Strange New World

Summary: The immortal duo now finds themselves living in the 23rd century. And after 300 hundred years of bitter bickering and trying to off each other Claire has decided that she's bored out of her skull with all things Earth, including Sylar.

Our dear Cheerleader wants off this rock in the worst possible way to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and blah, blah, blah…so she enlists in Starfleet in the hopes of putting as many light years between her and her eternal nemesis.

But what happens when Sylar is not quite ready to let her go? And to make matters worse when she inadvertently catches the attention of a certain half-Vulcan commander, Mr. Gray will be soon be catapulted into a contest to win Claire's heart.

It's logic versus psychosis, people. Who will win?

AU Star Trek 2009/Heroes crossover

Written for BlueArcticWolf

Pairings: Sylar/Claire, Spock/Claire guest starring Kirk and Uhura

Rated T for some strong language and maybe a wee bit of sexual innuendo

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or Heroes. Both universes belong to Paramount and NBC Universal respectively. Please don't sue me- I'm just a crazy fan girl trying to have some fun.

Chapter One

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"That's it! It's official. You've finally lost your mind. I never thought I'd live to see the day. But I was wrong. You've gone certifiably, unequivocally and entirely off your rocker!"

While Sylar's words clearly express his outrage over my latest decision, I'm unfazed by his apparent indignation. Besides what's done is done. There's no turning back now.

"I'm off my rocker? Are you shitting me? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Really Sylar, have you met yourself? You're the textbook definition of insanity!"

I know that what I've just said hit the man below the belt, yet right now I'm so mad I could spit nails. What I am angry about? Perhaps it's the fact that even after all these years, I still hate it when someone tells me what I can or can't do.

Yet in the face of my verbal affront, Sylar allows the insult to fall by the wayside…for now. Though I'm pretty certain he wants to dispense with all the bullshit and address the more pressing issues which have brought him to San Francisco for this impromptu visit to my Castro Street apartment.

This is actually the first time I've laid on eyes on the man in almost 75 years. Its uncanny how he's always seemed to know right where to find me. If I hadn't been privy to the fact that Molly Walker had lived until the ripe old age of 92, I could have sworn he'd ripped her ability right out of her sweet little head. Nevertheless, exactly how this man has always managed to track me down continues to remain a mystery.

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The last time we'd seen each other had been in Tulsa, Oklahoma at a seedy motel on the shady side of town. We were lonely, horny and trying so hard to get drunk so I figured that as long as the mescal kept flowing I'd throw old Sylar a bone…or had it been the other way around?

I can't remember. Or maybe I chose not to.

Anyway, it had been fun until he had made the fatal mistake of mentioning the fact that it would have been Peter's 204th birthday that night.

All it had taken was just one casual remark to summon up all the hate I still carried around for the man I'd known as Sylar. Needless to say our happy reunion had ended abruptly when I plunged the jagged blade of a Bowie knife deep into his left thigh, severing his femoral artery in the process. I remember not even batting an eyelash as I left him to bleed out on the very bed I'd just screwed him on.

Sounds violent, right? But that's the way it had always between us. After our almost 20 year stint in New York, we'd opted to hook up once or twice every decade or so.

Funny how we couldn't live together and yet we still haven't learned to live apart.

Sometimes our rendezvous took place by sheer coincidence, other times by design. The locations varied, fashions came and went, but Sylar and I always remained unvarying. Two immortals cursed to repeat history over and over again. It was the same pattern every time; fighting and fucking until one pissed the other off enough to disappear for a few decades.

Wash, rinse, repeat…

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"Starfleet, Claire?" his anxious tirade suddenly stirs me from my thoughts. "Are you serious? You can't expect me to believe that you'd actually want to go traipsing across the galaxy to parts unknown? C'mon, you couldn't even stand the almost two hour subway ride from Queens to Manhattan when we lived in New York! Tell me how are you going to survive being stuck on some godforsaken starship for years at a time?"

Jesus, what whiner, I fire off the nasty notion from the back of my mind as I toss my long golden hair over my shoulder. Meanwhile my eyes have narrowed into twin emerald slits of loathing as I continue to glare at the tall, imposing apparition that's currently darkening my doorstep.

"Look, Sylar," I haughtily declare, "First of all I'm a big enough girl to make my own decisions. And I've decided to enlist in Starfleet. I report to the Academy tomorrow morning at 0800. End of story. Secondly, where I go 'traipsing' is my own goddamned business, not yours…not anymore."

I hold back an audible gasp as I watch the blood drain from Sylar's already pallid countenance. And a twinge of regret starts to germinate within me the moment I see that familiar flicker of hope extinguish within depths of his eyes.

The ever present specter of his arrogance is gone and surprisingly I'm rather saddened by it. But whatever he's come to say doesn't matter to me anymore and he knows it. It's apparent in the way his shoulders have slumped forward in defeat. Sylar is a man resigned as he gives off the appearance of someone having taken the wind out of his sails.

And despite this, he tries one more time to change my mind, "So that's it then, huh? Off to the final frontier without even a backwards glance? What about us, Claire? Can you honestly tell me that I don't still mean something to you? Please, don't this. I need you."

Although his plea resonates with me somewhat I'm still resolute to go through with my plans. I lower my gaze as a sigh of frustration slips past my lips.

"I'm tired, Gabriel," I whisper softly with the full knowledge that using his Christian name will get him to listen to me. I can feel the weight of his stare bore into me as I continue, "I'm sick and tired of this world and its constant reminders of everyone I've lost. Don't you understand? Earth is just one big grave yard to me now and I want off!"

For a minute or two there's only silence as a speechless Sylar processes my sorrowful revelation. He closes his eyes in a futile attempt to hold back the glistening tears.

It's too late, I've already seen them. And while I'm to some extent stunned by this rare occurrence, its manifestation fails to move me. Sylar, sensing my lack of compassion changes tactics again when he lets his infamous temper take center stage.

"Poor little Claire. It's always about you, isn't it? To hell with what I want, right?" he seethes.

I watch dispassionately as blue sparks of electricity start to dance across his fingers in an almost involuntary act of rage.

"What happened to forever Claire?" he rants at the top of his lungs. "You always told me we'd have forever to figure out whatever this is…this thing we have between us! How are we supposed to do that when you're somewhere out there? Tell me, Claire. TELL ME!"

As intimidating as he tries to be I know better than most that Sylar's imperious roar is all for show. You see the big bad Boogeyman is no more. He's been declawed for almost three centuries. Ever since Samuel Sullivan helped him tap into his empathy, Sylar's killer instinct has all but vanished. Oh don't get me wrong, he could still cause a world of hurt if he were so inclined. His heart though just wouldn't be in it.

Still…his words cause me to cringe a little, but I stand my ground. Trying my best to remain calm I slowly regulate my breathing as I mentally summon the teachings of Surak, the great philosopher, founder of modern Vulcan society.

His views on a more logical approach to life's tribulations have only recently become a passion of mine. In fact book one of the Kir'Shara specifically states that any conflict, no matter how great, can be resolved when the emotional component is eliminated. Only then can an individual think more clearly and allow logic to dictate the inevitable and correct course of action.

And right now logic is telling me that my argument with Sylar is futile and pointless- he's most definitely overstayed his welcome. So as my small lithe body continues to block him from entering my home, I try to conjure up a way to bid him a not-so-fond goodnight.

"Are you quite finished?" I ask with feigned indifference after his male posturing had died down somewhat.

"Yes," he hisses between clenched teeth, putting extra emphasis on the 'S' like some slithering serpent.

"Good. Now listen up. We had our shot Gabe, but we blew it. We're just no good together; we're too different. Besides even if for some miracle I chose to stay, what would change between us?

Yeah, maybe it'll be great, for what, a week or two? But then what? You can't stand there and deny that we wouldn't be at each other's throats again. Besides weren't you the one that said I should broaden my horizons and explore my options?" My argument, though lacking in eloquence, was still for the most part logically sound.

Surak would be so proud!

"Yes, I did say those things…but I what meant at the time was that we should explore those horizons together, right here on terra firma-not in the far off fringes of outer freakin' space."

That's it, I've heard enough. He's just landed on my last nerve and he's now tap dancing on it.

"Good night, Sylar. It's time for you to go." I announce, with some irritation. But before I could tell the computer to slide the door shut in his face, he suddenly pulls me into his arms to silence my command with a soul stealing kiss.

At first I try to push him off me. But Gabriel can be a persistent son of a bitch, especially when he's going for the gusto. Dang gum it, the man can still lay on a fat juicy one like nobody else. Good Lord in Heaven, what he does with just his mouth, teeth and tongue should be outlawed in at least 10 different star systems within the Federation, perhaps maybe even the Klingon Empire too.

Alarms bells start to go off as a little voice in the back of head tells me this is wrong. It's not logical to be kissing Sylar. I shouldn't allow him to dissuade me from my destiny or let my emotions to get the best of me.

But oh God, when I feel his fingers run through my hair as his teeth start to tug at my bottom lip before his tongue slips inside my waiting mouth...

Surak and logic be damned!

I go weak at the knees as I start to return his kisses with equal fervor. And just as I begin to enjoy myself, the bastard brings our lip-lock to a quick and unceremonious end. My eyes fly open only to find the smug expression plastered all over Sylar's face.

"Well, Claire-Bear. That was quite… revealing," he drawls out almost obscenely. "You actually think that living and working amongst extra-terrestrials will make you feel less of freak? How sad Claire, that even after all this time you still think so little of yourself and your gift."

Crap! I realize now that I've been tricked. I'd forgotten all about Lydia's ability. He probably got a good read on my insecurities and knowing that now only sets me off again.

"Out Sylar! Get the hell out of my apartment and my life!"

Raising his hands up in surrender, he finally turns to go. "Okay princess, have it your way. Just be careful what you wish for, you just might get it this time." His smirk is still in place as he says this but his eyes are filled with sadness and longing.

"Goodbye Sylar," I faintly whisper as I watch him turn around to start walking down the corridor that leads to the building's exit. Only after he's completely out of my sight do I beckon the computer to do my bidding

"Computer, close and lock door." Not that any security device would keep a man like Sylar out but it still makes me feel a little better to know there is some semblance of protection.

And now that he's gone, I can finally get ready for bed. Soon enough I've slipped into my pajamas and crack open a bottle of Denebian wine. Raising the glass of sparkling blue liquid, I toast to my shiny new future and to what I hope to be a stellar career with Starfleet.

TBC