Pav

Orton

for a Heroes FF Thread.

Come on people start slashing those pretty boys (or girls if you like that too). I'm sad. I refuse to read het fics It's a curse.

midwest skies

thanks for starting Pav

you don't read them Orton??

Orton

Sadly no. You'd think me being straight I would like het fics, but I'm a slash lover. Boys make me happy

midwest skies

everyone is different right

addicted2much

Love the title of this thread.

Orton

That's what makes the world so interesting I'm writing my Heroes fic. Will be an OT3 with Mohinder, Issac and Peter.

Pav

Thank you, Maria.

To be honest, I like it, too, it's one of my genious ideas, hehe.

Sha, you're writing a Heroes fiction?

Orton

Yeah I am. Written a bit of the story. Hopefully will be done in a week or so

Roswell 10/2/00

Yes I LOVE Good fanfic. Always makes me happy! I should start writing some Hereos fanfic myself.

Any good sights you can post your work at let me know.

Pav

Those are some good news, I can't wait.

Orton

Erin: I'm not sure if there are places to post Heroes fan fic yet? Not ones that I have seen. At LJ there is a newsletter for the show, and if you join there - then chances are people will come across your story.

Pav

Color me disappointed. I thought you posted a fic already.

Roswell 10/2/00

Aw I would start to write some if you know of any good sights.

potostfbeyeluvr

Title: Love to Hate You
Characters/Pairings: Mild Claire/Sylar, mild enough to be totally platonic if you want. But that's not how I intended it.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Girl falling in love with pycho, really mild discussion of violence and very vauge references to attempted rape.
Spoiler alert: Through Fallout.
Summary: Claire needs answers. Sylar has them. Or does he?



A/N: Slight AU. Everything in "Fallout" happened except for Eden's suicide. Cause if Eden died, then that means Sylar can use his powers in the cell. And that's no fun.

Disclaimer: All the peeps from Heroes belong to NBC, not me.

Pairing: Mild, almost romanceless, Claire/Sylar.

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Claire tiptoed silently into the room, and looked through the glass. He was sitting with his back to the window, unaware of her presence. Eventually she would need to speak up, but for now she was content to observe him. He was wearing a white tee shirt and gray sweatpants; a very different look from the black baseball cap and trenchcoat he'd worn the night of homecoming.

Even here, held against his will, and even without the mystery the darkness had provided him, he exuded power. The Haitian man had assured her that Sylar was totally harmless while he was in the cell, and Claire was glad. She wouldn't have come, otherwise. Even so, she'd struggled over the decision. If her father found out, or the Haitian was wrong... It wouldn't be good. But she needed answers, and she knew that this man has some of them.

She decided she'd waited long enough, and began to speak. "Excuse me?" She would have said his name, but she realized that she didn't know it.

He turned around abruptly, obviously surprised by her appearance. When he recognized her, he smiled darkly. "Well, well, well; if it isn't Daddy's little girl. Does your daddy know where you are, Claire?" he asked mockingly.

She swallowed and closed her eyes, but as soon as she did, she saw Jackie telling her to run, with her last words. Her eyes shot open, forcing the memory away. She tried to look as mature as possible as she answered, not wanting to be known as 'daddy's little girl.' "That's not important. I need answers, and you can give them to me."

He scoffed. "And why, exactly, would I want to do that?"

She smiled coyly. "Do you have something better to do?" Instead of looking defeated or agreeable, he leaned back against the wall, amused. She hated when people patronized her.

"All right," he said with a smile. "You want answers? Fine. Ask away, Princess."

She walked closer to the glass that separated them and placed her hand on it. "Why were you after me at the homecoming game?"

He sat up straighter, never taking his eyes off of her. "Because you have power, beyond what you could begin to imagine." He stood from his bed. "Of all the powers I have come across so far, only one has interested me more than yours, persuasion, and its owner has disappeared, for time being. You cannot die, do you realize that?" he asked loudly. "Do you realize what a gift that is? Indestructibility." He said no more.

"I've died before, you know," she said, offhand.

This caught his interest. "Have you, now?" he asked, walking closer to the glass window. "And what was that experience like for you? How did it happen? Does anyone else know that you're a walking miracle; a cheerleader back from the grave?" An invincible cheerleader dying was of great interest to him. How could someone who couldn't even get a paper cut die?

She wondered at his sudden interest. "I... I don't know. I died, then I woke up on the autopsy table."

Sylar laughed contently. "I'm sure that was a nice surprise for the coroner."

She smiled halfheartedly, the terror she'd felt that night still not old enough to be a joke to her. "I don't know. No one was there, that I saw."

He nodded, then went back to one of his earlier questions. "So, how did you die? What killed the invincible girl?"

She closed her eyes, remembering that awful night. "Um... I was pushed into a tree branch, or something, and it went into my head."

He asked the obvious question. "What about whoever pushed you? Didn't they figure it out when you, how shall I say this... Weren't dead?"

She shook her head. "We weren't... There were other things involved, before the pushing me into a tree branch. We weren't exactly on speaking terms. Then we both just kind of pretended it hadn't happened." She paused, in thought. "Then I drove his car into a brick wall, with him still in it." Sylar obviously wasn't taking the conversation too seriously, because he laughed once again. She enjoyed hearing his laugh. It was a deep, vibrant laugh, but it had a mysterious, almost devious quality to it that was pleasant to her ears.

"You drove his car into a brick wall," he half asked, half stated. "He either actually meant to kill you, or the 'other things involved' were truly unpleasant, am I right?" She nodded. "Then I don't doubt that he deserved being driven into a wall." There were very few things that a boy could do to a girl that would make her angry enough to try to kill him. And going on the fact that he'd pushed her into a tree and killed her, he had a good idea what this boy had been trying. He deserved worse than a car wreck, he thought maliciously.

Claire's mind screamed at her at this comment. Wake up! He killed your best friend! He wanted- probably still wants, to kill you! And he's talking about what people deserve? She frowned. "Is that what determines what we should do? Kill the people who we don't like, and let the people we do like live? What did Jackie do to 'deserve' having her head ripped off? Or Peter? What did he do to 'deserve' being thrown off a building?" Frustrated and saddened by the memory of her friend, she sighed, and then was quiet.

Sylar was also quiet for a long moment. "I didn't mean to kill your friend. It was a mistake."

She didn't look at his eyes. "You're right. You meant to kill me, not Jackie."

What could he say to that? It was the truth. He wanted her power so badly... He still wanted it. He would have killed her in a heartbeat to get it. Would he now? Probably. "You said you had questions. You've only asked one."

She nodded and sat down, legs crossed, on the cement floor. "What was your power? Originally, I mean." That hadn't been one of her questions she'd planned to ask, and she wasn't sure why she had, really.

"I can tell how things work," he said quietly but darkly. "Machines, strategies... People. I can pick them apart in my mind, and see what makes them the way they are."

She nodded. "You understand things." She giggled, the tension and anger of only moments ago forgotten. "You should work for Encyclopedia Britannica."

He smiled slightly. "I was a watchmaker once. I could tell you what was wrong with your watch, just by listening to it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?" She took off her watch, a 13th birthday present from her father, stood up and placed it into the food transfer tray. "How's mine?"

He picked up the sliver watch and held it to his ear. He hadn't done this in months. "It's a very nice Cartier watch; mechanical movement with automatic winding. It's used often, and taken in rarely. It could use a general servicing, but there's nothing wrong with it. That's a very nice watch for a high school student, you know. Whoever gave it to you-"

She cut him off with a smile. "You're going to give me an analysis of the person who gave me the watch, based on the watch?"

He ignored her. "Whoever gave it to you obviously cares for you a great deal, and wanted to give you something special." He placed it carefully back in the tray. "Take good care of that watch."

She nodded as she picked it up and put it back on her wrist, still thinking about what he'd said about the person who gave her the watch. She didn't know what to think about her father anymore. She looked up and noticed that his face had paled. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

He spoke like a confused child. "My powers don't work here. I shouldn't have been able to tell if your watch was broken or not. That means..." He slammed his fists against the glass in frustration, causing her to jump back instictively. "The professor was right all along. I'm not special. I never was." He slumped down against the window. "I'm nothing special. I'm just... Just the watchmaker's son."

She shook her head. "Not true. You're more than that... I mean, you're kinda creepy sometimes with the killing and stuff, but you're definitley not nobody. Plus, even if you don't have a 'gift,' you've got a real talent. I've never met anyone who can do what you did with my watch."

He was obviously done talking, as he stood up and walked over to the cot where he sat down and stared at the floor. She sighed and turned to go. "Hey." No response. "I- I forgive you." She turned out the lights, then walked out of the room.

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My muse came back, after months of being away. Did I work on unfinished fics? Noooooo. I wrote a odd little fic with an odd little pairing. Hope you liked it, feedbck ish love.