cruiscin_lan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cruiscin_lan) wrote2009-02-26 08:25 pm
cruiscin_lan) wrote2009-02-26 08:25 pm
Fic: Cross My Heart
Title: Cross My Heart
Characters: Knox/Claire, Matt/Daphne, Gabriel/Elle
Rating: R
Word Count: 5120
Disclaimer: I don't own any aspect of Heroes or its characters
Spoilers/Warnings: spoilers for Vol. 3
Summary: He didn't feel like himself around her, and he didn't like it. In fact, he loathed her, and the feeling was mutual.
A/N: First of a two-part fic. Thanks,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dragynflies, for the beta!
I
The last thing Claire remembered feeling was fear. Fear as she lay helpless on her coffee table, brainpan open, Sylar's fingers running smoothly across her gray matter. Since then, there'd been a void, a world of sensations she couldn't even remember anymore - heat, for example, or pain, or the pleasure of human touch - a void filled in only by the unacknowledged, unending longing for some sort of human connection.
But in spite of this emotional vacuum, and in spite of the knowledge that she was, essentially, invincible, the scent of fear still lingered on her. It was what had attracted Knox to her in the first place. He had always used fear to feed his strength, but he could tell hers was different. It wasn't the blind terror of the people he normally needed, nor was it the prosaic kind of worry that lay hidden in the back of everyone's mind. It was fear that had aged like wine; it was a deep, nuanced emotion, distinctive in body and nose and flavor and effect. And, like wine, it was intoxicating.
He didn't feel like himself around her, and he didn't like it. In fact, he loathed her, and the feeling was mutual. The first time they'd met he'd been trying to capture her for Arthur Petrelli; the second time was when Arthur Petrelli reintroduced her as a new partner for Knox and Daphne.
"We don't need anybody else," Knox remarked. "Daph and I - we're doing fine on our own."
He wasn't lying. Knox and Daphne made a surprisingly good team. Even though she married the cop from L.A. who had always been on his case about straightening up, they managed to get along well with one another. They were perfect complements in many ways: she was more reckless, while he was cautious; she was speed, and he was strength; she was nice and normal, which paralled how horrible a person he could be.
"You are doing fine," Arthur conceded, "but you're getting a new mission, and for that, you need a new player on your team - someone who knows the game a little better, " Arthur waved his arm, and the young woman entered the room behind him. "This is my granddaughter, Claire Bennet."
The name was familiar. There was a Bennet who had been a Primatech agent, Knox recalled. If this Claire was any relation, it wasn't readily apparent - not in looks or in loyalties. Daphne folded her arms across her chest, and Knox narrowed his eyes, taking her in. She was too small, too young, wearing too much makeup, with her dark hair pulled back too severely. She was a girl trying too hard to look the part of a woman. The recognition was slow to come - she had been the one that got away.
"Hey," Daphne said, her voice hard and her posture lax, a little standoffish - but at least she was trying.
"And just what is our new mission?" Knox asked.
Arthur Petrelli folded his hands and piqued his eyebrows. "Peter Petrelli. You three have to take him down."
"Dead or alive?" Knox pressed.
"Alive, preferably," Arthur answered. "But I'm not all that picky." He scanned the room, his eyes moving from his glowering granddaughter to Knox and Daphne. The displeasure between the three of them was palpable. "And remember, kids - play nice," Arthur remarked before turning and leaving.
II
Another day, another mission botched by their failure to cooperate. They followed a lead to a Chicago warehouse that quickly turned out to be a trap. The three of them clearly outmatched the dozen or so Petrelli supporters that surrounded them, but both Knox and Claire barked out conflicting orders, and Daphne couldn't listen to one or the other and instead listened to neither. She grabbed them both and dashed back to Pinehearst headquarters in Fort Lee, taking them directly into a conference room without stopping.
They reamed into one another before the door even closed behind them. "You think you're in charge now?" Knox asked, stepping into Claire's space and glaring down into her eyes.
"I know Peter Petrelli better than anyone else," Claire said, answering his stare. "You need to let me take the lead on this."
"Guess what, Princess, Petrelli wasn't there just now," Knox yelled. "You were gonna get us all killed!"
"I was gonna get you killed," Claire hissed back.
"I feel like a fucking kindergarten teacher with you two. I don't have time for this," Daphne scolded, separating them with a hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart. "I told Matt I'd meet him at Molly's school play a half an hour ago." Daphne looked first at Claire and then at Knox before she shook her head. "Fine. Go ahead and kill each other, for all I care. I'm getting the hell out of here." The wind picked up as Daphne vanished in a flash of black clothes and blonde hair.
For a moment the tension in the room was palpable as Knox and Claire avoided meeting one another's eyes. But then Claire muttered something under her breath about Knox's incompetence, and Knox reacted by grabbing a chunk of her hair in his hand, throwing her head from side to side.
"Speak up, girl, I can't hear what you're saying," he snapped, turning her face towards his.
"What are you trying to do, scare me? Intimidate me?" A playfully wicked smile darted across Claire's lips for just a second; Knox wasn't even sure he'd seen it, so quickly had it come and gone. But Claire batted her lashes at him, her voice low and seductive as she told him, "This is just how I like it."
"I thought you couldn't feel anything," Knox growled, grasping her hair even more tightly, tilting her head back as their bodies came closer together. "You want me to rough you up?"
"It wouldn't hurt to try," Claire replied, and the play on words wasn't lost on Knox. He let go of her hair and dropped his arms to his sides, and Claire scowled in disappointment. Suddenly, though, Knox reached up and grabbed Claire's wrist, wrenching it so hard that he could hear the bones crack. As he gripped her arm he could feel them struggle to knit themselves back together underneath the skin and muscle.
"Nothing?" he asked, but Claire hadn't even flinched.
"Break my neck," Claire ordered. "Smash my face."
Obediently he grabbed her by the back of the neck and propelled her into the conference table. The pressboard tabletop shattered on impact, and Claire lay sprawled across the larger pieces, her head at an odd angle with the rest of her body. Knox held his breath for a moment until he saw her chest rise and fall again with the effort of breathing. Slowly she raised herself up, the wounds on her face seeping blood a deep and rich crimson hue. Even as the gashes healed, the blood remained, glistening and wet, as she turned around to face him again.
"Did that hurt?"
"You killed me a little bit that time," she replied. "But I still didn't feel it."
Knox inhaled sharply. "I'll do better next time."
"You'll do better now," Claire commanded icily.
"Claire..." Knox said, hesitant, "I'm just not feeling this." Immediately he regretted his choice of words.
In the next instant she pinned him to the wall, her strength belied by her small size. "I can make you feel it," Claire hissed into his ear. Suddenly she held his lobe between her teeth, her breath warm and moist. One hand slipped under his belt buckle, tugging it roughly, while the other wrapped itself behind his head, pulling him closer to her. "Fuck me, Knox. Fuck me hard."
Knox shuddered as all the blood flowed downwards, his veins pumping with adrenaline. He could feel his strength increase exponentially, but it wasn't because of Claire's residual fear anymore. It was because of his own fear and he reacted the only way he knew how - violently.
He grabbed her by the waist and shoved her against the wall, lifting her so she could wrap her legs around his torso. When she moaned, he couldn't stop himself from coming, but he valiantly thrust a few more times before his knees started shaking too hard for him to continue.
The two slid against the wall until they were sitting on the floor, tossing aside wedges of the broken pressboard tabletop as they shifted uncomfortably beside one another.
"Did you feel anything?"
"Not a damn thing." Claire straightened her clothing, "Don't you fucking dare tell anyone about this."
"Cross my heart," Knox said, tracing an X across his chest. "And hope to die."
III
Neither of them spoke of it the next day; in fact, they tried not to speak to one another at all. They understood each other through a series of glances and gestures, returning to the scene in Chicago to pick up any loose pieces.
As Claire investigated some filing cabinets overturned at another end of the warehouse floor, Daphne cornered Knox for questioning. "What happened between the two of you?" she asked.
"I don't know what you mean," Knox replied, feigning interest in the contents of a nearby trash barrel.
Daphne shoved her hands in her pockets, letting Knox sift through the garbage on his own. "Yesterday you were ready to kill each other, and today... today you're working together like peanut butter and jelly."
"Peanut butter and jelly?" Knox repeated, his voice a low chuckle. "Really? That's the best analogy you could come up with?"
"It's what's for lunch... again," Daphne remarked, pressing her lips into a skewed line and rolling her eyes.
"I don't know if you know this, but here at Pinehearst, every so often we get what's called a paycheck," Knox smiled as he stood up straight. He pushed the trash barrel aside. "Nothing of interest in here."
"This paycheck you speak of... it doesn't go far when you're trying to pay the rent for a Brooklyn apartment and send your stepdaughter to private school."
"I thought Parkman was working, too," Knox said.
"It's not like police officers are making bank," Daphne sighed. "Besides that, we've had to tighten our belts for extra expenses we're expecting."
"Extra expenses you're expecting?" Knox asked, feeling his blood run warm as he heard Daphne's heart pound a little faster than usual. She was nervous.
"Yeah... we're expecting," Daphne repeated.
Knox was silent for a moment, letting the meaning of her words sink in. Realization brought that wide smile back to his face slowly, and he cocked his head at her, knitting his eyebrows in an expression that was equally congratulatory and confused. "Way to go, Daph. Looks like my man Parkman finally got lucky. I was beginning to think maybe he wasn't man enough to knock you up."
Daphne laughed and punched him in the arm. "Jesus, Knox, don't say stuff like that about my husband!"
Knox could feel the corners of his smile extending to the edges of his face. "To be honest, I could never imagine you two doing it. He looks like he could crush you."
"Oh my God, Knox," Daphne laughed, nearly doubling over, not noticing Claire staring at the two of them from across the room. "That's gross. Don't think of me and him doing it at all!"
While Knox laughed with her, he met Claire's cool gaze. For a minute their eyes were locked, and Knox felt trapped in a way he couldn't explain.
"Don't tell anyone yet," Daphne told him as she wiped the happy tears from her eyes. "I'm serious. I don't know how Petrelli's gonna take it, and Matt wanted me to quit anyway. He's using this as extra ammunition now."
"Cross my heart and hope to die," Knox replied, his promise sealed by the requisite gesture as Claire was watching.
IV
She invited him over for a fuck once, twice, three times, four times, so often he soon lost count. He knew she was using him to try and feel something, even something meaningless and fleeting, but as long as he got laid, he didn't care.
Each tryst was the same. They wasted no time in undressing each other, brutally forcing each other's backs against walls and doorways, pinning each other with harsh kisses. Knox pawed at her like an animal, and she responded in kind, sharply scratching his sides as she clutched him. She'd ride him mercilessly, grinding her hips against his as she leaned forward and clutched his shoulders. Brutally he'd pound away at her on the couch, on the floor, or on the bed, glistening with effort. He always came in frenzied titillation, and didn't care that she didn't come at all.
After one such instance, they were naked in her bed, together and yet not together at all. After the violence of their intimacy, they barely touched one another. They lay still in silence for a while, as though they were meditating, until Knox decided to break the tension. "Daphne's pregnant," he told her.
"There's a big surprise," Claire muttered as she threw the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. "She doesn't seem particularly careful." Her hair fell dark and straight down past her shoulders, interrupted only by the distinct kink left by the band that held her ponytail, and Knox turned on his side to catch a glimpse of her unclothed back. He appreciated how she didn't waste time with lingerie, just as they didn't waste time with other trappings of conventional relationships. No dates, no flowers, no cuddling or holding hands - just simple fucking, sometimes accompanied by a little conversation. But conversation was sometimes hard to make, and Knox resorted to sharing Daphne's secret in a desperate effort to buy more time with Claire.
"I told her I wouldn't tell anyone," Knox added. "So don't go spreading that knowledge quite yet."
"You're such a girl," Claire smiled wickedly, looking over her shoulder at him in a way that made his cock jump back to attention. With one arm he reached out to her again, a reckless attempt at a second round, but she rose to her feet and padded softly to the bathroom. She always left him wanting more.
"You won't tell?" Knox called after her, even as she disappeared behind a door.
"Cross my heart," she said back, caustically imitating him as her voice faded behind the sound of the starting shower. He knew the routine; he was to be gone before she got out, so he quickly rolled out of bed and gathered his scattered clothing.
He pulled his shirt on over his head as he exited the bedroom, and stepped into his pants as he padded down the hall to his shoes. He didn't quite understand how Claire afforded such posh digs in Manhattan, and figured that her partisan Pinehearst paycheck was significantly fatter than his. As he left this time, though, he glanced at the mail on the hall table as he stuffed his feet into his shoes, and a dirty, crumpled envelope caught his attention. He paused and pulled it out from under the rest of the stack.
It was addressed to Peter Petrelli.
V
He didn't know Claire's history with that house, nor with the people who occupied it, but the way he pace quickened and her face scowled as they approached made his blood thicken with something almost like fear - fear tainted with scorn and detachment. He half-regretted that Daphne hadn't come with them; she would have certainly balanced out Claire's seriousness, but she was already past her due date and looked about ready to pop. Besides that, this mission carried an extra element of danger. It felt as though they were walking right into the lion's den.
It was meant to be a peaceful mission, a chance to gather information and nothing more - Arthur Petrelli had been clear on this point. There wasn't even to be a threat of violence; he emphasized that he'd rather them leave empty-handed and alive. But no one answered the knock at the door, and Claire commanded that Knox break down the door.
"Wouldn't that be a little obvious?" Knox hesitated.
"What are you, afraid?" Claire sneered. Before he could reply, she punched through the stained glass detail on the door, reaching through the broken glass and unlocking the door from inside. She held her mangled fist in front of Knox's face, bits of glass already being forced from her flesh as she healed. Smug, she opened the door and led the way inside.
He examined the pictures on the mantelpiece. There were photos of a child alone, a blonde moppet who he would have thought was a girl if it weren't for the distinctly masculine vests and bow-ties he wore in the formal family portraits.
"This dude," Knox said, pointing to the man in the photograph, evidently the family patriarch, "this dude was the Sylar everyone was so fucking scared of?"
"He is Sylar," Claire hissed. "Don't let those goofy glasses fool you."
"I met him when he was working at Pinehearst, but this reminds me of some kids I used to beat up in high school," Knox said, emphatically thrusting his finger at the image of Gabriel Gray.
"He could take the lid off your skull before you had time to blink," Claire said flatly. She acted as though she knew the place well; she felt comfortable examining the contents of cabinets and cupboards and drawers. He followed her from the living room to the kitchen to another room, and her eyes widened involuntarily, unable to mask her surprise.
"A playroom?" Knox ventured, judging by the tiny furniture in primary colors and the Tonka trucks strewn across the floor.
"This used to be a study," Claire said breathlessly. "I thought we'd find something here, but it's just a bunch of damn toys."
The disappointed look on her face quickly turned diabolic, an expression Knox had gotten all too familiar with. "You got that look on your face again, Claire," he muttered. "Whatever you're thinking, it ain't a good idea."
"Sylar has the power to read an object's history," she said levelly. "Think his son has the same power?"
"There's no telling what his son can or can't do," he responded matter-of-factly. "If he can do anything at all."
"No matter, I guess," she leered. "Imagine his face when he plays with his child and realizes we've had sex on his son's table." She stepped towards Knox, reaching up and delicately flicking her tongue against his ear. She placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on the front of his pants, her fingers pinching his cock through the denim.
"Claire, that ain't right," Knox protested, even as her breath grew hotter and his shaft grew harder.
"C'mon, Knox," she insisted. "You sound like you're scared."
He wouldn't admit it, but just then Knox's heart jumped when he heard the sound of a car come up in the driveway; through the kitchen blinds he saw the blur of a minivan out of the corner of his eye. "Claire, they're here, they're home," he said hurriedly, grabbing her like she needed to be protected. He pulled her into the kitchen with him, where they came face to face with the man who used to call himself Sylar.
Gabriel Gray held his hands out in front of him defensively, ready for a fight if it came his way. He looked from Knox to Claire, bewildered. "You two broke into my house?" he asked, calm but confused.
"We didn't mean... we weren't going to..." Knox began.
"Yes," Claire interrupted, shaking her arm away from Knox's grasp. "We came looking for information."
"Arthur and I have an understanding," Gabriel told her. "We've agreed to keep out of each other's way, so no harm will come to anybody."
"We didn't mean to get in your way," Knox said, his blood heating with a fear all his own. "We just wanted to know what you know about Peter Petrelli."
"And that's it?"
"That's it."
Gabriel sighed and let his hands fall to his sides. "Why don't you have a seat at the table?" he asked. "My wife and son are waiting in the car. It is safe for them to come in now, right?"
"Yes, sir," Knox told him, but Claire's elbow connected sharply with his side.
"Don't call him sir," she hissed.
VI
Their awkward dinner party felt like the beginning of a bad joke: two Pinehearst agents, a serial killer, a sociopath, and a toddler sit down for spaghetti. It was a terrible irony that the serial killer and the sociopath were the ones trying most earnestly to be civil and decent to the others.
"So, Claire, it's been a while since either of us have seen you," Gabriel said as he poured some wine for his guests. He smiled warmly, genuinely.
"I like your new hair color," Elle offered. She'd put on a little weight, or rather, never shed that which she gained during pregnancy, and had her hair cut in a short, manageable bob. No makeup, no jewelry, a loose-fitting tracksuit instead of designer clothes in size double-zero - she was unrecognizable from the person they'd once known her to be. "And all the black - it's very... very East Coast."
Claire stared sullenly at the two of them, not replying to either. Knox had just taken shoveled a forkful of pasta into his mouth, but as the tension mounted he struggled to swallow and make conversation. "Actually, we just need to talk to you about Peter Petrelli."
"Uncle Peter!" Noah, the child, interjected, waving his fork in the air above his head.
"Sweetie, put your fork down," Elle muttered to her son, placing her hand on his and guiding it back to the table.
"So he's been here?" Claire asked, venom in her voice. "You've been sheltering him?"
Gabriel and Elle looked at each other across the table; she nodded and he sighed, setting his fork down and rubbing the tops of his thighs with his palms - a nervous gesture. "He's been here," he admitted. "We haven't been sheltering him per se. We're not hiding him here, or protecting him, not in any way. We aren't supplying him with anything - not weapons, not cash, not information."
"He shows up sometimes for dinner," Elle continued. "Or sometimes at odd hours of the night. We give him a little to eat, a couch to sleep on - that's it."
"He's a terrorist," Claire said coolly. "How can you..."
Gabriel interrupted, holding up his hand to stop her. "He's saved my life at times, and I couldn't be more grateful. I can't turn him away, and I can't turn him in either. He's my brother, Claire."
Claire stifled a laugh, the kind of laugh that indicated she knew more than he did. Knox caught Claire glimpse at Elle, and saw a look they between them that spoke of a secret only they shared.
Knox turned his head towards Noah, the boy, whose seat was directly across from his own. Noah smiled at him as he smushed the back of his fork into his spaghetti, lifting it to watch the noodles fall one by one. It was amusing to the three-year-old at least, but Knox grinned back and nodded as each noodle hit the plate.
"You're funny, little man," Knox mouthed silently across the table.
"You're funny, too," Noah giggled back, their exchange unnoticed by the others at the table. Tensions rose around them; harsh words were exchanged, tempers flared, and accusations thrown about, but at least Noah Gray was oblivious to it, and could enjoy his spaghetti like a three-year-old should.
VII
They left miserable and unsatisfied, and not just because of Elle's cooking. Knox stalked towards the car with his hands shoved into his pockets until Claire rushed past him, hurdling towards the car with a huff. He looked over his shoulder and saw Noah waving at him through the front window, a spot of tomato sauce still caught in the corner of his smile.
He turned back towards Claire, a few steps ahead of him. "Who are those people to you?" he asked pointedly as she hurried as fast as she could without breaking into a flat out run. "Who are they to you, Claire?" Knox asked again, grasping her arm and yanking her to his side. "Don't you fucking dare walk away from me when I'm talking to you."
Claire's eyes narrowed as they met his. "Who do you fucking think you are?" she snarled, struggling to break free from his grip.
"You could barely hold it together in there, Claire," Knox hissed, shaking her vehemently. "Shit was about to go down, bitch, and there was a child there."
"Doesn't make a fucking difference," Claire growled, her eyes dark with hatred. "He doesn't deserve to live anymore than the rest of them do."
He sharply inhaled and then suddenly, pushing her away with such force that Claire struggled to keep her balance. He ground his fist in his opposite palm, cracking his knuckles one at a time, as he bit his tongue to keep from screaming.
"Now don't you fucking dare walk away from me," Claire yelled, straightening herself and stomping after him.
"I can't look at you anymore," Knox answered, hastening to the car.
"Why, because I'm not afraid to tell the truth?" she scoffed.
"Life may not mean much to you, Claire, but I'll tell you what - it's pretty important to the rest of us." Knox sighed angrily as he let himself into the driver's seat of their rented car, all keyed up and barely able to rein in his growing rancor.
"You're going soft," Claire remarked, almost flippant, as she grabbed her seatbelt, almost buckled it, and then released it, as though proving how useless such a thing was to her. When he didn't react, not with a cruel comment or even a huff or a grunt, she goaded him further. "What, do you want what they have in there?A nine-to-five gig, a wife to go home to? Never mind that she's sociopathic and he's a serial killer."
"I'm not saying that's what I'd want for myself." Knox replied, slow and deliberate. "But there ain't nothing wrong with that, and them that choose to live that way."
"With them? With that family?" Claire laughed hollowly. "Those people shouldn't be allowed to breed."
"Those people?" Knox asked, his temper rising in spite of himself. "Claire, those people are people just like us. We are those people. Daphne and Parkman are those people. Your parents are those people."
Claire turned her head sharply towards him, but he kept his eye on the road as he pulled away from the curb. There was silence and then Claire's voice came forth, small and childlike: "My parents weren't those people. Those people killed my parents."
"And you wouldn't hesitate to kill someone else's parents," Knox offered, but Claire had no reply.
He turned on the radio simply to quell the unbearable quiet that had fallen between them, and inwardly he missed the speed of travel that Daphne had provided.
VIII
Knox would have considered himself the winner of that argument, except that their fucking stopped abruptly afterwards. He normally wouldn't have let that bother him - it wasn't like she'd be hard to replace - but he had to see her day after day, and without the fucking, their partnership was quickly deteriorating.
Even when they weren't together, she was on his mind, haunting his thoughts. His body missed her; sometimes he'd wake at night, sweating and erect, caught in the middle of a momentary dream and unable to carry on or fall back asleep. He couldn't continue like that. He needed a distraction.
Daphne had had a baby girl but still hadn't returned to Pinehearst, and so on a rare day off Knox took two trains to get to Brooklyn to visit her at her apartment.
She was big for a newborn, long and chubby like her father, and when her head rested in the crook of his elbow, her tiny feet dangled over the edge of his other arm. She had a halo of blonde, wispy hair that barely stood out against the pinkness of her skin. The infant's weight felt awkward and uneven to him, and as he held her she wriggled and whimpered and twisted her face as though trying to sneeze or cry.
"I don't think she likes me," he said to Daphne, who smiled warmly at him but didn't contradict him.
"She's a little cranky today," Daphne ceded. "I think she gets that from her father."
"She gets his mail," he said suddenly, as though that particular detail, that tidbit of knowledge was offering itself of its own accord.
"Who gets whose mail?" Daphne asked, taking her infant back into her arms.
Knox rubbed his palms together, his fingers intertwining, as he hesitated to answer. "Claire gets his mail. Peter Petrelli's mail. At her apartment." His words came out stilted, jagged like edges of broken glass.
"How do you know that? What does that mean, you think?"
"I don't know what it means," Knox replied, ignoring her first question. Suddenly he regretting bringing it up, and wanted to forget the fact entirely. "Maybe she just moved into his old place, that's all."
"Did they live together at all?" Daphne wondered out loud. "I mean, I always heard that they were... Is that why... Do you think that..." She strumbled as she searched for the right phrase. "Were they a couple, do you suppose?" The newborn whined a little, and Daphne stuck out a finger for the infant to grasp in her tiny fingers.
"Daph, they're related - she's Arthur Petrelli's granddaughter, right? And he's the son. So he's her uncle."
"That's so weird," Daphne muttered, bouncing her baby gently. "She really hates him, though, like an ex-girlfriend would. I always kind of thought they maybe dated."
"That shit is fucked up," Knox said under his breath.
"Hey, watch the language," Daphne mumbled as she shifted the baby to her shoulder.
Knox folded his hands and looked down to the floor, wishing that he hadn't mentioned anything about it.
Characters: Knox/Claire, Matt/Daphne, Gabriel/Elle
Rating: R
Word Count: 5120
Disclaimer: I don't own any aspect of Heroes or its characters
Spoilers/Warnings: spoilers for Vol. 3
Summary: He didn't feel like himself around her, and he didn't like it. In fact, he loathed her, and the feeling was mutual.
A/N: First of a two-part fic. Thanks,
dragynflies, for the beta!The last thing Claire remembered feeling was fear. Fear as she lay helpless on her coffee table, brainpan open, Sylar's fingers running smoothly across her gray matter. Since then, there'd been a void, a world of sensations she couldn't even remember anymore - heat, for example, or pain, or the pleasure of human touch - a void filled in only by the unacknowledged, unending longing for some sort of human connection.
But in spite of this emotional vacuum, and in spite of the knowledge that she was, essentially, invincible, the scent of fear still lingered on her. It was what had attracted Knox to her in the first place. He had always used fear to feed his strength, but he could tell hers was different. It wasn't the blind terror of the people he normally needed, nor was it the prosaic kind of worry that lay hidden in the back of everyone's mind. It was fear that had aged like wine; it was a deep, nuanced emotion, distinctive in body and nose and flavor and effect. And, like wine, it was intoxicating.
He didn't feel like himself around her, and he didn't like it. In fact, he loathed her, and the feeling was mutual. The first time they'd met he'd been trying to capture her for Arthur Petrelli; the second time was when Arthur Petrelli reintroduced her as a new partner for Knox and Daphne.
"We don't need anybody else," Knox remarked. "Daph and I - we're doing fine on our own."
He wasn't lying. Knox and Daphne made a surprisingly good team. Even though she married the cop from L.A. who had always been on his case about straightening up, they managed to get along well with one another. They were perfect complements in many ways: she was more reckless, while he was cautious; she was speed, and he was strength; she was nice and normal, which paralled how horrible a person he could be.
"You are doing fine," Arthur conceded, "but you're getting a new mission, and for that, you need a new player on your team - someone who knows the game a little better, " Arthur waved his arm, and the young woman entered the room behind him. "This is my granddaughter, Claire Bennet."
The name was familiar. There was a Bennet who had been a Primatech agent, Knox recalled. If this Claire was any relation, it wasn't readily apparent - not in looks or in loyalties. Daphne folded her arms across her chest, and Knox narrowed his eyes, taking her in. She was too small, too young, wearing too much makeup, with her dark hair pulled back too severely. She was a girl trying too hard to look the part of a woman. The recognition was slow to come - she had been the one that got away.
"Hey," Daphne said, her voice hard and her posture lax, a little standoffish - but at least she was trying.
"And just what is our new mission?" Knox asked.
Arthur Petrelli folded his hands and piqued his eyebrows. "Peter Petrelli. You three have to take him down."
"Dead or alive?" Knox pressed.
"Alive, preferably," Arthur answered. "But I'm not all that picky." He scanned the room, his eyes moving from his glowering granddaughter to Knox and Daphne. The displeasure between the three of them was palpable. "And remember, kids - play nice," Arthur remarked before turning and leaving.
Another day, another mission botched by their failure to cooperate. They followed a lead to a Chicago warehouse that quickly turned out to be a trap. The three of them clearly outmatched the dozen or so Petrelli supporters that surrounded them, but both Knox and Claire barked out conflicting orders, and Daphne couldn't listen to one or the other and instead listened to neither. She grabbed them both and dashed back to Pinehearst headquarters in Fort Lee, taking them directly into a conference room without stopping.
They reamed into one another before the door even closed behind them. "You think you're in charge now?" Knox asked, stepping into Claire's space and glaring down into her eyes.
"I know Peter Petrelli better than anyone else," Claire said, answering his stare. "You need to let me take the lead on this."
"Guess what, Princess, Petrelli wasn't there just now," Knox yelled. "You were gonna get us all killed!"
"I was gonna get you killed," Claire hissed back.
"I feel like a fucking kindergarten teacher with you two. I don't have time for this," Daphne scolded, separating them with a hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart. "I told Matt I'd meet him at Molly's school play a half an hour ago." Daphne looked first at Claire and then at Knox before she shook her head. "Fine. Go ahead and kill each other, for all I care. I'm getting the hell out of here." The wind picked up as Daphne vanished in a flash of black clothes and blonde hair.
For a moment the tension in the room was palpable as Knox and Claire avoided meeting one another's eyes. But then Claire muttered something under her breath about Knox's incompetence, and Knox reacted by grabbing a chunk of her hair in his hand, throwing her head from side to side.
"Speak up, girl, I can't hear what you're saying," he snapped, turning her face towards his.
"What are you trying to do, scare me? Intimidate me?" A playfully wicked smile darted across Claire's lips for just a second; Knox wasn't even sure he'd seen it, so quickly had it come and gone. But Claire batted her lashes at him, her voice low and seductive as she told him, "This is just how I like it."
"I thought you couldn't feel anything," Knox growled, grasping her hair even more tightly, tilting her head back as their bodies came closer together. "You want me to rough you up?"
"It wouldn't hurt to try," Claire replied, and the play on words wasn't lost on Knox. He let go of her hair and dropped his arms to his sides, and Claire scowled in disappointment. Suddenly, though, Knox reached up and grabbed Claire's wrist, wrenching it so hard that he could hear the bones crack. As he gripped her arm he could feel them struggle to knit themselves back together underneath the skin and muscle.
"Nothing?" he asked, but Claire hadn't even flinched.
"Break my neck," Claire ordered. "Smash my face."
Obediently he grabbed her by the back of the neck and propelled her into the conference table. The pressboard tabletop shattered on impact, and Claire lay sprawled across the larger pieces, her head at an odd angle with the rest of her body. Knox held his breath for a moment until he saw her chest rise and fall again with the effort of breathing. Slowly she raised herself up, the wounds on her face seeping blood a deep and rich crimson hue. Even as the gashes healed, the blood remained, glistening and wet, as she turned around to face him again.
"Did that hurt?"
"You killed me a little bit that time," she replied. "But I still didn't feel it."
Knox inhaled sharply. "I'll do better next time."
"You'll do better now," Claire commanded icily.
"Claire..." Knox said, hesitant, "I'm just not feeling this." Immediately he regretted his choice of words.
In the next instant she pinned him to the wall, her strength belied by her small size. "I can make you feel it," Claire hissed into his ear. Suddenly she held his lobe between her teeth, her breath warm and moist. One hand slipped under his belt buckle, tugging it roughly, while the other wrapped itself behind his head, pulling him closer to her. "Fuck me, Knox. Fuck me hard."
Knox shuddered as all the blood flowed downwards, his veins pumping with adrenaline. He could feel his strength increase exponentially, but it wasn't because of Claire's residual fear anymore. It was because of his own fear and he reacted the only way he knew how - violently.
He grabbed her by the waist and shoved her against the wall, lifting her so she could wrap her legs around his torso. When she moaned, he couldn't stop himself from coming, but he valiantly thrust a few more times before his knees started shaking too hard for him to continue.
The two slid against the wall until they were sitting on the floor, tossing aside wedges of the broken pressboard tabletop as they shifted uncomfortably beside one another.
"Did you feel anything?"
"Not a damn thing." Claire straightened her clothing, "Don't you fucking dare tell anyone about this."
"Cross my heart," Knox said, tracing an X across his chest. "And hope to die."
Neither of them spoke of it the next day; in fact, they tried not to speak to one another at all. They understood each other through a series of glances and gestures, returning to the scene in Chicago to pick up any loose pieces.
As Claire investigated some filing cabinets overturned at another end of the warehouse floor, Daphne cornered Knox for questioning. "What happened between the two of you?" she asked.
"I don't know what you mean," Knox replied, feigning interest in the contents of a nearby trash barrel.
Daphne shoved her hands in her pockets, letting Knox sift through the garbage on his own. "Yesterday you were ready to kill each other, and today... today you're working together like peanut butter and jelly."
"Peanut butter and jelly?" Knox repeated, his voice a low chuckle. "Really? That's the best analogy you could come up with?"
"It's what's for lunch... again," Daphne remarked, pressing her lips into a skewed line and rolling her eyes.
"I don't know if you know this, but here at Pinehearst, every so often we get what's called a paycheck," Knox smiled as he stood up straight. He pushed the trash barrel aside. "Nothing of interest in here."
"This paycheck you speak of... it doesn't go far when you're trying to pay the rent for a Brooklyn apartment and send your stepdaughter to private school."
"I thought Parkman was working, too," Knox said.
"It's not like police officers are making bank," Daphne sighed. "Besides that, we've had to tighten our belts for extra expenses we're expecting."
"Extra expenses you're expecting?" Knox asked, feeling his blood run warm as he heard Daphne's heart pound a little faster than usual. She was nervous.
"Yeah... we're expecting," Daphne repeated.
Knox was silent for a moment, letting the meaning of her words sink in. Realization brought that wide smile back to his face slowly, and he cocked his head at her, knitting his eyebrows in an expression that was equally congratulatory and confused. "Way to go, Daph. Looks like my man Parkman finally got lucky. I was beginning to think maybe he wasn't man enough to knock you up."
Daphne laughed and punched him in the arm. "Jesus, Knox, don't say stuff like that about my husband!"
Knox could feel the corners of his smile extending to the edges of his face. "To be honest, I could never imagine you two doing it. He looks like he could crush you."
"Oh my God, Knox," Daphne laughed, nearly doubling over, not noticing Claire staring at the two of them from across the room. "That's gross. Don't think of me and him doing it at all!"
While Knox laughed with her, he met Claire's cool gaze. For a minute their eyes were locked, and Knox felt trapped in a way he couldn't explain.
"Don't tell anyone yet," Daphne told him as she wiped the happy tears from her eyes. "I'm serious. I don't know how Petrelli's gonna take it, and Matt wanted me to quit anyway. He's using this as extra ammunition now."
"Cross my heart and hope to die," Knox replied, his promise sealed by the requisite gesture as Claire was watching.
She invited him over for a fuck once, twice, three times, four times, so often he soon lost count. He knew she was using him to try and feel something, even something meaningless and fleeting, but as long as he got laid, he didn't care.
Each tryst was the same. They wasted no time in undressing each other, brutally forcing each other's backs against walls and doorways, pinning each other with harsh kisses. Knox pawed at her like an animal, and she responded in kind, sharply scratching his sides as she clutched him. She'd ride him mercilessly, grinding her hips against his as she leaned forward and clutched his shoulders. Brutally he'd pound away at her on the couch, on the floor, or on the bed, glistening with effort. He always came in frenzied titillation, and didn't care that she didn't come at all.
After one such instance, they were naked in her bed, together and yet not together at all. After the violence of their intimacy, they barely touched one another. They lay still in silence for a while, as though they were meditating, until Knox decided to break the tension. "Daphne's pregnant," he told her.
"There's a big surprise," Claire muttered as she threw the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. "She doesn't seem particularly careful." Her hair fell dark and straight down past her shoulders, interrupted only by the distinct kink left by the band that held her ponytail, and Knox turned on his side to catch a glimpse of her unclothed back. He appreciated how she didn't waste time with lingerie, just as they didn't waste time with other trappings of conventional relationships. No dates, no flowers, no cuddling or holding hands - just simple fucking, sometimes accompanied by a little conversation. But conversation was sometimes hard to make, and Knox resorted to sharing Daphne's secret in a desperate effort to buy more time with Claire.
"I told her I wouldn't tell anyone," Knox added. "So don't go spreading that knowledge quite yet."
"You're such a girl," Claire smiled wickedly, looking over her shoulder at him in a way that made his cock jump back to attention. With one arm he reached out to her again, a reckless attempt at a second round, but she rose to her feet and padded softly to the bathroom. She always left him wanting more.
"You won't tell?" Knox called after her, even as she disappeared behind a door.
"Cross my heart," she said back, caustically imitating him as her voice faded behind the sound of the starting shower. He knew the routine; he was to be gone before she got out, so he quickly rolled out of bed and gathered his scattered clothing.
He pulled his shirt on over his head as he exited the bedroom, and stepped into his pants as he padded down the hall to his shoes. He didn't quite understand how Claire afforded such posh digs in Manhattan, and figured that her partisan Pinehearst paycheck was significantly fatter than his. As he left this time, though, he glanced at the mail on the hall table as he stuffed his feet into his shoes, and a dirty, crumpled envelope caught his attention. He paused and pulled it out from under the rest of the stack.
It was addressed to Peter Petrelli.
He didn't know Claire's history with that house, nor with the people who occupied it, but the way he pace quickened and her face scowled as they approached made his blood thicken with something almost like fear - fear tainted with scorn and detachment. He half-regretted that Daphne hadn't come with them; she would have certainly balanced out Claire's seriousness, but she was already past her due date and looked about ready to pop. Besides that, this mission carried an extra element of danger. It felt as though they were walking right into the lion's den.
It was meant to be a peaceful mission, a chance to gather information and nothing more - Arthur Petrelli had been clear on this point. There wasn't even to be a threat of violence; he emphasized that he'd rather them leave empty-handed and alive. But no one answered the knock at the door, and Claire commanded that Knox break down the door.
"Wouldn't that be a little obvious?" Knox hesitated.
"What are you, afraid?" Claire sneered. Before he could reply, she punched through the stained glass detail on the door, reaching through the broken glass and unlocking the door from inside. She held her mangled fist in front of Knox's face, bits of glass already being forced from her flesh as she healed. Smug, she opened the door and led the way inside.
He examined the pictures on the mantelpiece. There were photos of a child alone, a blonde moppet who he would have thought was a girl if it weren't for the distinctly masculine vests and bow-ties he wore in the formal family portraits.
"This dude," Knox said, pointing to the man in the photograph, evidently the family patriarch, "this dude was the Sylar everyone was so fucking scared of?"
"He is Sylar," Claire hissed. "Don't let those goofy glasses fool you."
"I met him when he was working at Pinehearst, but this reminds me of some kids I used to beat up in high school," Knox said, emphatically thrusting his finger at the image of Gabriel Gray.
"He could take the lid off your skull before you had time to blink," Claire said flatly. She acted as though she knew the place well; she felt comfortable examining the contents of cabinets and cupboards and drawers. He followed her from the living room to the kitchen to another room, and her eyes widened involuntarily, unable to mask her surprise.
"A playroom?" Knox ventured, judging by the tiny furniture in primary colors and the Tonka trucks strewn across the floor.
"This used to be a study," Claire said breathlessly. "I thought we'd find something here, but it's just a bunch of damn toys."
The disappointed look on her face quickly turned diabolic, an expression Knox had gotten all too familiar with. "You got that look on your face again, Claire," he muttered. "Whatever you're thinking, it ain't a good idea."
"Sylar has the power to read an object's history," she said levelly. "Think his son has the same power?"
"There's no telling what his son can or can't do," he responded matter-of-factly. "If he can do anything at all."
"No matter, I guess," she leered. "Imagine his face when he plays with his child and realizes we've had sex on his son's table." She stepped towards Knox, reaching up and delicately flicking her tongue against his ear. She placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on the front of his pants, her fingers pinching his cock through the denim.
"Claire, that ain't right," Knox protested, even as her breath grew hotter and his shaft grew harder.
"C'mon, Knox," she insisted. "You sound like you're scared."
He wouldn't admit it, but just then Knox's heart jumped when he heard the sound of a car come up in the driveway; through the kitchen blinds he saw the blur of a minivan out of the corner of his eye. "Claire, they're here, they're home," he said hurriedly, grabbing her like she needed to be protected. He pulled her into the kitchen with him, where they came face to face with the man who used to call himself Sylar.
Gabriel Gray held his hands out in front of him defensively, ready for a fight if it came his way. He looked from Knox to Claire, bewildered. "You two broke into my house?" he asked, calm but confused.
"We didn't mean... we weren't going to..." Knox began.
"Yes," Claire interrupted, shaking her arm away from Knox's grasp. "We came looking for information."
"Arthur and I have an understanding," Gabriel told her. "We've agreed to keep out of each other's way, so no harm will come to anybody."
"We didn't mean to get in your way," Knox said, his blood heating with a fear all his own. "We just wanted to know what you know about Peter Petrelli."
"And that's it?"
"That's it."
Gabriel sighed and let his hands fall to his sides. "Why don't you have a seat at the table?" he asked. "My wife and son are waiting in the car. It is safe for them to come in now, right?"
"Yes, sir," Knox told him, but Claire's elbow connected sharply with his side.
"Don't call him sir," she hissed.
Their awkward dinner party felt like the beginning of a bad joke: two Pinehearst agents, a serial killer, a sociopath, and a toddler sit down for spaghetti. It was a terrible irony that the serial killer and the sociopath were the ones trying most earnestly to be civil and decent to the others.
"So, Claire, it's been a while since either of us have seen you," Gabriel said as he poured some wine for his guests. He smiled warmly, genuinely.
"I like your new hair color," Elle offered. She'd put on a little weight, or rather, never shed that which she gained during pregnancy, and had her hair cut in a short, manageable bob. No makeup, no jewelry, a loose-fitting tracksuit instead of designer clothes in size double-zero - she was unrecognizable from the person they'd once known her to be. "And all the black - it's very... very East Coast."
Claire stared sullenly at the two of them, not replying to either. Knox had just taken shoveled a forkful of pasta into his mouth, but as the tension mounted he struggled to swallow and make conversation. "Actually, we just need to talk to you about Peter Petrelli."
"Uncle Peter!" Noah, the child, interjected, waving his fork in the air above his head.
"Sweetie, put your fork down," Elle muttered to her son, placing her hand on his and guiding it back to the table.
"So he's been here?" Claire asked, venom in her voice. "You've been sheltering him?"
Gabriel and Elle looked at each other across the table; she nodded and he sighed, setting his fork down and rubbing the tops of his thighs with his palms - a nervous gesture. "He's been here," he admitted. "We haven't been sheltering him per se. We're not hiding him here, or protecting him, not in any way. We aren't supplying him with anything - not weapons, not cash, not information."
"He shows up sometimes for dinner," Elle continued. "Or sometimes at odd hours of the night. We give him a little to eat, a couch to sleep on - that's it."
"He's a terrorist," Claire said coolly. "How can you..."
Gabriel interrupted, holding up his hand to stop her. "He's saved my life at times, and I couldn't be more grateful. I can't turn him away, and I can't turn him in either. He's my brother, Claire."
Claire stifled a laugh, the kind of laugh that indicated she knew more than he did. Knox caught Claire glimpse at Elle, and saw a look they between them that spoke of a secret only they shared.
Knox turned his head towards Noah, the boy, whose seat was directly across from his own. Noah smiled at him as he smushed the back of his fork into his spaghetti, lifting it to watch the noodles fall one by one. It was amusing to the three-year-old at least, but Knox grinned back and nodded as each noodle hit the plate.
"You're funny, little man," Knox mouthed silently across the table.
"You're funny, too," Noah giggled back, their exchange unnoticed by the others at the table. Tensions rose around them; harsh words were exchanged, tempers flared, and accusations thrown about, but at least Noah Gray was oblivious to it, and could enjoy his spaghetti like a three-year-old should.
They left miserable and unsatisfied, and not just because of Elle's cooking. Knox stalked towards the car with his hands shoved into his pockets until Claire rushed past him, hurdling towards the car with a huff. He looked over his shoulder and saw Noah waving at him through the front window, a spot of tomato sauce still caught in the corner of his smile.
He turned back towards Claire, a few steps ahead of him. "Who are those people to you?" he asked pointedly as she hurried as fast as she could without breaking into a flat out run. "Who are they to you, Claire?" Knox asked again, grasping her arm and yanking her to his side. "Don't you fucking dare walk away from me when I'm talking to you."
Claire's eyes narrowed as they met his. "Who do you fucking think you are?" she snarled, struggling to break free from his grip.
"You could barely hold it together in there, Claire," Knox hissed, shaking her vehemently. "Shit was about to go down, bitch, and there was a child there."
"Doesn't make a fucking difference," Claire growled, her eyes dark with hatred. "He doesn't deserve to live anymore than the rest of them do."
He sharply inhaled and then suddenly, pushing her away with such force that Claire struggled to keep her balance. He ground his fist in his opposite palm, cracking his knuckles one at a time, as he bit his tongue to keep from screaming.
"Now don't you fucking dare walk away from me," Claire yelled, straightening herself and stomping after him.
"I can't look at you anymore," Knox answered, hastening to the car.
"Why, because I'm not afraid to tell the truth?" she scoffed.
"Life may not mean much to you, Claire, but I'll tell you what - it's pretty important to the rest of us." Knox sighed angrily as he let himself into the driver's seat of their rented car, all keyed up and barely able to rein in his growing rancor.
"You're going soft," Claire remarked, almost flippant, as she grabbed her seatbelt, almost buckled it, and then released it, as though proving how useless such a thing was to her. When he didn't react, not with a cruel comment or even a huff or a grunt, she goaded him further. "What, do you want what they have in there?A nine-to-five gig, a wife to go home to? Never mind that she's sociopathic and he's a serial killer."
"I'm not saying that's what I'd want for myself." Knox replied, slow and deliberate. "But there ain't nothing wrong with that, and them that choose to live that way."
"With them? With that family?" Claire laughed hollowly. "Those people shouldn't be allowed to breed."
"Those people?" Knox asked, his temper rising in spite of himself. "Claire, those people are people just like us. We are those people. Daphne and Parkman are those people. Your parents are those people."
Claire turned her head sharply towards him, but he kept his eye on the road as he pulled away from the curb. There was silence and then Claire's voice came forth, small and childlike: "My parents weren't those people. Those people killed my parents."
"And you wouldn't hesitate to kill someone else's parents," Knox offered, but Claire had no reply.
He turned on the radio simply to quell the unbearable quiet that had fallen between them, and inwardly he missed the speed of travel that Daphne had provided.
Knox would have considered himself the winner of that argument, except that their fucking stopped abruptly afterwards. He normally wouldn't have let that bother him - it wasn't like she'd be hard to replace - but he had to see her day after day, and without the fucking, their partnership was quickly deteriorating.
Even when they weren't together, she was on his mind, haunting his thoughts. His body missed her; sometimes he'd wake at night, sweating and erect, caught in the middle of a momentary dream and unable to carry on or fall back asleep. He couldn't continue like that. He needed a distraction.
Daphne had had a baby girl but still hadn't returned to Pinehearst, and so on a rare day off Knox took two trains to get to Brooklyn to visit her at her apartment.
She was big for a newborn, long and chubby like her father, and when her head rested in the crook of his elbow, her tiny feet dangled over the edge of his other arm. She had a halo of blonde, wispy hair that barely stood out against the pinkness of her skin. The infant's weight felt awkward and uneven to him, and as he held her she wriggled and whimpered and twisted her face as though trying to sneeze or cry.
"I don't think she likes me," he said to Daphne, who smiled warmly at him but didn't contradict him.
"She's a little cranky today," Daphne ceded. "I think she gets that from her father."
"She gets his mail," he said suddenly, as though that particular detail, that tidbit of knowledge was offering itself of its own accord.
"Who gets whose mail?" Daphne asked, taking her infant back into her arms.
Knox rubbed his palms together, his fingers intertwining, as he hesitated to answer. "Claire gets his mail. Peter Petrelli's mail. At her apartment." His words came out stilted, jagged like edges of broken glass.
"How do you know that? What does that mean, you think?"
"I don't know what it means," Knox replied, ignoring her first question. Suddenly he regretting bringing it up, and wanted to forget the fact entirely. "Maybe she just moved into his old place, that's all."
"Did they live together at all?" Daphne wondered out loud. "I mean, I always heard that they were... Is that why... Do you think that..." She strumbled as she searched for the right phrase. "Were they a couple, do you suppose?" The newborn whined a little, and Daphne stuck out a finger for the infant to grasp in her tiny fingers.
"Daph, they're related - she's Arthur Petrelli's granddaughter, right? And he's the son. So he's her uncle."
"That's so weird," Daphne muttered, bouncing her baby gently. "She really hates him, though, like an ex-girlfriend would. I always kind of thought they maybe dated."
"That shit is fucked up," Knox said under his breath.
"Hey, watch the language," Daphne mumbled as she shifted the baby to her shoulder.
Knox folded his hands and looked down to the floor, wishing that he hadn't mentioned anything about it.
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But this story did a really good job of getting into the IABD AU. This is the most sympathetic version of Knox I've ever read. And I'm kind of into it now! xD
I think the last scene is my favorite. Awww, talking about Petrellicest over a newborn. xD!!!
Woohoo, waiting for part 2!
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No saying "shit" or "fuck" in front of the baby, but it's okay to talk about incest. :P
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Claire/Knox is really growing on me. Can't wait for part 2 :)
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