Chapter Two

A couple of minutes later, the woman jolts awake as an anguishing wave of pain sears her shoulder. She lets out a round of gut-wrenching screams. Her eyesight is somewhat blurred and the pain she is suffering makes it hard for her to focus on anything else. She is vaguely aware of other people in the room with her, but she can't trouble herself with who they are or what they are doing to her while she feels the warm blood slowly leaking out of her and onto the gauze covering her wound. In the midst of her distressing bellowing and while she remains unaware of it, the two men trying to help her, start arguing amongst themselves.

"I told you we should have taken her to the hospital."

"And I told you why we can't. Besides if I can't heal her, then they definitely can't. Give her another dose of morphine, will you?"

"I can't. We've already given her too much, and it's not working anyways. And what you're doing to her isn't helping either, Peter."

The man called Peter glares at his companion. He looks down at the screaming girl, with his hands hovering right over, but not touching her left shoulder and emanating a soft red glow. He refuses to give up and, with a determined look on his face; he concentrates all of his healing power into her wound. The woman, who is starting to grow hoarse at this point, lets out an even more horrific cry than any of the prior, during which Peter stops what he is doing and backs away from the tortured woman quickly.

Almost as immediately as he does so the pain in the woman's shoulder lessens, as does the volume and frequency of her screams, until her voice leaves her altogether and she is forced to lay on the bed with no way of communicating her pain. She continues to remain conscious by swallowing ragged breaths and trying to focus on the two figures by her bedside and what they are saying, but she is unable to make out much of anything.

With a resigned and regretful look on his face, Peter says, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His eyes confused and searching, he looks up at the other man. "I don't understand. Nothing works. Why won't she heal, Sylar? What can we do?"

Sylar, who is standing to the right of the woman, considers Peter's question for a few seconds and then takes a couple steps toward her, approaching cautiously. He looks her over and then turns to Peter.

"Claire should be here in a few minutes. When she gets here, we will give her a transfusion of Claire's blood. Until then, all there is to do is wait."

Peter nods and dejectedly walks out of the room closing the door behind him. Sylar turns back towards the woman. He leans over her to redress her wound with some fresh gauze. He puts more pressure on it to staunch the bleeding and the woman lets out a pained whimper. Feeling that anyone else in his position would probably try to comfort her, Sylar then picks up her right hand off the bed, just high enough to hold it gently in his own. He is unused to doing this sort of thing.

I wish I was anywhere but here right now. Anyone would be better at this than me. I am no good at this. What am I doing?

He is just about to drop it back onto the bed and go join Peter out in the other room to await Claire's arrival, when he feels her hand squeeze his tightly. Surprised he looks at her face. She is still breathing heavily and her eyes are only opened a crack. They are still unable to focus completely, but feeling the hand holding her own, her instinct takes over and she clings to it with what little strength she has left.

Taking this as a good sign, Sylar leans in closer to her face. He whispers, "That's right, I'm here. Just hold on. Hold on to me."