"What're you going to do to me?" she whispers in a hauntingly terrified voice, squeezing her eyes shut. He used his telekinesis to freeze her in place while she was sitting on the couch, and her fingers are still mid-air reaching for the remote control on the table.

Sylar sits next to the former cheerleader, taking in her flushed, seemingly annoyed appearance as he ponders what the most reasonable course of action would be. He hasn't seen her in almost a year, and wonders why she hasn't grown even an inch...Isn't she still in her teens?

Oh, right. Silly me.

Sylar shakes his head with a smile, reminding himself her ability prevents Claire from aging, same as it's prevented him since he took it for his own all those years ago. And how long has it been? Four? No—almost five years have passed since the day Sylar first hunted her down. But he had really been hunting down the wrong girl...

Claire truly hasn't aged a day since the night he first saw her, and realizing now that he'll never see her grow up or grow old makes an odd feeling start to grow inside of Sylar. The clothes she's wearing aren't helping matters much. He's caught her in a state of comfortable undress—of course, she thought she was alone and safe in her studio apartment—and the way her small, firm breasts strain against the thin material of her nightgown is making Sylar feel more dangerous than he's felt in months.

He tries ignoring the white, virginal color, the lace winking at him from beneath her modest cleavage. A small thought crosses his mind—how simple it would be to have her bare and spread open before him, helpless to stop him from taking her...

But that's not why he's here. The fun can wait for another time. Sylar brings his gaze back up to Claire's face, trying to get his urges and emotions under control. He needs to talk to her, find out what she's thinking, how she feels...Sylar needs a clue to the insane mystery he stumbled upon weeks ago when he meet a specific painter named Jamie.

But who is he to dabble in guessing games when he can simply use his powers and find out exactly how she's feeling...and what she's thinking. Sylar has done it once before with minor repercussions, save for that whole pencil through the eye incident. The memory amuses him only slightly.

"Sylar. Why are you here?" The fire in Claire's eyes tells him she's most likely too upset to sit down and talk this out calmly and respectfully.

Guess I'll have to use my powers.

Yet there is no guilt in it; he's not going to hurt her. Sylar just wants to understand the paintings Jamie created. He needs to know why Claire...why it's always been Claire.

Why you?

Is the petite, indestructible blonde truly a part of Sylar's destiny?

He reaches out to her, his large hand easily circling her small, delicate wrist. Sylar can feel so much emotion thrumming beneath her soft skin. It has a pulse of its own as it rushes through her in a violent stampede; fear, powerlessness, rage. His hand squeezes her wrist none too gently as he starts digging deeper, and Claire whimpers softly, her eyes closed tightly.

Disgust. Now fear again. Intense confusion. And then...

No...Impossible...It can't be, his mind reels, confused at the lust mixed with disgust he's feeling. She's feeling. Who would've guessed...

Sylar reaches into her mind with his telepathy. He has to be sure. He has to know.

'Oh God, please don't let him know. I'm gonna die of embarrassment...He probably has some ability that tells him what I'm thinking...Wait, he does! Didn't he get that from Parkman?'

Claire bites her lip, and Sylar can't help being secretly enticed by that one innocent action.

'He can't find out...Dooshbag is probably digging around my head right now...'

Probing further is of no use, as Claire has caught on to what he's doing, and is using some blocking method he hasn't seen done before. Sylar wonders who taught her that, and a smirk pulls his lips to the side.

Impressive girl, always full of surprises.

With a small movement of his fingers, Claire's eyes are forced open.

"What was that, Claire?"

"Let go of me, Sylar."

"What can't I find out, Claire? Tell me."

"Why are you even doing this? You know you can't hurt me." Her breathing becomes harsher, and it looks like she's struggling under his telepathic hold, albeit fruitlessly. "We've been through this before; you cut my head open and—and violated me. You already took what you wanted from me."

Her green eyes are wide and frightened, and Sylar can't help the deep intrigue he feels, even stronger than before as it's currently fueled by a mounting curiosity which only the girl currently under his control can satisfy.

"Indeed, I have. But that's not why I'm here. I'm not here to hurt you, Claire."

He snaps his fingers playfully and removes the mental hold on her body. Claire glares at him for one moment before leaning back against the couch and crossing her arms and legs, not even looking at him.

"Then why?"

"I met someone."

"No thanks, I'll pass on that wedding invite."

"That's not what I meant. I met someone who paints the future."

"Ah. I see. Heard of that power before..." She frowns, finally turning to look him in the eye. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"She painted us. Together. After the end of the world."

"The end of the...world?" Claire's brows knit together as she shakes her head. "That makes no sense."

"There's a war coming. Not now. Not for a while. But when it comes, almost half a century from now, it destroys everything. Neither side wins. Everyone loses. Humanity loses. And we lose everything."

"Half a century?! And why should I care? Fifty years from now and you expect me to—"

"Because even if you don't right now, you will then. You lose everyone you love. All your friends. Your family—"

"Fifty years from now everyone I know and love will be dead or old enough to be pretty damn close to it." Her voice is terribly sullen now. Sylar frowns at her small display of childish behavior.

"You're wrong. You'll fall in love. Have children. Grandchildren. But that all changes when the World Wars come. Two in succession, like the first pair back in the twentieth century. Seven years of false peace between them. By the end of the Last World War, you're totally alone, Claire. Even your descendants are wiped out completely..."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Sylar can see the pain behind those bright eyes, and it makes his next words that much harder to voice.

"Because in the future, I'm all you have. We fall in love, Claire. I take all that pain and suffering you feel and turn it into hope and passion. That's the final painting in a series of seven."

"What's the first? Me trying to kill you? Or you brainwashing me? Because we both know that would never happen. I could never fall in love with you, even if you were the last man on Earth."

Sylar clenches his jaw, furious at her for being so damn narrow-minded and stubborn.

"I've acquired a new ability, Claire. I can show you—"

"Oh, I bet," she hisses. "But I don't care. I've had enough of this. Get the fuck out of my apartment, Sylar."