Tears left glistening tracks down the former cheerleader's cheeks. She had long since lost the will to wipe them away, succumbing to another violent tremor down her spine. Her gaze rose, to a familiar pair of brown orbs, eyes that had been haunting her for hundreds of years, eyes belonging to the man she had come to love. "Please, don't cry," he whispered in to her ear. Claire sobbed into his shoulder, the fabric under her cheek becoming damp, but she couldn't bring herself to care. "I do not deserve them," he continued. Claire could feel his breath against the shell of her ear, warm and ragged, a reminder that he was still here with her. She wanted to scream at him, pull away, tell him how much he mattered, how much she cared, but she remained silent, save for the quiet whimpering she could no longer control. How had she gotten here, wrapped in the arms of a man she once swore to hate until they were both just dust in the wind, no longer people, no longer alive, no longer able say I will never love you? The cheerleader hadn't realized that time was a cleanser of preformed prejudices; that as the years passed and she was left with an eternity stretched out before her; it had become more difficult to recall her reasons to avoid the murderer. He was right that day when he had claimed she'd come to forgive him, as he always was. How could it have been a lie? He had not once lied to her, favoring the truth, after his own history of manipulation.
Claire could feel his grip falling slack, his arms withdrawing from around her. Desperate, she clung to him harder, unwilling for this moment to end. "No, you cannot do this," she pleaded, hoping that he'd finally understand. She heard him sigh, like every time before. His hands came up to cup her face, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the skin he found there.
"Claire, this has to be done, the world is better off this way," he gave a sad smile meant to reassure her.
"And what about me Sylar, am I better off?"
"Yes," There was no hesitation in his answer, no time required to evaluate his response. Claire shut her eyes against another onslaught of tears. Why was he doing this to her? Didn't he see how wrong he was, that this idea in his head had twisted everything around? She wasn't better off. Perhaps the world would be, but fuck the world it didn't matter anymore. She was no longer the hero, having slipped into the morally gray a very long time ago, and if it was a choice between her happiness and humanities, there is no contest. She'd gladly sacrifice everyone if meant keeping him just a minute longer.
"I won't let you do this," she exclaimed.
"It's already been decided. I will not change my mind."
Claire shook her head, unable to face defeat. "Can't you just give me another hundred years? What will it matter in the scheme of things?"
"Say I did, Claire. Do you think I'd still have the conviction to follow through?"
"That's the point."
"Claire you know how much I wish things could be different," he finally pushed her away, turning his back. Rage flared through her. Furiously brushing at her eyes, she yelled out to him, "Coward." She didn't fear him as he swiftly spun to face her, similar emotions playing out inside him.
"What I'm doing is not cowardice," his response was immediate.
"How could it not be? You're a coward Sylar because if you weren't, you wouldn't be leaving me here alone."
"Is that it then? Don't you see that your selfish need is clouding the grander picture?"
"And what would that be? Please enlighten me because I' drawing blank here honey."
His expression softened and he dropped his head in defeat. "Maybe a world where I never existed would be better for everyone, you included."
"You don't mean that," Claire said dejectedly. Her anger burning out as the intolerable emptiness returned, smothering her from the inside until she felt she could no longer breathe. She watched him move slightly towards her, but caught himself before he could close the distance. Claire knew it would only make it harder for both of them in the end. She reluctantly thanked him for the small favor.
She could see it in his expression and silently exclaimed her opposition. It wasn't time, it couldn't be. The guilt was rising up inside her. She had spent their last moments fighting over the inevitable. Nothing she said would have changed his mind. He was a stubborn bastard, and that was not something the years had distorted.
"It's time," Claire had been expecting this, preparing for it, but it still ripped at her heart. His eyes snapped shut; he was readying himself for the flow of power which would ultimate send him spiraling backwards through time.
"Wait, Sylar please," Claire begged. He remained unfazed. Before he could disappear, Claire ran to him, latching on to his coat. Claire could feel the pull, like falling, but floating at the same time. It was beyond the strangest sensation she had ever experienced. The ground came up to meet them and Claire stumbled backwards, her head spinning. She didn't need to look at him to know he was angry.
"What were you thinking Claire?"
"Clearly I wasn't," she replied. She forced her smile back; there was no need to anger him further.
"I'm bringing you back," he grabbed her arm, not allowing her to squirm away.
"No Sylar. If you want me to accept what you're doing, then you will let me stay."
"Claire—"
"Shut up. I'm going to be there. You owe me that much." He nodded his acceptance. Claire reached for his hand and he did not refuse her. It slid into her own like it had always been there, having finally found where it belonged. Claire looked around, noticing her surroundings for the first time since they had arrived. "Where are we?"
"New York, 2006."
Claire let him lead her, trusting him to know the way, and praying that he didn't. Claire could not focus on the relics of the past, nor the people walking by, but only on Sylar. He would catch her staring, but he wouldn't comment. She figured he'd allow her this. He came to an abrupt stop, too soon for Claire's liking, but she didn't complain. Not verbally at least, inside she was screaming. He tried to the door, but it wouldn't give. Although, what door could ever stand against the all powerful Sylar? He quietly undid the lock, not wanting to disturb the occupant within. He protectively pushed her behind him as they entered. The light was dim and Claire could just make out the assortment of timepieces lining the shelves.
"We're closed," an all too familiar voice rang out. It was unnerving to say the least. Sylar reached out a careless dropped one of the clocks. He grimaced as it shattered across the floors and watched the pieces fly across the floor. "What the hell?" the watchmaker exclaimed rounding a corner. He was halted by the shock of his doppelganger standing a few feet from him. "What, what, who—"
"I believe the question is 'who am I?'" Sylar finished. His counterpart nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence. "I'm your future." It was difficult knowing what was to happen next, the inevitable moment she had been preparing for, the moment she was hoping would never come to pass.
He wrenched his hand free, instantly raising it to the frightened man before him, immobilizing him with little effort. Claire could feel her eyes burning and she turned away from the sight. She hoped he'd take pity on her and the man he used to be and make it quick, like ripping a band aid off. Was it really less painful? In the end you're still left with the wound beneath, and you can either let it heal or keep picking at it until it scars, becoming a constant reminder of what had once been. You are never truly ably to forget. All she wanted in this moment was to run between her lover and himself and end this ridiculous show of heroism. How dare he become the savior of the fucking world? The old Sylar would of disregarded his shame, forget the specters of those who died by his then willing hands. What was done is in the past, or as of now the future. Was it his duty to change what is and what will be? It left her felling insecure and unloved. Was she not enough? Was eternity with the ageless cheerleader to tedious for him to bear any longer? Claire could hear the muffled screams of the Gabriel Gray and she whimpered along with him. It was futile to resist what was meant to be, what Sylar had destined to be. He chose this, chose to stop the watchmaker before he could evolve into the hunger driven monster. Sylar had one last innocent to slaughter before he could succumb to limitless dark vacuum which is death.
"Claire?" He asked.
"Is it done?" She didn't know why she even asked; she already knew the answer. Poor Gabriel, it would have probably been more merciful if they had simply traveled back and never allowed him to be conceived. However, some part of her understood that this was the way it had to play out. This final act was closure before he could finally rest.
"I can feel it Claire." She couldn't resist any longer. She wrapped her arms around him for the last time. "I'm scared." He admitted.
"It's okay. I'm here," she knew she had to hold it together. It didn't matter that inside she was shattering in two; she had to remain calm, collected. Her hand wandered into his hair as he positioned his head in the crook of her neck. His breathing was shallow. She could barely feel it against her skin.
"Claire."
"Yes?"
"I found how to make love stay," she had no time to respond as the warmth of his body faded from her embrace. He was disappearing before her, erased forever. She could hear screaming, barely able to realize that it was her. It was a constant plea of sorrow, a declaration of her broken heart. She was truly alone now…forever.