Post by Fourever Charmed on Jan 5, 2010 15:19:06 GMT -5
Fandom: Heroes
Summary: As Sylar watches Claire sleep, he contemplates the events that have just taken place with Samuel, and comes to a startling realization about his new tattoo.
Rating: PG-16
A/N: This is just a really short, really quick ficlet to rectify the ending of last night’s, “Let It Bleed.” I hope I wasn’t the only one p!**** off about it. Everything with Sylar feeling unloved and wanting someone to love him, then with the Vanessa/Samuel parallel, well, it can all only lead to one thing and it’s this!
“Hello, Cheerleader.”
There was something both exciting and wrong about hovering just outside of Claire’s dorm window, watching her sleep. She just looked so peaceful; such star contrast from the time he’d cut her head open in order to steal her ability to spontaneously regenerate. A slow, steady itch tickled his arm as he flashed back through all the encounters he’d had with her. Like him, she was special, and could never die.
Is that why she’s my greatest desire? Because we’re both special? It’s not every day that you can find someone who can live eternally with you. The itch in his arm grew, like a hoard of baby spiders crawling along his skin. Without taking his eyes off of Claire, he maneuvered his left hand around his torso in order to scratch at Claire’s inky face. He’d never thought of Claire like that before, but perhaps that had just been because she was a teenager before. Maybe I kept it buried in my subconscious?
The itching was getting worse, like poison ivy centrally located on his new tattoo. His scratching became more fervent. She really did have a way of getting under his skin! A dark chuckle escaped his lips as he watched Claire roll over and tuck her arms under her head. A part of him wanted to just blast through that window and get into her room right at that moment, but the rational part of his brain held back his telekinetic abilities.
“Agh!” he shoved his arm in front of his face. He was scratching so heavily that he was peeling away his own skin. Blood was dripping from the broken wound, which was neatly knitting itself together in spite of Sylar’s continuously shredding nails. “What the hell is wrong with this ink!” He pulled his hand back, allowing his arm to regenerate despite the enormity of the itch. As the skin reconstructed itself, he realized that the tattoo of Claire was gone. His thick eyebrows united as he saw the ink swirling beneath his flesh.
Did he do something to it? Why is it doing this to me? Shivers ran up his spine as the implications of the ink swirled around in his brain. Samuel gave me the ink! Could he have…is there some way he could’ve tricked me? He scrubbed his arm again, attempting to press his fingers over the ink droplets, but they merely slid out from under his fingertips. Thinking swiftly, he held his hand above his arm: his skin began to pull up as he used his telekinesis on himself, attempting to rip the ink right out of his flesh. The ink, however, had other ideas.
“I found love and forgiveness and acceptance right here, and you can too.”
“If that’s true…let the tattoo show me, and I’ll stay.” His eyes bore into Samuel’s and he thought he saw a momentary flicker of something inside them. Hesitation? Fear? “What?” he challenged. “You afraid I might see something else?”
Samuel’s teeth glinted in the shadows. “I’m a Carnie. I liiive for games of chance!”
“And carnival games are rigged,” he realized. “Why didn’t I pick up on that before? What’s wrong with me?!”
“What’s it doing?”
“Stop thinking! Stop trying to force it! Just let it happen!”
“Samuel has dominion over the Earth. And ink,” he remembered, thinking back to the broken pot of Earth which the carnie had used to create his special ink, “is made from nature.” Fury bristled along his flesh. “He tricked me! He manipulated the ink to show me what he wanted!” Sylar curled his fist, ready to thrust it right through the window, when he noticed something. The ink was converging: a face forming. His breath hitched as a familiar smile materialized into his flesh.
“Elle!”
Summary: As Sylar watches Claire sleep, he contemplates the events that have just taken place with Samuel, and comes to a startling realization about his new tattoo.
Rating: PG-16
A/N: This is just a really short, really quick ficlet to rectify the ending of last night’s, “Let It Bleed.” I hope I wasn’t the only one p!**** off about it. Everything with Sylar feeling unloved and wanting someone to love him, then with the Vanessa/Samuel parallel, well, it can all only lead to one thing and it’s this!
And The Truth Bleeds Through
“Hello, Cheerleader.”
There was something both exciting and wrong about hovering just outside of Claire’s dorm window, watching her sleep. She just looked so peaceful; such star contrast from the time he’d cut her head open in order to steal her ability to spontaneously regenerate. A slow, steady itch tickled his arm as he flashed back through all the encounters he’d had with her. Like him, she was special, and could never die.
Is that why she’s my greatest desire? Because we’re both special? It’s not every day that you can find someone who can live eternally with you. The itch in his arm grew, like a hoard of baby spiders crawling along his skin. Without taking his eyes off of Claire, he maneuvered his left hand around his torso in order to scratch at Claire’s inky face. He’d never thought of Claire like that before, but perhaps that had just been because she was a teenager before. Maybe I kept it buried in my subconscious?
The itching was getting worse, like poison ivy centrally located on his new tattoo. His scratching became more fervent. She really did have a way of getting under his skin! A dark chuckle escaped his lips as he watched Claire roll over and tuck her arms under her head. A part of him wanted to just blast through that window and get into her room right at that moment, but the rational part of his brain held back his telekinetic abilities.
“Agh!” he shoved his arm in front of his face. He was scratching so heavily that he was peeling away his own skin. Blood was dripping from the broken wound, which was neatly knitting itself together in spite of Sylar’s continuously shredding nails. “What the hell is wrong with this ink!” He pulled his hand back, allowing his arm to regenerate despite the enormity of the itch. As the skin reconstructed itself, he realized that the tattoo of Claire was gone. His thick eyebrows united as he saw the ink swirling beneath his flesh.
Did he do something to it? Why is it doing this to me? Shivers ran up his spine as the implications of the ink swirled around in his brain. Samuel gave me the ink! Could he have…is there some way he could’ve tricked me? He scrubbed his arm again, attempting to press his fingers over the ink droplets, but they merely slid out from under his fingertips. Thinking swiftly, he held his hand above his arm: his skin began to pull up as he used his telekinesis on himself, attempting to rip the ink right out of his flesh. The ink, however, had other ideas.
“I found love and forgiveness and acceptance right here, and you can too.”
“If that’s true…let the tattoo show me, and I’ll stay.” His eyes bore into Samuel’s and he thought he saw a momentary flicker of something inside them. Hesitation? Fear? “What?” he challenged. “You afraid I might see something else?”
Samuel’s teeth glinted in the shadows. “I’m a Carnie. I liiive for games of chance!”
“And carnival games are rigged,” he realized. “Why didn’t I pick up on that before? What’s wrong with me?!”
“What’s it doing?”
“Stop thinking! Stop trying to force it! Just let it happen!”
“Samuel has dominion over the Earth. And ink,” he remembered, thinking back to the broken pot of Earth which the carnie had used to create his special ink, “is made from nature.” Fury bristled along his flesh. “He tricked me! He manipulated the ink to show me what he wanted!” Sylar curled his fist, ready to thrust it right through the window, when he noticed something. The ink was converging: a face forming. His breath hitched as a familiar smile materialized into his flesh.
“Elle!”