Heroes Fan Fiction ❯ Relapse ❯ Oneshot ( Chapter 1 )

AN: Alternate Universe. Takes place a few years in the future after Season Two. Warnings for character death, slight torture, and sexual situations. Thank you to rtwofan for the beta job.

 

Relapse

 

He had done the Company a big favor. They couldn't have been happier with him, and in their own way, they rewarded him for his trouble.

 

He didn't mind; at least, they had repressed the part of his brain that would have minded. Still, a satisfied smile plastered on his face, and Sylar was no longer a homicidal, power-hungry serial killer.

 

Sylar was once again, Gabriel Gray, though he answered to Sylar too. His past meant nothing to him anymore. Sure, he had moments where he would burst with unbridled regret, but the feelings usually passed in time.

 

He had taken Peter Petrelli's powers, and the Company rewarded him. He had a large house, an expensive car, and all the money he ever wanted. Once in awhile, he'd have to do a job for them, and it was slightly unnerving to know that every inch of his house was tapped.

 

But he didn't mind. He couldn't. They had taken away the bad, but they had left the good. He was still special, and with Peter Petrelli's powers, he could have any ability he wanted without the death.

 

Gabriel Gray could live his life in peace, and the Company was free of two big problems. As long as they were happy, so was he.

 

His life couldn't have gotten any duller, and though he couldn't really complain, he was content that his life didn't get more interesting than this.

 

As he put down his frayed copy of War and Peace, he heard the front door slam. He turned around and met indestructible green eyes.

 

His comfortable and mundane life just became more interesting.

 

“Sylar.” She uttered his name with a hiss through her lips.

 

He smiled despite her scowl. “Claire Bennet.” His eyes fell over her. She was much older than he remembered - her body was now nicely slim and curvy. Her eyes darkened over with wisdom and the shadows of her past.

 

“You killed him,” she snapped, and he could tell she was straining to compose herself. Hatred filled her eyes, and he felt ashamed for his sexual thoughts of her.

 

Had he ever felt ashamed before? Each day he was experiencing emotions he'd never thought he'd use.

 

She pointed accusingly, and her face contorted in pure loathing. “And don't think for a moment just because they claimed to have rehabilitated you that you're going to get away with it. You're still a murderer to me!”

 

“Claire…” He tried to talk to her, but she shook her head to stop him. He could sense her struggle for control, but tears leaked down her cheeks anyway. She bit her quivering lip to heighten the anger in her tone.

 

“I know you can't give him back…but I… I miss him so much, and I came here today…” She paused and jerked her gaze to the ground. He watched her intently. Something inside him whispered to let her stay. In that instant, he couldn't deny that parted of him wanted her.

 

He began to feel regret again.

 

Claire snapped her head up and came to the counter he was leaning on. She jabbed a pointy finger into his chest. “I know you can't bring him back, but you can do something else.” Her eyes pierced into him, and his mouth opened to her forwardness.

 

He had no idea what she was getting at or what she wanted from him. He couldn't help her. He could bring back Peter Petrelli, and even if he could, the Company wouldn't allow it.

 

“You're wasting your time, Claire Bennet,” he said with a surprising softness. “I can't do anything about Peter any more.”

 

Then, a frustrated cry emitted from the girl. She gripped her hands on his counter, and he heard her scathingly whisper, “What the hell am I even doing here?”

 

“You tell me, Claire.” He hated how his voice came out so predatory when he didn't mean it. He almost hated that he hated it.

 

He tried not to focus on the tears staining her cheeks, but her eyes were so ferocious. “I don't believe for a moment you can get away with this.” He saw her dart her head around his place. “I know they're watching you, and I don't care what they see.” She turned her head back to him and continued to glare. “You will always be a killer, Sylar.”

 

“No, Claire,” he said, sitting down lightly on his stool. He saw her lip curve up bitterly, and she became increasingly annoyed as he acted so relaxed around her when she came here with serious intentions.

 

“I'll prove to them that you're still the same.” A twisted, rueful smile fell on her mouth. “Kill me like you did Peter,” she said in a challenging demand. Her voice went from controlled to dark in an instant. “Kill me like you always wanted to and finish the cycle.”

 

“I have no desire to kill anymore.”

 

“You're a liar!” She launched at him and beat her fists against his chest in rage. “You give him back, you monster! I've already lost him twice, and now you take him from me again! What gives you the right? I should kill you myself, you son of a bitch!”

 

“Claire…” he said smoothly, but she did not settle down. He grabbed her flailing arms and stiffly pulled her back. He looked into her eyes, and he could feel the loathing pouring off her skin into his. Peter's empathy, he mused inwardly, and suddenly his heart felt very numb. Amazingly, the late empath's essence was starting to affect him in her presence.

 

“It's not fair,” she whined bitterly. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her body was shaking in rage within his grasp. He stilled, unable to find the motivation to let her go. She stiffened against him. He looked down and was caught off guard by the dip in her low red shirt. He furrowed his brow, and he couldn't rationalize why he was feeling this way.

 

It was wrong, and it felt so weird to know that it was wrong.

 

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to Claire, and she was searching his face. Her mouth remained appalled and contorted.

 

“What did it feel like?”

 

A pause.

 

“What?” He didn't understand why he was suddenly breathing so heavy.

 

“To kill him; how did you feel?” she snarled; the girl was anguished and volatile, desperate for some kind of answer.

 

“I…I don't remember. Someone they had working for them erased my memories so I wouldn't feel the guilt.”

 

“The Haitian,” she replied quickly, and he assumed she meant the one who took his memories. She snorted. “And they don't care about your guilt. They took all your memories of murdering people so you wouldn't be tempted to do it again.”

 

He felt frozen by her words. “No.” Denial was another emotion he was starting to get used to.

 

Her glower intensified, yet she did not move away as he held her arms. “They're wrong, though. I know them, and if they really knew anything about Peter they would know… even if they take your memories, with my power you will get them back. Your brain will heal.”

 

Her vicious smirk seemed to turn his blood cold.

 

“They probably didn't want me to come here. They're probably on their way now.” Her tone changed and fell low, and her touch became suddenly seductive. Her arm shifted and fingers traced his forearm and snaked up to his chest. There was deviousness in her eyes, something he'd never seen in her before. “Fine. If you won't kill me willingly, I'll just have to try to persuade you another way.”

 

He felt her body rub against his. Her lips grazed the clean shaven tip of his chin. She whispered and the words bounced off inside his ears like a hollow curse. “I'm going to heal you.”

 

As Claire Bennet dipped her frenetic hands into the waistband of his pants, Sylar slowly saw his redemption days fading away.

 

--

 

He remembered wanting her even when she was sixteen. Mostly, he had wanted her for her powers, and he had written off the attraction as useless basic desires and nothing more.

 

Other things were more important to him. Undeserving people walked the world with powers that rightfully belonged to him. Claire eluded him once, and he moved on. He was a patient man and knew he would get to her in time.

 

That's right, he thought to himself. As he gripped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him on top of his dinner table, he began to remember. He pulled her shirt off, tore her bra, and nibbled the curve of her jaw - and then he remembered even more.

 

She tasted like sugar cookies, and her wicked victorious sighs sent a tight, heated shiver down his body, squeezing and pushing him to make her his own. He didn't have to try very hard, though.

 

Today Claire Bennet gave herself to him all on her own.

 

He plunged his tongue into her mouth, and memories began to flood him like the rush of a drug. When he kissed Maya, when he ruffled a sleeping Molly's hair, or when he lightly laid his dead mother's body against the cold floor. He moaned, and she pulled him tightly against her, grinding her hot hips into his body.

 

When her nails gripped the edges of his pants and scratched them over his hips, he sighed in a whimper.

 

She abandoned his lips, and he felt her mouth thrum against his cheek in a taunting voice. “You don't really want to do this with me, do you?”

 

“Yes… yes I do.” He hated how he was so weak. He hated how she was so in control and that she made him so hard. The more she touched him, the more he began to hate everything about her.

 

The cheerleader was right.

 

He let out a cry of surprise. She was already guiding him inside of her, harsh and raw without any wetness to subdue the sting.

 

Ha. She didn't even want him. This was work to her - vengeance.

 

She didn't want to fuck. She wanted to die.

 

Kill her then. Kill her. Kill her. Kill. Kill. Take.

 

The voice inside him rose with a murderous purr.

 

“Yes,” she moaned, drawing him in and out like a rapid piston.

 

He gripped her hips and cried as he bucked faster and impaled deeper. She leaned her head back and groaned. Her heard the whisper on her lips and almost stopped. “Peter.”

 

Possession consumed him. The cheerleader was his. She had always been his, since the very first day.

 

She's yours. Her power is yours. Yours. All yours.

 

He was becoming less scared. He was starting to agree with this burgeoning shadow inside of him.

 

“Ung!” she cried as she fell into a quick spasm around him.

 

He was so close. There was just something he was missing - something this pitiful rutting couldn't provide.

 

Sylar raised his eyes to the woman squirming against him, and he smiled. A flash of darkness became a balm to his mind, and he exhaled a heavy breath.

 

His strong hand squeezed around her throat, and she made a surprised gurgle. She looked up at him with knowing eyes. He hated them - her eyes that held so much contempt and audacity. She knew. She always knew.

 

He crushed her windpipe, and she barely attempted a sound. His other hand rose, and he loosened his grip so she could scream from the scrape that he drilled into her skull.

 

A metallic-copper scent filled his nostrils, and his body shuddered in nostalgia.

 

One more scream, another dribble of blood, and he thrust inside her at last, finally reaching the white and breaking through the walls of this pathetic, manufactured life.

 

He stilled and looked down at the girl with anticipation. “I've got you.”

 

She smirked with him. “I knew you could never change.”

 

He laughed loudly and long. He couldn't let her arrogance get to him. If anything, he wanted to thank her. She had offered herself to him when he had waited for so long for her, and now, she had brought him back to his true self.

 

“You really wish to die, Claire Bennet?”

 

“They always said I could never die, and at Peter's side I was willing to accept that. But you took him from me.” She squirmed while he was still inside her, and he reacted with a noise of pleasure. “Now you're going to bring him back.”

 

The last scream was beautiful. The last incision was climatic. The last sound as her wet scalp sloshing against his pristine floor was art.

 

He let go and her inert weight fell to the floor as gravity pulled her out of him.

 

He looked down at her gorgeous gruesome form and finally muffled the last unwanted tinge of regret.

 

As silence became the grave that covered her body, he realized that it was never just about the powers. He bent down and dipped his fingers into her blood and then drew them up to his face. He closed his eyes and took in the fresh smell.

 

The powers he could have now - easily, but did the thrill remain?

 

“You will always be a killer, Sylar.”

 

Claire Bennet spoke the truth, and he could never change, not by ways of lowly humans. Every scream and every drop of blood was just as deserved as every ounce of their power.

 

And the Company would be coming for him soon - coming to clean up the damage he and Claire had caused.

 

Sylar stood up and flexed his fingers at his sides.

 

He would welcome his guests - with slaughter and retribution.

 

END