TITLE: Dark Traveler
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing (dammit)
SPOILERS: up to 1/19 (and then sort of AU obviously)
STATUS: complete- written as a standalone
SUMMARY: Sylar finds a way to take Claire's power at last.
NOTE: Obviously there are alternate universe elements to this story. Just go with it. ;)

He parked his car at the curb and stuffed the keys into his jacket pocket absently. The thrill of the hunt had always been consuming, but tonight was special. Tonight he would take Claire.

Sylar pulled the brim of his cap down low and began the long walk down the block. To anyone who casually looked outside of their window, he might seem to be an ordinary man out for an evening stroll. They would shrug and close the blinds on the evil that walked past.

That was normal for this type of neighborhood. He didn't know whose brilliant plan it was to hide Claire in a suburb so similar to her original home, but once he saw her in his crude prophetic painting, he knew that he had a chance.

The want for Claire's power to regenerate stirred a fire in his belly. He needed her. Needed to look into those frightened eyes and watch her light go out. She had eluded him for too long. He could almost taste it already, the strange metallic tang that filled his mouth as he consumed the powers of others. Each was different in their own way; some salty or bitter. He thought Claire would be sweet.

With his legs moving on autopilot, Sylar closed his eyes briefly and remembered the look of her. The last time he'd tried to take her, she'd been dressed in that ridiculous, (yet tantalizing) cheerleader's uniform, with white and red school colors from her neck down to her shoes. The top had long sleeves, obscuring his view of her arms, and that disappointed him. It did vee in the front though, and that more than made up for it. The quick view he had of the crevasse between her breasts haunted him still.

Sylar shook his head hard in a vain attempt to shake away the image, but Claire was someone that he couldn't easily get off of his mind lately. That bothered him. He couldn't understand why she was so deeply rooted under his skin.

He looked up the block and saw the little blue mailbox that he had painted before, with the address clearly visible on the side. Issac's power certainly did come in handy, he thought and smiled to himself.

As he neared the house, he moved slowly and kept to the shadows. In the painting he had seen Claire through an open window. Her upper shoulders had been bare, and she lay sleeping, covered in a white rumpled sheet. It was a dreamlike vision that would soon become a nightmare.

He moved around to the side of the house as slowly as he could manage, stepping lightly with his feet. Even from this distance he could hear her steady breathing, and the soft drum of her heartbeat. There were other sounds, but he blocked them out. All that mattered was Claire.

Finally at the window, he knelt down beneath the sill and tried to calm himself. This was not a time to finish quickly; it was a time to savor. He wanted to laugh out loud at his triumph; to dance on the graves of all who tried to stop him. Fools! The moment was here!

He felt that Claire could possibly be the single most important kill he could make. With her power, he could withstand Peter Petrelli and take him down as well. The importance he'd placed on Claire made her precious to him, and as such he hoped that he would have a minute with her before she awakened.

Feeling giddy, Sylar leaned up and peeked into the window. She was so close, only inches away from him, and lay in exactly the same position as his painting foretold. What he hadn't noticed before was that she was naked beneath her sheet.

Her arms fascinated him since they'd been hidden from view before and he memorized their lines. His eyes followed an invisible path from her neck to her shoulder and then down the slope of her arm to her little hand, which rested across her mid section. Her fingernails were painted a light pink.

Returning his gaze to her face, he noted the wildness of her hair, spread across the pillow. He could smell it already; it's scent wafting ever so often towards him with a stray breeze. The rapid movement under her eyelids told him that she was dreaming, and he watched as her lips curled into the faintest of smiles.

With a morbid curiosity, he wondered what she was dreaming about.

Inevitably, his eyes moved lower to her unbound breasts. He kept telling himself that Claire was a nobody to him. She was just a temporary obstruction to his new power. He repeated this in his head like a mantra, but at the same time found himself attempting to guess the secret color of her nipples.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Sylar lifted up to climb through the window and froze. He'd heard it all along, but was so focused on Claire, that he failed to properly register the sound of a second heartbeat.

A man lay at her side with his naked body only partially covered by the sheet. Dozens of other sounds and smells suddenly hit Sylar all at once, making him sway a little with dizziness.

As he peered through the dark at the man's sleeping figure, there was no doubt in his mind who he was. It surprised him at first, but he supposed it made a sort of sense.

One thing was very clear; there was no way he could attack Claire now. He'd never even get halfway before being attacked himself, and it was impossible to target her companion first because they shared the same power.

Sylar slowly drifted back towards the ground and away from the window. Why had he painted this vision? The question ate at him, and hatred turned to fury as he walked briskly back to his car. He would still take Claire eventually.

Peter couldn't protect her forever.

-Britt

Written April 29, 2007