He wanted to make her cry. She was asleep next to him on the back seat, her brother up front as it was his turn to drive. Her head was resting between the seat and window, throat clearly visible so that he could see the blood pumping through her skin. Would it be black to, he wondered? He could still feel that black liquid seeping up from his own eyes and in the back of his throat, clogging it up as he tried not to cry, not to die.

He had awakened to singing and the smell of roses. That was when dusty memories of the sick and fanatical crying out about weeping statues began to emerge. The Virgin Mary, The Immaculate Conception, Madonna and Rosa Mystica. His mother had lapped the reports up but he had never thought much of it either way. But now it was in front of him, a perverse opposite. She was flesh and hot blooded, not cold and inanimate and her tears did not bring healing to the suffering but death.

He had shifted closer to her along the seat, drawn to her face. He knew it was stupid, wanting her to cry and possibly kill him but the temptation was overriding his sense. His fingers hovered over her eyes, sultry eyelashes softly brushing his finger tips like velvet. He wanted them sticky and the black staining into his skin. He wanted her tears to seep all the way into him.

"Cure me? I'm sick." His breath played over her neck, along her ear before stopping on her lips. His eyes tried to penetrate through her sleep. "Maybe you'll save me and then I could keep you…" His hand rested on her thigh, vibrant heat scorching his palm. She was hot all the time and it made him feel at once confusingly drowsy and carnal. It was a different heat then what he was used to. She was beautiful, a juxtaposition of innocence and sensuality and sometimes he wanted to -

"Gabriel?"

Suddenly he realised the proximity of his body against hers and sat back, eyes switching to Alejandro. Her brother had been droned to the road surface but now he could see his eyes watching him in the rear-view mirror. Accusatory. Jealous even. Sylar had known for awhile that he had started to watch him around his twin with suspicion, placing himself between Sylar and Maya whenever possible.

He had relented somewhat but that didn't stop her coming to him. She was captivated by him, calling him her angel that had come to save her from herself. And in this case he could see why she shunned her power. He knew what it was to have a deadly ability but hers was much more frivolous. Messy and emotional. She just needed someone to guide her, show her how to control herself. He can and will instruct her.

"Sorry, I thought she might have been crying in her sleep. I'll take over from you soon ok?"

Alejandro grunted and continued watching the road, gaze occasionally switching to the back seat. Sylar relaxed back, feeling sleepy. He let his arm and leg press against hers as he closed his eyes, knowing that it would wind her brother up. Soon Sylar wouldn't have to worry about him, because once he's cured he will be able to touch her all he wants. Maya moved herself closer to him, arm circling his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. It was uncomfortable but the smell of her hair, roses, soothed him into sleep.

Sylar sank into a dream of an amphitheatre full of live statues, Maya crying black beneath him as he continuously consumed them into himself as his body was consumed by hers. He would spend himself in her as she would release her black death onto him. He would take her tears as she would take his seed.

They were an ouruboros of life and death.