Heroes 1. Chapter 1

The smell of him crept into her nostrils and her mind swam with visions she was none too proud of, but was willing to make a reality. Her hatred for him tried to claw it's way through her mind but that scent, that body and the overwhelming desire to get back at her father for what he did to her forced it back down. Her eyes fell down to his dark hair, tousled from sleep, and down to the fan of his lashes on his cheeks dusted with two days worth of stubble. Her finger itched to trace down the length of his jaw, to feel it scratch and prick at her skin. She suppressed the urge, fearing he would wake on the offensive. Or worse, take the gesture as a sign of affection. She shuddered at the thought.

They were in a dingy motel somewhere in West Virginia, sharing a queen sized bed. He had barely let out a half mumbled promise to be a gentleman before falling into a deep sleep face down, the bed still made and his shoes still on. She had grabbed a pillow and laid on the floor. After twenty minutes of restless limbs and staring at a spider in the corner (whom she felt stared back and knew her thoughts and silently judged her) she crawled into bed with him. She glued herself to the very edge and placed a pillow between her body and his, trying to force herself to sleep.

It didn't work. Giving up, she sat up against the headboard, her knees to her chest and her cheek on her knee and stared at the man sleeping next to her. The man that had terrorized her for years. The one that cut her open and took what was not his. Worse than rape, she thought. How many years ago was that? Fifteen? Sixteen? How time flies. She was 32 now. When was the last time she even heard from him? It had been a few years. Not that she was complaining. The fear he instilled in her was fleeting. He killed less often (or became better at covering it up) and fell almost completely off the Company's radar.

She hissed softly at the thought of the Company. At the thought of Noah. That son of a bitch. The fresh memories of waking to find herself on the table, like some sort of dissected frog, filled her brain and the anger rose in her chest. Like so many time before, the rage manifested itself in the form of tears and she was now pressing her face hard against her left thigh, trying to quiet the sound. She wished she could feel the burn spreading through her lungs as she purposefully blocked her own airway. Longed for the sting of her long nails digging into the backs of her legs. She needed to feel a pain other than the one in her heart. But she couldn't. She had that to blame on the man next to her.

He stirred a bit next to her. She peeked over to see his eyes were still closed, his breath still in the rhythm of sleep. She held her breath, not making a sound to keep from disturbing him anymore. She finally exhaled when her vision started to blur. His face came back into focus and she stared at his neck. It too had stubble and she studied the curve of his adam's apple, the tendons that were stretched and the slight sheen of sweat that covered it. The heat of the room was suddenly apparent to her and she got up to turn on the window unit. The cool air hit her face instantly and despite the musty smell that came with it, she sighed. She felt her skin prickle and buzz with this new sensation and the exhaustion washed over her. She clicked the desk lamp off and crawled back into the bed slowly, moving as little as possible and laid on her back and stared at the ceiling. The tears welled back into her eyes despite herself and she made no attempt to stop them. Her body shook with silent sobs, her fingers gripped the itchy fabric of the comforter and for the first time in her life, she wanted to see her father-no, not her father anymore. Noah. She wanted to see Noah hurt. She wanted him to pay for what he did, and if that payment was made in blood the better.

She didn't want him dead. No, she wasn't sick. Despite his cruelty he was still the man who raised her. For that, he could live. But a few scars to remind him of his crimes would do him well. Could she do it? When it came down to it, could she hurt him like that? She doubted it. She would just shake with anger like she was now, til the anger came to tears and probably make herself sick. There was no way she could do it. She didn't have gall. But Sylar could. She turned to look at him, seeing only his outline in the dark. All she had to do was ask. She imagined he'd be more than happy to oblige her. Hell, she'd probably have a harder time convincing him not to kill him, but to just rough him up a bit. Visions of Sylar's arm extended, the invisible power rolling out of him in waves, crashing into Noah's body, squeezing the air from him. Or shocking him hard enough to get the point across. Or giving him a few slices deep enough to last forever...

A loud snore escaped him and it startled her so badly she let out a yelp. He sat up instantly and turned the light on, jumping out of bed, his hands raised, ready for a fight. She closed her eyes tight, her heart racing and preparing for whatever he would throw at her. He stood, breathing heavily a few seconds before realizing they were alone. He looked down at her small frame, her knuckles white from clutching the comforter, her face stained with tears and a look of fear. He sighed heavily and sat back down back on the bed.

"Claire," he spoke softly. "It's ok. You can breathe."

She opened her eyes slowly to see him staring at her, a look of concern in his eyes. The same look he had when he had found her. She slowly let go of the covers and covered her face with her hands.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing. I was just a little on edge, and you snored all of a sudden and it just...scared me. I didn't mean to wake you," she said, turning away from him.

"You haven't slept." It was not a question.

"No."

He stood up and pulled the covers back on his side of the bed before sitting back down and taking his shoes off. "You need to sleep, Claire."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry but I can't. I can't for the life of me figure out why," she said, sarcastically.

"How do you expect to stay ahead of them if you are not rested? They are no doubt tracking both of us now. We have to sleep when we can."

Hearing him use "we" so casually made her stomach jolt. "I'm trying to. It's just not easy." She felt the urge to divulge all the thoughts running through her head at moment but didn't. She doubted he would care. But then again...he was the reason she wasn't still tied down to that table... No. She forced that thought of her head.

"Try harder. I'm gonna try to go back to sleep. Can you keep the night terrors to a minimum please?" he said coolly, before turning the light off and turning on his side, away from her.

She didn't respond. Instead she just curled her fingers tighter on the pillow and fought to keep the tears back. Her breath caught in her throat and she made a slight choking sound. She tried to focus on the digital clock on the night stand, the only thing visible, to keep her emotions in check. She was failing horribly.

"Claire," he said softly, and she felt him shift on the bed. His voice was soft. "Claire, stop it."

It's as if his request triggered her body to do the exact opposite. She cried harder and shoved her face into the pillow.

"Claire, look at me," he said.

She didn't move.

"Please," he asked.

His voice sent a wave up her spine and she shivered, turning to face him in spite of herself. She couldn't see him very well and she was thankful for that.

"I am going to get them back. I swear it. I will make them pay for what they did to you."

She choked on a sob. Did she hear him right? He had barely said anything after they fled New York several hours earlier. What the hell was he talking about?

"Why?" is all she could manage to say.

"Why what?"

She took a few seconds to slow her sobbing. "Why put yourself in danger like that?"

"They deserve it."

"But they didn't do anything to you. You've been a ghost for years now. Why go back to be hunted?"

He didn't answer immediately. She could hear him sigh and he adjusted his body on the bed. The scent hit her again and her hands twitched.

"I couldn't stand by and let them do it anymore," he sighed. "This isn't the best time to discuss this. I'll explain tomorrow. Get some rest."

"I already told you it's not gonna happen," she sighed. "Just tell me now."

He sighed and ignored her request. "I can help you sleep. If you give me permission."

Her breath caught in her throat and he mind betrayed her with visions she dare not speak of. "Permission?"

"Just another power I've picked up over the years. I won't use it against your will though. You've had enough of such things lately." His voice was low and careful.

"What will happen?"

"You will give in to the power of suggestion. No pain, no invasion."

She chewed on her bottom lip. "Like hypnotism?"

"You could call it that."

She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "Ok. You have my permission," she said, not sure what to expect.

She felt him shift again and soon his breath was hot across her cheek.

"Claire," he spoke deeply. His voice ghosted across her face and she felt her eyelids flutter. "Sleep. Sleep now."

Her limbs were heavy and her mind fogged with nothing but the overwhelming need to sleep. She rolled onto her side, facing him and curling up into the fetal position. She yawned deeply and somehow felt herself sink deeper into the bed. She was at the edge of consciousness when Noah's face, with those god damned horn-rimmed glasses appeared in the fog and her eyes popped open for a second.

"Stop fighting it Claire," he said smoothly. "Let your body go."

"I'm....scared..." she heard herself say.

His head inched closer to her and she thought she felt the tip of his nose on her cheek. "Nothing is going to hurt you. I won't allow it."

His words rang in her head and seemed to spread a heat through her entire body. She let out a soft moan as the fog came back, masking that face and those glasses haunting her and she felt herself embracing the darkness around her. Seeing a new face emerging, Sylar, piercing her with sad eyes and she felt herself reach out to finally run her finger across the scruff on his jaw, enjoying the tickle she imagined she would feel before the fog took her over.


	2. Chapter 2

He cursed himself for that pitiful display of chivalry. "I'll make them pay...I swear it." It sounded so stupid now that he thought about it. It's not that he didn't mean it, he did. He meant every word of it. He just didn't expect it to come out so...corny. Whatever, it seemed like the right thing to say to hysterical woman. Maybe she'll forget he even said it. He highly doubted it. Woman don't forget anything. He was tired and angry and just wanted to go back to bed. But now his mind refused to let him fall back asleep. He could still feel her touch hot on his face. She probably wasn't even aware she had done it and he wasn't planning on telling her when she woke. No, he would keep that his little secret. Poor little Claire. Always the victim. She just couldn't catch a break. One of the drawbacks when people know you will live forever. She should have disappeared like he did, break ties with everyone and assume a relatively quiet life. Eventually those who knew the truth would die. They would all die. Why go through the trouble of keeping up appearances?

A feeling of hypocrisy washed over him. He was lying to himself and he knew it. Sure, he did disappear. He kept the killing to a minimum. Tried not to cause a fuss. But break ties? He tried. And failed. Of course, she never knew about it. He had dropped off the Company's radar. He stopped terrorizing the Petrelli's. Made it a point not to cross the path of Parkman. Moved halfway across the country to rid himself of those "heroes". Given up on plans of a so-called world domination. Waking up after being trapped in another person's mind and body for nearly 2 years really changes your perspective. But her...

He was able to resist for six years. Not a day didn't go by that he didn't think of Claire. Sometimes, on the darker days, he'd walk off the edge of a building just to feel his body mend and be reminded of how important she really was to him. How, once upon a time, when he told her they should start building bridges because they would be there at the end of time, he had meant it. He thought of her bright eyes, that sun-kissed skin and those blond curls, wondering what she was doing. How her life was now. Was she happy? Discontent? Ignoring her potential, like always? Curiosity got the best of him and eventually her sought her out.

She was a second grade teacher in a small Texas town. The students called her "Miss B". He would sit on the outskirts of the school grounds in a park, holding a book but never reading it, always with his ear tuned to her classroom. He could hear her read the children stories or disciplining them for violating "quiet time". He never moved from that bench during the school hours, smiling to himself when he would catch the sound of her cursing under her breath whenever the class clown acted up. Or when he could hear her, during lunch, whisper a hope that she would see her own daughter learning to write in cursive and playing kickball. He never dared to go closer, never dared to try to catch a glimpse of her. He just listened.

He did that for 4 months.

Realizing that hearing her voice was not going to be enough, he assumed another random identity and took a job as a temporary maintenance man for the school. Mr. Johns, the friendly maintenance man, just so happened to break his leg in a nasty ladder mishap and was going to be out for a month or so until it healed. He couldn't pass the opportunity up. His first day on the job, a light just so happened to blow in Miss B's classroom. He smirked to himself the entire time he walked down the hall to her room, knocking gently on the door. He fantasized about her reaction if he had looked like himself. He remembered that he never spoke to her after the whole "trapped as Nathan" incident. Did she know the truth of what happened? That he had killed her biological father? But did she also know it was her grandmother and Noah's idea? She would surely not be happy to see him.

After years of the mundane he'd welcome the fight. He didn't want to hurt her, knowing he could never leave a mark, he would just enjoy the back and forth of broken bones and bruises that would heal as soon as they appeared. Those thoughts were temporarily expelled as soon as that door opened. He inhaled sharply when she let him in. Her eyes bright, her hair pulled back into a sophisticated ponytail, dressed in a simple but pretty gray sweater dress with black flats. She was just as short, her face just as innocent, not looking like she had aged a day yet she had a certain glow of maturity. He fought the sudden urge to flick her across the room, something that seemed to be tradition when she was in his presence.

He finally exhaled. "You have a light out?"

"Yes sir. Right over there in the corner," she answered sweetly. "Come on in. We were just making some drawings of our favorite animals."

It took him two hours to fix that light...

A whimper escaped her lips and he immediately turned to look at her. She was on her back now, sprawled out, mouth slightly open, sleeping deeply. Maybe he had "suggested" a little too hard. He hoped she'd be easy to wake in the morning. Or maybe he'd let her sleep. He could always just scoop her up and carry her to the car. It wouldn't be the first time today...

The memories of the day's events flooded back to him and the rage threatened to tear his insides apart. His throat burned with an emotion he was not ready to accept when he saw her in that room, lifeless on that table, wires falling from her body. And those forceps...Noah was going to pay. He didn't know when but he had an idea how. Claire probably wouldn't be too happy if she could see his thoughts right now. Or would she? The only outward emotion he'd seen from her was the tears that woke him. Even in the six hours they spent in the car, she seemed only slightly despondent. Shock, he reckoned. Would she want the same kind of retribution he was now envisioning?

A smirk spread across his face. What if this was it? What if this was the final straw? He pictured the two of them...him forcing Noah against a wall, feeling his throat as he struggled to swallow. Seeing that pudgy stupid face of his turn blue, on the verge on unconsciousness...then Claire steps up. He would hold him still for her. She would use her hands at first, slapping, punching and scratching at him. Then maybe some blunt instruments. A bat? Overdone. A chair? No, she wasn't a professional wrestler. No, she would reach into the band of his pants and take out his gun. He would watch and smile, seeing Claire-Bear pistol whip her own father. She would ignore his pleas. Then, at the point where he could take no more, he'd release him. Noah would drop to the floor, spit out his own blood and beg. Claire would silence that with a bowie knife, Sylar would hold his breath, watching her sink the knife into his skin, his acute hearing taking in every snap of the tendons, his nose harassed by the smell of fresh blood, all of his senses relishing in seeing the fate that Noah once bestowed on him (and failed) befall him. And then he'd feel Claire's small hand grasp his and she'd pull his head down to hers. Her eyes would shift and meet her father's, making sure the last thing he saw before death took him was his daughter pressing her soft lips against his, their fingers intertwined...

He snapped out his sadistic little daydream to feel her move against his arm. She was still asleep, but her hand had found his and she lazily laced her fingers through his own. His eyes widened but he didn't pull away. Her hand was small but warm and he could have sworn he felt her pulse surge from her fingertips and into his own body. He looked at her face. The shock of the fact that she still looked like that bouncy, annoying little cheerleader hit him. She had to be in her early 30's by now. 30 years old and the Company still couldn't leave her be. Her own father...

The subject of betrayal and fathers was something he was well versed in. Even after all these years he was still bitter and the thought of his real father and adopted father made his blood a little more than simmer.

"At least they are both dead now," he thought to himself and smiled.

The pressure of her fingers increased as she groaned in her sleep, snapping him out of his loathing thoughts. The sound seemed to pull at a place deep in his stomach and he forced himself to start thinking of a plan for the days ahead. They had to stay on the move, stay random with the driving. He'd stay on the westward path, going through Kentucky. Maybe go north toward Wisconsin. He could always go back to the house he owned under a false identity in North Dakota. But what about Claire? How long would she stay with him? She'd no doubt want to be rid of him soon. His eyes were heavy and his mind slowly drifted away, images of Noah broken and bleeding, Claire in that gray sweater dress and his quiet, abandoned home filled with a girl's laughter.

**a/n Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far. I am going to try and update this story at least once a week. As long as nothing crazy pops up in my life the updates should be more like twice a week. Hope you enjoy :D**


	3. Chapter 3

Claire dreamt of sitting on the front porch of her old Odessa home with her mother. There was a comfortable silence between them, enjoying the light breeze, clear skies and sweet tea. Her mother was younger, as she liked to remember. Not like she was before the cancer finally took her. They were sipping their tea, occasionally looking at each other and letting out a contented sigh or two.

"It's a shame," her mother said, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?" Claire asked.

"Your father. It's a shame he's not around for days like this."

Claire bit on her bottom lip. Her mother had no idea of the truth regarding her husband's death. No idea that their daughter was behind the whole thing.

"He is in a better place now, Mom," she said, reaching over and touching her mother's hand.

To her horror, her mother's skin was ice cold. She pulled away and saw the spot where the skin connected was rotting quickly. It spread up her arm to her shoulders, then to her face. Claire could do nothing but watch in shock as her mother literally decomposed in front of her. Tears swelled in her eyes and the front door of the house burst open. Suddenly, her father appeared, a gun pointed directly at her head.

"You're coming back, Claire-Bear," he said. "The company is not done with you yet."

"NO! NO I KILLED YOU!" she screamed.

Noah pulled the trigger and she watched as the bullet hurled toward her eyes in slow motion...

Her eyes opened and the motel room slowly came into focus. The sun was barely peeking past the floral curtains and bathing strips of the room in a faint pinkish glow. She ran a hand across her forehead, which was covered in a cold sweat, when she realized where her other hand was. Looking to her side she saw Sylar, still asleep, on his back, his hand gently formed around her own. Her stomach turned at the sight, ashamed that it wasn't from disgust and she slipped it out from his grasp. She continued to look down at him, her mind racing with too many thoughts to try and process at such an early hour. All she knew clearly as that the sight of Sylar wasn't as cringe-inducing as she remembered. That in itself made her cringe.

She quietly got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror made her gasp. She hadn't had a good look at herself since the events of the day before. Her hair was absolutely atrocious. Not only was it unruly from sleep, but she could see blood matted in the ends . There were also streaks of blood on her neck and she silently hoped it was her own. Faint smudges from the makeup she wore before she was captured were smeared under her eyes. Seeing herself in such a state caused her skin to crawl and the need to shower was overwhelming. The clothes she wore smelled of sweat and blood and made her stomach turn again. She ripped the shirt off and threw it in the trash. A weak knock at the door startled her.

"Yeah?" she called out, fishing for a towel to cover herself with.

"Just checking," she heard Sylar say through the door.

She rolled her eyes and turned the shower on the hottest setting she could. Before stepping in she realized she had no clothes and she absolutely refused to put those filthy garments back on. She made sure her body was covered before she cracked open the door of the bathroom slightly. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out as she saw he was up and about, making the bed and gathering items from the room they might need. She imagined the fact that he was doing all this while shirtless was the cause of her temporary paralysis. She couldn't tear her eyes away from his long, slender torso, dusted with fine dark hair. His arms were surprisingly sculpted. The area where his jeans hung loosely captivated her attention and she was staring unabashedly at the groves near his waist that formed a V. The dark hair that started at his navel and ran down his stomach and past the band of his pants stuck out as well and she was sure that the mix of the two seemed to make a arrow that pointed directly to...The thought made her blush.

"See something you like?"

She snapped out of it, blushing harder and raised her line of sight, staring at the horribly dull picture right over his shoulder. She tried to think of a sarcastic comeback but was at a loss for words. She chose to ignore it completely. He went back to combing through the room.

"I have an issue," she said.

"Don't we all."

She rolled her eyes. So much for the sort of pleasant Sylar of last night. Fine. She could be just as big of an ass. "I have to have a shower or I'll tear my own skin off. But I don't have any clothes."

"Put what you had back on."

"No. If I did that I might as well not even bother with the shower," she huffed.

He turned to her and put his hands on his hips. "I don't know what to tell you."

She sighed. "Well...do you have something in the car?"

"The only thing I have out there is a black tank top. Maybe a pair of boxers."

She immediately pictured him in said clothes. "Are they clean?"

"I had the tank on a few days ago for a little bit. So, relatively."

She cursed under her breath. She didn't have a choice. "Do you mind?"

He sighed. "I guess not. We will have to stop somewhere and get you something else to wear. I need to pick up a few supplies anyway. Got a long trip ahead of us."

"We are we going?"

"I'm heading west. As far from New York as I can."

The fact that he said "I" and not "we" was not lost on her. "What about me?"

"What about you?"

"What am I supposed to do?"

"You're a grown woman. You can do whatever you want."

She was getting annoyed. She kicked the bathroom door open completely and stepped out, clad only in the rough towel. Sylar turned back toward her and stopped, his eyes automatically roaming down the length of her body. She could see him exhale sharply and her skin felt hot.

"See something you like?" she mocked. "Where am I supposed to go? I don't have any money. No I.D. No cell phone. If you plan on just dropping me off somewhere...well, I would've been better off if I was still with The Company."

"Trust me, living life as a vagrant for a little while is nowhere near as horrible as what I saw..."

She shook her head. "Whatever."

He sat down on the bed. "I didn't plan on just dropping you off somewhere. I just assumed you'd like to keep our little reunion as short as possible."

Was that a little bit of bitterness she detected? She pushed the thought out. "Surviving and revenge are my two biggest priorities right now. And at this point that means I need you. Your help, I mean."

He let out an exaggerated sigh. "So you're going to use me, huh? Claire, I'm offended."

"Like you've never, ever, in your innocent little life used someone," she scoffed. "I promise you don't have to worry about me slicing your head open after I'm done, unlike _someone_ I know."

He slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. "It wouldn't kill me anyway. But point taken."

She shot him a smirk and turned to walk back into the bathroom. She shut the door and locked it, discarding the towel on the sink.

"By the way, I haven't done that to anyone in years!" she heard him yell through the door.

"Just shut up and go get those goddamn clothes," she yelled back.

The hot water steamed the bathroom up nicely and she stood under the heavy stream, her hands on the wall for several minutes, just letting the dirt and blood roll off. Her thoughts led right back to the place she didn't want to be and again tears welled in her eyes as she thought of her father's betrayal. She shook her head at the vision of him and forced herself to think of retribution. First, though, she had to find a place to hide. With Sylar. She realized that if she was indeed being hunted now, she really wouldn't want to be with anyone else. Not that she liked his company. She was safer with him than anyone. He was so powerful and ruthless and he had promised to help her. She had to imagine that meant protection. He even told her he'd make them pay for what they did to her. She hadn't forgot that little confession. He refused to talk about it last night but she would get it out of him today.

Claire slipped out of the shower and and wrapped herself in the towel. She cracked the door again and saw the clothes were on the doorknob. She slipped on the clean black boxers and the black wifebeater. She cursed Sylar. The shirt wasn't dirty but my god, did it smell amazing. Like him. She couldn't help but gather the bottom in her hands and bring to her nose and inhaled deeply. Thankfully she was still in the bathroom, taking advantage of the privacy. She let the shirt drop and looked at herself in the almost full length mirror. The clothes were baggy and hung low on her small frame. She was lacking a bra, something she felt really naked without. The looseness of the shirt gave for the opportunity for one or both of her breasts to peek out and she frowned. She walked out of the bathroom, not even looking at Sylar, who was still without his shirt and rummaged through the drawers of the nightstand.

"What are you looking for?"

"A rubber band. I need something to tie this shirt tighter in the back."

"Why?"

She let out a disgruntled sound. "So my tits don't pop out."

He didn't say anything. She turned to look at him and he was just staring at her, a look on his face a mix of amusement and something else she couldn't quite place. She rolled her eyes at him and kept rummaging. She found nothing.

"Fuck."

"Someone has a mouth on them," he tisked.

"Can you tie this in a knot for me at the back please?"

She walked up and put her back to him. She felt his arms wrap around her waist and pull the shirt tight around her stomach. Goosebumps instantly rose on her skin and she hoped he didn't notice. She could feel his breath on her neck as he bent down to construct a knot for her and she fought the urge to lean back into him. That heat was gone and her body shuddered in protest.

"Thanks," she said, turning to face him again.

He only nodded. He grabbed a bag from the bed and headed into the bathroom. She soon heard the water running again and her mind filled with thoughts of him soaking wet. She sighed and turned the tv on, hoping something was on that would drown him out. The local morning news was on. She watched without really paying attention, until the anchor said something that caused her to gasp.

"Good morning and welcome back to WVVA. It's Tuesday, September 24th..."

September 24th. She racked her brain frantically, trying to piece together the last thing she remembered before waking up slung over Sylar's shoulder. She was at the 24-hour grocery store, getting a quart of ice cream to satisfy a late night craving. She had been watching her favorite show on the travel channel, so that meant it was a Wednesday. She wrote a check that morning for the water company...the date was September 4th...

A panic set in and she felt like she was gasping for air. Almost three weeks. Three weeks she couldn't remember. Three weeks was a very long time. What had they been doing to her? Did anyone notice she was missing? The school surely would have. Or did Noah and his high powered friends take care of all that. Three weeks. What lies did the Company come up with to ease suspicions? Not that she had many people she associated with these days, but still. Surely someone would notice. Three fucking weeks. She could feel her blood start to boil, the anger rising again. And just like clockwork, the tears started again.

She stood up and paced back and forth around the room quickly. She wanted so badly to pick up something, anything and destroy it, imagining it was Noah's face. Fantasies of that building she was carried out of engulfed in flames. Not giving a damn if Noah was inside when it happened. Secretly wishing he was. Wished everyone in the evil corporation was inside. Cleanse the world for people like her from that cancer. And to think she always stood up for him. Even when she disagreed with his actions, she still stood by him, knowing that he knew what he was doing and it was for the greater good. Was that not enough?

What in the hell could she have done to deserve that kind of treatment? She kept out of trouble. Lived a normal life. Was careful not to get hurt so no one could have the opportunity to discover her ability. She was god damn elementary school teacher! Noah, that bastard. All those years. She always felt like he put work before her. All those times he'd leave when she begged him to stay. She sometimes felt he loved his job more than he loved her. No denying that now. To be able to authorize someone to snatch her in the middle of the night...his own daughter. She wasn't even sure what they had been doing to her. Her stomach turned at the thought. Three weeks...

She heard the knob of the bathroom turn and Sylar stepped out, He dropped the bag on the bed and started packing things in it. He stopped and watched her. She was still seething and pacing back and forth.

"Claire...?"

"THREE MOTHERFUCKING WEEKS!"

He was taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

She clinched her fists tight. "The date. It's the 24th. The last thing I remember before yesterday, I was making out a check for my bills. It was the 4th. The 4th, Sylar. They had me for three fucking weeks."

His face faded from surprised to a scowl. "I didn't know it was that long." He started stuffing things into the bag forcefully. "Son of a bitch."

"How the hell do you think I feel? Three weeks of my life GONE."

He let out an annoyed sound. "Claire, I know. Ok. We are gonna deal with them. We have to have a plan first and now is not the time. We need to go now."

"Plan? How about we burn that goddamn building..."

He cocked his head and looked up. "Not a bad idea. But that would be quick and dirty. This calls for something a little more profound. But not now. Come on, we're leaving."

She followed him out, biting her lip hard enough to taste blood in her mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **: **Thanks to everyone who has commented to so far. You guys are great :D**

They had stopped at a Walmart in a small town in Kentucky. Claire made a fuss about going into the store dressed as she was, but after he pointed out the local folk and that she wouldn't be the worst looking person there by far, she finally got out of the car. They shopped quickly, stocking up on food and drinks and clothing, before hitting the road and heading northwest. Sylar clicked the radio on to a retro station and set it low, relieving the uncomfortable silence. He glanced at her in the passenger's seat. She had her legs crossed and was leaning on the door, staring at the scenery passing by. He hadn't asked why she was still wearing his shirt and boxers even though she had new clothes. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He turned his focus back to the road. They had just passed into Indiana.

"So why are you so hell bent on revenge on my behalf?"

He rolled his eyes and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Of course she wouldn't let it be. Women.

"Can we talk about it later?"

"You said the same thing last night."

"Yes. It's not 'later' enough."

She crossed her arms, pouted and turned away from him.

"...is it later yet?"

Sylar let his head loll back and let out an annoyed sigh. He glared at her. She was still pouting. He furrowed his brow. He didn't know if he wanted to kiss her or strangle her. "What makes you think my revenge is all about you?"

"You said otherwise last night."

He gripped the steering wheel tight. "I could've been lying."

"You've never lied to me before. Why start now?"

She had a point. Everyone always kept poor little Claire out of the loop. Treated her like a child... But he knew that some of the details she wouldn't be ready to hear right now. He wouldn't outright lie, he would just...withhold.

"Hello? Are you gonna answer me?"

"It's complicated."

She shifted in her seat to turn towards him. "We have the time."

He shifted as well. "Despite what you may think, I am not completely without compassion. When I found out what was happening to you, it did not sit well with me. Maybe it was the memories of when I was trapped helpless in one of those cells. Being experimented on. When I realized that it was Noah behind it and...I couldn't let that stand."

"Uh huh," Claire said. She clearly wasn't buying that. "So say if it was...Matt Parkman. Or Peter. You would've done the same thing."

"Probably not."

"Ok, so then why me?"

He was getting annoyed. "You didn't deserve that. There was absolutely no reason for them to take you against your will. They were using you for their own gain. And Noah...let's just say that I know firsthand about horrible father figures. I knew that Noah would be furious, knew that I would be the last person he would expect to see. Especially rescuing you. I imagine right now that he is at his wits end. Not only because you escaped. But because you are with me."

"So you're saying you were empathetic."

"I am only human, Claire."

"Yeah, a human that murders people to take what doesn't belong to him," she spat.

"People have been murdering for personal gain for thousands of years. I didn't invent the concept."

She huffed.

"Besides, like I said earlier. It's been years since I came across anyone with an ability I found suitable to add to the collection. My hands have been clean for 5 years."

"That still doesn't cancel out all that you've done."

"You're right. It doesn't. But let's not forget that I wasn't entirely at fault there. I'm sure you remember, it was Noah that egged me on and who made me who I am."

She let out a hiss at the sound of his name. "That son of a bitch..."

"So now you know what I told you years ago. Your father is the real villain, when all is said and done. I guess you just needed to experience that on your own before you could understand."

She didn't say anything. The air was filled with the soft sounds of an old U2 song.

"You know, I never quite forgave him for what he did to you," she said softly.

"What?"

"When I found out the truth about you and Nathan. I was furious at you. You killed both of my biological parents. But I was surprised that I was more angry with Noah and Angela than anything. We didn't speak for almost 3 years. And even then, things weren't the same."

Her tone was somber and Sylar was uncomfortable. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for what he did, but he didn't want to lie to her. The sick feeling in his stomach pulled at his mind and maybe there was a little bit of remorse. Not because he killed them. But because their death hurt her. He wasn't sure if he would've felt the same way several years ago. This overwhelming feeling to repent to her was gnawing at his gut.

"I'm sorry for the pain I caused," he said, under his breath.

To his surprise she laughed. "Right, ok."

"I'm serious."

"No you're not. Don't lie to try and placate me. I've had enough of that to last a lifetime."

A lifetime. For her, that length would come to feel like minutes. As would it to him. "I am not lying. Am I sorry for killing to gain powers? No. But I am sorry that sometimes those actions adversely affected you."

"Since when do you give a damn about my feelings?"

He bit his tongue. He was going to have to tread lightly with this answer. "Since I came to the realization that you are going to live forever."

She shot him an unconvinced glance.

"Do you remember the day I killed Nathan?"

"How could I forget?" she spat.

"I know it's not the most pleasant memory. But do you remember what I said to you? About building bridges?"

She sighed. "Yes."

Silence. The tension in the car was palpable. He almost dared to continue talking, but by the change in her posture and the scowl that left her face, he reckoned she got the point he was trying to make. He was reluctant to say anything else. No need to lay it all on the table so quickly. Like she said, they had the time.

A few more hours passed by and they crossed another state line into Illinois. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the music; she would turn up the volume and sink back into the seat. At first he thought it was to drown him out. But his keen ear soon realized she was singing along and deduced she was trying to drown herself out. He didn't call her out on it. He even felt himself smile as he heard her meek little voice sing along to an old Justin Timberlake song. He grinned even wider as her voice seemed to gain confidence on the chorus. The lyrics "what goes around" were no doubt a literal representation of what she was thinking.

After a quick retreat at one of the many rest stops, Claire reclined her seat and curled on her side and fell asleep. He found himself stealing glaces at her too often. His palms itched at the urge to run his fingers along her spine. He cursed himself that he couldn't resist when a long, wispy lock of her hair flew from the air of her cracked window. He tucked it behind her ear, the small whimper she let escape when his finger grazed her earlobe ringing louder than sirens in his head. He gritted his teeth and tried to go over all the parts needed to make a grandfather clock.

The sun had set and the stars were out, the night clear and crisp as he continued on a rural highway in the middle of Illinois. He glanced at the clock. He'd been driving for 13 hours. His back suddenly felt stiff and he desperately wanted to do nothing more than stretch out on a soft bed. He drove a little farther, pulling off in a little town outside of Springfield. He left Claire in the car to check into the motel, keeping his ear on the car, just in case. He was thankful that this place was a hell of a lot nicer than the last place they stayed. He thanked the clerk and went back to the car to wake Claire up.

"Claire, wake up," he shook her gently.

"Wha?" she yawned.

"C'mon. I got us a room for the night."

She practically sleepwalked to the room.

Once inside, she dropped onto one of the two queen beds and yawned loudly. "What's for dinner?"

Sylar rolled his eyes at her. He grabbed two french bread pizzas from one of the bags. They were still frozen. He saw her eye them with a bewildered expression.

"No need for ice packs and a cooler with me," he smiled. He took them their packages and held one in each hand. She watched as his hands turned red and a feeling of heat took over the room. Almost as soon as it started, it stopped and he handed her one, the cheese on top melted and the bread crisp.

"Thanks," she said, with her eyebrow raised.

He took his place on the other bed and turned the television on.

"Will you put it in the travel channel?"

He did as she asked. They sat and enjoyed their food while watching a special on Hawaii. He could hear her contented sighs, seeing her relax and seem to get lost in the images on the television. He watched as she absentmindedly ran a hand across her stomach, making little figure eights. His breath caught in his throat when she moved under the shirt (his shirt) and he imagined how soft her skin had felt... Shaking the image out of his head, he grabbed his bag and headed to the bathroom to shower again. He felt the stiffness in his body wash off in waves under the intense jet stream. Fleeting images of her still body...her closed eyes and that feeling in his throat when he held her hand came over him and he turned the shower knob to the coldest setting for a few moments. He turned the water off and shook violently, enjoying the feel of all his muscles moving at once despite thinking he was a spitting image of a shaggy dog. He put on a pair of baggy sweats and fell back onto his bed.

Claire hadn't moved an inch. She turned to look at him and her cheeks flushed a faint pink. He smirked to himself. A sense of self-satisfaction coming over him; it was obvious she found him aesthetically pleasing. He immediately thought of her earlier that morning, seething at his snarkiness wearing nothing but that white towel. Her body was much more appealing when it was unscathed and rich with color and not lifeless. He clenched his fist at the haunting vision...

The room he had found her in was nothing but blinding white concrete. He never understood why doctors and scientists, especially the despicable kind, were compelled to have their work space look that way. Her body was on that bed and looked like anyone in a hospital would, except for the tight buckled straps around her legs and arms. Long, deep incisions, deep enough to expose bone, had been made down the length of both her legs. Another perfectly round chunk was missing from her stomach. He could see her intestines and it almost made him ill. The worst part was the silver instruments...forceps and clamps and things he had never seen before, shoved into these wounds, forcing them open. Keeping her from healing. It was only after taking in such horrors that he realized she was naked, save a sheet that had been draped over her pubic area. A quick jerk of his finger and the IV that was no doubt pumping drugs into her was removed. He hovered over her face and he watched as her eyes opened and she lifted her head. He watched, feeling pity for her as she saw the insides of her own body. She opened her mouth to scream but he was quick enough to mask it. And he thought sound manipulation was useless. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head and she fainted.

He was in awe of such a disgusting display, all orchestrated by her own father. He couldn't bring himself to touch her, an unexplainable fear he might somehow cause more damage came over him. With a wave of his hand the silver tools flew from her body and he watched with a never fading fascination as the skin stitched back together. Moving swiftly, he used the power of his mind to unbuckle the straps while he used his hands to physically remove the remaining wires connected to her body. He had thought he had removed everything when he saw one last tube resting between her newly healed legs. His stomach turned when he realized where that tube was inserted. He had to turn his head away, trying to push the images out of his mind of what was at the end of that tube, thankful that she would heal any damage he might cause by removing it so quickly. He refused to use his hands for that. The tube hit the floor and he watched, unable to stop the bed underneath her stain with blood....

At that point, the rage within him exploded in a way he hadn't felt in years. He caught hold of himself just in time, placing his hand over every computer and monitor in the room, absorbing their data (a little trick he picked up from a notorious cyber criminal a few years back) before destroying them with electricity. He had no time to assess the information he just took, so he kept it dormant in his mind as he worked quickly to tear the room to pieces. He opened a small cabinet under one of the sinks and found clean scrubs. Again, refusing to lay a finger to her naked body, he levitated her a few inches off the blood-soaked bed, sliding the thin, dark blue material over her skin. With a quick, tight tie of the pants string he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.

Running as fast as he had ever remembered, he ran through the dark halls, trying to recall the last time he saw a window. He rounded a corner and met face to face with two agents. Without even slowing his pace, he plowed toward them, cutting their guns (and hands) from their body. He felt a light mist of blood as he passed them. He found a window and broke it before jumping out from the 5th story. He slowed their fall using a power he hadn't used since regaining control over himself as a sign of respect for Nathan. He doubted he would mind using it now, given the nature. He felt Claire fidget and wake, allowed her to see what was happening and the building they were fleeing before bursting into flight...

The sound of the bathroom door shutting brought him back to the present. He levitated a bottle of water from one of the bags to him, feeling much too exhausted to get up, and tried to pay attention to the television. A commercial came on for a local computer repair service and it hit him that had yet to decipher the data he absorbed from the Company's machines. He sat up on the bed and folded his legs in the lotus position and began to access that part of his memory, closing his eyes in concentration. He was immediately flooded with information. He took a few seconds to do an internal search, thinking about Claire's file. Some of the data he already knew. He skipped past the information regarding her history and her ability and stopped when it came to the logs regarding her recent stay there.

As he expected, they were running various tests on her DNA. That was standard. They were testing new medications to try and stop the healing. He scowled at the thought. But then there was something else. Something he did not expect, not even from the Company. This was beyond unforgivable. This was beyond sick. He looked down to see his own hands shaking in anger. He now understood why someone had implanted a tube in the most personal of areas...


	5. Chapter 5

The sound that came from outside the bathroom made Claire hesitate before turning the knob and heading back to the bed. She opened the door slowly, peeking out to make sure everything was ok. Sylar was sitting in the middle his bed, his eyes closed and visibly shaking and short blue sparks were dancing around his tightly closed fists. She slipped out of the bathroom and walked sideways, slowly, to her bed, her heart racing fast. Without taking her eyes off of him or giving him her back, she sat facing his direction, too timid to speak at first for fear it might startle him and cause him to shock her. But then she remembered it wouldn't do anything to her if he did.

"Sylar, are you alright?" she asked quietly.

His eyes popped open and the sparks stopped. His face twisted into an expression she wasn't sure she recognized: his furrowed brow and tight lipped frown, features she knew well, seemed angry. But his eyes, hidden beneath that brow seemed almost hurt. He took several deep, cleansing breaths before asking "Claire, what do you remember?"

There was no need to ask what he was referring to. She knew exactly what he meant. "Well...like I said this morning. The last thing I remember before everything was being at the grocery late at night. I wanted ice cream..."

"Do you remember anything that happened during?"

The images flooded her mind and she hated him for doing this. Part of her wanted to refuse to answer, to push it all back down. But she knew him too well. He would never leave her alone until he got what he wanted. Much like she did to him earlier when being pressed on an issue he wasn't up to discussing. She sighed, throwing herself down, her head bouncing on the soft pillow. She fixed her eyes on the ceiling, refusing to look directly at him.

"I remember waking up and not being able to move my arms or legs. My vision was blurry, there was someone standing over me I think and I lifted my head to see what why I wasn't moving. Things started to get clearer and I saw a lot of blood and silver things stuck in my legs. I think there was a hole in my stomach. I heard myself scream and then it went black," she said. She turned her head, finally looking at him. He was listening intently, but she could see him trembling. "The next thing I remember, I was on your shoulders...moving really fast. I saw the Comp... I saw that building and then we were flying. I think you stopped somewhere in Maryland and stole a car...and well, you know the rest. Why do you ask?"

He stood up from the bed and paced back and forth for a few moments, finally dropping down in the space between the two beds. He brought his knees to his chest and ran his hands through his hair. The urge to do that herself washed over and she swallowed hard. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at his face. The sweat on his shoulders glistened in the lamp's light and he suddenly looked paler than she had ever remembered.

"I'm going to give you the option," he said, his voice low. He was staring at the floor between his knees. "and Claire, I want you to seriously think about it before you answer me."

Her heart raced again and she sat up, crossing her legs. She could feel the anxiety coming off of him and it bit at the back of her throat.

"Do you want to know what they were doing to you?" he refused to look at her.

She could feel fear creeping up her spine and she wasn't sure why. "That bad, huh?"

"Yes."

She honestly didn't know if she wanted to know all the details. "How did you find out?"

"Data absorption from electronics. I took it in the heat of everything but just now remembered that I hadn't sorted through it."

She just nodded and sucked on her bottom lip. "Is this why you look like you are about to explode?"

"Very much so."

She sighed and stood up, pulling the covers back on her bed. She settled under them and curled away from him. "Then no. I don't. Not yet anyway. I don't think I can handle it right now."

Half of her wanted him to tell her anyway. It was her body, her life, she had a right to know. She needed to know. But there is only so much a person can stand to go through in such a short time. She was tired and needed to sleep and if the actions against her were enough to drive Sylar to shake and look on the edge of eruption...well, she doubted that bit of information would be of any sort of sedative to her. She heard him stand up and get into his bed. The lamp flicked off and they were in the dark.

"Good night Claire," he said.

"Night," she replied.

**********************************************************************************************

She knew by the beginning of the second hour of restlessness that she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Whatever nightmarish things Sylar uncovered would no doubt shake her to the core. But now she knew that he knew, and it was going to drive her insane. Much like when a friend tells you they got you a gift but won't say what, the curiosity would kill her, she was sure. She never was much of a girl that wanted to be kept in the dark, and her past episodes with various bad guys was testament to that. Sometimes she wished that she was more of an airhead. Ignorance is bliss, so the saying goes.

She rolled over in the bed for the 48th time (so it felt) and faced his direction. The room was pitch black, no bright red digital numbers to draw her attention to. Having no idea of the time, she had heard, was a good way to help someone fall into slumber. But the lack of any sort of light source made looking at Sylar pointless. She knew he was there, could hear his deep breathing, but she couldn't see him. This made her uneasy, having no visual confirmation that he was still with her and she hated herself for it. If only this room had a nightlight...

Groaning, she rubbed her eyes hard. She was never going to fall asleep. With that anxious feeling still biting at her insides, she cleared and her throat and called Sylar's name softly. He moaned and she heard him rustling in his bed. She called it again. He made another unintelligible sound. She said it a little louder.

"Claire?" he finally yawned.

"I can't sleep," she said.

"So you had to keep me from it too?"

"Can you stop being a smart ass for five minutes?" she asked.

"When I'm woken up in the middle of the night, all bets are off. But I shall try. What's on your mind?"

She sat up in her bed but didn't turn the light on. "I want to know what they did to me."

The bed springs squeaked and she would've guessed he sat up as well. "And you think this is gonna help you sleep?"

"Probably not, but if I don't hear it soon, the curiosity is going to eat me alive."

"Claire, I don't know if this is such a good..."

"I want to know. You were all ready to tell me earlier."

He sighed. "It's not pretty. I'm telling you now..."

"I don't care. I need to know. I need you to tell me and stop trying to act like..."

"Alright, alright. Fine. I'll tell you."

Waiting for him to continue, she realized she was shaking. Her foot was moving a mile a minute and she worried for a millisecond that it might fall off.

"What you told me earlier, what you woke and saw, was real. When I found you, they had cut you all over, to the bone, and were using things to keep the gashes open. The wound they had made in your stomach was the worst of them. They had put a big, circular metal ring inside and that too stopped the healing. Clair, I could see your intestines."

Her stomach jerked violently but she didn't make a sound. She could do this, she could handle being told the truth.

"Do you want me to go on?"

"Yes," she said, putting more power in her voice than necessary.

"I took the IV out of your arm to stop the drugs. You woke up and looked down at yourself, I silenced the scream you let out and then toy passed out. Shock, I assume. I removed all the instruments and wires from you." He cleared his throat. "You were naked, save a sheet covering your lower half. I eventually found some clean scrubs to put on you."

She could feel the heat rising to her face and was thankful he couldn't see her blushing. So he'd seen her naked. From the waist up. She tried to think of it as nonchalant as possible. They were both grown-ups here. And she was sure he'd seen his fair share of breasts in his life. Besides, he surely to god wasn't ogling her while she unconscious and being tortured...

"Claire, the next thing I found was absolutely deplorable," he warned.

"I don't care, tell me everything," she said, her voice cracking.

"There was another tube, one that I didn't notice at first. I realized very soon where it was connected..."

Claire held her breath. She wasn't sure what he was gonna say, but knew it was bad.

He sighed. "I saw the tube disappear between your legs and under the sheet. I...I couldn't bear to touch that, so I had to use my power to remove it. It was disgusting."

Though he couldn't bring himself to say it completely out loud, she knew what he meant. She suddenly somehow felt even more violated than before. Even more than that day Sylar poked around her brain. She could feel tears sting her eyes and her body started to tremble but she had to keep listening. She needed to know why.

"Claire?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"What was the purpose?" she asked quietly, straining to keep her voice from cracking.

"From what I gathered, they were running the standard Company freakshow experiments. Trying different inhibitors, testing the side effects of others. The main reason for your being there was different. They had taken samples of your DNA with the intent of attempting to find the healing gene. Their goal was to isolate that and then replicate it, intended to mimic it in other people," he said. He sighed deeply and she heard him rustle the blankets. When he spoke again, it came from a different direction He had stood up in the dark. "It's not a new idea for the Government. Trying everything they can get their hands on to make the ultimate soldier. The perfect weapon. It's their proposed Plan B that is truly disturbing."

Unable to stand being in the dark any longer (literally and figuratively), Claire slid off the bed and clicked the lamp on. Sylar was leaning against the sink counter, his head hung low. The feeling of hate from the night before was nothing compared to the hellfire burning in her gut now. She ran to him, forcing his head up to look at her. His eyes were glossy and filled with guilt.

"I really didn't want to be the one to tell you this. Any other time, in the past, I would've jumped at the chance to prove to you that everything you thought was safe and true wasn't. I would've done it just to see the fight come out of you to try prove me wrong. But this.." he turned his gaze to the wall beside them. She was still holding his face, the scruff there scratching her skin just like imagined it would.

"What is Plan B?"

"They were collecting your eggs, Claire. If they are unable to duplicate your power in others they plan to just breed new ones," he finally said.

Claire's hands fell from his face. She didn't scream. She didn't cry or start breaking things. Stepping away from him slowly, she calmly walked into the bathroom and locked the door. She was on the floor then, sitting back against the door, counting the square tiles on the floor.

She was wrong. There was nothing in this world that could prepare her for that. The experiments, the drugs. She could understand that. Hell, at one point she would have even encouraged it if it meant it could save people. But this...it was worse than she could've imagined. Several different scenarios passed through her mind and she was having trouble figuring out what was the worst part of this whole thing.

Genetic theft. How could they take that from her? Her stomach turned at the thought of that tube inside her. It was unbearable and sick and wrong. She could feel her body, it's desire to vomit, feeling herself heave but, like it always did, never allowed her to. She refused to sit there and convulse, she needed something, some physical response, something tangible to happen. Crawling to the toilet, she stuck her fingers down her throat, as far as she could and welcomed the bile that finally came up with open arms. The act was violent for her but not painful, there was never pain, but at least she could feel it.

Wiping her mouth on a discarded towel, she laid on the cool tiles and stared directly at the blinding white light above her. What they did was no different than rape. Her body was still heaving but there was nothing left in her to expel. Her body... She knew, as she jumped up toward the sink, that she had healed from what they did to her. That did not stop her from ripping the mirror from above the sink clean off the wall. She slipped the boxers off and sat on the end of the tub, holding the broken mirror upright and resting on the floor. She examined herself, really looking at that part of her in detail for the first time since she was child. The tears started to well then, seeing everything looking absolutely perfect (and kind of beautiful) but knowing that just a few days ago it wasn't. How long had they been harvesting from her? Was it the entire three weeks? How many eggs did they manage to get from her? She frantically tried to remember what she learned in health class. How many ovum did women have? Did she even have any left? The mirror slipped from her grasp and shattered into large pieces on the tile floor. She glanced down and saw the many reflections of her face staring back at her.

Her thoughts then ran to Plan B. If the genetic altering failed...she would be the unwilling mother to an army of test tube soldiers. She always wanted children, but not like this. It was so wrong, so very, very wrong. She pictured hundreds of young, blond men and women dressed in fatigues and wielding guns. Brainwashed by the god damned Company to kill without remorse. Unstoppable. And it would be all her fault. How much blood would she have on her hands? How many innocent people would be slaughtered by her sons and daughters? And she would be powerless to stop it. They would be invincible, just like she was. They could take over the world. And she would live forever, watching it happen helplessly, unable to do anything about it.

No, she could not let this happen. She would end this, end the Company once and for all. Standing up and walking without a care on the broken glass, she made a decision she never thought she would be forced to. And she sure as hell never imagined it would be such an easy one to make.

Noah would die for this.


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm going to kill him."

Sylar was still slumped against the counter when Claire finally came out of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed and her expression hard and made that declaration. He felt he should say something at such a statement, especially since it was something he had imagined but never thought he would hear from her. Another part of him wanted to reach out and pull her close, holding her to his body. In the end he kept silent and made his way back to the bed.

"Sylar, I need you to promise me something," she asked, standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed.

"And what would that be?"

"When it comes down it, when I get my hands on him..." she was shaking. "If for some reason I cannot go through with it, if I back down and can't kill him, I want you to promise me you will."

He raised an eyebrow. "Claire, at this point it may be more of a challenge to NOT kill him before you do."

"Then promise me you will let me try first." She was as serious as he'd ever seen her.

How long had he wanted to see Noah dead? How long now had he wanted to see Claire let go of those ties? It seemed like an illusion, her asking this of him. He tried to keep the smile from his face. "I promise."

She only nodded and sat back down on her bed. He arranged his blanket and clicked the light off to try and go back to sleep. Laying his head on the pillow, he turned to Claire to find that she was making no attempt to get any rest. Not that he expected her to. He knew Claire was strong, knew she was a fighter but this was not something easily dealt with. He tried to put himself in her shoes for once, or tried imaging if he was a woman, how traumatizing an event of this nature would be. It was difficult to the say the least and he realized unless he experienced it first hand he would never truly know what she was going through. He only knew for certain that she was hurting and hurting bad, regardless of whatever hardened face she was forcing herself to make and this in turn was bothersome to him.

He half considered offering to put her to sleep, like he had the night before, but didn't. He had a feeling she wouldn't have accepted anyway. Several minutes crept by and she still didn't move. He was irked by this, wishing he had taken Parkman's power when he had the chance, just so he could get a peek into what she was thinking about. His mind refused to let his body go back to sleep, not when she was seething a few feet away. No, after another half hour he conceded to fact that as long as she was awake, he would be as well. If it wasn't for the promise he had made regarding not using any power on her without her permission, he'd persuade her right into a deep sleep, one he would make sure was peaceful and dreamless.

"Are you still awake?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I won't be able to sleep knowing that you are sitting there in pain," he said before he could filter himself. At this point he didn't really care. He wouldn't lie to her.

She didn't respond to him immediately. Now he really wished he could hear her thoughts. He wanted to know exactly what she was thinking of his little admittance.

"I know we haven't exactly had the best history," she said finally. "But I don't think there is anything I could do or say to really express my gratitude for you getting me out of that place."

"You don't have to, Claire."

She sniffed. "There is one thing I'm curious about."

"I'm sure there are several things you..."

"How did you know I was there?"

That question stopped him instantly. He was not expecting her to ask him that, at least not tonight. After their conversation in the car about his true motive of revenge on her behalf and the fact that she never even asked about this then, he had hoped she had just forgotten about it. He didn't know how to answer this, not without seeming like her stalker, which (for all intents and purposes) he was. He had to answer this delicately.

Claire had just experienced what was no doubt the worst thing to happen to her. She had been kidnapped and violated, all at the hands of the man she called her father. And she had learned the gritty details from the man who haunted her when she was just a little Cheerleader. The anger at her father he understood, it was just another thing they had in common. The impact of learning it from someone with a history such as theirs, he couldn't imagine.

Wanting to somehow take her mind off of things, he decided he would tell her everything. In the past two days Claire had been exposed in so many ways without being able to stop it. He felt that if maybe he exposed something about himself, it might help. Regardless of how such things would be received. All he could do was hope for the best.

He sighed heavily. "Do you want the long or short version?" He silently hoped she would say "short" but in the end he knew if he gave that to her it would only raise more questions. He knew that he would confess the truth to her eventually. Like she said, he never lied to her. He could feel emotions stirring inside of him, anxieties and doubts that hadn't plagued him since he was known as Gabriel. The reasons for following her were, when it came down to it, not that complex. Yet, he seriously doubted she would understand them.

"Well, it's not like we are going to be sleeping anytime soon."

She wanted the long version. Fine. "I've been keeping tabs on you for a while."

"How long is a while?"

"Almost eight years."

He heard her swallow hard. "What do you mean by 'keeping tabs'?"

"When I dropped off the radar after the whole Nathan debacle, I kept to myself mostly. Being trapped thinking you were someone else for two years changes how you see things, even for someone like me. I may be invincible but that taught me that worse things can happen. I swore to myself that I was done with that time of my life. I tried to distance myself from that. I was perfectly content with it for a while. But a few years ticked by and I began to get..I don't know, bored? Restless?"

"Lonely?" she interjected.

"Perhaps. Like I said, I'm only human. I had no desire to start any trouble that might get the Company back on my tail. But I wanted something, some kind of anchor, if you will, to remind me that I was still myself. The reality of my immortality began to creep on me and despite my best efforts, it was, and still is, a very depressing concept."

He had to stop talking for a few moments to gather his thoughts. Never had he revealed anything this personal to anyone. When he was Gabriel, he never had anyone that he could trust. As Sylar, he never had anyone that would care. He could feel her eyes on him, he was sure of it. The lack of light made this easier. He doubted he could do it in full sight of her.

"There has not been a single day that has gone by that I haven't pondered the fact that I would live forever. And there was never a time when I thought about that immortality that I didn't think about you. There was something almost comforting in the thought that I wouldn't be the only one still around in a hundred years."

"But you were already thinking like that before. Remember what you said to me the day you killed Nathan?" she said, her tone thick with accusation.

"Yes. I was mainly trying to get a rise out of you. Taunting you, like always. But underneath the hatefulness, I had meant what I said about building bridges." He refused to bring up the topic of "first first lady" and "love".

She didn't say anything to that.

He continued. "So I tracked you down. You were teaching 2nd graders in Midland. I had no intentions of interacting with you in the beginning. I was merely curious to see how your life was. Several months went by and I couldn't help but to get closer. Part of me considered just knocking on the door, just to see your face and hoping you would fight me. I didn't want to hurt you, it would just be something to end the monotony. But I chose another option, assuming the identity of a temporary maintenance man. I fixed a light in your classroom."

"So you were stalking me."

He hated the way it sounded coming from her. "Technically, yes. But I never had any intentions what so ever of disrupting your life. And its not like I followed you every single day. I would pop in every few months, just to see what you were doing. Making sure no one was giving you any trouble."

She let out a snort. A twinge of anger crept upon him but he ignored it. "So you were what, protecting me?"

"To be honest, there was never any inclination that you were in need of protection. But, was I prepared to leap into action if you did? Yes."

"The last time I had came to Midland was 5 days ago. I called the school and they told me that you were out on emergency medical leave. Seeing as you can't get sick or hurt, the red flags went up. I checked all the hospitals to be sure. I went to your home to see what I could find. Your car was there and I examined it and saw the abduction. You had made it back to your car after leaving the store, but was ambushed there. I saw the faces of the men who did it and I saw Noah."

"He was there?" she asked.

"Yes. That bit of information made it obvious that the Company was involved. It took a few days of staking out possible locations. I found you in the fourth location I checked."

There. It was out in the open now, and he understood the expression of "getting something off your chest". It did feel as if a weight had been lifted, unfortunately it now felt like someone was gripping his lungs. He wasn't sure how she would react to his admission. She was silent for a long time and he was going to explode if she didn't say something. He immediately went back over everything he had just said, making sure nothing slipped that he'd rather her not know. At least not yet. He was fairly confident in his explanation.

She finally cleared her throat. "Well. That was unexpected."

Her tone was surprised, but he couldn't detect any negativity. That was a good sign. His chest tightened and he could feel Gabriel trying to claw his way through, needing very urgently to say something. He let him.

"I'm sorry, Claire. I shouldn't have stalked you. I guess old habits die hard."

He heard her move off of her bed. To his surprise, she sat down on his. He instinctively moved over to edge. He swallowed hard, anticipating she may strike him. Not that it would cause any damage or even hurt, but no one likes to get hit. Especially when you can't see it coming.

"It's alright," she said. "Part of me feels like I should furious, but I'm not. Maybe my judgment is a little cloudy right now." She laid down next to him, he held his breath. "You were very good at hiding, I had no idea."

"I'm just sorry I wasn't around to stop this before it happened. I should've checked in on you sooner. "

She just made a low humming noise and he felt her shift on the bed. Despite what his body was screaming to do, he scooted even closer to the edge of the bed. They laid there for several minutes in awkward silence. He wasn't sure what to do or say. He swallowed and felt as if the sound bellowed through the room and he uneasiness washed over him again. Several more minutes ticked by and he finally had to break the silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, unsure.

"There is nothing to talk about. The man I called my father had me kidnapped, drugged and pretty much raped. I shouldn't be surprised, he has put his career before family my entire life," she said softly. He could hear the sadness in her voice and the slight change in pitch. She sounded on the verge of tears. He was bewildered at the fact he wished she would just cry. It would show him she was still grounded.

"At least he didn't just flat out leave, saying he was going to the store to never come back again," he added. He instantly regretted it.

"Are you trying to defend him?" she snapped.

"Of course not...I just..."

"Having someone abandon you is NO WHERE NEAR as terrible as what he has done..."

"I KNOW! I'm sorry, I was just trying to..."

"I would have rather grown up without a father then have this..."

"Claire, I didn't mean to..."

"How the hell could he do this? After all the shit he has put me through, all the times I forgave him, and he goes and calls the dogs on me? I'm glad mom isn't here to see this...Absolutely ri-goddamn-diculous..."

She jumped out of the bed and he shot up. He flicked his finger and the light flipped on. She was standing there, her body visibly shaking with anger. She was rocking back and forth on her heels and running her hands through her hair, huffing and puffing loudly. Sylar wasn't sure what to do. She looked on the verge of combustion from the color of her face.

"Claire?"

"WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DEAL WITH-"

He turned down the volume of her screams without her knowing it. It was easier on his ears and would keep anyone from alerting the front desk. Thankfully, she would get her anger out none the wiser.

"-SOMETHING LIKE THIS? I DONT HAVE ANY FRIENDS OR FAMILY TO TURN TO. HE WAS THE ONLY THING LEFT! THE ONLY PERSON I STILL HAD CONTACT WITH! NOW WHAT?"

"I can't answer that for you..."

"ARRRGGHH GOD I JUST WANT TO BREAK SOMETHING!"

That he could help her with. He jumped out of bed and towered over her. She glared up at him and he saw something besides anger flash behind her eyes but ignored it.

"Hit me."

She scowled at him. "What?"

"Hit me. It will make you feel better."

"You are ridiculous."

"No, I'm not. You said you want to break something. Instead of you going all 'Johnny Depp' on the hotel room, do it to me. I can't break, remember."

"I'm not hitting you."

She turned her back to him. That wasn't going to fly with him. He grabbed her by the arm roughly and spun her back around.

"Let me go," she cried.

"Not until you let it out. Do it. HIT ME."

"Sylar, you're hurting my arm..."

"So stop me. Slap me. Punch me. Kick me. I know that is what you want. You want to inflict pain on something else. To push the pain you feel outward. I can take it."

To his delight, she dug her nails into the forearm he was holding her with. After years and years of having her ability, something as small as this barely registered as pain. She ripped her arm away from his grasp but didn't attack him.

"What do I have to do? Do I need to go over the details of what they did to you again? What he did to you?"

"Please, don't..."

"Then let it out Claire! You can't possibly expect to go into this with a clear head until you let off some steam! I know this for a fact. You will think you have a cunning plan, think you will outsmart them and have your revenge. But you will be clouded by the pent up rage, you will lose focus and you will fail! It's happened to me more times than I care to remember!"

He was pushing her on purpose and he heard Gabriel screaming in his ears to leave her alone. He tuned it out, watching her hands at her sides tighten into fists and shake. She was so close to the edge, he just needed to do something, say something to help her over.

"You know I'm right. I won't even gloat afterward. Give in to the urge. Who knows, you might even like it, Claire-Bear."

She moved so fast it caught him off guard for a second. She let out a horrible scream and lunged at his throat, tackling him to his bed. He lay his hands flat on the bed, resisting the instinct to throw her against the wall. He closed his eyes and took the beating, like a champ some would say, her small fists connecting with his nose, his ears, his cheek bones and his chest. He felt his nose break and he could smell the blood the seeped from it but he let her continue.

Opening his eyes, he had to see her in action. She was straddling him, the smoothness of her calves rubbing against his bare sides. Her hair was falling all around her face, which was now a deep red and covered in tears. Another blow connected with his cheek and dull crunch sounded in his ears as she was able to break that bone. His vision shook momentarily and as he could feel the bone heal, he saw that she was just swinging wildly, her eyes closed. Small rivulets of blood streamed down her chin as she bit down with full force on her own lip as she struck him.

A few more hits later and he was starting to feel it. She kept most of the blows to his face, to his dismay, but would throw in a hard hit to his chest and ribs. The pain was increasing with every hit and he imagined there were bruises appearing, only she was hitting so hard and fast that they never got a chance to fade. He was trying to put his mind somewhere else, somewhere methodical that he could concentrate on. Naturally, he begin to think of pleasurable things, things he enjoyed. Watches. Pinot Noir. A chocolate sundae with cashews. The way Claire's body felt on top of him...

He growled at that thought and had to force the thought from his head. Claire was seemingly brought back to earth from the sound that escaped him and she froze above him, mid swing, and broke down into sobs. He felt the last of his wounds heal and stared into her agonized face. She swayed slightly back and forth and Sylar recognized instantly what was happening. She had let go like he told her to. Now all the pain, agony, the guilt, the shame, the helplessness was pouring out of her. Gabriel had been there many times before. The memories were flooding back and he remembered the one thing he had secretly craved when it happened to him.

He ran his hands up her back slowly and pulled her down to his chest. Like he expected, she didn't resist, instead she brought her arms to her chest tightly and buried her face in the crook of his neck. He gently sat up, cradling her shuddering body, and pushed his back against the headboard for support. He rubbed her back in circles and whispered soothing sounds into her ear. She cried in earnest, wrapping her arms around him and he sighed heavily.

"It's ok Claire," he cooed and continued to rub her back and smooth her hair down. Her sobs finally began to slow.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, still hiding her face in his neck. Her breath was hot on his skin and he felt goosebumps erupt over his entire body.

"Don't be. I'm fine."

The trembling began to slow, but he continued running his hands over her back. She let go of his back and hooked her arms around his neck and he was glad she didn't see his eyes flutter for an instant.

"Sylar?"

"Hmm?"

"Put me to sleep, please."

He scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up, still holding her tight to his body and attempted to lay her on her own. He couldn't help but feel like he was laying a very large baby down to sleep. To his surprise, she didn't let him go.

"Will you lay with me?" she whispered in his ear.

He had to take a cleansing breath as her gentle words floated around his head. He sat down and pulled the blankets back and she let go of him so he could get comfortable. She moved over a few inches and he laid down on his back, stiff as a board, his hands at his sides. He flicked the light off. He felt her move onto her side and his breath caught in his throat when she pushed back toward him, her hand fishing for his, draping his arm over her. He rolled to his side to comply with what she was silently asking. He inhaled the scent of her hair as he moved his lips to her ear.

"Go to sleep, Claire. Slip into a deep sleep. Do not dream. No nightmares tonight," he whispered, boldly lacing his fingers over hers and melding closer with her. He could feel her body relax into his and her rhythmic breathing began within minutes. She was so warm against his bare skin, she smelled so enticing, and her rear was pressed into him and he knew his body's natural reactions would cause him grief. Without moving, he summoned a pillow from the empty bed over and placed it below his hips, between them.

Would she hate him in the morning for making her do this? Maybe. He didn't really care. He had done worse to her in the past. When it finally came down to it and she realized he was right, he wouldn't rub it in her face. Would she realize in the morning what she asked him to do? That she asked him to sleep like this with her? Would it disgust her? He remembered that glimmer in her eye before he coaxed her into beating him. There was something else aside from anger there. He was sure...

Claire let out a small moan and he immediately let all other thoughts go and allowed himself the pleasure of just holding her. Exhaustion was creeping up on him and he knew he would sleep like the dead tonight. He leaned his head toward her and placed a soft kiss at the base of neck before allowing his mind and body to drift off into slumber.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I apologize for the time between updates. Real life, that bitch, was in full swing and mix that with a head cold and the fact that this chapter was exceedingly difficult to get to my liking and you get almost two weeks between updates. But enough whining. Enjoy.**

When Claire began to wake, she replayed the events of the night before in her mind several times over. Remembering what she found out about her little stay with the Company, the feelings of sadness and betrayal were overshadowed by the want to destroy, much to her surprise. She knew she should be furious at Sylar for forcing her to unleash on him, but damned if it didn't work. She hoped he'd keep his promise about gloating. The pain and heartache were still there (she was sure it would always be) but it wasn't nearly as paralyzing this morning. Perhaps it was merely too early. And as for Sylar...

Disgust. Violation. Hatred. Those were all the things she should be feeling for him right now but didn't. His honesty wasn't unexpected. The admissions that came with his honesty were. Very much so. Gratitude, empathy and a twinge of reverence were in her heart and head for him right now. She wouldn't have thought it possible ten years ago. Then again, ten years ago she would have said the odds of her father betraying her were nil. Fuck, she would've said that a month ago. It used to be Noah protecting her, vowing to end Sylar. But the heat on her back was proof Sylar was protecting her now.

As her brain slowly started to wake more, she realized his arm was slung over her body, his hand on top of hers, their fingers intertwined. The heat from him seemed to radiate through her back and out of her chest and she was not in any rush to move away from him. She shifted her leg and felt the soft fabric on the back of her knees. A pillow. She smiled to herself. Who knew he was such a gentleman. But lucidity was still dancing behind her still closed eyes and it beckoned for pure sensations and not logic. So, as gently as she could she moved the pillow, pushing her body into his, sighing softly as she felt an even warmer heat spread through her lower half. She questioned if the cause was only akin to his body heat. She accepted the fact that at this moment, she didn't care.

Her eyes opened and the room came into focus (as well as her mind) and she was already mourning the illogical feelings she was just enjoying. Yet, a funny thing happened. They didn't disappear. Sylar's words were ringing in her ears more clearly now, and she heard what he was telling her despite not actually saying it out loud. It hit her then, harder than she ever expected it to, that she felt exactly the same. Only it would have probably taken her decades to seek him out.

Claire was, and had been, the loneliest she had ever felt in her entire life. The feelings manifested right when she finished school and started teaching. The few friends she had made started to slip away and soon the only real human connections she made were with her students and her mother. She still spoke to her brother and her father but nowhere as near as much as Sandra. After her mother died, she started to turn down the few invitations she received for faculty outings and the occasional requests for dates. Her time was spent either with her kids or planning things for them. She had turned into a social hermit. It was only now that she admitted to herself the reasoning behind it. Why get attached to someone when they will ultimately die on you? Her students loved her, and she them, but after nine months she would let them go, only seeing them in between classes as they moved on from grade to grade and eventually left. This way was what she wanted. The connection ended on her terms, not theirs. Or God's. She choose to let them go, not forced to watch them grow old and die. Perhaps this was her subconscious was trying to protect her from dealing with the pain altogether.

But here she was with a man who would be around as long as she would. A man who was more like herself than she ever wanted to admit. A misunderstood freak who was manipulated and betrayed even more than herself. He had terrorized her, caused her so much pain and stole from her. Eternity was a long time to hold on to a grudge. Especially one geared toward the only other person who would be there with her when the world ended. He had told her that she would come to forgive him. Maybe even love him. She had told Sylar that day he killed Nathan that she would hate him forever. It hadn't even been 20 years. While she may have forgiven him, they had a long way to go before she would love him.

She couldn't kid herself over the probability. The odds of it were too great. She was too young and impulsive and disgusted back then to think otherwise. He was too crass, selfish and insane to try and change her mind. But thinking of her life then and how she lived now... well, she was walking, talking proof that people change, regardless if they want to or not. He had told her last night that something changed in him. His actions and demeanor seemed testament to that. He said he had stopped killing. For good? She doubted it. But he genuinely seemed to be trying. But still, even without the whole "serial killer" aspect, he really could be an egotistical, insufferable ass. A very sexy egotistical, insufferable ass...

She moved her hips slightly in frustration of the situation and he let out a small sigh and gripped her hand a little tighter. The sensation shot through her and the only thing she could think of was getting that sound out of him again. Being careful not to wake him completely, she slowly rolled her ass against his crotch. Just like she hoped, he let out another sigh. Moving again, she gently turned to her other side and was now facing him. He looked so peaceful like this, dead asleep and less threatening. His arm was still around her and she couldn't help but snuggle closer the him, her head under his chin and her face in his chest. The hair there tickled her cheek slightly but in this moment she didn't care. She let a hand creep up and she ran her fingers through the dark, wispy hairs there. He sighed, the air rushing from his nostrils and hitting the top of her head, sending a shiver down her spine.

He shifted in his sleep, rolling to his back but Claire didn't move. His arm was no longer cradling her but she remedied that by sliding between his other arm and laying her head back on his chest. She smiled when she felt his hand lazily rub her back. Maybe he was dreaming. Not being able to stop herself, she slung one of her legs up and laid it on his upper thigh. He let out an odd snore and she tried to suppress a laugh. That's when she felt him twitch against her leg. She was sure she blushed for a moment but then the overwhelming desire to touch him arose. She knew very well that she wouldn't act on the thought but she had to do something to make up for it. Sitting up on her elbow, she studied his face. His thick, dark eyebrows. The dark fan of lashes that twitched slightly in sleep. The bridge of his nose. The curve of his lips. Those lips were slightly parted and without thinking (or perhaps after thinking too much) she kissed him.

It was innocent, almost chaste, when her lips brushed against his. She pulled back slightly and saw as he, still asleep, licked his lips. Before she knew it her mouth was against his again, the contact lingering a little longer than before. That's when she felt him start to kiss her back. She opened her eyes just in time to see him open his and everything seemed to stop for a second. Her heart was beating fast, her palms sweaty and for one of the first times in her life she honestly didn't have a clue what to do. He blinked a few times, his eyes taking in the room around him at first before settling back on her.

"Well," he said softly, "That's a hell of a way to wake up."

Claire could practically feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. "I didn't meant to wake you."

He frowned. "I'm sure you didn't. You could've just prodded me in the ribs and slapped me in the face a little if you wanted me to get up." His tone was almost bitter and it wasn't undetected by her.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," she said, pulling away from him and pushing herself toward the edge of the bed.

"No, you shouldn't have. It wasn't very nice."

"Not nice? All I did was peck you on the lips. It was barely anything," she spat.

"Your perception of things is much different than mine," he said low.

A sudden rush of annoyance and anger swelled in her gut. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He sat up and sat on his edge of the bed, opposite of her. "Nothing. Just forget it. It's too early for this."

"No. What the hell was so wrong about a little kiss?"

He didn't say anything.

"Well?" she prodded.

"Drop it, Claire."

"Fuck that. Tell me. Last night you were all about telling me everything. Now you wanna keep secrets?"

"A man can't be a completely open book."

"Bullshit." She was getting angrier by the second. "Oh, I get it. It's me. I guess I just misunderstood what you told me last night."

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," she said, getting off the bed to sort through her new clothes for something to wear.

"No, what do you mean 'misunderstood'?"

She shook her head. "See, it's not so fun when someone doesn't explain things you want to know is it, smartass?"

He let out an aggravated sigh. "Fine, you wanna know what's wrong with 'a little peck on the lips'? It would never be 'just a little peck" for me. And I'd rather not have it at all than to be teased."

She dropped the shirt she had been holding. She turned to face him but he was still sitting on the bed, his back to her. So that was it. She did understand what he had said last night. She just misunderstood him this morning. He thought she was teasing him. She walked around the bed and stood right in front of him. He hung his head low.

"I didn't do that to tease you."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I don't know, because I wanted to?"

She saw him shudder slightly. He looked up at her then. "You aren't lying."

"Why would I-"

She barely registered that he had moved. Her eyes were closed and his mouth was on hers and all her thoughts seemed to stop in that moment. She felt one hand cup around her jaw, the other around her neck, his finger brushing against her ear and she almost lost her balance. His lips seemed to burn hers like fire and in her mind the only way to quench the flame was with even more of him. She was the first to part her lips, flicking her tongue over his bottom lip. He responded with his own tongue invading her mouth, flicking and curling and dancing around her own. Her hands snaked around his waist and her fingers danced up his ribs and she smiled into his mouth when she felt him jump.

"Who knew? Big, bad Sylar is ticklish" she whispered.

He attacked her with more force, his kisses running from her mouth to her cheeks, down the length of her jaw and the side of her neck. She couldn't help but let out a moan right into his ear and her nails scratched across his stomach. She trailed across his navel and she felt that trail of hair that led past where she couldn't see and ran her fingers down the length of it. But something clicked in her mind and her logic finally entered the picture. Just as she was about to stop herself before things got too heavy, he pulled away first. She knew somehow that he was thinking the same thing.

"That...uh. That was...yeah" he said, clearing his throat. His cheeks were pink and his eyes were a little glazed over. "Anyway, we, uh, we should get moving."

He started to gather his clothes and belongings. She couldn't help but notice his movements were rather stiff and he was trying his best not to look at her. A wave of guilt ran over her then and she silently wished she wouldn't have kissed him while he slept, regardless of how good the aftermath of it felt. He said it would never be just a peck to him. He would rather have nothing at all than to be teased. She shouldn't have pressed him to admit that. There were so many thoughts running through her head. Too much information to process. This was not the time for this. Any semblance of romance sprung from a situation like this could only lead to trouble. It wasn't fair to him.

No, she would set those thoughts and feelings aside. For now. They had all the time in the world to figure this out. She had to focus on the most important thing. Retribution. The Company's end. Destroying what they took from her. Watching the life leave Noah's eyes. Once that was done, maybe then she could focus her full, undivided attention to Sylar. Maybe once this was far enough behind her, she could learn to love him. Or would she even have to learn? Would it happen naturally? His hands fit so well within her own. His lips pressed against hers perfectly. Within the span of two days, her perception of him had flipped completely. Was it happening already? She sat down on the bed and allowed her mind to run through all the nervous, exciting, wonderful, terrifying thoughts of him and her and what they could and could never be. Better to allow herself to mentally dump everything for a bit instead of forcing them out until the point of eruption. She had to have clear head for the days ahead. She couldn't fuck it up.

She watched Sylar go into the bathroom to change and she was even more grateful that he was who he was. It was clear to her that he was fighting a similar battle with himself. Only she was confident that when they finally met Noah face to face, he would keep his composure and keep his cool until the job was done. She knew for a fact he would not allow her to fail or falter. He would make sure she did everything she needed to. He walked back into the room, fully dressed in dark jeans and a black button up shirt. He may have claimed he had been changed but his fashion sense was the same as it ever way. For reasons unknown to her, this made her smile.

She grabbed her own clothes and headed to the bathroom. Before she shut the door, she turned to him.

"Sylar," she began. "Thank you. You couldn't have convinced me last night but after waking up this morning, I see why you forced me to do what I did. I appreciate it."

He finally met her gaze, giving her a half-smile and a nod. Her stomach gave a violent jolt as she shut the door. She allowed one last thought on the matter and herself and him.

It was happening now.


	8. Chapter 8

It was three hours of uncomfortable silence before one of them spoke and Claire was the one to break it.

"Where are we heading?"

"I have a house in North Dakota. It's pretty secluded. We will be safe there," he said, not taking his eyes from the road.

"You? You have a house?" she asked, surprise obvious in her voice.

"I do. Why do you sound so surprised?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. You just don't seem like the 'house' type. Who's was it?"

He couldn't help but grin. It was clear she assumed he stole it from someone.

"It's mine. I bought it a few months after I was myself again," he said.

"Huh," she nodded. "So you didn't.. you know.."

"Kill for it? No, I didn't. I bought it. Under a false identity, of course."

"How could you afford that?"

"A talent I picked up from the old days. It's very useful. And I'll never have to work a day in my life again. Which is good, considering how long that's going to be." He glanced at her and she was staring at him, her face wary. "Do you want to see?"

"See what?"

"How I pay my bills."

He reached down and grabbed the car's cigarette lighter and held it flat in his palm. He concentrated a little and the object turned into solid gold.

"Is...is that gold?" she asked, astounded.

He nodded.

"And you can turn anything into gold?"

"Yes."

She didn't say anything else. She just sat back and bobbed her head a bit to the music. He dropped the gold into the console and kept driving. He began to count mile markers like he had been doing earlier, just to occupy his mind with something other than the morning's events. He was still kicking himself for being so overly aggressive and an outright asshole when he woke up, but he had to admit that what happened after exceeded his imagination by miles. He just didn't want it like this.

He could tell just by looking at her that she didn't mean to hurt him. Her spoken words and his lie detection confirmed it. But all that did was give him hope and he didn't want hope. Hope can be broken. She was in the worst emotional state she will most likely ever be in and even though she may have been telling the truth earlier, that truth may not be the same a few weeks or months or even years from now. He wasn't sure he could handle finally having something good only to be ripped away. The consequences would be catastrophic, he was sure.

No, the most important thing now was not this, but ending Noah. Destroying their little project. He was already going over plans in his head. He was ready to get home and put them down on paper. The thought of his house had never been so inviting before. He was actually craving the comfort of his old leather chair in the study. His solid oak, four-poster bed. The back porch and it's swing. He couldn't think of a time where he was this...home sick.

He tried to tell himself that he was just craving comfort and safety to properly lay out his plans. But there was a part of him that was excited to show his home to Claire. To somehow show her that he was somewhat normal. The place needed a woman's touch. Maybe she could help with the décor. Maybe do a little gardening. He wanted to cook her dinner. He wanted her to sit and watch the stars come out with him. Wanted her to help fill up that king sized bed...No. There it was again. That hope. He would not allow himself to get built up. He let out a frustrated sigh and continued counting, but this time adding any and everything to the list, just to keep his thoughts at bay.

The several more hours of driving were filled with junk food, loud music and a rousing bout of twenty questions. He was relieved to see Claire actually crack a smile a few times during the game when she asked him the questions and only after 13 she correctly guessed that he was a cheerleader. They were only two hours from his home and night had fallen and he could see her getting antsy.

"It's just a little bit longer," he told her, pulling back onto the highway after making one last pit stop.

"Thank god. My ass has never been this numb in my life."

It was a little after one in the morning when he finally pulled off of a long empty country road onto a narrower dirt one and then finally into the driveway of his home. He and Claire grabbed their belongings and walked up onto the front porch. He opened the door and turned the lights on.

"You didn't lock it?"

"Claire, did you see where I live? There is no need," he smiled. He saw her face wash over with worry. "But rest assured, I will be securing the house while you're here."

He led her to the living room where he threw his bags down and flopped on the grey couch and stretched his long limbs out. She just stared at him with an odd look on her face.

"This is weird," she said.

"Only if you think to long on it," he said, getting right back up. "I'll show you the house."

He gave her a quick tour of the downstairs: living room, kitchen, pantry, bathroom, and then led her upstairs.

"Here is a spare bedroom," he pointed out. The room was more than bare, only containing a small bed and a chest of drawers.

"So...you went for the minimalist look, huh?" she said.

"Eh. It's not like I'd have anyone sleeping over so why bother?" he shrugged.

He showed her another room, one that he had long converted into a workspace/library. Claire let out a small gasp when she walked in, taking in the rows and rows of books, a large leather chair and two long tables. One was covered in various instruments, watches, clocks and gears. The other held a laptop.

"I spend a lot of my time in here," he said.

"Doing what?"

He bit his tongue to keep the snarky remark for coming out. He thought by the items in the room is was quite obvious.

"Well, I read a lot. And work on the timepieces. It helps to clear my head and keeps my hands busy."

He then showed her his room. He felt absolutely ridiculous for being slightly nervous. This was where he slept and not a soul had ever stepped foot in it. It was his own fortress of solitude and he was finally letting someone else see it. Not that it was anything spectacular. He had his dressers, the tv, the master bath (with oversized jet stream tub, something that cost a fortune but was well worth it) and then, of course, his bed. Claire walked around slowly, taking everything in before turning back to him.

"Wow, Sylar. I'm impressed. I half expected torture devices or mad scribblings everywhere. It's actually quite normal. Almost boring."

He couldn't help but grin a bit. That's exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Well, that's the house. Make yourself at home. The kitchen is stocked. Um...there's cable..." he said. He wasn't entirely sure what he was to do now. "The spare bedroom is yours. There are fresh sheets in the hall closet..."

She just smiled at him. "Thanks. But I think right now I just want to make a hot cup of tea and watch mindless tv until I pass out."

"I'll put a pot on."

*******

He watched tentatively as Claire brought her cup of tea into the living room and took her seat in the giant recliner. He tossed her the remote and she gave him a half grin and turned the tv on. Sylar excused himself to his room to change into something much more comfortable before grabbing a large notebook and a pencil. She didn't give him a second look when he came back downstairs and sprawled out on the couch. He glanced up to see her watching "Friends" on TV Land. He tuned out the horrible laugh track and began jotting down notes and ideas for their plan.

He wasn't sure where to start. He drew a crude map of the building her found her in. He jotted down the time-line that Claire told him. He took down notes from the data he had acquired. He left out no small detail, the pages flying by as he emptied those horrible thoughts onto the paper, his head feeling a little emptier with each word. He was a little alarmed when, in what seemed like no time, he was on the last page of the tablet. He sat the pencil down and rubbed his temples. Looking over, he saw Claire curled into a ball under a small blanket and asleep. Despite himself, he pushed her hair out of her face. It troubled him that even in sleep she looked absolutely distraught. He pondered how long it would be like this. This troubled him even more.

He left her alone and headed to the kitchen, making himself a cup of hot tea. A little sugar and a little lemon and he stepped onto his back porch, stretching his legs, clearing his head and enjoying the silent serenity his property had to offer. He lazily paced back and forth along the long porch, allowing his mind to finally breathe and for the first time in several days he felt a little bit of what some might call peace. He sank down into the wooden rocking chair and just sipped his tea, seeming to think about everything and nothing at all. The stars were bright and abundant and he actually smiled. The nighttime view from his backyard was something he was sure he would never tire of.

The backdoor creaked and he was immediately taken out of his pleasant trance. Claire stumbled out, the blanket still wrapped around her. Sylar just watched her, not speaking a word, as she slowly walked over to him and dropped down onto his lap, pulling her legs up to her chest and buried her head into the crook of his neck. He instinctively wrapped an arm around her and began rocking slowly in the chair, not a word leaving either of their lips and he allowed himself to enjoy this moment.

A few blissful minutes ticked by when he began to feel the slight shaking of her body and the hushed sound of her trying to catch her breath. She was crying again and he slowly began stroking her hair as he rocked. He knew this wouldn't stop her tears, but he felt it might at least be a little more comforting. He felt her arm snake up his chest and wrap around him and he exhaled deeply, abandoning everything he had said and thought on the subject of her teasing him. Her shaking finally began to subside, but he continued rocking.

"You wanna know something?" she whispered into his ear, her warm breath dancing across every nerve. "I woke up in there crying, something I haven't done a long time. I started looking around, coming to, and when I didn't see you anywhere I began crying harder. What does that tell me?"

His stomach turned over and he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead and continued rocking. "I think that for some time to come, you are going to be emotionally unstable. You're gonna make rash decisions, say things you don't mean and then hate yourself for it. But it will eventually stop. You will be stronger because of it."

"Like you did?"

He laughed. "Claire, the issues I have helped to turn me into a killer. It was only when I had my life literally wiped away that I started to wake from that. Even now I still have the urges, the hunger to take more powers, But I'm trying very hard to stop. While I may be stronger, I'm still not where I need to be. And I honestly don't know if I ever will. I was damaged goods from the start, even before, when I was Gabriel." He swallowed hard, thinking about his life before. He swallowed again when her arm went around his neck.

"You, on the other hand..." he began again. "Well, I think you have enough good, happy memories stored in that blond head of yours to see you through this. You won't ever be the same, but I have faith you will be close."

Claire just sniffled and began to curl her fingers around the hair at the base of his neck. "I don't believe so," she said softly.

"You will feel that way..."

She cut him off. "Sylar, when you were watching me, all that time, did you ever see me do anything that even barely resembled how I was when I was 'the cheerleader'?"

He thought on it. "Well, you had grown up..."

He felt her shake her head. "No. After my mom died, that happy-go-lucky, naïve little girl went with her. I stopped doing everything that didn't have anything to do with my students. I barely talked to...him or my brother. Didn't go out and make new friends. Didn't date. You want to know why? I couldn't bare to connect with anyone else, for fear of losing them."

He began rubbing small circles on her arm, holding her just a little tighter.

"It took everything that happened last night for me to realize it. I blocked everyone from me, except those kids. Because with them, I had them for the school year and then I set them free. Our ties would be broken on MY terms. I wouldn't have to sit back and watch them age while I stayed the same. I wouldn't have to watch them die."

He held her tighter. "Well. You're better of than I."

"How?" she asked.

"You found something to help you cope."

She curled her fingers tighter around his hair and pulled slightly, causing his head to jerk back. He let out harsh exhale through his nose. He felt Claire shift in his lap, her head turning into his neck. He felt her nose roll across his jugular vein, her chin bump against his adam's apple and the brush of her lips in between. She placed a soft kiss there and then another on his shoulder. His skin rippled with goose-flesh and he felt a twitch in his groin.

She shifted again and he removed his arms from her, allowing her to move however was comfortable. She used the opportunity to put her legs on either side of his and straddle his lap, bracing her hands on his shoulders. He could feel her warmth in his lap and he couldn't stop his body's natural reactions, even if he had wanted. Instead he focused his attention on her face. The look there was an odd mixture of sadness and relief. She slid her hands from his shoulders, up his neck and to his face. She cradled it, his cheeks feeling hot as she bore into him with her large, sad eyes.

"I'm sorry," she began. The reflection of soft light in the house allowed him to see her eyes begin to swell. "I'm sorry for what I've put you through. "

"Claire, I did what I did because I wanted to. You didn't force me to save you," he said softly. His arms were still frozen by his side. She rolled her thumbs across the line of his jaw, before leaning down and kissing him. He let his eyes close and his body react, his hands settling on her waist. She pulled back slowly and he let out a sigh heavy with relief. He opened his eyes again.

She smiled weakly. "And you aren't forcing me to save you."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N : I have no excuse for the time in between updates other than suffering from a general malaise. This is not the best I've done but dammit, it's getting posted. **

"And you aren't forcing me to save you."

Claire let her head roll back as Sylar planted sweet, slow kisses on her neck and collar bone. He wasn't harsh, he wasn't swift and she smiled at the clear, night sky. This was nice, this was something she could get used to. He wasn't trying to move things faster, didn't grope her or start to try and peel her clothes off. One hand rested on her hip, the other at the small of her back. She moved her hands from around his back around to his neck and then up to his jaw, pulling his head away from her. He was breathing quickly through his nose and she saw that he still had his eyes closed, a pained look on his face. He swallowed hard.

"Hey," she said softly. "You ok?"

He didn't answer her. Instead, he moved his arms up her body and pulled her into a tight hug, burying his head into her shoulder again.

"I don't like having hope," he said into her skin.

She didn't ask him anything else. She knew exactly what he meant by that and the guilt began to wash over her again. She thought on what he had said earlier. That she would be rash. Say things she didn't mean. She meant what she said, about saving him. He just wouldn't believe her at this moment in time and understood why. Instead of trying to reassure him, she just stroked the back of his head, curling her fingers around his dark hair, thinking too hard about the whole situation. She found it kind of ironic, thinking back to her teenage years. He was always at the forefront of her torment. Now she found herself at the forefront of his, only in a different sense.

"I'm sorry," she whispered in his ear again. "Come on. Let's get some rest," she said, shifting to get off of his lap.

He sighed heavily and stood up to follow her in the house. As they walked through the rooms he clicked the lights off, heading up the stairs to the bedrooms. She stopped in front of the spare room but did not go in.

"Sylar..." she began. "May I sleep with you tonight?"

She felt his hand rub down the length of her back. She turned to look at him.

"Do you honestly think I would say no?" he asked.

His bed was large and soft and no sooner than she laid down and his form molded against her back, she was asleep, dreaming of staring at clear, star-filled nights.

*********

When she woke up she realized she was alone. The panic instantly came to her, but she kept reminding herself that she was in the middle of nowhere and that she was safe. But not seeing him immediately in her presence caused her heart to speed up, so she crawled out of bed and headed downstairs. Before she turned the corner, she could hear him moving about in the kitchen. She walked in to the sight of him mixing pancake batter in a large bowl, something she found quite amusing.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, continuing to mess about the kitchen.

She looked at the time on the microwave. It was almost 3pm. "I would say so. What's on the menu?"

"Pancakes and bacon," he said.

She nodded, her stomach rumbling at the mere thought of food. Sylar laughed, hearing the rumble.

"I'll make extra."

She smiled at him and began drumming her fingers on the counter. "What are we doing today?"

"Whatever you want. I don't have an agenda," he said, warming a pan.

"Please, you always have an agenda."

He frowned and shook his head. "Not today. It's my first day at home after a pretty eventful week and I have no immediate plans, other than relaxing and planning."

"Planning for what?"

"A baby shower," he said, sarcastically. "What do you think?"

"Oh, right," she remembered. "What do you want me to do?"

"There's not much you can do, honestly. I have to put all the information I've gathered from the computers and put it on paper. Once I've done all that, I can start to form a plan of action," he stopped and looked at her, sighing heavily. "We can form a plan of action," he corrected.

The way he had sighed that told her he was holding back something but she wouldn't press him now. He turned back to cooking. She took advantage of having his back to her to stare openly at him. The urge to walk around the bar and wrap her arms around him was strong, but she ignored it. He was wearing loose black sleep pants and a black tank. Always black with him.

"You really should add some color to your clothes. All you wear is black."

"I have other colors in my wardrobe," he said, still pouring batter into the pan.

"Like what?"

"Grey and white. A little blue."

She rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see her. She continued to sit silently, watching him flip pancakes, a little shocked to see that he was actually using his hands instead of one of his abilities. He flipped one, then another, then moved to the other pan to flip the bacon that was frying.

"You know I can feel you watching me," he said, shaking her out of the world she was just in.

"I can't help it. It's surreal. First this house, then you actually cooking a meal from scratch, no powers. It makes you seem...less threatening."

He let out a small laugh and turned to her. Suddenly, she felt the stool she was sitting on wobble a bit before she started to rise in the air. On instinct, she threw her arms out to her side, trying to somehow balance herself, much like she used to do at the top of the pyramid back in school. She looked up to see the kitchen's ceiling inching closer and closer to her face.

"Sylar,.." she warned. She felt herself start to descend, her feet finally touching ground. "You didn't have to do that. I said you 'seemed' less threatening. Believe me, I know very well how powerful you are."

He smirked at her, piling food on plates for them. "Just wanted to sweep you off your feet."

She winced at the horrible joke.

After stuffing her face in a way she hadn't in what felt like years, she decided to take a walk around the property. Still not wanting to be alone just yet, she invited him to go alone with her. They both put on light jackets and headed out into the sun. They followed a path along the perimeter of his property, nothing bit a huge, open field.

Claire was enjoying the light on her face and the cool breeze in her hair but she there was still something that was pulling at her from earlier.

"Earlier, when I asked you about helping with the plan, you seemed hesitant. Why?" she asked him.

She watched as he dug his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. "Well...two reasons really. I thought the first might be obvious," he began. "Have you ever really known me to be one that plays well with others? I prefer to do everything alone. I've been that way my whole life. It's a hard habit to break."

Claire felt kind of stupid for not thinking of that conclusion to begin with. Now that he had said it, it did seem obvious. They began walking toward a very large pond. She waited for him to keep talking but he didn't. "What was the other reason?"

He sighed. "I'm hesitant to let you help for fear of your safety."

"But I can't get hurt."

He stopped at the edge of the pond, ahead of her. "I'm not worried about you being physically hurt, Claire."

There it was again. That urge to pull him close. She fought it, instead walking up to stand right next to him at the water's edge. "I have to do something. I can't just let it be done for me. I'm done being the 'damsel in distress'," she began. She struggled to find the right words to explain what she was feeling. "It's just that...This is my fight. This happened to me. I want to be a part of it. Now, I admit that I don't know where to even start. That's what I need your help for. But once you lay out a plan, I want in the mix. I want to break things. I want to destroy."

She could feel the rage and the excitement start to build within her as she continued. "What good would it do me if I just tagged along to New York with you, just to sit in the car? I have to be there. I want the blood on my hands, be it metaphorically or literally. And when I find him...I can't even fathom what's gonna happen. About 60 different scenarios could play out, each more seemingly satisfying than the last."

"Trust me, I know exactly what you are talking about," Sylar finally said. "Noah has been a thorn in my side for years."

A sharp intake of air filled her lungs at the sound of his name. "You remember what you promised me? Let me do it. Don't interfere unless absolutely necessary."

"What if he tries to hurt you?"

"Let him try. Nothing he could do physically could be worse than what he's done. Part of me hopes he does try to fight me. He'll have his gun, no doubt," she thought out loud. She pictured it in her head, staring down the barrel of that goddamn gun. "I think...I think if he actually took shots at me, it would help. To actually be conscious of his betrayal. To see it with my own eyes, ya know?"

Sylar just nodded in agreement, staring out over his pond. "You do know this is gonna take a few weeks right? Maybe more."

This she did not know. She had just assumed they were gonna lay low for a few days to rest and then they'd be heading right back to New York to burn the motherfucker down. "Why so long?"

He turned and began heading back toward the house and she followed. "Well, for one, I have a lot of data I have to sift through. Once I've done that, I've got to map out points of entrance, multiple plans in case anything falls through. I...we have to decide method of destruction. I have to make sure that we hit when Noah will actually be there. Most importantly, I have to make sure the Haitian is nowhere near."

The Haitian. She hadn't heard from him in years. That didn't mean he wouldn't call him up. Especially once he realized Sylar was behind her escape.

"Also, I have to train you."

"Train me? For what?"

He half-grinned at her. "Claire, aside from two nights ago in the hotel, when was the last time you were in a fight. A real fight?"

Oh. She knew what he meant now. "I don't know. And what happened at the hotel wasn't a fight. You weren't hitting back."

"Regardless, you need to hone up on some basics before we embark. Especially since you refuse to let me do most of the work."

They walked a few more moments in silence. Sylar was going to train her to fight. She automatically pictured him in that tank top and loose black pants, a black sash tied around his forehead, practicing tai chi on the porch. Where the hell did that come from?

"So what, are you gonna be my Mr. Miyagi?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Jesus, I haven't heard that reference in ages. But sure, if you want to call me that, feel free."

She began to feel her adrenaline pump at the mere thought of it. "Well, when do we start?"

The look he gave her said he knew she wanted to have a go at it now but he just shook his head. "Patience, grasshopper. I really would like a few days rest before we embark on this endeavor. I have to prepare."

"No you don't. You can take anybody out."

"Yes, with my abilities. I never have to throw a punch," he said. He stopped walking for a second, deep in thought. "Actually, I can't recall the last time I had to actually use my hands to fight. I can take a punch, that's for sure. I have plenty experience in that."

She frowned. "How am I supposed to learn to fight if you don't even know how?"

"I never said I didn't know how, I just said I'm a little rusty."

She stared at him, not buying a word he said.

"Don't give me that look," he warned.

****

Claire used the rest of the afternoon to be as lazy as she could possibly be. Any excitement she had built up regarding Sylar teaching her how to fight and the thoughts of retribution were quickly squashed by him. The sudden change in mood seemed to suck all the energy out of her and she found herself melted into the couch, staring at the television. Thank God for television. It seemed to be the only thing so far that was able to shut down her over-active brain and allow her a break.

"Really, Claire? You haven't moved in three hours," she heard him say from behind her. She slowly looked back to see him looming over the couch, staring down at her, that eyebrow cocked upwards, like always.

"One of these days your face is gonna stick like that," she muttered.

He rolled his eyes. "That's a rather matronly thing to say," he scoffed.

She turned back to watching an old episode of Jeopardy. "Aww, I missed the Daily Double question."

"You'll live, don't worry."

She sighed heavily. "Unfortunately. What can I do for you?"

"Dinner is ready."

"Is it? I didn't even know you were cooking."

"I'm not surprised. You've been hypnotized by that thing since we came back in."

"I can't help it. It quiets all the noise in my head," she admitted, rolling her head back to look at him. He just stared at her, biting his lower lip slightly.

"I could bring your plate in here if it's that big a deal..."

She sighed and threw the small blanket back. "No, I need to stretch anyway."

Sylar had already set the plates out on the counter but didn't fill them. She helped herself first, taking large scoops of the red-sauced pasta and meatballs, adding extra parmesan cheese, and grabbed a tall glass of tea he had already poured. She sipped it before sitting down and it tasted amazing. He sure knew how to make a hell of a pitcher of tea. They started digging right in, sitting in a comfortable silence. Claire kept stealing glances at him, watching the way he twirled his spaghetti around his fork before stabbing down into a small meatball and eating the two together. She was surprised to see how careful his was with his food, how he had a napkin in his lap and kept his elbows off the table, while both her arms were spread over the top, her napkin untouched.

Halfway through his plate, Sylar began light conversation, telling her that if she was bored, she had free reign to do whatever she felt like doing with the house.

"Think of it as another way to take a break from yourself, instead of rotting your brain in front of the tv," he had told her.

It wasn't a bad idea. Needless to say there was plenty that could be done to the place, she only lacked the tools to do such things. He told her whatever she wanted was hers, they could go to the store tomorrow to get it.

"Plus, it'll help pass the time while I get everything done that you can't help with," he said, letting his fork clank loudly on his plate. He stretched his arms out and let out a contented sigh. "So fate cannot harm me, I have dined today."

It hit Claire like a ton of bricks. She hadn't heard that saying in years but it rang in her ears. That quote, those few little words. She was immediately back at the dinner table with her family, the whole family, trying to enjoy whatever new recipe her mother had decided to try out. It was true, her mother wasn't the best cook in the world but they always cleaned their plates with a smile. She knew when her mother had succeeded in her endeavors when...when Noah would say those words. "Fate cannot harm me, I have dined today." She suspected her mother knew it too, seeing as how she never asked him to help with the dishes when he spoke that at the end of a meal. How it had made her beam...

"Claire?"

She hadn't realized that she had started crying until Sylar said her name.

"Claire, what's wrong?"

Grabbing her napkin and unfolding it, she hid her face in it, sobbing loudly. Everything was so normal then. Why couldn't it still be like that? A few more moments went by when she felt his warm hand on her shoulder. She finally pulled her face from the damp napkin and looked into his very concerned eyes.

"He used to say that..." she began, her voice weak. "Anytime my mom made something that didn't taste like garbage. He would say that after every good meal..."

"I'm sorry Claire, I..."

"No, it's not your fault, don't apologize," she said, waving him away. "Fuck! It's only been three days and I'm already sick of this shit!"

"I'm afraid it's gonna take a lot longer than that," he said, clearing the table. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"Kill me," she said before she stop herself.

"Not an option," he called out to her, over the sound of running water in the sink.


	10. Chapter 10

Sylar was more than pleased when Claire took him up on the offer to fancy up his house a bit. They had traveled to the nearest big box store and he let her put whatever she wanted in the cart. Well, almost everything.

"Claire, I refuse to let you get that," he said, putting a horrible pink bedspread back on the shelf. "Even if it would go in the room I never use."

She busied herself with the redecorating for a few days while he stowed away in his study, working feverishly to sort out the mountains of information he had written down. They fell into a sort of routine in the first few days, he'd make breakfast, he would go to the study, she to whatever room she was working on. He'd hear a tap at his door and she'd walk in with lunch for both of them, eating on one of his desk while he'd fill her in with any relevant information he'd uncovered. They'd split to work again before meeting in the kitchen to cook dinner together.

He cursed himself for allowing such a routine to stick. It wasn't that he hated it, it was that he was enjoying it too much. Every cold can of soda she brought to him, every plate of scrambled eggs he made for her only fueled his paranoid notion that it was just a formality to Claire. That ugly little voice in the back of his mind would rip and tear any glint of hope that sprung up when she would, without provocation, run her hand down the length of his neck before resting her cheek on the back of his head. He imagined his face was always in a sort of grimace, torn between smiling and being filled with doubt, each night when she curled her small frame back into his, laying her hand over his as they drifted off to sleep.

Claire's sudden crying fits were still happening at least daily. They never spoke of them unless she broke down in front of him, in which he would cradle her against his chest and mutter what he believed to be calming musings, like one would do with an upset infant. But he knew every time it happened, always keeping his ear tuned to whatever room she was in. The first time it happened, he had jumped from his chair, making it halfway down the hall before stopping himself, the voice in his head telling him to let her ride it out. It would be better for her. It still pained to hear her sobs, talking to herself, pleading with a god that wasn't there to turn back the clock. As the days went by, the prayers turned to a sort of morbid, hateful eulogy for her adopted father and he smiled. It was one of the steps he was familiar with in the "grieving for the seriously emotional damaged".

After a week and a half, Sylar was glad to have finally finished sorting through the information that was important to their plan. Step 2 was forming the plan itself, something he was not looking forward to. He was getting some fresh air on the back porch when Claire stepped out, her forearms covered in splatters of slate grey paint.

"So are you gonna teach me to fight or what?"

He was actually relieved that she finally brought it up, as he was looking for any excuse to put off step 2 for a little bit. He kept his head straight, looking out over the field, weighing the pros and cons of the idea generating in his head. He decided to go for it, setting his coffee on the small patio table before crouching down quickly and sweeping both of Claire's legs out from under her with his own. He bounced back up to see her flat on her ass, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment and her green eyes shooting daggers at him. Ah, the good ol' days.

"What the hell, Sylar! I wasn't even ready!" she spat.

"That's the point. You think those guards are going to just stand there waiting for you to brace yourself?"

She just curled her lip at him before bending her body back, raising her legs in the air and jumping straight back up on her feet. Sylar's eyebrows shot right up at such an athletic display. He was not expecting that.

She smiled smugly at him. "Yeah, I still got it," she said matter-of-factly, before lunging forward and surprising him with a mean right hook.

He stumbled back, his eyes blurred and a dull pain in his jaw as he instinctively raised his hand to toss her back. He stopped himself right before she flew from her feet, remembering that wasn't part of the lesson. Instead, he jumped over the railing of the porch and ran out into the open field. He heard her quick steps as she followed him out there. They stopped and stared each other down, Sylar's blood pumping in that old familiar way, Claire's normally bright smile now twisted in a tight lipped grimace. He decided to test her instincts, he was going to make movements and not announce them, just to see her reactions. He took one step to the right, To his delight, she stepped to her right, keeping the space between them the same as it was. He tried it again, and again she followed.

"Excellent," he praised. "Don't ever let them catch you from the side."

He watched as she opened her mouth to speak, most likely a sarcastic comment, but she quickly closed it and simply nodded at him. He continued, this time jumping right towards her. She jumped back, throwing her arms up to block her face, a smart move but not what he expected her to do. She must have seen the confusion on his face.

"I played a lot of Street Fighter with my brother," she answered simply.

He continued a series of striking moves, offering praise or advice on each attack. He would mix it up, sometimes doing the same move several times in a row before switching gears to multiple attacks. After a solid thirty minutes, they were both drenched in sweat, Claire's yellow shirt splattered with drops of blood from a few moves she needed to work on. She was breathing heavily and lifted the hem of her shirt up to wipe her filthy face. That quick flash of her smooth stomach sent a jolt right down his spine.

"Ok," she panted. "Day one is done."

He fought the urge to strike at her once more when she bent over and rested her hands on her knees but he held back. He walked toward her, intent on patting her on the back but she flinched and threw her arm out quickly, catching him in the chest with a blow strong enough to knock the wind out of him. Her eyes widened and she gasped, realizing quickly that he wasn't try to hurt her.

"Oh shit, honey, I'm sorry!"

The fact that he was temporarily out of breath and his heart felt like it was bruised was completely forgotten. She had called him by a pet name. All he could do was force a grin as she cupped her blood stained fingers under his jaw. It was glorious.

"I'm fine," he said finally. "Let's get cleaned up and get dinner started."

"I don't feel like cooking," Claire said.

"I really don't feel like it either," Sylar agreed, feeling suddenly lazy. "How about we go out tonight. There's a small steak house about 40 minutes away."

"I'd like that."

***********

Sylar didn't know a simple pair of jeans and a grey sweater could look so enticing. Claire had stepped out of the bathroom, her hair loosely curled and falling past her shoulders, her face done in simple but gorgeous makeup and a silver necklace with a diamond pendant he'd never seen her wear around her neck. He was rooted to the spot in front of his dresser, taking in the curves of her calves and her hips in those dark jeans that seemed to be painted on. His eyes traveled up to the sweater, the fabric clinging to her torso and stretched taut across her chest, the cut low enough to allow a hint of her cleavage to show, that tiny necklace resting between her breasts. He felt a sudden wave of jealousy at that piece of jewelry.

"Is it that bad?" she said.

He finally pulled his gaze to meet hers. "Huh?"

"The outfit. It's too much isn't it?"

"What are you talking about? It's fine." More than fine he thought.

She turned her back to him to fetch her shoes from the closet. He watched with increasingly hungry eyes as she bent over right in his line of sight to scoop them up. "It's just that I didn't want to go out to eat looking like 'who done it'. And it's been weeks since I've had a reason to, I don't know, gussy myself up. I didn't over do it did I?"

Sylar resisted the urge to sigh. Women. "No. You look nice. Now, if you would've came out here wearing a micro-skirt and silver go-go boots, it might be a different story." He immediately pictured her sauntering out of his bathroom in said outfit and he licked his lips, a gesture he was thankful Claire hadn't seen. He shook the inappropriate thoughts from his mind and changed the subject. "Where did you get that necklace? I like it."

"I would hope so, seeing as how it's yours. Well, maybe not yours in the sense that you wear it, but I found it in the storage room when I was cleaning it out. It was in an old shoebox. I figured you wouldn't mind..."

Sylar took a few steps forward to her to get a better look at the piece. Where did it come from? He couldn't remember. "I don't remember... Do you mind?"

Claire raised an eyebrow, not understanding what he was asking until he reached out and placed his hand against the pendant. The history of the necklace came flooding back to him at breakneck speed and he stumbled back a bit once the truth was revealed to him. The first emotion that hit was overwhelming guilt that he didn't recognize it. The second was a quick wave of selfishness and the wanting to rip the necklace from her neck and hide it forever.

It was his mother's.

He took a cleansing breath and opened his eyes to see Claire, looking concerned and holding the necklace tight in her fist. Her quickly darting eyes and slightly trembling lip brought him back to reality and he forced a smile. "Sorry, didn't expect to see that much," he said truthfully.

"What the hell was that?"

He leaned back against his dresser and ran a hand through his hair. He saw no reason to lie to her. "I didn't recognize it. I should have. That necklace was my mother's."

"Oh," she said. "Was?"

He could tell from her tone what she was asking.

"Yes. She died several years ago," he said, hoping she wouldn't want details.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized. "What happened?"

He bit his lip. "There was an accident. It happened a few days before the fiasco in New York. You remember, when Peter almost blew it up."

"Yes."

He sat down on his bed, facing her. This might be a little harder than he thought. "I used Isaac's power and painted the prediction of the 'exploding man' destroying New York and I panicked. Back then, I was insane with the hunger but the notion of millions dying because of me was something I was not ok with. I called my mother, who I hadn't spoken to in a while. I brought her a present. A snowglobe. She was a collector."

Claire stepped toward the bed and sat next to him, listening intently.

"She was always telling me how special I could be. She had such high hopes for me. That night was no different. She started in with the 'special' speech. I told her I was already special. She had no idea about my power, you see. I just wanted to show her what I could do. Well, needless to say, it scared the shit out of her. She locked herself in her room. I sat at her door, apologizing over and over and over. When she finally came out she looked like a wild animal. She kept asking me what I had done with her son. She tried to attack me with a pair of scissors. We struggled and..It was an accident. I wrestled her hand away and it went right into her own chest. She died from it. "

He felt Claire's hand rest over his own. "Jesus, Sylar." It was all she could say.

He forced himself to look at her. To read her face. To see if he could detect disgust. He found none.

"I didn't mean to hurt her. It was all my fault."

She just shook her head. "I'm so sorry. Do you want me to take it off?"

A small part of him wanted to scream 'yes' but it was only a very small part. He cocked his head to the side and thought for a minute. This was one of the last trinkets he had to remind him of his mother. At the same time, it had been years since her accidental death. What was the purpose of keeping this necklace now? He had completely forgotten about it for no telling how many years til now. No, it was time to let it go.

"No. Keep it. It's beautiful on you. If you wouldn't have told me, I wouldn't have known the difference."

"You sure?"

He grinned, baring his teeth. "Positive."

************

Their dinner was wonderful. They gorged on perfectly cooked steaks, fat and fluffy baked potatoes and vegetables that Sylar was able to verify were freshly grown on a farm only ten minutes away. Claire seemed fascinated by this particular power he possessed. She spent a good chunk of the evening passing him items and asking him to give her the history of it. He suspected she was only being so overly curious to lighten the mood and put the earlier conversation behind them. He was grateful that it was working.

"So do you get these flashes every time you touch something? That's got to be distracting."

"No. After a while, you learn to turn it off. Now I don't see anything unless I want to," he said, sticking the last piece of steak into his mouth.

She finished her last bite of potato, leaving the skin untouched. "I wish I could do something like that."

Sylar raised an eyebrow. "What happened to the whole 'I just want to be normal' thing?"

She shrugged. "I'm going to live forever. That's something I have no control of. All I can do is not get hurt. I'm just saying it might be fun to have something else I could do. Help pass the time."

She was preaching to the choir on that front.

They ordered dessert, he a hot fudge sundae, her a piece of pecan pie a la mode. Claire was raving about her treat. He felt his stomach flip when she reached across the table and forced him to take a bite of the pie. It wasn't nearly as good as the glimpse he caught down her shirt as she fed it to him.

By the time they got back to his house, it was late. Claire excused herself to the bathroom to change. Sylar settled into the couch, watching a documentary on Greek architecture. After the third commercial break, it occurred to him that she had been upstairs for a while. He tuned his acute hearing toward his bedroom and he could hear the splash of water and her humming softly to herself. Unable to resist, he headed to his room and knocked softly on the bathroom door.

"Come in," she called out.

He opened the door but immediately gave her his back when he saw her. She was laying in his giant tub, big bubbles filling it, threatening to cascade over the side. He felt the heat from the steamy room hit his face and the heat from something else creeping down his back. She was just a few feet away, soaking wet and naked. He swallowed hard.

"Don't be such a prude," she called to him. "I'm covered up."

He turned back to her slowly, seeing that she was right. Her small body was hidden under those white bubbles. They crept up and around her shoulders, only leaving her face and top of her uncovered. A few had stuck to her chin and he laughed.

"What?" she asked.

"You have a bubble goatee," he said, hopping up to sit on the wide marble counter where his sink was.

Her cheeks flushed just a little and he saw her hand come up from the soapy water and wipe them away. "Did you need something?"

"Just checking on you. You said you were gonna change but never came back down."

"Ah," she nodded. "I was looking at this tub and after all that food, it was too tempting to pass up. It's like a little mini-hot tub. Only I can fill it with bubbles. It's been years since I had a proper bubble bath."

The air caught in Sylar's throat when he watched her shoot a leg straight up out of the water, her hand following. He watched as she used the washrag to run from her ankle down past her knee where it disappeared into the water. She couldn't help but notice his reaction and laugh.

"That's not funny," he said. "You shouldn't tease."

"If you didn't have such strong reactions I wouldn't be tempted to do it. It's the faces you make that make me do it," she smiled. She looked down at her hands. "I'm starting to prune. Will you hand me that robe?"

Sylar hopped down and grabbed a fluffy, navy colored robe and went to set it at the head of the tub so she could reach it. To his surprise, she stood right up to grab it from him and he visibly shuddered. The suds still covered a lot of her skin, shielding the tips of her breasts and the valley at the apex of her legs. Dense streams of bubbles were rolling down her skin, revealing more and more of her stomach and her thighs. He noticed the collection on her breasts were slowly sliding down and he wet his lips. She cleared her throat and he snapped out of it, turning to leave her to her privacy.

"You did that on purpose. That's not nice," he said, his voice sounding slightly strained, matching the tightness growing in his jeans.

He only heard her chuckle as he flew back down the steps.

******

Sylar found her in the kitchen several minutes later, clad only in the bathrobe, her hair still damp and curling around her freshly scrubbed face. He remained unannounced, watching her as he leaned against the door frame. She was pouring herself a big glass of tea and took a big gulp and began to just stare out in the middle distance.

"I swear, you must drink at least a whole gallon of that tea a day," he said and he took pleasure in seeing her jump out of her skin a little.

"Don't do that! I about pissed myself," she chided, taking another drink.

"If you didn't have such strong reactions I wouldn't be tempted to do it. It's the faces you make that make me do it," he mocked. She rolled her eyes at him, flashing a knowing grin before bended straight over in front of him, rummaging through the cabinet.

Sylar was both thankful and disappointed that the robe she wore was as long as it was. Any shorter and he would have seen something he was fairly sure would be the end of him. He fought the urge to wave his hand and force the fabric to ride up higher to sneak a peek.

"You fight dirty, you know that," he groaned.

"I learned from the best," she said and he wasn't sure if she was referring to him or someone else. He watched as she pulled a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread out and began toasting it, sliding to the fridge to pull out the small package of cream cheese. She grabbed the first knife she saw, a long, thin and very sharp carving knife. He raised an eyebrow and she saw it.

"What did I saw about that eyebrow?" she asked again, standing on the tips of her toes to try and reach the paper plates in the cabinet above the stove. She was still too short to reach so Sylar, instead of just walking a few feet to get them for her, lifted her in the air without moving a finger. He sat her back down softly and she continued as if nothing unusual happened. Then again, that sort of display of power was normal to her.

"Thanks," she said, arranging everything out on the kitchen island.

Sylar walked to the other side of the island and faced her. "I can't believe you are eating again. You practically stuffed yourself to the point of explosion just a little while ago."

She gripped the knife in her hand tight, her knuckles turning white. "Hey, I don't wanna hear it. Earlier you about killed me outside. I'm sure I burned about a million calories then. A little late night snack isn't gonna kill me."

He could see the real annoyance on her face at his comment. Unable to resist, he kept pushing. He spread his hands across the surface and leaned in close to her. "Uh huh. Your idea of a little snack is 4 pieces of cinnamon toast?"

"Shut up or I'll stick this somewhere unpleasant," she warned, brandishing the knife in his face.

He shrugged. "I wish you would. I doubt you could break skin," he said.

"Don't tempt me. I'm warning you," she seethed, hastily spreading cream cheese on the fresh toast.

"You wouldn't do it. There is precious cream cheese on that knife and I know you wouldn't waste a dollop of that."

To his surprise, she actually followed through on her threats. He watched in what seemed like extreme slow motion as she let out a squeal of annoyance and raised the knife high in the air before bringing it down. He held his breathe and his eyes widened and he was unable to move as he saw the direction of the blade, his heart stopping and his lungs burning as he watched in horror as the blade dug into the ring finger on his left hand. The last thing he saw was the smug look on her face and the splatter of blood on her cheek before everything went black and he could think no more.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Wow. Over a hundred reviews for this. I'm happy to say that you guys are AMAZING. I never expected such a response to this. To be honest, I wasn't expecting ANY response but hey. I'm not complaining. I apologize to you reviewers. I don't normally reply to reviews not because I'm a mean bitch, but mainly because I don't know what to say! So if you have a question, please don't hesitate to ask it, I shall try my best to answer it. **

**Now, I'm happy to tell you that we get to see a little bit of *action* between these two. Enjoy. **

"Oh, quit being such a goddam baby," Claire yelled. She had warned him but he didn't listen. So she had stabbed him in the finger. He'd had worse. There was no reason for him to feign unconsciousness over something so trivial. She looked down and saw that his blood had splattered, some of it landing on two of the four pieces of toast she made, the dark red mixing with the white cream cheese and she let out an annoyed sigh.

"I should make you eat this," she scoffed. "Sylar, get up."

Several more seconds ticked by and he remained on the floor. Annoyed, she walked around to the kitchen island to where he was laying. He was sprawled out, his legs spread wide, the knife sticking straight up out of his hand which was at his side. She looked at his face and it was frozen in an expression of utter shock, his eyes wide and unflinching.

"I don't have time for your games, get up!" she yelled, crouching down next to him, shaking him violently. Nothing. She didn't even see his eyes move. "Fine, you wanna play, let's see how long you can stand this," she said, standing up. She stepped over him, one foot on either side of his head and lifted up the robe she was wearing, exposing herself to him. She smirked to herself, preparing for his retaliation. But nothing happened. No quick movements, no moans, no anything.

She crouched back down to him. His expression had not changed. Bending down right next to his face, she blew right into his opened eyes. Not a single muscle moved. It was then she realized he wasn't even breathing.

"I don't know what you are playing at, but I'm not falling for it," she said softly, before standing up and taking her her unspoiled snack and disappearing into the living room.

She sat on the couch and turned the tv to an old episode of The Simpson's. Homer had seen a new billboard for Krusty's Clown College and he decided to attend. She smiled, this was one of her favorites. Before she knew it, the episode was almost over, he toast was finished and Sylar still hadn't gotten up. She was starting to get pissed.

When she went back in the kitchen to throw her plate away he was still there, just as she had left him. That's when she caught a whiff of something foul. "Sylar, get up. It's over," she said, crossing her arms. Her eyes settled on the knife and she noticed that the wound was still there, not even attempting to heal itself. Odd, she thought. She hovered over him again and the smell intensified. She dropped to her knees and examined him closer. Still, he wasn't breathing. She put her head to his chest. There was no heartbeat. She checked his neck for a pulse. Nothing, not even the fainest sound. But his skin was ice cold. That's when it hit her.

Sylar was dead.

"No, he can't be," she said, jumping up, starting to feel just a little bit frantic. "Sylar, you can't die! Quit playing around!" But he just stared up at her with cloudy eyes. Her mind raced. What could have happened? She knew she could be killed, that sweet spot in the back of her head. Sylar had one too but...but it wasn't there. The memories came flooding back to her. That night. He had told her he had moved the spot. One of the benefits of being able to shape-shift. Her eyes fell down to knife still lodged in his hand.

She couldn't believe it. Out of all the places he could have hid it, she happened to stab him in the correct spot. The odds were astronomical. She reached out a shaking hand toward the knife but stopped.

Sylar was dead. She had swore that she would kill him, even if it took the rest of her life. Here, she had done it without meaning too. Part of her mind, that young, angry little cheerleader was ecstatic. He was finally down for the count. He wouldn't be able to hurt anyone ever again. All those powers finally put to rest. She succeeded in what she had swore all those years ago she would do.

But no. He wasn't that person anymore, right? The years had changed him. Sure, he was still an asshole, but he'd stopped killing,right? Not to mention that he had saved her. And brought her to his home. And he was spending his time forming a plan to help her. He didn't have to do any of that, but he was still doing it. No. She couldn't do this to him. She needed him in order to stop Noah. She couldn't do it alone. She had to have him there. She wanted him there. She wanted him.

Claire sighed, disgusted at herself for even hesitating as she pulled the knife from his hand. The wound slowly healed itself, the color returned to his face and she jumped back when he finally inhaled deeply. His eyes closed together tightly and he sat up, looking disoriented and scared before his face turned dark, a look she hadn't seen from him in a long time, a look that used to haunt her dreams and she suddenly felt scared. She did the only thing she could think of and ran, taking shelter in the laundry room that was connected to the kitchen. She peeked out and watched as he finally stood up and shook his head violently.

"Claire?" he called out. Was that anger in his voice?

"Sylar, I'm sorry," she yelled back at him. She heard his feet shuffle and soon she was staring right at him. Before he could even say anything she threw her arms up and blocked her face. "I didn't know that was the spot! I didn't mean to kill you!"

"Claire, calm down, I'm not mad," he said and she felt his hand running down her shoulder, over the robe.

"But, I killed you," she said, finally looking up at him. He was still a little pale but otherwise he looked fine.

"That's twice now you've managed to kill me," he smiled. "That's more than anyone else. Congratulations."

"Wait, you really aren't upset?" she asked, following him out of the laundry room.

"The only thing I'm upset about is ruining these pants," he called back to her as he disappeared up the stairs toward his room. "Dying is disgusting."

She laughed rather nervously as she sat back down on the couch in the living room. She heard the shower turn on, then turn off a few minutes later and soon he had reemerged, donning nothing but a pair of his dark grey lounge pants. She noticed his skin was still tinged red from the hot water from just a few minutes before. It was much better than that pale, ashen look he had just a few minutes ago.

"Feel better?" she asked, still a little on edge as he sat down on the other end of the couch.

"Claire, relax. I'm not gonna snap at you," he said, leaning over and softly smacking her knee. "Freak accidents happen. I'm just happy you took the knife out."

She let out giggle that was laced with guilt. It was not unnoticed by Sylar.

"How long did you wait?" he finally asked.

"About a half an hour," she admitted. "But that was only because I thought you were messing with me. When I finally put two and two together I only hesitated for a few seconds."

"Uh huh," he hummed, his eyebrow raised.

"I swear! You have lie detection, you know I'm telling the truth!" she exclaimed, feeling suddenly defensive.

"Jesus, calm down. I'm just messing with you. I know you're telling the truth," he scooted closer and began rubbing slow circles around her knee. "I guess I know better than to tease you about your eating habits."

She felt her body start to loosen up at his touch. "I don't even know why I got so mad. It's not like I'm just gonna start gaining weight after thirty years."

"Hey, you never know...:

"Shut up. I've been eating whatever the hell I want, whenever I want my whole life. I guess its one of the few perks."

"Maybe you should start being a competitive eater. I'm sure you could make a lot of money. Maybe you could do a show on the Travel Channel. Remember 'Man Vs. Food'? It could be 'Cheerleader Vs. Food' The ratings would be amazing..."

"Oh whatever," she rolled her eyes.

"I'm serious. You could have all these big, huge tough guys challenge you. Then you would absolutely humiliate them. Can you imagine the looks on their faces when a sweet, angelic little thing in a red and white cheerleading outift hands them their ass on a silver platter?"

"Hmm. Sounds like someone has some issues..."

He shrugged. "I was the nerdy kid in school. I can't be blamed if the thought of a bunch of dumb jocks being embarrassed by the likes of you is something I wouldn't change if it were on the television. "

"I'm sure," she said, sarcastically. "I'd never do anything like that. That's abusing my power. Not to mention that I wouldn't wear a cheer outfit. I'm 32 years old. High school was a looooooooong time ago."

"You haven't aged a day. You could pull it off."

"Whatever you say, honey. Whatever you say," she smiled. "You can sit there and talk about all the shows you'd like to see me in, I don't care. As long as you keep on doing what you're doing with your hands there."

"As you wish," he said, moving his gaze down to the knee he was still massaging. She held her breath when she felt his fingers slide under the cloth of the robe and touch her bare skin, dancing slightly from her knee, down her shin and back up to just a few inches above her knee. His eyes shot up to hers and she assumed her was trying to gauge her reaction.

To be completely honest, it felt incredible and she was fighting to keep from letting out an all-out moan, much less trying to keep her face straight. She decided that the old "if I can't see him, he can't see me" way of thinking was the best, so she rolled her head back and closed her eyes, allowing a sigh to escape her throat as she felt he him shift on the couch. Her leg was in his lap and both of his hands were now running over her. The arousal was bubbling up, she could almost feel herself melting into the couch and he was being eerily quiet. The urge came over her to break this calm moment somehow, much like one would get the urge to giggle during quiet time in a classroom.

"You know, it's a shame you were really dead earlier," she began, keeping her eyes closed and her head back.

"Why's that?"

"I was trying to get you to stop messing around, you see. I thought you were faking it. So, much like if it was a staring contest, I tried my damnedest to make you blink."

"And?"

"My final tactic was too stand over your head with my robe pulled up over my own."

Sylar's hands faltered for a moment and she felt herself smile. "That must've been quite the sight," he said, voice low and deep. "Any chance you'd repeat that little show?"

His hands began moving just a few centimeters higher with each pass. Her heart rate began to increase and she felt a flush rise to her cheeks. His touch had never felt so wonderful and all she could think of was having it all over her. Making a very rash move, she pulled her arm out of its sleeve and snaked it down her own skin on the inside the robe. She felt him freeze, obviously seeing what she had done, and soon she found one of his hands resting on her lower thigh.

She skirted her fingers over the bank of his hand a little before grabbing it and leading it up just a little higher than it had previously been, stopping at the top of her leg. She rolled her head forward, opening her eyes to finally see him. He was inhaling deeply, his hands unmoving from where she had stopped them and the dark look in his eyes that would have frightened her years ago seemed to now egg her on. She reached up with the arm that was still free its in sleeve and undid the knot in her robe, pulling the belt free but did not open it. His index finger twitched against the bone in her hip and it tickled.

"Sylar," Claire began. "I want you to look at my face. Don't look away from me," she instructed. "Alright?"

He could only nod his head in agreement. She shifted her body by him and he moved, she was now laying down and he was hovering above her, one leg resting between hers and the other steady on the floor. She bit her lip slightly as she reached up to pull his face to hers in a long, lingering kiss, offering him a distraction as she used her free arm to pull her robe open. His one hand was still resting at the top of her leg and she felt his fingers jump a bit at the suddenly loss of cloth covering it.

"Claire," Sylar managed to say, between kisses. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh," she hushed. "I know what I'm doing. Keep your eyes up here."

Not relenting her assault on his lips, she grabbed his hand and guided it up past her hip to the flat of her stomach and she let go, leaving him unaided in his soft, gentle rubs across her midsection. His hand tickled her ribs and she let out a giggle into his mouth. He pulled back from her lips and moved down to neck, nipping and sucking and licking her sensitive skin. Feeling as if her heart would beat out of her chest if she didn't do something, she grabbed his hand and brought it up even higher, sweeping his fingers across her right breast before letting his hand rest in the valley between the two.

She felt his hand falter a moment, before slowly starting to move across her chest. His mouth moved from her neck and she felt his head move and she quickly grabbed it, both of her hands cupping his jaw and keeping his eyes on her.

"What did I tell you?" she asked.

"Claire, I want to see..." he pleaded, the pad of his thumb running over one of her stiff nipples.

She inhaled sharply at the feeling and scoffed. "Do what I say." He let out a groan next to her ear and the heat from his breath caused her back to arch unexpectedly, her breast shoved deeper into his palm. He rallied at this movement and suddenly her head was being cradled by one of his hands, the other was running down her side, over her hip and down her thigh as she felt his lips searing kisses down the column of her throat to her clavicle and then on swell of left breast.

Too many sensations at once seemed to jar her from the situation and despite what her body was screaming for, her mind had to stop this before it went to far. She slid her finger under his chin and brought his face back up to her own, while grabbing his roaming hand and bringing it up around her neck, leaning toward his body, trying to get him to hug her. To her relief he seemed to get the message and as he pulled her body towards his own, she quickly closed her robe. He felt the softness of the terry cloth and bore into her with his eyes, silently pleading.

She ran her open palm across his forehead, sweeping the sheen of sweat that had formed on it, before holding his cheeks in her hands. She smiled weakly at him, trying to convey what she was feeling and her need to stop before going to far. He seemed to understand, letting out a very disappointed sigh as he reached down between them and tied the knot of her robe back for her. He sat back against the other end of the couch, putting some distance between them as she sat back up and cleared her throat.

"Now," she began. "Would you have preferred just a little sneak peek like I told you about, or what I just did?"

He just shook his head before getting up and leaving the living room, heading for the kitchen.

"Claire, you will be the death of me!" he called to her.

"Third times a charm!" she called back.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N I broke this latest update into two chapters because it grew to be more of a monster than I had anticipated. Warning, this story has an M rating for a reason. **

**Enjoy.**

Sylar, though he had many faults, considered himself a patient man. But the antics of one particular blond made him feel like he might implode at any moment. The events that transpired on the couch after she had killed him and then brought him back to life were unexpected but he didn't complain. Well, he didn't complain until she closed her robe back up and stopped herself before things got out of hand. He kept thinking about that night and he found that he was more upset with the fact that she wouldn't allow him to look at her. He tried not to fret about it too much. He knew it was just a matter of time.

He could almost sense Claire's guilt at being such a tease. After that night she kept the physical advances to a bare minimum. While he was loathe to admit he missed them, it kept from breaking his concentration. He reckoned at the rate he had been working, they would be on their way to New York in a week or so. In reality, his plan was pretty cut and dry already, he just now had the daunting task of continuing Claire's little boxing lessons and then going over the plan with her until she had it down.

He was pleased when she was able to recite the plan in its entirety to him within two days time. He split her so-called lessons into two parts, fighting her tooth and nail then quizzing her on various entry points of the building. Kicking and scratching her followed by the layout of the security systems holding all of the frozen embryos. She complained of feelings of whiplash from the swiftness he hopped from one thing to another, but he just brushed it off and assured her it was for the best. She would just frown at him before flipping her hair and stomping off.

Though she had taken to being on the defensive around him anytime before dinner, Sylar was not blind to the fact that she was becoming increasingly nervous about the whole situation. He wasn't upset with her, after all she was about to commit the premeditated murder of the man that raised her. Instead he had tried to actually talk to her about it, something he would normally never do.

"JUST DROP IT SYLAR AND HIT ME!" she had screamed at him during one of their training sessions, a rage exploding from her that came out of no where.

That was the first and last time he would try that technique.

Instead, he decided to try a little more hands on method, something he hoped would relax her mind and her body in order to have her at her best (well, the best given the situation). With the tentative departure date set for only 3 days away, he put his "Operation Calm Claire" into motion.

He started slow. He would run the bath for her at night, making sure her robe and nightclothes were all laid out for her. Once she was freshly scrubbed and dressed, he would massage her shoulders before they went to sleep. He smirked to himself at the utterly enticing sounds of satisfaction that came out of her in waves as his nimble fingers prodded her soft skin. She didn't ask him why he was doing it, only sighed and closed her eyes at his touch.

Once they climbed in to bed for the night, she did as she did every night, spooning her small frame back into his, curling her legs up slightly. He did as he did every night, draping his arm over her waist, allowing his hand to rest right over her navel, sometimes feeling her hand over his own as they slipped into sleep. This night, however, he slipped his hand under the hem of her shirt carefully, his fingers immediately greeted with the warmth of the contact. Encouraged by her lack of protest, he began to rub her stomach in big lazy circles. More sighs escaped her and he felt her turn back into him further, her neck in direct line of his mouth, it all but screaming at him to take a taste. But he fought the temptation. One day at a time.

He noticed she seemed to have slept better that night than any other night they had been there.

The next day he really pressed her intellectually. He eased off on the physical altercations and focused on her problem solving and analytical skills.

"Sylar, I'm not a fucking child, I understand what I'm supposed to do," she snapped. The anger that swelled in him at her tone was becoming a little harder than usual to quell.

That night had added the lavender bath oil (something she had picked up at the store, he wasn't sure of the point but it did say "FOR RELAXATION" in bold letters, so he figured it couldn't really hurt). When she joined him back downstairs for a little late night tv, he could smell the scent of the oil on her skin and in her hair. Her body was lax and she wasn't furrowing her brow and frowning. He made a mental note to buy more of it for the future. She even seemed to bend her unspoken rule when it came to any physicality between them, when she sighed and laid her head in his lap, tapping her fingers gently against his thigh. Excellent.

You see, Sylar was a patient man, but a selfish one too. While this little pamper party for Claire did seem to be working on keeping her nerves in check (and that was the most important part), there was definitely an ulterior motive to it. He was also trying to calm the nerves in her that seemed to stop her anytime things got heated between them. It was annoying and he wasn't lying when he told her she'd be the death of him.

That night in bed, he followed the same steps as before, slipping his hand under her camisole and over her warm belly. She sighed and leaned back into him, just like the night before, only this time he didn't stop his mouth from finding that delicious pulse in her neck. She snaked her arm up and around, grabbing the back of his head and a handful of hair, tugging as he sucked on her slightly scented skin. She groaned and to his surprise, reached down and quickly pulled her camisole off and threw it on the floor. She grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast. He responded by sliding his other arm under her, grabbing her other breast as well, kissing up her neck to her ear, tugging on the lobe gently with his teeth. She arched back into him, breathing heavily. She twisted her body in his arms and he felt her chest rub against his own.

Making a bold move he slid down her body, peppering kisses as he trailed her neck, her shoulder and then over to the swell of her breast. He felt her body stiffen and her hands threaded through his hair and she all but shoved him closer. Taking his time, he slowly rolled his tongue over her nipple, flicking gently. She responded by tugging on the back of his head. He ran a free hand down her waist to her thigh, smiled against her skin, taking the nub completely in his mouth and sucking gently, before scraping his teeth across the peak and biting down, pulling slightly.

Her hips bucked against him and he fought the urge to grab at her shorts. Instead, taking a page from her book, he pulled away from her body and slid back up, laying his head back down on the pillow. He was thankful the room was pitch black, as he did not want to see what kind of face she was making at him. He kissed her forehead and settled back comfortably in the bed. She made no verbal complaint, however she didn't retrieve her shirt. She gently pushed on his shoulder, forcing him to lay on his back instead of his side and she curled up to him, resting her head on his chest, her leg draped over his. He could feel the warmth of her on his thigh but tried to ignore it, focusing his attention to her small hand rubbing lazy figures across his midsection.

He woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in weeks.

That final day before they left for New York, he was particularly hard on her. He saved the final little lesson for after dinner. He had progressed from simple fighting techniques to something he knew she wouldn't like but it was for her own good. He pulled a metal folding chair out of the garage and set it up. He had purposely waited for the sun to set and the darkness to take over. He knew it would make all the difference.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"This is to practice your escaping skills," he said, pulling out a long length of rope.

She looked up at him with worried eyes. "I...I don't want to do that."

"Claire, you have to be prepared for anything, that includes the slim-to-none chance they we get separated and they somehow get you restrained," he said, fussing with the ropes. "Come over and sit down."

"No," she said, crossing her arms. "Think of another way."

"Come on, Claire. I'm not gonna leave you tied up. I'm just gonna do a few different knots and show you how to get out of them. That's it."

"No," she said firmly, turning her back to him.

Lesson one, don't turn your back to the enemy. Making a split decision, he shot forward and grabbed her and threw her in the chair, holding her arms down with his powers as he used his hands to tie a quick knot.

"GOD DAMN IT SYLAR!" she hissed. "LET ME GO!"

"No, you are going to get yourself out of it," he said, taking several steps back from her.

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Claire, FOCUS!"

She stopped growling long enough to start moaning. Her voice cracked and her eyes were wet. "Please, Sylar..."

He almost cut the ropes and broke the chair that instant. But he was determined to get this through to her. He cleared his throat and spoke very calmly. "Stop bouncing around. Focus on the ropes around your wrists. Feel around with your fingers. See how many times it has been wrapped."

She wasn't listening to his advice. She kept squirming and panting frantically. He could see this was harder for her than he anticipated. So he did what he always did in a situation that wasn't playing out as well as he hoped. He cheated.

Focusing on that wonderful power of persuasion, he ran his hands over his mouth and sighed. "Claire, do what I asked. Focus on the ropes."

She stopped crying and immediately and began fidgeting her hands around the ropes. He was pleased when she was able to free herself in under a minute. Although, he had started easy on her. She hopped out of the chair and scowled at him. He ignored it and sat her back down, tying a more difficult knot this time.

"I know what you're doing," she said, under her breath. "I know why you're doing it. I appreciate it. But I don't like it. Not one fucking bit."

He nodded at her and proceeded to try 6 different knots on her, each worse than the last, offering no help other than the occasional "focus, Claire." Once she managed to get out of the most complicated one he did (by dislocating her own wrists in order to do so) she jumped up but this time she did something he didn't expect her to. Grabbing the chair and with a sound he had never heard from her before, she hurled it at the garage, successfully breaking two of the four large panes of glass in the window next to the door. She flew toward said window and jumped high in the air, managing to kick the remaining panes out. Her leg was now through the window and her body was almost stuck there, large shards of glass sticking straight out of her legs. She threw her body backwards and seemed to do a sort of backflip out and away from the window.

Visibly shaking, she stood in front of Sylar, who had watched the scene without blinking, and pulled the large shards out of her leg and threw them on the ground.

"I'm glad that's off my chest," she panted. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go get the tweezers and pull the little ones out." She brushed his hand as she walked past him toward the house.

Not since that one night in the hotel had he seen Claire snap so violently. He smiled to himself. Excellent. She would be ready tomorrow. He had faith in her. He ran into the house, hearing the water running, he ran up the stairs and knocked on the bathroom door. Hearing no answer, he opened it slowly.

Claire was sitting on the edge of the bathroom wearing nothing but her white bra and panties. His eyes instantly were drawn to the little spots of blood that were splattered on her tanned skin. It seems the shards had gone higher than just her legs. She had a small wet towel resting on her thigh, using it as place to dispose of the glass. It was a few moments later he noticed the steam in the room, she had the water as hot as it would go and he could see feet and part of her shins turning bright red from the water.

"It helps to open the pores," she said. "The steam does."

He could only nod at her, noticing the beads of sweat forming on her chest and her forehead. She kept picking at her legs, finding tiny shards covered in blood, struggling to see the backs of her own legs.

"You want some help?"

She held out the tweezers to him and lifted her leg out of the water. He hurried to her side, sitting on the bathroom floor next to her, taking one of her legs in his hands. He worked very carefully, seeking out each foreign object and removing it. It was very similar to removing the tiniest of gears from some of the smaller timepieces. He finished one leg and moved to the next, focusing very hard on the task at hand and not at the slick feel of her sweat. Or the fact that it was soaking her undergarments and making them transparent. Or that as he continued to sit on the floor below her, the faint scent of her sex was dancing around his head.

He worked his way up. He finally came to the last piece he could find, a nasty little sticker that had buried itself in her upper inner thigh. She opened her legs to him and he set his brow, determined not to look at her face and to keep his from telling on him. He meticulously held the tweezers and plucked it out and she inhaled sharply when his knuckles accidentally grazed her panties. Realizing what he did, he quickly stood up and took the wet towel off of her leg and threw it in the waste basket, running his hand through his hair and clearing his throat.

"Real smooth," she said, sarcastically.

He scowled at her and left her alone in the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He flopped onto his bed and turned on the television, desperately seeking out anything that would take his mind off of the woman just a few feet away. He was flipping through the channels furiously when he heard the door creak open. Before he could stop himself he glanced over to see her still in her soaked bra and panties. He bit his lip and forced himself to turn his attention back to the tv. He was afraid of what would happen if he continued to look at her.

It wasn't a second letter he felt a sharp sting as a lightly wet hand slapped him clear across the face. His hand immediately shot up to massage his cheek, his mouth agape in shock and confusion. He was surprised with himself that he didn't immediately throw her through the wall. Maybe he was getting slow in his old age. Instead he just turned his focus on to her. Her arms were crossed and she was glaring at him, the anger in her eyes reminiscent of the old days.

"I'm assuming you think I deserved that," he spoke finally, trying to keep his tone light, despite the aggravation brewing inside him.

"You're damn right you did."

He sat up on the bed and turned to her. "Because...?"

"A few reasons actually. First, you tied me to the chair when I clearly begged you not to," she said, uncrossing her arms to place them on her hips.

His gaze immediately fell to her heaving chest. The wet cloth was leaving nothing to the imagination and he suddenly could think of nothing but the taste of her in his mouth.

"Hey, eyes up here!" she yelled and snapped him out of it. He noticed she was starting to shake a bit and he actually was worried she might start crying from the look on her face. "But more so than that you...you are just an asshole!" she screamed, her hands shooting up to her own head she pulled on her own hair in what was clearly frustration.

Sylar was unsure of what to say. "I..I'm sorry? Claire, I was only pushing you hard out there because I don't want you to be surprised by anything..."

"Oh shut the hell up! I'm not talking about the so called 'lessons'", she yelled, using finger quotes. "I'm talking about these little teasing games you've been up to the past few nights."

Uh oh. He'd been found out. He chewed on his bottom lip. Well, it wasn't like he was trying to be sly about it, but he honestly didn't expect her to blow up like this.

"I was only trying to get you calm and relaxed. I know you are a nervous wreck about tomorrow and don't you dare try to deny it because I know it's a lie," he spat as he saw her open her mouth to protest. "When I tried to talk to you about it, which was not an easy task for me ya know, you about bit my head off. This was the only thing I could think of."

She just stood there fuming. "God damn it, Sylar! You are making me want to pull my fucking hair out."

"Fine, I'll stop. I'm sorry. I won't do it again," he said, sliding off the bed. He headed for the door to leave the room but she jumped in front of him, punching him right in the ear, causing his head to ring and his vision to blur. This time he couldn't help himself, with a flick of his wrist he pinned her against the wall as he pawed at his own ear.

"Fuck, Claire!" he cursed, stomping his foot as the pain finally started to dull.

"Do it."

He let go of his own head to look up at her. "What?"

"You're right," she began, her voice losing all of its anger from before, speaking far beyond him. "I'm ready for tomorrow, ready to end this atrocity. But I'm scared out of my mind. I'm worried something will go wrong. I don't want to go back to that lab. I don't want to let Noah get away with what he has done. But I'm more worried that if something bad happens, I won't see you again."

He let go of the invisible hold he had on her.

"That's not going to happen..."

"You don't know that with one hundred percent certainty," she said,finally turning her eyes to him. The anger was gone from them, replaced with a look he would know anywhere. Hunger. "So I'm not asking you nicely. I'm telling you. Do it."

He felt a violent jerk in his stomach at such a harsh command but he wasn't gonna react on what he believed she was speaking of. The outcome of being wrong would be horrific. "Do what, Claire?"

"Fuck me," she whispered.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Please make sure you read chapter 12. I posted two chapters back to back, which I've never done before so make sure you catch that one. **

She had barely allowed him to register her words before she pounced on him, almost taking his head off of his shoulders yanking him down to meet her lips. She tore at his hair, at his neck and anywhere he hands touched and had to pull his head back with great force to separate her from him.

"Claire, what the hell..."

She shut him up quickly by reaching down and rubbing her palm across his groin. He shuddered at the sudden movement and before she knew it, he had pressed her hard against the wall, his mouth attached to her neck and his hands pawing at her breasts. She let out a slight chuckle and the sound seemed to encourage him. He suddenly flipped her around and pressed her cheek into the wall. She then felt her feet leave the ground as she floated up a few inches. Letting out a little gasp, she instinctively tried to grasp the flat wall for support, gaining none. She realized it was his powers doing it and she felt a deep throb between her legs.

He swept the hair from her shoulders and attacked her neck, licking and sucking her sensitive skin. God, why did she allow this to happen? She was sure she was stronger than this. She blamed the knife incident. Seeing him dead on the floor like that had awoken something. Granted, she was sure that something was already boiling dangerously to the surface, but that gut-wrenching feeling she got staring into his lifeless eyes and feeling his ice cold skin brought it straight to the top. Claire had a half-thought out plan about the whole situation. Business first, she had to get this whole mission over with. She had to destroy the Company and Noah. Then, she was going to take a long vacation to heal the unseen wounds that she would no doubt have afterward. Then, once she was back to her old (new) self, she would spend real quality time with Sylar. That is, if he still wanted her of course.

Nothing ever really went according to plan for her, though. She should have known she would stray from the agenda. She should have seen the signs that it couldn't wait when she undid that knot on her robe that night. No. She refused to blame herself. He was just as guilty as she was, if not more so. With his opening up to her, the small little gifts, the snarky attitude, the refusing to bow to her will like men in the past. The way he pissed her off more easily than anyone she could remember. The way his eyes wrinkled up with his smile when she brought lunch to him. The way he refused to let her be lazy and really push her. The the way he fit around her body protectively when they slept.

The way he had forced her to do this just because the thought of it never happening and then never seeing him again would drive her mad.

No, now that she thought about it, this was entirely his fault. Asshole.

Her mind snapped out of its inner blame game when she felt the hardness through his jeans press against her ass. She grinned into the wall as she rolled her hips deliberately slow, making sure he felt every minute movement against his groin. The swiftness in which he bucked up against her told her he did. His hand ran through her hair, pulling her head roughly to the side, giving him better access that sweet spot where her neck met her shoulders. To her surprise he bit down hard and she gasped. There was no pain, as pain was a distant memory to her now, but she felt the sensation of something she couldn't describe. A sort of intense pressure, one that caused her to yelp and arch her body back into him. He remained latched to the spot as his hands roamed down her midsection and she felt his fingers glide over the front of her panties in a touch so light it tickled.

She gasped and let out a short giggle. Roused by her response, he continued to dance his fingers over the fabric and she felt the clasp of her bra unhinge by itself. Relaxing her shoulders, it fell down and off of her body and he let go of her, stepping away from her. She growled at the loss of contact, only to be spun around again, her body dropped back down and her feet touched the floor, her arms pinned against the wall. He stared at her, a look of pure longing plastered across his face. He quickly pulled his shirt off and she struggled against the hold he had on her, wanting desperately to reach out and run her hands through that ridiculously tempting dusting of hair around his navel. But he wouldn't let her.

He fell to his knees and crawled toward her and she held her breathe. He ran his hands along her calves, placing lazy kisses across the tops of her legs. She bit her lip and rubbed her thighs together, trying to alleviate to throbbing in her groin. Apparently unhappy with that, she felt her legs quickly open and his fingers reaching past the band of her underwear, pulling them with such force that they ripped slightly on one side. Stepping out of them and looking straight up at the ceiling, she realized she was completely naked in front of him.

The trembling started and he wasn't even touching her then. That fucking asshole.

Her leg hitched up and over his shoulder then, without her moving a muscle and the second his tongue lapped at her aching sex she almost fell over. He worked his mouth languidly, gently sucking on her labia before dipping in deeper at her core, flicking his tongue over her clit and stealing an all out scream from her. She struggled in earnest against his hold, wanting nothing more than to comb her fingers through his thick hair, to tug and pull on it and show him exactly what she was feeling. As if he read her mind, the hold was released and she attacked his head, shoving his face closer to her sex. The swirls, the laps, the flicks of his mouth were divine and she could feel the pressure building in her stomach, something she hadn't felt in a very, very long time.

Legs shaking and breathing heavily, she gripped hard on the back of his head and pulled him away from her body, sliding down the wall quickly to join him on the floor on her knees. She ran one hand down his bare chest, pulling on the dark hairs as she did and then glued her mouth to his. She could taste the saltiness on his lips, her own juices on him and she had to fight the urge to touch herself as she ravished his mouth. Instead, the hand had slid past his navel into the waist band of his jeans, flicking open the button. She ripped it out and yanked the zipper down. To her dismay, he didn't move from the position he was in.

She couldn't get to him fast enough and this angered her. Why did he make her this way? It was infuriating and before she could stop herself, she had reached out and slapped him, hard, across the face again. Recognizing what she had done, she gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. He didn't react at first. Freezing in his spot, his gaze focused somewhere on the floor to his side. She suddenly felt herself rise from the floor into the air and a rush of fear swamped her. She was thrown through the air to the bed, face down. When she rolled over and sat up, Sylar was already crawling toward her, his pants and boxers already discarded on the floor.

"That was unkind," he growled at her, snaking up her body and hovering just a few inches above her. The heat radiating from him was almost enough to suffocate her. She locked eyes with him and winced, bracing herself from the backlash of her actions. He lunged his head forward and grabbed her earlobe with his teeth and pulled, breathing heavily inside her ear. "Do it again," he whispered. Her eyes shot wide open and her arms suddenly wrapped around him, her nails digging deeply into his back, he groaned but he didn't sway.

"Sylar..." she panted, the anticipation was going to end her. She knew exactly how he must have felt all those times she teased him. His mouth had somehow found her breast and he was nipping and jerking at her nipple.

"Say it," he said into her skin. "Say it again. Tell me what you want."

She hadn't notice his other head sneak between her thighs. His fingers rubbed against her core and she arched her hips into his hand. She moaned when he slipped a single digit in and curled inside her, almost climaxing from that single movement. It was gone in an instant.

"God damn it, Sylar, Fuck me!" she finally screamed, feeling only slightly ashamed at her filthy command.

She was filled completely. He stilled above her, panting hard, sweat from his brow sliding down his face. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed him in deeper, moaning as he bottomed out inside of her. Slowly, he began to thrust inside of her. Settling back on his haunches, he grabbed one of her legs and threw it over his shoulder, angling deeper into her somehow. She bit down hard on bottom lip and threw her arms out to her side, gripping the comforter with all her might.

"Oh god," he grunted, sliding his hand up and down her elevated leg, reaching down to take one of her small breasts in his hand, pulling roughly on the hard peak. He pounded into her with a steady rhythm and Claire could feel her orgasm starting to build again, rising deep in the pit of her stomach.

"Sylar," she cried when he pulled out from her, wrapping his arms under her back and rolling her on top of him. She froze.

"What's wrong?" he asked, breathing heavily.

She could feel the blood rush to her face. "I..I don't do the top."

"Why?" he asked.

"Well, the opportunity's never really come up..." she answered, begrudgingly.

To her chagrin, he laughed.

"Don't laugh!" she yelled at him, slapping her hand hard against his chest. At that, his hips bucked and she could feel him, hard and wet, on her inner thigh. "Oh, that's right, you like that."

"Damn straight. Do it again."

She slapped him again, with more force, making sure to connect right over his hardened nipple. The sharp intake of air told her she did good. He gripped her waist and lifted her up and then back down, sliding into her quickly. The sensation was different than a few moments ago and as he began to thrust upward into her, she could feel him hitting a spot she didn't even know she had. Unable to move on her own accord, she forward flat against his chest.

"Lean up," he instructed. "Don't worry, I'll do the work."

She obeyed him, leaning her back up slightly. She braced herself on the pillow on either side of his head as she felt his hands slide down her back to her ass. He gently spread her open and began to pump faster and everything in the room began to blur. She arched her back even farther and grabbed the back of his head, crying out loud. His head flew forward and his mouth was on hers, his tongue twisting and curling around her own. She continued to moan into his mouth.

"What else haven't you done, Claire?" he breathed in her ear, never faltering in his rhythm inside of her.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she panted, her voice bouncing with each thrust.

He quickly rolled back over and pinned Claire beneath him. She stared at him, dazed with lust and glazed with sweat. "What do you want me to do?" she asked, seductively.

"Turn over," he said. She flipped her body over and she felt him circle an arm around her midsection pulling her up on her knees. She gripped the cover tightly as he pushed back into her wet heat, picking the same rhythm from before back up.

"Fuck," she groaned. This was a position she could get used to. She felt his grip tight on her hips and she jumped a little when he reared back and slapped her on the ass gently. She was even more surprised that she liked it.

"Oh god," she moaned, dragging the words out. His pace began to quicken and she could feel the burning start back up in her loins. If he stopped again, she was going to kill him, she swore ir. He slapped her again and she began to rock back against him, really allowing herself to get into it (something she had never done before). This seemed to excite him more, as his pace increased again and she felt his hands slide around her stomach and slip between her legs. He fingers worked her clit furiously and within seconds that burning feeling blossomed more and more until she was screaming his name, screaming at god, just screaming anything.

She collapsed forward, her vision blurred and he was still moving within. She felt him falter a bit and then with a low, gutteral moan he pulled out, falling back on the bed. She turned over just in time to see him stroking himself before coming hard, the fluid landing all around his navel. He panted, letting himself fall completely back on the bed. She crawled over to him and kissed him softly.

"I...made...a...mess," he panted, trying to catch his breath. "We don't...need any accidents."

She couldn't help but look down at the milky white spots covering his stomach. Feeling like an all-out sex goddess, she leaned right into his ear and whispered something filthier than she could ever imagine. His eyebrow shoot right up and she smirked.

"Give me fifteen minutes," he said.


End file.
