For Now, I'm Your Worst Enemy


claire_icon.gif gabriel_icon.gif

Scene Title For Now, I'm Your Worst Enemy
Synopsis Gabriel seeks out Claire at The Garden to give her a warning about his clone 'Sylar.'
Date April 09, 2010

The Garden

Shovels stick into snow gone compact and hard underfoot, a path painstakingly carved to the door of the Garden, although nearing eight feet of snow— it's something of a losing battle. It still climbs higher than it should up the walls, but hard labour has kept the threat of getting snowed in at bay, for the time being. Continual clouds disguise a moon, but the snow still seems to glow under whatever light is available, crunching under Gabriel's feet as they sink up to the ankles every step of the way.

There are ways he could sneak in. Doesn't. Perhaps for the sake of energy, or maybe he's comin' down with that killer flu that's been so talked about— or maybe not.

Maybe not, because when he does get to the door, he doesn't knock. Doesn't even take his hands out from his pockets or look up, seamlessly passing through the solid door and letting out a breath of air at the sudden shock of warmth and cosiness. In comparison to the brittle chill behind him, it's practically painful. His footsteps creak in the immediate space, but he goes no further from there. Goes to unwind his scarf, and peel off his gloves.

There is a young woman paused on the stairs, on her way downs them, hand resting lightly on the rail. Eyes widened slightly as she had just watched Gabriel passes through the door. "I don't remember you being able to do that, Gabriel. Or maybe that is one of the memories I lost." Her voice soft in the somewhat quieted house, most having settled down in their rooms. After a moment of hesitation, Claire finishes descending the stairs, boots making the aged wood creak.

Claire Bennet doesn't look the same as she did on the mission. Blonde hair has been dyed dark brown, like it use to be. It's pulled into a tight pony tail on the back of her head, giving her a much more severe look. Arms are folded against the chill in the room. Even after the talk on the aircraft carrier, the young regenerator can't help but be somewhat guarded around him.

"So what brings you around?" There is no malice in her words, simple curiosity. Her head tilts to one sides a bit, ponytail sent lightly swinging behind her, as she studies him.

Gabriel looks almost entirely the same since she saw him last. Hair a little longer, but just as unshaven, just as doggish proportionate around the nose and jaw, if bundled heavier in wools and leathers against the cold. His boots make meltwater prints on the ground, and in the same way something warm radiates heat when drawn from the oven, he kind of radiates the stunning cold of outside. He's not making himself at home — pockets his gloves, yes, lets his scarf hang loose around his neck, but doesn't take off his coat.

Always in a perpetual state of being about to leave. He swings his amber brown gaze up to regard the young woman as she makes her way down to the ground floor, roaming a look down to her boots before he speaks. "I had somethi— "


That would be his phone, and he raises a hand with his index finger raised, to say one moment as he fishes the device from his pocket, thumbs a button down, and frowns at the message he receives. Blinks before subtlely shaking his head and dropping the phone back into the depths of his coat pocket, looks back up at Claire with that very human moment of trying to remember exactly what he was saying. Goes a different direction, anyway. "I heard you were here, and I thought I might drop by," sounds kind of insincere, wandering another step further.

Moving to the armchair closer to the dying fire, Claire settles on the edge of the chair. It's a little odd for her to see him looking human, her mind still trying to quell her fear of the man, not to mention the fact that he's alive. The tip of her tongue touches her bottom lip as she glances at the fire, arms unfolding to pick up the poker to try to coax the fire some.

At his words, She can't help but to look surprised, even if it does sound insincere. "Eileen told you I take it?" She asks, sounding just a curious, the poker replaced. A small smile tugs up the corner of her mouth. "I — " There is a moment before she shakes her own head. "Sorry… I guess I should be surprised to see you standing there. I mean. Last time I saw you, we thought you were dead." A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, though it doesn't stay long, fingers move to rub at her forehead, "But then seems lately a lot of people from that mission are not as dead as thought."

"For… what it is worth, I'm glad it wasn't true…" Claire has had a lot of time to think about the talk on the aircraft carrier. "It seemed wrong that you died, especially after… we talked."

Gabriel is looking floorwards, at the moment, as if maybe he could see through it — he can't, actually, but the man beneath the floorboards can. There is no focus to Gabriel's gaze and a furrow of confusion in his brow, before his mouth twists in a kind of callous expression. Some venn diagram of mutual awareness brushing the same orbit until they move on. Gabriel decides not to ask about the basement, and instead trails after her towards the fire, though doesn't step within its range of warmth and light.

"Yeah, well. You might change your mind." He lifts a hand, but rather than the intention of unleashing some kind of power with which to attack her for the twenty-billionth time, his fingers splay. It's a gesture to assure not to worry. Not about him.

His hands go back into his pockets. "Something came up and you'll probably be in danger. You're probably okay here, but you should know that if you see me again after tonight, just start shooting. It doesn't matter. Wait for Eileen's word on that situation changing if it does, but for now, I'm your worst enemy."

Brows draw down in confusion, the young regenerator starts to slowly sit straighter in the chair, feet shifting slight, until he holds up the hand. Claire doesn't fully relax, but she doesn't look ready to flee either, her shoulders lower as she forces some of the tension out of them. A work in progress, but better then before.

"Wha — what's up?" The ex-cheerleader asks suddenly very worried, she does finally rise to her feet again, though she only shifts closer to the fire, letting the radiating heat warm her, hands rubbing lightly along her upper arms as she studies him uncertainly. A part of her doesn't feel comfortable sitting after those words. "Why the suddenly shift from wanting some sort of truce to wanting me to start shooting you on sight?" Just saying it out loud, sounds absurd.

It's not going to get any more normal, something Gabriel has subjected himself to, indicated by the weary tip of his brows as he orders his explanation. Fortunately, they both have a point of reference. "You remember what happened to Peter when he screwed himself over with that cloning ability," he says, voice flat, recalling a particularly unpleasant experience. "There were two of them, with minds of their own. I'm in a similar situation — except this is how the ability was supposed to work." For the damn record.

Unlike Peter's epic mistake, this was a mistake inherent in his brand of cloning — a point likely no one cares about but Gabriel. "There's another one of me out there. They're calling that one 'Sylar'. He'd probably do anything to get his hands on you.

"I'd know," he adds, lifting an eyebrow. "And if you think me getting that power would be a disaster, this doesn't even compare."

"How can I forget?" Claire says rather flatly, that memory, at least, wasn't wiped out in Madagascar. She turns to lean a shoulder against the mantle of the fireplace, arms moving to refold, as she relaxes a little bit more, eyes drop to the crackle of the fire, it washes her face in it's faint orange glow.

"So there is one out there like the old you…" The young woman looks very concerned as her gaze lifts again, he's only a black silhouette as her eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the rest of the room.

"Thank you." And Claire sounds like she actually means it. "I mean, I know your not doing it out of concern for me." A small smile plays on her lips and her gaze drifts away. "And that's fine, cause I agree your right it would be… really, really bad. Luckily, I have no plans on going too many places unless, Messiah asks me too. And then at least, I'll be safer with others."

Gabriel's head tilts a little to the side at this assessment: the old you. It seems to be the running pattern of understanding for many and like before, he doesn't object. It's probably not so far off the mark. The splodgy light-adjusting silhouette of Gabriel turns its profile to Claire, eyeing the way he came in as if assessing how soon he wants to brave the unwelcome late stay of winter. "Strength in numbers," he agrees, with some wryness, a dry chuckle flagging on the end of his statement.

Little joke. "He likes to find them alone, but he won't care about sweeping anyone else out of the way.

"It's been a while since I've even felt him. I think he might have skipped town for a while — but he won't stay away. Assume he's alive and dangerous until someone who isn't me tells you otherwise." He starts for the door, now, his back turned to her, an expanse of grey-black mottled wool glittering with fallen snow that's only had a little time to melt in.

"I will." Claire says as he turns his back to her, arms unfold and a hand rests against the mantle to push away from it, following a few paces behind. "I'm not exactly the scared cheerleader I was back then, hopefully, I won't be so easy a target." She's been warned and she won't trust motives until told so. The tips of her fingers slide into the pockets of her jeans, pausing even before he reaches the door, she almost doesn't say anything else, but something prompts her to speak up again.

"It's good to know your not dead, Gabriel." The words are soft, his name not said with disgust like in the past, as Claire watches his retreating back. The young woman starts to step backwards toward the stairs, whatever she came down for, forgotten for a the time being.

"I hope we can talk again, once this situation blows over." Something he possible never expected to hear from the ex-cheerleader, she never thought she would.

There's a slight glance over his shoulder, as if disarmed for the fraction of the moment that follows that statement— before he snorts, hands up to wrap his scarf tighter around his throat. "It's true, we have so much to catch up on," Gabriel says, words acerbic and bone-dry of anything close to sincerity. Another scoping look up and down, before he finishes with, "Don't get killed, cheerleader." A hand out, palm meeting the door — there's a delay, just a second, before his arm sinks through it.

Swiftly, Gabriel steps through solid would, the flick of his coat and scarf trailing after him, leaving water footsteps from outside in his wake.

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