Isaac's loft, November 7th

[watchmakers_son]

[From here.]

Take your hand. Tighten it into a fist, as hard as you can. Hold it.

Keep holding it.

Hold it even as the muscles seize up, fingertips starting to tingle from lack of blood, cramps spreading down your entire arm and into your shoulder; hold it without the slightest change in pressure, knowing that if you let go -- even for a second -- you might bleed to death.

Add in the searing pain from the wound itself every time he moves or so much as breathes, and it may be understandable why Sylar's progress through the bar is labored at best.

He's several feet from the front door when a loud clatter catches his attention; he turns his head, watching Kaylee slam open the lake door with a gurney in tow.

He's still watching when the white-haired doctor sprints into the infirmary.

Comments

[bannion_sight]

Startled, she jerks backward and is brought up short by the dumpster.

Clear gray eyes are wide as Kim stares at him.

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

"Like I said. Don't scream. I'm not going to hurt you." He holds up his hands, empty. "Now -- what's this about werewolves and cannibals?"

[bannion_sight]

"...well for one, they're not the same thing," she manages, after a moment. The mention of 'cannibals' is a sharp reminder, though, and the glance she throws toward the mouth of the alley is very nearly frantic.

"Look, I can't stay here -- he could be coming after me --"

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

Claude holds out his right hand to her. "Harder, if he can't see you." Beat. "And what do you mean, they're not the same thing? Everybody knows that."

[bannion_sight]

"No, the werewolf is the one who doesn't want to kill me," she retorts.

It's been a long day, to say the least, and Kim's nerves are shot. She doesn't pay any attention to his hand; she doesn't seem to have noticed it.

"And there's nothing wrong with his eyesight--"

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

That gets a very large, very obvious eyeroll -- and he sticks out his hand again. "Look. You want to get out of sight? Take my hand."

[bannion_sight]

It takes a second for his meaning to sink in, and even then, Kim hesitates--

--but considering the alternatives, not for long.

She reaches out and puts her hand in his.

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

Nothing changes.






From Kim's perspective, anyhow. Claude glances over his shoulder. "All right." He eyes her. "Milliways, you said. You come from there?"

[bannion_sight]

"How did you-- never mind."

Impatient with herself, Kim shakes her head as if to clear it.

"Yes, that's where I-- that's where he brought me from."

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

"Pretty stupid of you," is his only comment. "And you want to go back, is that it?"

[bannion_sight]

Nerves vanish under a rush of temper.

"Oh thanks ever so-- you heard the rest of it, obviously, so how did you miss the part about me being kidnapped? I didn't mean to come here, and of course I want to go back!"

Even as she snaps at him, Kim closes her eyes for a second, trying to find some sort of balance.

"Sorry. It's just-- it's been a really bad -- and I don't know why you're helping me, you don't even know me--"

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

"And the outbursts aren't exactly helping," Claude points out.

Cruelly.

"Eats brains, you said." He looks over his shoulder again. "You might try keeping your voice down. It doesn't extend to noise."

[bannion_sight]

She hadn't thought, hadn't been paying attention enough to realize--

That's how Sylar got hold of you in the first place, now isn't it?

Even as Kim feels the now-familiar cold chill of fear rip through her, her fingers tighten on the stranger's. Kim moves an unconscious step closer to him, turning to look for herself.

There's no sign of anyone, and her breath rushes out in a quiet sigh.

"That's what they said." It's a lot quieter than before, barely above a whisper. "And then I saw -- I saw what he did to--"

A beat.

"His skull was empty. And hers, too. And I-- if he's after me..."

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

Claude's eyes narrow -- almost professionally. "You saw," he says carefully. "Tell me this, since it escaped another person of my acquaintance -- given that there's a genetic component to what I can do, and that this...whoever he is...is interested in brains -- "

Pause.

And he shakes his head. "It doesn't matter." And that's almost gentle. "Don't have time for that, if I'm right, so -- put it this way." He's taller than she is; he looks down at her now. "You're lucky you literally ran into me. More than you know. Now. What's your name?"

[bannion_sight]

"It-- he-- "

She stops there, looking back up at him.

"Kim," she says, after a moment. "I'm Kim Ford."

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

"Nice to meet you, Kim."

Perfunctory at best -- but with the air of ritual.

"Now, let's run for our lives."








It's more like a brisk walk, really.

[bannion_sight]

She stays close by his side, watching with no small sense of wonder as they thread their way around people who pay no attention to them whatsoever.

"What's your name?" she asks eventually, once they reach a short stretch of sidewalk with no one in earshot.

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

"Claude Raines," he answers without missing a beat -- or looking at her. "Bit of a hike, but it shouldn't be too bad. Least it's not raining -- that gets unpleasant. Just brains, and not anything else?"

[bannion_sight]

"It's, um, nice to meet you too," she says. "Especially considering, well, everything."

A pause, while they turn a corner.

"Not that I noticed."

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

"Mind telling me exactly what you did notice?"

His is the kind of tone that's brisk enough to masquerade as an idle inquiry.

[bannion_sight]

Her reply comes without hesitation.

"There were -- he had these paintings."

A beat.

"They weren't his. Well, not exactly."

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

Painter.

Claude knows of a painter.

"Not exactly," he repeats, glancing down at Kim.

[bannion_sight]

"He killed the man who painted them. And now he paints them instead."

Kim's voice is low.

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

Briefly, he wonders if Peter Petrelli knows. Decides it's not an issue.

Some sponges are born.

Some sponges are -- apparently -- made.

"With fava beans and a nice chianti," Claude mutters to himself. "Listen -- how often does he show up in Milliways? Any idea?"

[bannion_sight]

"I never even saw him before today," Kim tells him. "Or ever heard anything about him."

But you can bet she'll be paying more attention in the future.