Disclaimer: Not mine. Just having a bit of fun.

Instead of revising like I should have been doing this Easter, I spent my time rewatching every single Heroes episode. (Why did it have to end?)

Then this happened. And I'm posting it now before I regret it. Let me know if you enjoy! I've never actually written a one-shot before, only ever full length fics.

Claire's jaw was clenched so tightly that even she could feel the muscles in her neck begin to ache.

The irregular 'snick' of a knife carving through an apple was the only sound besides the congested New York traffic outside, and was only one of the sources of her annoyance. It was directly mainly towards the man who doing the cutting.

"Slice?" Sylar asked, holding a piece of the red fruit out to her, impaled on the end of the blade.

He lifted an eyebrow at her scowl and shrugged, popping the apple into his mouth.

"Don't worry, Peter will be back soon."

His words weren't reassuring, and hers were scathing. "You said that an hour ago."

A sardonic grin tugged his lips as he slumped further into his chair. Claire had the sofa, he had the armchair opposite. The layout of Peter's apartment would have been cosy if she was in anyone else's company. "Time and plans are immaterial when you are summoned by the great Angela Petrelli."

Claire's answering snort was paired with a sneer. "Why are you even here? I don't need a babysitter. It's not as if I can get hurt."

Sylar stabbed another slice of apple. "After all this time, Claire, you can't still believe that."

She rolled her eyes and drummed her nails on her knee, exhaling slowly to try to keep her temper. Which would have been easier if the man opposite didn't start chuckling.

"For one so young and pretty, you are awfully full of anger."

His smirk made her curl her fingers into a fist.

"For one constantly preaching that he's changed, you aren't doing a very good job of showing it," she retorted, narrowing her eyes as he flicked the core of the apple into the bin with telekinesis.

"What were you expecting? Me to suddenly become a simpering, apologetic wisp of a man, just because I've given up murder and torture? Please." He moved to plop his feet on the coffee table. She curled her legs up beneath her. Sylar's eyes shone in amusement at her not-subtle and ineffectual attempt to put distance between them. "My, my – you're showing your naivety today, Claire-bear."

"Don't you dare call me that," she spat. He grinned.

"And so easy to tease. As I'm sure you'll agree, Claire, the events of the last few years have had a hardening affect, haven't they?"

"Peter told me what you were like before, and so has my dad." The words tumbled out before she knew why she was saying them. Even so, Sylar was visibly affected as he stopped twirling the knife he'd been cutting the apple with around his fingers and shot it across the room with such speed it was invisible. It clattered into the sink with a metallic clash that made her ears ring.

Claire jumped, heart racing at how quickly his mood had soured, but was determined to keep her face as passive as possible, knowing that for once, she had the upper hand in one of Sylar's verbal battles.

She met his dark, penetrating gaze with eyes she hoped were equally steely. "Tell me, what did daddy dearest say, hmm? I never pegged Noah Bennet to be a gossipy hen."

Claire reclined, settling back into the sofa cushions as she folded her arms across her chest. "You were a shy little watchmaker, plain and boring. A Momma's boy who always told you you were 'special' – and you wanted that so badly, didn't you? To be special. So when your ability manifested, you took the opportunity to become the most special of them all, because that's the only way you could do it, wasn't it? To steal the powers of others, because Lord knows there's nothing special or redeeming about you." She sneered, wrinkling her nose as she looked at him. A spike of irritation goaded her on as she saw no reaction flash across his features, no spark in his eyes. She leaned forward slightly, taking advantage of the opportunity to hurt him, to tell him what she thought of him.

"You pretend to be other people and coerce college students into conversations about humanity and morality, before shoving it in their faces. You destroy and murder families and scar children – what is it Molly calls you? Boogeyman. Did you know that? You horrify her. Is that what you wanted by 'special'?"

She paused for effect and Sylar seized the moment. He arched an eyebrow, sat up and clasped his hands together over his knees. The movement was so swift and fluid it surprised her, knocking the next string of words from her mouth.

"It's endearing how willing you are to be manipulated and lied to. That's another thing we have in common you know. So trusting of the people we think care about us." He shook his head in mock despair, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. He swept it back with a brush of his palm and stared vaguely past her shoulder to what she guessed was the window. Claire opened her mouth to challenge him but he got there first.

"I bet Daddy didn't give you the whole story, did he? Tell me, Claire – Do you believe that people can change?"

His eyes moved to hers then, but they were softer than before and genuinely inquisitive. The rapid change threw her, but still, she didn't hesitate.

"No."

Sylar seemed unsatisfied by her answer and shifted slightly to resume his watching of the window, the index finger of his left hand tapping against the index of his left.

"I tried to kill myself you know, after I killed Brian Davis. You probably won't believe it, but there was a time when I found being up to my elbows in brains sickening."

Claire forced her mouth to stay shut but her eyebrows rose high upon her forehead.

"I know, right. What is it Hiro calls me? 'Brain-Man'." He chuckled, though it was tinged with despondency rather than mirth. "The 'Brain-Man that vomited at having to dispose of a corpse and tried to hang himself because of it."

"So why did you? Do it, I mean." Her words were hard, but betrayed her curiosity as well as her distaste. Sylar noticed, of course, and Claire saw his lip twitch at her interest.

"You will never know the strength of the Hunger. It's more apt to call it an addiction, really." He closed his eyes. "The bliss, the pure satisfaction of understanding is nearly impossible to..." The smile that warmed his face was as intriguing as it was disgusting, and Claire wondered if she'd ever feel that way about anything. But it didn't last, the look of contentment dropping as quickly as it appeared. "It's all consuming and I didn't know what I was doing until I'd done it." He shrugged but the gesture was desolate. "I saw what he did and needed to know how he did it. I didn't know there was another way – your father didn't tell me."

"What's my dad got to do with this? It's not like he's responsible." The mass of emotions bubbling in her chest turned to anger as their default and she lashed out at him. He seemed to be expecting it though, because he sat back into his chair, a smirk lifting his lip.

"Were you not listening when I said that I tried to kill myself? And yet I'm still here." He spread his arms out, a wicked glint in his eye.

"Wait, you're saying my dad saved your life?"

"No, Elle cut the rope but we both know who wore the trousers in that relationship. She told me everything when we became a little more… intimate."

She scowled and he enjoyed her discomfort.

"Not only that, but they wanted me to kill again, wanted to see how I did it. So they served me up this fine trick along with a hot steaming peach pie." He made an apple float up out of the bowl on the table, lifted his left finger and sliced it through the air, cleaving the apple in two. He let the pieces fall to the floor. He looked at her, menacingly. "You could say they gave me the tricks of my trade. How kind. So much neater than bludgeoning."

"You're lying."

"When have I ever lied to you?"

She didn't know what to say. Noah was capable of it, that was a fact she couldn't kid herself over that anymore, but creating Sylar?

"Yes, that's how I stopped being Gabriel Gray and became the Sylar you know and hate." He sounded almost cheerful as he proceeded to levitate an orange from the fruit bowl and peeled it in the air, the bright skin draping elegantly in the air as the sweet scent was released.

"Do you have to do that?" she snapped reflexively.

"Fidgeting always was a trait of mine," he said, ignoring the words for the insult they were. "Never could sit still."

"Wait," she said as it suddenly dawned on her. "Did you just read my mind?" Her fingers clutched tightly into the arm of the sofa, digging into the soft stuffing.

"Yes," he said, almost bored. "That's what happens when you spend so much time in one person's head. Parkman's still alive and yet I have his ability. Proof enough for you that I don't need to kill to get what I want?" His lips pressed together in concentration as he focused on the orange peel floating between them. He set the fruit onto the table gently, so as not to bruise it and spill the juice, but twisted the peel, folding it on itself into a shape Claire couldn't quite make out.

"A rose for a rose doesn't seem quite as fitting when applied to you," he said, teasingly, but dropped the orange peel onto her lap. She picked it up and saw that he'd shaped it into a flower. It was actually very pretty, and reminded her of the vegetable carvings that were the centerpieces of the Chinese restaurants back home. But she quashed that thought before he could hear it.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"No, that's not one of my finest pieces. Halloween is my time to shine, just you wait."

Sylar propped his feet back up on the coffee table, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"You know," he said after a few moments of silence "I'm not listening to your thoughts now. I do try to keep out of it. It's vaguely disturbing, some of the things that go racing through some minds, but it's still quite new and I haven't got a firm hold on it yet."

"Then congratulations for nearly ensuring my privacy."

"Sarcasm gets old quick, Claire. Witty retorts are much more my cup of tea."

"Good job I'm not catering for you then, isn't it?"

He smiled at the ceiling. "There you go, better already."

Claire huffed and untucked her legs from beneath her, setting one on the floor and crossing the other over her knee. She inspected the peel-flower, peering at it and despairing the fact that it was already beginning to dry out. And that her fingers would no doubt stink of oranges for the rest of the day.

"So," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear as she twisted the flower between her finger and thumb. "What do we call you now?"

"Whatever you want."

She frowned. Peter called him 'Gabriel' which she didn't think fit him quite right, or 'Gabe', which suited him even less. And if he wasn't killing people any more, and was trying to turn over a new leaf, then 'Sylar' didn't fit properly either…

"Are you serious?" She asked, speaking quickly before she could regret them.

"About what?" He didn't move a muscle, just kept staring at the ceiling.

"What you were saying, asking if I thought people can change. You were obviously trying to get me to see that Dad helped to change you, but have you changed now? Or are you still who you were before?" Her forehead furrowed even further, and she could feel a puckering between her eyebrows. It was so confusing.

"I am honestly trying," he said, his voice soft and quiet, reminding her of how it had been when they had been talking in the closet, though she tried to push aside that association pretty quickly. "But it's hard. I don't think that change is completely reversible – once you know you cannot unknow sort of thing, but I'm trying to find a happy medium between who I was a long time ago and who I was more recently."

"All of what, two weeks ago."

His grin was wolfish. "Everything's gotta start somewhere. Besides, nobody would actually want Gabriel back for good. That boy was useless and no good to anybody."

"It's weird, hearing you talk about yourself like that. Like you're more than one person. Makes you seem crazy."

He laughed then, the sound pealing and oddly pleasant. "Who says I'm not?" He sighed and brushed his fingers through his hair. "I created Sylar, or at least my abilities helped me to. But these powers, they shape a personality, don't they? I mean, you can't tell me that Mohinder was completely unaffected by gaining his strength, or that Hiro didn't develop his weird hero complex as a result of finding out he could control time. Even you've probably changed more than you care to admit. Knowing that you can't die must have influenced your behavior at some point or another, made you do things you wouldn't have done before. I know I have."

Claire ignored his final, ominous statement and thought about it, but didn't like what she found. It hadn't taken long before she started lying to her family, becoming quasi-suicidal and self-destructive and downright vengeful. She had crashed a boy into a wall at 70mph for crying out loud, not caring if he lived or died. Sure, she felt bad about it now, but at the time?

She shrunk back into the corner of the sofa. She didn't like how Sylar's reasoning was making sense.

He picked up on it, either through 'slipping' in his control in regards to Matt's power, or just through the look on her face. "Like I said, I never lie to you."

"You said Peter would be back by now."

"Subtle change in topic," he said, rolling his eyes. "And I've already told you, your Granny doesn't care about being an inconvenience."

"How did you get roped into babysitting, anyway?" She asked, pushing herself up and wandering into the kitchen to get a drink. After filling a glass up with juice, she turned around to find that Sylar had also taken that moment to stretch his legs.

She hated being reminded how much taller he was than her. It made her feel vulnerable, even if he didn't have a tool box of magical powers at his disposal.

"Seeing as I live here, you're kind of in my way."

Claire spluttered on her juice. "What?"

"Oh you didn't know? I moved in with Pete after we came out of my nightmare. After five years of living together, he felt a bit weird being alone. And I didn't really want to go back to my place."

"But you've never been here the other times I've been here!"

"Has it crossed you mind that maybe I stayed out of your way?"

"Why?"

He threw his hands up. "Maybe because after eight years of near solitude it's difficult to be around so many people? Or because I tend not like to surround myself with people that hate me? Or because I knew it would be easier for you to not have to deal with me on top of everything else?"

She blinked at him. "You didn't want to be a burden on me?"

"Or be around people in general. I spend a lot of time in the library or at crappy, low budget private museums." He still hadn't sat down. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to let her question go unanswered, he huffed out a dramatic sigh and fixed her with a frank stare. "Look. You have God knows how many extremists out for blood, literally, so I thought you could do without having to deal with your own personal stalker for the time being."

"Personal stalker?"

"Well that might be a bit much. There's always been people after you. But they don't have a creepy picture of your face permanently etched on their arm, do they?" He tapped his right forearm with a grimace.

"Do you still have that?"

"Yep. And it doesn't feel like it's going anywhere soon."

"Feel?" She crossed an arm over her stomach, holding on to her hip whilst the other gripped her now empty glass.

"When the ink is moving, it itches," he said, scratching the spot where her face was. "Is it weird knowing it's there?"

"A bit. I kinda assumed it would go, you know, once our little chat was over with."

A small frown turned down the corners of his mouth. "I did too. But Lydia had some tattoos that were always there. Vines – I think they were like a personal history for her? I don't know. But I think some just don't go away. It's not a power you can directly control."

She shuddered as his mouth stretched into an almost predatory grin, small flashes of white teeth showing. "So Claire-bear, you have a tacky memorial tattoo in your honor that will be there for all eternity."

"Eurgh, don't remind me," she said, turning back to drop her glass into the sink, setting it down next to the discarded knife. "And don't call me that."

"Oh, and while we're on the subject of not lying, did you know that Daddy Noah is the reason why everyone else has avoided detection?"

"You mean from the media? I kinda assumed he had something to do with it. He usually does." She brushed past him and dropped back onto the sofa. She reached over and grabbed the orange segments and began eating them, popping each piece into her mouth, finding the way they popped between her teeth immensely satisfying. "But you say it like it's a bad thing. I wouldn't want them going after everyone. I don't think I could deal with another Danko right now."

Sylar rolled his eyes and lowered himself gracefully into the armchair again. "Oh Claire. We were at a Carnival. They could have passed it off as a magic trick, or gotten Michah to doctor a 'behind the scenes' video. Hell, Pete probably could have made something passable with a laptop and a phone. Shown wires or special effects or something. He didn't have to say you were the result of genetic testing and unleash them on you."

She shrugged, though unease was bubbling in her stomach. "I did this to myself." It was weird, having Sylar be the only one that didn't resent her for what she'd done. It was hard seeing the disappointment in Peter's eyes and being the source of so many sighs.

His laughter was short and sharp. Like a bark. "No you didn't. You were angry and tired. I've done more to expose us than that, and Pete blew up, Nathan and me for that matter flew around the world like the military wouldn't notice and God knows what else everyone else has done. Hell, I've seen people melt US military with microwaves.

"Noah knows your life long dream is to be normal, though we all know how likely that is, but he's thrown away all chances of making that happen now."

"Yeah but what can be done? It's too late. I'll live with it."

"It's only a matter of time before something bad happens. I mean, it's only been two weeks and you've already been left with an ex-serial killer that literally sawed off the top of your head. How long can you be saved from the rest of the world?"

She didn't want to consider that being the reason for Peter's unexpected visit with Angela.

"So what do you think, . Got a plan?"

"I do actually-"He stopped and turned his head towards the door. "Claire," he said, quietly, standing up and moving so his back was facing her. "Don't move."

She held her breath as fear and adrenaline lanced through her, pumping her heart and tightening her muscles. Then she heard the footsteps. They weren't even being subtle.

This wasn't the first attempt at an ambush, that someone from a pharmaceutical company had tried to get their hands on her, or some rich person with criminal ties wanting her to sell or God knows what else. It almost made her wish for the simpler times when all she had to look out for was Sylar.

"Those were the good old days," he said, obviously reading all the minds he could.

When they kicked the door, he was ready, arms by his sides and fingers flexing. Claire shifted her weight forward, ready to get up and launch herself out of the window if she had to.

They were clumsy and noisy, and she could feel Sylar's irritation increase with every second they failed to get the door open. But he waited until they had inexpertly cut through the lock on the door with a narrow saw before springing into action.

"I told Pete to get a new door. That one is what, thirty years old? Doesn't even have a chain." He shook his head as he yanked the four men off of their feet and moved them further into the room before shutting the door and holding it shut behind them.

Claire could only watch with wide eyes. She recognized one of them, with the blonde hair with a center parting. He was a religious nut and couldn't decide whether she was sent from God or the Devil. Either way, he wanted to get his hands on her.

"How many more of you are there?" Sylar asked, his low voice the epitome of danger. It sent a thrill though her that she didn't want to acknowledge.

They were all too dumbstruck to do anything but moan in fear.

Sylar tutted and sent a glass flying to smash at their feet. The blonde man yelped.

"Right, there's a van outside. How hard was that, hmm?"

Their eyes grew impossibly wider when they realized that none of them had spoken.

"That's right, if you think that sweet thing over there is trouble, you'd best be glad you won't remember me."

He dropped them to the floor, making them land in the broken glass which elicited squeals of pain and desperation as they scrambled to their feet. But Sylar froze them in place with an outstretched hand. He tilted his head in the way Claire had seen Matt do, and she knew what was coming.

"You have seen nothing. The apartment was empty. You did not see me or Claire. You have changed your minds. Claire is of no interest to you. You will not hassle her again." He straightened them up, their eyes glassy and distant.

"You will convince your friends in the van to stop looking for her. You will tell everyone you meet that you don't believe what you saw on that video." He opened the door and marched them out, but not before making them hold each other's hands, linking them in a caricature of children's paper cutouts.

He slammed the door shut and brushed imaginary dust from his hands, laughing when he heard the shouts of surprise coming from the hallway.

Claire let out a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a fit of giggles.

Sylar watched her in amusement as he cleaned up the glass and propped a chair against the door to stop it from falling open when he stopped holding it shut with his powers.

"Thank you, for dealing with it so humanely," she said, a wide smile still brightening her face. "I didn't think you had it in you."

He shrugged. "I would have preferred to have done a bit more meddling, but I thought that you'd have wanted the problem to be solved quickly rather than with humour. Didn't think you approved of those methods."

"Next time don't assume anything."

He raised an eyebrow as the broken glass dropped into the bin with a melodious tinkle. "Next time?"

"Hate to break it to you but that was only one group."

"I'm aware of that. I just didn't think you'd want me to be, you know, involved." He was watching her with noticeable skepticism.

She picked the orange peel flower back up and twisted it between her fingers. "This seems more effective than my 'run away' approach has been so far. There's only so many times Peter can come in and swoop me away after all."

"He can take Parkman's power from me and do it."

She shook her head. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I'd feel better if you did it."

"I'm sorry, what."

"Not being funny, but you're the most relentless person I know. Have you ever given up on anything?"

She took his moment of hesitation as an answer. "Exactly. And we all know what you're capable of. And you dealt with those four a hell of a lot quicker than Peter's ever done. Man always tries to reason with them."

Sylar quirked an eyebrow and crossed his arms, stepping back to lean against the wall."Why the change of heart? You hated me an hour ago."

"If you hadn't noticed, I like to talk a bit talk. I don't hate you enough to reject the help that I obviously need. Having you around to fend off extremists isn't the same as making best friend bracelets and having sleep overs."

"So I'd be a super powered bodyguard? For an indestructible girl?" His lip twitched.

"If that's how you want to see it."

"No."

Claire's shoulders dropped and she sighed out her disappointment. "Oh, okay. It was only an idea." It was probably for the best. This warming towards Sylar probably wouldn't last and it wouldn't be long before he did something…

"No, I mean that isn't what I was thinking to fix this mess."

She looked up at him in surprise. "Really? What would you do?"

"How do you feel about faking a suicide?"

A slow smile spread across her face. "Very good."

"And losing bodyparts?" Sylar smirked.

"Not preferable, but if needed…"

He moved to sit beside her on the sofa, stretching his legs out infront of him as Claire put down her peel-flower on the coffee table. She couldn't believe she was about to stage her own death with Sylar.

But at least he knew what he was talking about.

Reviews are love!

I'm considering expanding this... Let me know if you want more.