Sylar had dropped them earlier. She didn't seem to know what to do, so Sylar levitated them into his pocket for later disposal.
"I-I guess I need to go back," said Claire as a group of laughing boys came out onto the back porch for a smoke. "Unless you're going to, um…"
She didn't continue, probably not wanting to give Sylar ideas. It occurred to him that she probably expected him to abduct her again. He didn't have anywhere to take her; both his father's house and the safe house were too far away, and he hadn't planned on doing anything but check in on her and have sex. He made a mental note to ensure that he had secured some accommodation nearby next time he came to her.
"No, I'll let you get back to your party," said Sylar, grinning at the idea of her talking to her friends with his come trickling down her legs.
Well, this was awkward. Claire didn't seem to know whether to leave him there or accompany him out, and some part of Sylar thought that he should probably stay and make sure she was all right. On the other hand, that would undermine his hold on her; he had promised to use her as a sex slave in exchange for her family's lives, and being concerned about her wellbeing in a gentlemanly fashion wouldn't do much to reinforce that idea.
In any case, his recent contact with memories of his childhood had confirmed his long-held belief that there was nothing good or kind in the universe; it was all winners and losers, the strong and the weak. Love never lasted, even when it wasn't corrupt and selfish to begin with. Either Claire was strong enough to make her way home without his help, or she was one of the weak and deserved what she got.
Sylar kissed Claire gently on the cheek; he knew it was the kind of thing that freaked his victims out. "Until next time," he said.
He rose up into the air, intending to go straight back to his safe house. As he left, though, he couldn't resist scanning Claire's mind to see what she was thinking as she rearranged her dress and hair and watched him go.
Why the hell did we drive 4 hours to Newark last weekend if the bastard can fly?
It reassured him that Claire was one of the strong after all. Having her at his beck and call was going to be great fun.