Claire Bennet (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
infinite1ups) wrote2021-03-05 01:59 pm
infinite1ups) wrote2021-03-05 01:59 pm
(no subject)
Claire is perplexed by the cube even as she's compelled to reach out and touch it. All at once, the space around her goes hazy and once her vision clears, she's unsure of what exactly she's looking at before recognition crashes against her like a wave.
It's the hallway of her old house in Costa Verde. The clock tells her it's mid-afternoon, but it's dark, the California sun shuttered away with the blinds closed.
A chill runs down her spine as she remembers why.
Sylar. This is the day he--
Why am I here?
That's all she can think at first, until she realizes she doesn't know if what's she's seeing is real or not. It could be an illusion, or she could very well have traveled through time.
Hearing footsteps at the end of the hall in the kitchen raises as many questions as it answers. And then the scream. Her scream. Had she been taken back to this moment, perhaps to stop it all from happening, or is she just a helpless bystander to her own trauma? One way to find out, she supposes, and she rushes toward the source of the commotion.
But when bursts in to find Sylar, a knife in his chest, using his telekinesis to slice open her skull, there's nothing she can do. When she tries to grab for one of the kitchen knives to stab him again, her hand passes through.
No, Claire isn't here to change the past, but to relive it.
She watches, powerless to act, as he finishes telekinetically slicing through the top of her head and carries her to the living room. Her memory usually blocks this part out when she recalls this day, so it's bizarre to see it play out before her.
But it does explain at least one thing, like why she'd found herself barefoot after the fact. Sylar had removed her shoes once he laid her down on the coffee table, before pulling the top of her skull off.
Had he really spent this long poking around inside her brain? In the moment, she knows it had felt like an eternity, but to remember it, it only seems like a few minutes. Claire wants nothing more than to close her eyes and pull herself away from this, but now she's well and truly frozen in place, unable to tear her gaze away.
"What are you doing to me?" she can hear herself asking.
"Looking for answers before I bleed to death."
"Funny. I'm looking for answers, too."
He didn't really have all the answers, she remembers that much. He only had more questions.
"Why is there evil? How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? How do we make love stay?" Sylar had asked, as she had squirmed and struggled to breathe.
"Are you gonna eat it?" Claire almost recites the question along with herself as she hears it asked.
"Eat your brain? Claire, that's disgusting."
And then Sylar finds what he's looking for. He pulls the knife from his chest and sighs triumphantly as the wound heals. She watches her body go still on the coffee table, eyes beginning to close as she exhales her last, until Sylar brings back the top half of her skull to reattach it.
Her regeneration kicks in, then, and she gasps. Claire watches herself sit up and stare at Sylar. She still feels the same confusion as she hears her voice asking, "Wait. What about me? Aren't you going to kill me?"
There's pity in his tone as his low voice cuts through the stifled air of the house, the sickly smell of dried blood, but he almost looks... impressed, in a way she hadn't noticed in the moment.
"Poor girl," he says, shaking his head. "There's so much about yourself you don't even understand. Your brain is not like the others. Claire, you are not like the others. You're different. You're special, and I couldn't kill you even if I wanted to. You can never die. And now, I guess, neither can I."
And then he's gone. All Claire sees is herself on the coffee table, and even now, with so many years between these two versions of herself she's not any closer to understanding exactly what Sylar had meant.
She's struck with the urge to follow Sylar outside, to chase him down and demand the answers, but she knows she can't. This is her memory, she isn't really here, and she can't go outside of where her mind can recall. Her attention turns instead to herself, still sitting on the coffee table, struggling to keep herself together.
In a little while, Claire remembers, she will discover that she no longer feels pain. Is it something Sylar had done? Nothing she had seen in reliving this memory could explain. He had told her while poking around in her head that there were no nerve receptors in the brain, but that doesn't explain why she no longer felt it once Sylar had put her back together.
"What is the point of this?" she asks, unheard in the midst of her memory. Her voice grows louder as she continues speaking, whirling around the room as if to demand the answers from some unseen presence. "Why am I seeing this if not to learn something from it? Tell me!"
And with that, she's jolted back to the present with enough force to send her staggering backwards. Her breathing is ragged, her face pale, and she takes another step away from the cube, slumping down to the floor as her back hits a wall.
"Why--" Claire's voice breaks halfway through that single syllable. She hugs her knees to her chest, refusing to look at the cube before she gets struck with the urge to touch it again.
It's the hallway of her old house in Costa Verde. The clock tells her it's mid-afternoon, but it's dark, the California sun shuttered away with the blinds closed.
A chill runs down her spine as she remembers why.
Sylar. This is the day he--
Why am I here?
That's all she can think at first, until she realizes she doesn't know if what's she's seeing is real or not. It could be an illusion, or she could very well have traveled through time.
Hearing footsteps at the end of the hall in the kitchen raises as many questions as it answers. And then the scream. Her scream. Had she been taken back to this moment, perhaps to stop it all from happening, or is she just a helpless bystander to her own trauma? One way to find out, she supposes, and she rushes toward the source of the commotion.
But when bursts in to find Sylar, a knife in his chest, using his telekinesis to slice open her skull, there's nothing she can do. When she tries to grab for one of the kitchen knives to stab him again, her hand passes through.
No, Claire isn't here to change the past, but to relive it.
She watches, powerless to act, as he finishes telekinetically slicing through the top of her head and carries her to the living room. Her memory usually blocks this part out when she recalls this day, so it's bizarre to see it play out before her.
But it does explain at least one thing, like why she'd found herself barefoot after the fact. Sylar had removed her shoes once he laid her down on the coffee table, before pulling the top of her skull off.
Had he really spent this long poking around inside her brain? In the moment, she knows it had felt like an eternity, but to remember it, it only seems like a few minutes. Claire wants nothing more than to close her eyes and pull herself away from this, but now she's well and truly frozen in place, unable to tear her gaze away.
"What are you doing to me?" she can hear herself asking.
"Looking for answers before I bleed to death."
"Funny. I'm looking for answers, too."
He didn't really have all the answers, she remembers that much. He only had more questions.
"Why is there evil? How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? How do we make love stay?" Sylar had asked, as she had squirmed and struggled to breathe.
"Are you gonna eat it?" Claire almost recites the question along with herself as she hears it asked.
"Eat your brain? Claire, that's disgusting."
And then Sylar finds what he's looking for. He pulls the knife from his chest and sighs triumphantly as the wound heals. She watches her body go still on the coffee table, eyes beginning to close as she exhales her last, until Sylar brings back the top half of her skull to reattach it.
Her regeneration kicks in, then, and she gasps. Claire watches herself sit up and stare at Sylar. She still feels the same confusion as she hears her voice asking, "Wait. What about me? Aren't you going to kill me?"
There's pity in his tone as his low voice cuts through the stifled air of the house, the sickly smell of dried blood, but he almost looks... impressed, in a way she hadn't noticed in the moment.
"Poor girl," he says, shaking his head. "There's so much about yourself you don't even understand. Your brain is not like the others. Claire, you are not like the others. You're different. You're special, and I couldn't kill you even if I wanted to. You can never die. And now, I guess, neither can I."
And then he's gone. All Claire sees is herself on the coffee table, and even now, with so many years between these two versions of herself she's not any closer to understanding exactly what Sylar had meant.
She's struck with the urge to follow Sylar outside, to chase him down and demand the answers, but she knows she can't. This is her memory, she isn't really here, and she can't go outside of where her mind can recall. Her attention turns instead to herself, still sitting on the coffee table, struggling to keep herself together.
In a little while, Claire remembers, she will discover that she no longer feels pain. Is it something Sylar had done? Nothing she had seen in reliving this memory could explain. He had told her while poking around in her head that there were no nerve receptors in the brain, but that doesn't explain why she no longer felt it once Sylar had put her back together.
"What is the point of this?" she asks, unheard in the midst of her memory. Her voice grows louder as she continues speaking, whirling around the room as if to demand the answers from some unseen presence. "Why am I seeing this if not to learn something from it? Tell me!"
And with that, she's jolted back to the present with enough force to send her staggering backwards. Her breathing is ragged, her face pale, and she takes another step away from the cube, slumping down to the floor as her back hits a wall.
"Why--" Claire's voice breaks halfway through that single syllable. She hugs her knees to her chest, refusing to look at the cube before she gets struck with the urge to touch it again.