dirty_angelfic

Angel With a Dirty Face (3/-)

2009-06-14T05:39:01Z

Title: Angel with a Dirty Face
Author: x5649
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Sylar, OC (Fiona Gillespie)
Spoilers: Potentially for season one and two
Summary: My first Heroes fic. I suck at summaries though... so umm... just read it. Its set shortly after the season two finale. I haven't seen season three yet, so there won't be any spoilers and in my mind it hasn't happened.
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING! Title comes from the song "Angel With a Dirty Face" by Lou Gramm

Sylar managed to unlock the door and pry it open, while still holding Fiona. He carried her up the stairs into her apartment. For a moment he looked around, then found the hallway that led to her bedroom. He set her down on the bed and tucked her hair behind her ear then smiled.

Gabriel leaned down and placed a small kiss on her forehead. “It was so nice to meet you Fiona. You have no idea how helpful you’ve been.” He stood straight, his sweet smile turning into a more monstrous, hungry smirk as he raised his left hand, index finger extended. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind and then opened them slowly to find a bit of blood beginning to trickled down from her forehead.

After achieving what was little more than a small cut along her forehead, he stopped. Breathing heavily he leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. Damn it. It was clear now that he was still lacking the strength in his ability. Killing her would not be as easy as the old man in London. She was young, and even drunk as she was and passed out, there was a chance she might wake up and fight back. No, he decided. The best course of action was to wait. While he loved the thrill of the kill and the acquiring of new abilities, he had learned something useful out of the debacle that was Maya. The way she was so easily manipulated. He enjoyed the power he had over her, while having no real power at all.

Suddenly the idea of waiting a little longer did not seem so bad, as he looked down at the girl who slept blissfully unaware of what he was thinking. He sat down on the edge of her bed, his fingers ran listlessly through her disheveled hair. “We’re going to have so much fun, Fiona,” he whispered, careful not to let his low voice wake her up. Not that his voice would wake her up if attempting to cut into her skull didn’t even cause her to flinch.

Sylar sat there for a few minutes, watching her chest rise and fall slowly. Then he stood, careful not to disturb her. He pulled the curtains shut to block the sun when it rose, and made his way to the door. He stopped as he passed by the kitchen, and spotted a small coffee maker sitting on a the counter. A sign of good faith? He searched around her kitchen for the coffee grounds and set the timer to start in the morning, leaving her a note.

    Fiona,
    Thought this would help with the hangover.

    ~~Sylar~~ Baby

He grabbed her keys and locked the doors behind him as he left her apartment and then the studio.

Fiona woke up to a piercing pain in her temples. Hangovers were the worst part of birthdays for her. She was always excited about her birthday, but dreaded it as well, for the day after. She looked to the window, expecting to be blinded by the sun, as she was every morning. But her curtains were pulled shut. She sat up a little, propping herself up on one arm, while raising the other to her head. She could feel the remnants of crusty dried blood on her forehead. Did I fall? She looked around her room, wondering for a moment how she even got back to the apartment. A faint smile fell upon her face as she remembered the foggy events of night before. “Baby,” she whispered.

She took a deep breath, the soothing aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. He stayed? She sat up slowly and swung her feet off the bed. After letting her feet hover over the hardwood floor for a few moments, she pushed herself forward and stood to her feet. The room spun for a moment, but she quickly got her bearings. “You didn’t have to-”

Her words faded as she reached the kitchen only to find the note on the counter. There was a small part of her that was disappointed. A little piece of her heart sank. She had hoped, when she smelled the coffee, that maybe he had stayed. Fiona sighed softly and poured herself a cup of coffee. After sitting on the couch for almost an hour, sipping slowly, she returned to her room. She changed out of her clothes from the night before.

She put on a pair of clean black jeans, and a long sleeved black t-shirt with white faded angel wings on the back. She thought about tying her hair back, but with the mark on her forehead she decided against it. After brushing her teeth and applying a thin layer of makeup Fiona was headed for the door. She reached for the counter to grab her keys only to find them missing. “What the…” Fiona ran back into her room, tearing it apart. “Maybe I left ’em with dad.” She sighed and made her way back to the door to find that it had been locked. Sylar? “That son of a bitch.”

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“Where is he?!” Her voice startled her father and he nearly dropped the case of glasses he had been carrying. “Where the hell is that little bastard, I’m gonna kill him!”

“Whoa, easy Fiona.” He had set the case down and walked around the bar. “What’s goin’ on?”

“That little bastard, Sylar! I swear to god I’m gonna kick his skinny little American-”

“Fiona! What are ya talkin’ about?”

“He stole my keys!” Her blatant anger was met only by laughter from her father. “What’s so funny?”

“He didn’t steal your keys Fiona. He took them to lock the door after he left, since you were asleep.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out her keys. “Brought them back about twenty minutes after ya left. Paid for his beer too. Nice boy, that Gabriel.” Her father walked back to the other side of the bar once more and grabbed the case of glasses before heading to the small kitchen in the back. “He’s ‘round back unloadin’ a truck if you wanted to thank him.”

“What’s he doin’ back there?”

Her father poked his head out of the doorway. “He offered to give me a hand while he was in town. Like I said, fine boy. Why can’t you bring home any boys like that, Fiona?”

Fiona rolled her eyes before turning around. “Thanks dad. I’ll keep that in mind.” She walked out of the bar and into the small alley that led around to the back. Sure enough he was back there unloading boxes from a truck.

He stopped when he heard her footsteps and looked up. He was dressed down more than the previous night. This time only wearing a black t-shirt and worn black jeans with his navy blue Converse. His dark eyes locked on hers as she walked up to him. “Oh god. You look like shit.” He was immediately met by her fist colliding with his nose. His head shot back and he stumbled. “What was that for,” he asked bringing his hands up to his nose. “I didn’t realize you’d take everything I say so seriously.”

“You took my keys,” she snapped. “Failed to leave that in your little note.”

“Sorry. I didn’t want to leave the door unlocked.” He took a step forward and smiled at her. “You were so vulnerable, I thought it was best to make sure the door was locked. So I gave your keys back do your dad. Sorry.”

“I was vulnerable?! You’re really diggin’ yourself a grave Baby.” She leaned against the side of the truck and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “What are ya doin’ back here?”

“Your dad looked like he could use some help.”

Fiona climbed up in the back of the van and leaned against the boxes that remained, pulling her legs up close to her and wrapping her arms around them. “So, what? I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your two week vacation than help an aging bartender.”

“Who said anything about two weeks? Who said anything about vacations for that matter?”

“Gorgeous American men traveling through Scotland on a whim only exist in cheesy romantic comedies.”

Sylar found himself laughing and forced his cheeks to turn slightly red. “You mean I’m still gorgeous without all the alcohol blurring your vision?”

Her eyes darted away and he saw her face turn red. It had been a while since he’d made anyone blush, or smile the way she did. So genuine. “I just meant that people don’t do that sort of thing. If they come here they’re tourists. They’re looking for a temporary escape. No one just travels on a whim anymore. You some kind of hitchhiker or something?”

“I brought my towel.”

Her eyes shot back up to him and she stared. For a moment he wondered if she understood, then her lips curved into a smile. She was holding back, trying not to laugh. But in the end she failed miserably. Her head fell forward and she covered her face in her hands.

That’s when Sylar noticed the small scratch on her head. A mark he had left on her. There was something oddly satisfying about that. “I cannot believe you actually just said that.” She looked back up at him and he saw tears in her eyes. Sylar sat on the edge of the truck and laughed. Her laughing settled slowly and her eyes fell on him once more. “I know why you’re doin’ this.”

“Do you?”

“Aye. You’re helping my father so that you can spend more time with me. Oh please Baby, don’t think you’re that clever. You’re not the first boy to offer to work with my dad in order to spend time with me.”

Sylar stood, grabbed the box that she was leaning against and pulled it away, causing Fiona to fall backwards. “You seem pretty confident in that,” he said simply. Suddenly, one drop, then two, then three. Rain. It fell in sheets almost instantaneously. Fiona’s laughter echoed through the alley when she saw Gabriel leap into the back of the truck.

She pushed herself out of the truck and smile, as the ran poured down over her, soaking her in a matter of seconds. “You act like you’ve never seen the rain before, Baby.” She reached into the truck and grabbed a hold of his wrists, pulling him out into the alley. He struggled, but Fiona knew he was only pretending, the smile on his face, and the bright look in his eyes told her the truth. “You said you’d help my dad. He’ll be expectin’ ya to work through the rain. Its Scotland, Gabriel, rain’s pretty common. But you’re lucky this time.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause you should probably get some ice on your face.” She laughed. “I hit you pretty hard didn’t I.”

“Yeah, you did. Don’t think you won’t get payback either.” He smirked following her back into the pub. He noticed the wings on her shirt and smiled. “You an angel or somethin’?”

She glanced back at him. “Fallen one maybe…” Once inside the pub Fiona went straight to the cooler behind and grabbed a handful of ice cubes. She wrapped them in a towel and handed it to Gabriel, who sat on a stool across from her.

“Aw, Fiona what’d ya do to the poor boy?” Her father walked by them and shook her head before heading into the back once more.

“What kind of powers do you have Sylar?”

“Excuse me?” Her words caught him off guard.

“Last night, you were the devil. I come in today and he’s practically married us off.”

“Really?” Gabriel laughed as he pressed the ice against his nose. “I swear to you that was not my intention.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She laughed and shook her head. “The boys around here aren’t like you though.”

“How’s that?”

“Well for one they’re not American.” She smiled, pushed herself up on the bar and sat there with her legs dangling over the other side, about a foot away from where Gabriel was sitting. As she kicked her legs back and forth they slid against his gently, it was barely noticeable. “You didn’t have to come back here last night. You don’t even know me.”

“I’m thinkin’ of sticking around for a while.”

Her eyes focused on Sylar. She wondered why he had stopped, why his voice had faded away. He clearly wanted to say something else. “And…”

“Maybe we can fix that… Fiona.” He flashed her a smile. “I’m out of my element here. It’d be nice to have a friend.”

Angel With a Dirty Face (2/-)

2009-06-09T20:28:10Z

Title: Angel With a Dirty Face
Author: x5649
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Sylar, OC (Fiona Gillespie)
Spoilers: Potentially for season one and two
Summary: My first Heroes fic. I suck at summaries though... so umm... just read it. Its set shortly after the season two finale. I haven't seen season three yet, so there won't be any spoilers and in my mind it hasn't happened.
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING! Title comes from the song "Angel With a Dirty Face" by Lou Gramm

“So what’s your real name Baby?” She leaned over propping herself up with one arm on the bar, facing him.

“Gabriel Sylar.”

“What’d ya lie for?” She looked back out at the people who filled the pub pretending to know her just to get a free drink. Then her eyes traveled back to Gabriel. “You weren’t tryin’ to impress me were you?”

“Well seeing as how it didn’t work, I’m gonna say no,” he said with a smile.

He had an interesting smile. He was harder to read than most of the men Fiona knew. “Better name than Ian Anderson anyway. Less common, Gabriel Sylar.” She caught him laugh, just a slight chuckle. “What?”

“I like the way you say that. ‘Sylar’.” He paused for a moment and Fiona swore she saw his cheeks redden slightly.

“Do ya now?” She smirked and leaned forward. “Sylar.”

“Yeah, it’s the accent.” He smiled, took a long slow drink from his beer.

“That’s what every guy says. What makes you any different,” she asked with a smirk. “What makes you so special, Baby?”

“I’m guessing there’s nothing I can do to get rid of that nickname is there.”

“Short of killin’ me? Nope.” She gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and smiled. “You’re stuck with it.”

Over the next two hours he talked to her more than he had anyone in the past few months. Well, more she talked and he listened. He lost count of exactly how much the girl had been drinking, but by two in the morning she was barely standing straight.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he said with a laugh, as she started singing along with Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger”.

“Aw, that’s cute Baby. But you have no idea what I can handle.” Sylar smirked and held back the quips that came to mind. He watched as a man, around their age walked by. He clearly knew Fiona by the way he looked at her.

“Fi, let me walk ya home,” he told her, holding her in place between himself and the bar.

“Oh get off Braedan.” Fiona pushed him away. “I don’t need ya to walk me home. I can walk fine on my own.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I said get off Braedan,” she said pushing him again. “You’re worse off than me. I’m safer walkin’ home with him,” she said pointing to Sylar, “than I am you. You’d probably let me walk right into a bus and not even notice.”

Braedan leaned closer, pressing his body against Fiona’s. Sylar could see her genuinely beginning to struggle now, but he did nothing. “Come on Fiona, I’m not gonna ask again. I’m tryin’ to be nice.”

“You know, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sylar chimed in. “Her father runs this place.”

“Aw, that old man’s not gonna do anythin’ to me.”

Sylar saw Braedan grab a hold of Fiona’s wrist, tight enough that his knuckles turned white. Gabriel put his hand on Braedan’s shoulder and pulled him back. The man was surprised and let go of Fiona, leaving Sylar standing between him and the girl. “She doesn’t want to go home with you. Its her birthday, can’t you just leave her alone?”

“Listen,” Braedan answered taking a step forward. Sylar was tall, but this guy was at least twice his size. “You got no right comin’ in here and tellin’ me what to do.”

“I didn’t tell you to do anything, I simply suggested. She told you to stop,” he said simply.

“You gettin’ smart with me princess?”

“Boys just stop it,” Fiona called from behind Sylar.

“You better watch your tongue in these parts or ya might lose it.” Braedan started to turn around as did Sylar. The suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder spinning him around. Before he had a chance to register anything Braedan’s fist slammed into his jaw, sending him back against the bar.

“That’s enough!” Fiona shouted but it was too late. Sylar swung around, missing Braedan altogether as Braedan’s knee slammed into Sylar’s gut. Fiona could hear the air being thrust out of him as he doubled over on the ground. “Braedan, I said that’s enough!” Fiona took a step forward, blocking Braedan’s path to Sylar. The music had stopped and everyone was staring.

“Braedan Marshall, you get the hell out of my pub!” Braedan looked up at Fiona’s father, who seemed to be more furious than even Fiona was. He said nothing else before storming out the door.

Fiona turned to face Gabriel, who was hunched over on the ground. “Did that make ya feel any better,” she asked quickly. Fiona helped him back to his feet and shook her head. “I can take care of myself you know. Been doin’ it long before you arrived. Never said I needed a hero did I?” She sighed when she realized that Gabriel has nothing to say. “So will you?”

“What?”

“Walk me home. Braedan was right about something. I’m far to smashed to walk home by myself, but I wasn’t about to leave with someone drunker than me.”

Gabriel forced a smile into his bloodied lip and choked out a laugh. “You don’t know anything about me. I could be dangerous.”

“Aye, ya could be. But, the way I see it, if ya are dangerous, if ya really want to kill me. You either would have done it by now, or, you’re the type that enjoys a chase.” She took a step closer to him. “Its so easy to kill a girl when she’s drunk. If you really wanted to hurt me, you’d wait till I’m sober.” As she smirked she proceeded to lose her balance and started to fall forward.

Gabriel reached out and caught her. He winced a bit as she landed in his arms. Between laughing and catching her there was too much pressure on his new injuries. “Just let me pay for the beer and we can-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He put her arm around his shoulders and his arms around her waist, holding her steady. “Its my birthday, my dad won’t even notice.”

“Are you sure?” He saw her blue eyes look up at him and it made him smile, genuinely smile.

“Trust me, he’ll never notice.”

He shrugged and walked with her towards the door. As they left the pub Sylar caught a glimpse of the worried expression on her father’s face and a mischievous grin carved its way onto his lips.

“What are you smilin’ about?” When she spoke his eyes flicked down towards her.

“Your dad didn’t look too happy.”

“Aye. My dad doesn’t trust the boys.”

“Especially strange American boys,” Sylar said with a smirk. “He’s right to be cautious where you’re concerned Fiona.”

As they walked down the dimly lit empty street, rain dripped slowly on their heads. “Why’s that?”

“Well, you’re famous now.”

“Infamous is more like it. I don’t intend to ever be famous.”

He chuckled as she staggered down the street, swaying from side to side. He held onto her as best he could, amused by her vulnerability. She had no idea what he was capable of. When she stopped suddenly Sylar was caught by surprise and nearly tripped over her. She reached into her pocket and handed him a set of keys. “What are these for?”

“In case I-”

When she stopped speaking Sylar realized that she was falling to the ground. Luckily he still had his arm around her and caught her. “Do that,” he finished for her. Sylar picked her up. A smile was plastered on his face as he carried her down the street like a child who just got a new puppy. Still, the middle of the street, even this early in the morning, was too dangerous. There was too much risk. There could be witnesses.

He still wondered, as he neared the dance studio below her apartment, if he had it in him to kill her. It wasn’t a matter of his conscience. This girl meant nothing to him, except the gateway to a new ability. What he tossed around in his head, as his feet inched closer to the darkened dance studio, was if he had the physical capability of killing her, or at least doing things the easy way.

In London he learned that he still needed some work with his ability to get it back up to parr. His telekinetic ability needed practice. He had to kill the man the hard way, it was messier, but he got the job done. He worried what would happen in this situation.

Sylar managed to unlock the door and pry it open, while still holding Fiona. He carried her up the stairs into her apartment. For a moment he looked around, then found the hallway that led to her bedroom. He set her down on the bed. Her eyes were closed, she looked peaceful. Her dark hair, which had been tied back had fallen loose during the course of the night and now covered her face. He tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled.

Gabriel leaned down and placed a small kiss on her forehead. “It was so nice to meet you Fiona. You have no idea how helpful you’ve been.” He stood straight, his sweet smile turning into a more monstrous, hungry smirk as he raised his left hand, index finger extended. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind and then opened them slowly to find a bit of blood beginning to trickled down from her forehead.

Angel With A Dirty Face (1/-)

2009-06-07T01:37:31Z

Title: Angel With a Dirty Face
Author: x5649
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Sylar, OC (Fiona Gillespie)
Spoilers: Potentially for season one and two
Summary: My first Heroes fic. I suck at summaries though... so umm... just read it. Its set shortly after the season two finale. I haven't seen season three yet, so there won't be any spoilers and in my mind it hasn't happened.
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING! Title comes from the song "Angel With a Dirty Face" by Lou Gramm

It was pure luck that he stumbled upon her. Luck on his part, not so much her’s. He had been in London, only for a day or so. The job didn’t take that long. The man never saw him coming. It was easy. It was shear luck that he saw her, passing by an outdoor ballet production. The music caught his attention more than anything. As he passed by the thought to keep walking occurred to him, but the music stopped him.

The rhythm, the melody. It floated to his ears and he found his feet moving towards the open field where a small stage was set up. The sun was high in the clear sky, a rarity for London. She was advertised as one of the best dancers in the UK. He saw her maker her way onto the stage. Graceful, flawless. He knew instantly, he could almost taste it. She was special, different. He turned his head slightly to the right, regarding the young woman next to him. “Who is she,” he asked, his silky voice floated over the sound of the music.

“Fiona Gillespie. She’s a dancer from Glasgow.” The woman glanced at him, but only for a moment before her eyes returned to the stage. “She’s unreal, I’ve never seen anything like it. They really got somethin’ special with her.”

His lips curled into a smirk that, had anyone known him, would have been more sadistic than admiring. “Yes they have.”

He had become an expert in the last few months in… surveillance. The show finished. As luck would have it, though he preferred to think of it as fate, it was her last show in London, and she was to return home to Glasgow in the morning. The task seemed almost too easy. All the pieces fell into place perfectly. He decided he would wait… wait a few hours after she was due to leave, before he checked out of his hotel. By that evening he had arrived and checked into a hotel in Glasgow.

He was unsure what it was exactly, that gave her the ability to move like that, but he knew it was more than just years of practice. Before leaving London he had asked around, done some research on this Fiona Gillespie. According to fans of the dancer, and the little amount of information he could dig up on her, she had been dancing since early childhood, but just recently she was thrust into the spotlight. Whatever it was, he was sure he could find some usefulness in being able to move like that.

He anticipated more trouble in locating her in Glasgow. That was not the case though. It was fate, it had to have been. He stopped at a pub for a drink and there she was. She sat at the other end of the bar, two people next to her. They did not appear to be friends though, more like fans. She’s here alone, he thought. The bartended handed him the bottle of beer he ordered. His eyes drifted towards the girl as he brought the cold bottle to his lips. Her dark brown hair was tied back. Her dress was simple, somehow he imagined her being more sophisticated. He held her gaze until she looked away. He took a slow drink of the beer and smirked. He caught her movement out of the corner of his eyes as she stood. She gave the man behind the bar a kiss on the cheek and headed towards the door. His eyes followed her as she walked behind him, her arm brushing against his back lightly as she passed. His dark eyes followed her out the door. Patience, he told himself.

He knew that if he rushed into the matter, the simplicity of it all would crumble. She would become suspicious, and he may actually be forced to do some work. As it was at the moment, everything seemed to be falling right into his lap.

“I wouldn’t count on her Romeo,” a large man with a thick Scottish accent spoke.

He turned towards the man and smirked. “Why’s that?”

“Fiona’s a firecracker, a heartbreaker. She’s just teasin’ ya boy.”

“Who said I was interested?”

“I don’t know how they do things in pubs in America, but I’ve been runnin’ this place longer than you’ve been alive. Everyone stares at that girl.”

“She seems to stand out in a place like this.”

“Aye. I’m tellin’ ya now son, watch your step with her.”

He nodded to the man and flashed a cordial smile. “I don’t mean to over step my bounds here, but you seem a bit overprotective.”

“Yeah, boy, you are over steppin’ your bounds. That’s my daughter.”

For a second he looked as though he had been punched in the face. That was indeed an unexpected twist, something he should have seen coming. “You are a lucky father then she’s quite talented,” he said simply. He nodded and with that he paid for his beer and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did he say anything,” she asked, sitting on the bar, leaning against the back wall. Her father was cleaning up the bar, just after closing. “Dad, did he say anythin’?”

“Who, Fiona?”

“The boy. The one that was sittin’ over there last night,” she asked pointing to a barstool a few yards in front of her. “Did he say anythin’?”

“Oh Fiona, leave the boy alone. He’s American, a tourist. Leave him be.”

“But did he say anythin’?”

“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”

She looked up at the clock on the wall behind her father. “Oh shit.” She pushed herself off the bar and grabbed her jacket. “I’ll be back tonight,” she shouted to her father before running out of the bar. She turned down the street and took off sprinting. Fiona Gillespie was twenty minutes late for the first dance lesson that she was in charge of teaching. As she sped down the street her shoulder slammed into someone. “Sorry,” she shouted, barely registering out of the corner of her eye that it was the same man from the pub the night before.

Five classes later (two Jazz, and three ballet) she turned the lights out in the studio. Lessons were done for the day. Fiona grabbed her bag and made her way to the apartment above the studio. She threw her bag on the couch, along with her shoes and headed into the bathroom, to wash away the stress of that day. It was her first day as a dance instructor, and Fiona had been stressing about it for weeks. She spent the last week in London trying to relax, working on a small production at the time. It had been helpful, but returning home, only brought the stress with it.

Now that the first day was over, and a resounding success, or so her students told her, she was ready to be rid of it. She turned on the shower and shed her clothes. The hot water relaxed her muscles. She never needed it though. Fiona was special in that way. The way she moved, the things she could do. She had no answers for it, but it made her an incredible dancer. From the age of four she always wanted to be like her mother, a great dancer. After showering she wrapped a towel around herself and went into her room to change. Fiona pulled her dark brown hair back and slipped a white long sleeved t-shirt on, over that she put on a black Guns n Roses t-shirt. She pulled on a pair of worn black jeans that hugged her hips tightly, a pair of socks and her shoes. She grabbed her black denim jacket and her bag before heading down the stairs.

As she left the studio and locked the door, she noticed him again. Standing down the street, it was just a silhouette but she recognized him. Ignoring the man that seemed to be following her, Fiona made her way back to her father’s pub. She walked in the door and everyone cheered. “Happy Birthday,” her father told her and gave her a hug. She smiled and grabbed a beer from behind the bar. Music start blasting through the speakers once more and Fiona took her seat at the end of the bar. Over the next few hours she was bombarded with birthday wishes. Most of the people were friends of her father. For every bit that Fiona was outgoing and talented, she had very few friends.

“You didn’t have to do this dad,” she yelled over the music.

“Its your birthday Fiona. You should spend it with friends.”

She forced a smile onto her face and nodded. Her father had done this every year for as long as she could remember, in an attempt to broaden the girl’s social life. Fiona was independent, and she wished her father could just understand that she was happy with the life she had. Her eyes scanned the room, the many faces that were familiar, but not known. She could only name a handful of people that were there. As she looked over the room her blue eyes found him. Sitting in the same seat he had been in the night before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was alone, at her own birthday party. It seemed sad, and yet he could relate on some level. He glanced to where she had been sitting only to find she was no longer there. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were stalking me.” Her voice floated over the music to his ear. He smiled and spun around on the barstool, leaning back against the bar.

“Really? What makes you say that?”

“Well, either that your you actually lack the confidence to speak to me.”

He watched her cross her arms in front of her chest and leaned back. “What makes you think I lack confidence?”

“I didn’t say you did, I said you were stalkin’ me.”

He smiled and set his beer down on the bar. He pushed himself away from the bar and stood straight. His six foot two form towered over her. As he opened his mouth to speak he was interrupted.

“Fiona!” She looked passed him at her father and rolled her eyes before leaving. His eyes followed her as she walked away. Instead of taking a seat where he had been, he grabbed his beer and took a seat in the corner where Fiona had been sitting. After watching the girl put back on the spot once more. Her father was making a speech, the music had died down.

“You all know my daughter.” There was a loud applause. He saw the girl’s face turn red. She was embarrassed, it brought a smile to his face. “She’s just got back from London yesterday and had her first classes today!” Fiona smiled as her father turned to her. “Your mother would be so proud of you.” She gave her father a hug and happily disappeared into the crowd as the music played once more. “For your mother.” She smiled at her father as Eric Carmen’s “Hungry Eyes” began to play.

“I was sittin’ there.”

“I know.” He lifted his eyes to look at her, his head still facing the bottle of beer in his hand on the bar. “Seat was open.” He smirked and stood once more, then leaned down, next to her ear. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner. Dance with me,” he spoke into her ear.

His words were met by her laughter. “Sweetheart, you’re gorgeous and all.” She put her hands on his face and smiled. “But you’re no Patrick Swayze. Besides, you’re the one in the corner, I’m the dancer. Looks like your Baby.”

“Fair enough.” He took hold of both her wrists, lowering her hands slowly. He spun her around and brought his arms down over her. “Dance with me.”

“Looks like I don’t have much of a choice.” She led him out onto the dance floor. He stood behind her with his arms around her waist. She turned around in his arms, putting hers around his neck, her fingers playing with his hair. “So what’s your name Romeo,” she asked with a smile.

He stalled, staring down at her for a moment. The music changed, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Ian… Ian Anderson.”

Again she laughed. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You stalled,” she said with a laugh. “Do you know how many men have come in here, thinkin’ up good names to impress me? I can see it. Besides, Ian Anderson’s the lead singer of Jethro Tull.” She glanced up at the speakers to indicate what was playing. She laughed and moved back to the bar, grabbing a beer. He followed. “So what’s your real name, Baby?”

“Gabriel Sylar.”.