"Sylar."
The word seemed to hang in the air around them as he sat up slowly, releasing her hands and flinching as he ripped IVs from his arms that she had missed. Claire watched in stunned silence; the blaring sirens were nothing but muffled sound now as she watched the embodiment of her nightmares release himself from the binds she had loosened until only his feet remained.
"Claire," He said, and his voice felt like nails on a chalkboard, a shiver running from the top of her spine to the bottom of her toes. "Claire, we need to go," He said, his voice low and intense. He watched her carefully from beneath his thick brows, as though she were a deer he was trying not to scare away. "Give me the key."
Her eyes moved down to her now empty hands, and she shook her head, taking a step back as he reached for her once more. She nearly slipped, her feet still slick with the blood of the boy in the hallway. She could see the metal glint with the flash of the red lights in the hallway, the key kicked halfway underneath his bed. He must have seen her eyes drift towards it, because a moment later it was in his hands as he unlocked his feet, standing up and stretching as though he hadn't done so in ages.
He wore only a pair of white sweatpants; his bare chest glinted with sweat as he looked around, as though collecting his bearings. Claire imagined she could almost see the gears ticking in his mind, the cold calculation that had led to her losing her head, literally. She took another step back, but he wasn't even looking in her direction. It was as though she wasn't even there as he slid the key into his pocket, stepping towards the door. There was no window in his room; apparently they trusted him less than they did her.
"We need to go," he said, and she jumped, realizing he had turned back and was looking at her. The reality of the situation had yet to set in for her; not even ten minutes ago she was lying in bed, watching the snow fall outside her window. Now she was standing here with one of the few people she hated most in the world as he held out a hand towards her, urging her to escape with him. It was ridiculous, insane. It wasn't real.
"Claire, we need to go now," He said, and the urgency in his voice made her step forward, though she refused to touch his hand. He closed his eyes, his eyebrows turning in as he concentrated. "I can disguise myself as a guard; if anyone stops us, I can just say I'm taking you back to your room. Do you know where the exit is?"
Claire shook her head slowly, feeling as though she were under a microscope, though he barely seemed to see her. His eyes turned away as he cursed softly under his breath. She stood stiffly at his side, even while her mind screamed for her to run, to run as fast as she could away from this man, this monster. Her feet refused to listen.
"There's a window in my room," she said, and his head snapped back to her quickly. "There's a huge field-with the storm they'd never see us." The words seemed to have escaped of their own accord, though the logical part of her mind knew that she'd have a much greater chance of escaping if she went with him. Another part of her didn't want to escape; she'd given up already, and even entertaining the notion of escape would crush her if it didn't pan out. She closed her eyes, and saw her father's face from her nightmare, sad and resolved and painful. She had to know if he was alive; if only for that reason, she would go with Sylar. Just until they got out of the building; then she would leave him.
He seemed to be processing her words, and even as she watched he nodded, closing his eyes as his skin rippled and flowed, changing him into someone else. She'd never seen the man who now stood in front of her, but she supposed in this chaos it didn't even matter what he looked like, guard or not. As they stepped into the hallway he slid a jacket off one of the fallen guards, slipping it over his own bare shoulders before looking back to her.
"Lead the way," he said, and she nodded, her mouth and throat dry as she stepped in front of him, her back tingling at the thought of him standing so close, how easy it would be for him to kill her with her back turned. She retraced her steps quickly, turning her eyes away from the boy's crumpled form in the corner. It seemed as though the building had been abandoned; though the sirens continued to blare, no one was around. It was eerie, and Claire felt a shiver run down her spine as she turned another corner, glancing briefly at the fire still burning on the operating room's table. It was still empty.
Her eyes widened at the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned quickly to Sylar, but he had already heard; he pulled her into the nearest room, apparently unwilling to risk a confrontation. She could feel his fingers digging into her skin as they both unconsciously held their breath, waiting until the footsteps receded before stepping back out. Claire yanked her arm roughly away from him, her skin burning where he'd touched her. She turned the next corner slowly and, finding it empty, hurried into what had become her room.
Sylar hurried past her to the window. He pushed up on the hinges, but they didn't budge. Claire watched in a morbid sort of fascination as he, with a simple flick of his fingers, shattered the bullet-proof glass. And suddenly, the storm was inside.
Snow blew into the room as the wind nearly knocked her off her feet. The thin material of her nightgown made her feel naked against the assault, and she squinted her eyes to see through the storm as Sylar hopped over the ledge, reaching back to offer her a hand, looking like himself once more.
She stared at it, the fingers curling impatiently over to grasp her own, only to find that they weren't there. He had to shout to be heard over the howling of the wind, but still she could barely hear him.
"Claire!" He shouted. "Now isn't the time for this. You need to hurry!"
She felt her stomach turn as she reached out and grasped his hand, allowing him to lift her over the sill and into the storm outside. Almost immediately her vision was gone; she tore her hand away and used them to shield her eyes, but even then she couldn't see past the two feet in front of her, and only if she looked at the ground. She could hear Sylar shouting something over the storm, but his words were lost as the snow came in waves, her feet sinking beneath the several already accumulated feet.
She lost sight of him quickly, taking a few trembling steps forward as she shivered violently, her extremities quickly going numb. She still felt as though she were walking in a dream, watching from a distance as she stumbled through the snow in the endless field she'd often envisioned from her window. She couldn't even take pleasure in the fresh air; she couldn't breathe with the snow suffocating her.
She felt him grab her arm, and a gasp tore itself from her lips as he pushed her along roughly in front of him, ignoring her shouts of protest as she stumbled along, unable to see anything. She only managed to take a few steps before the ground fell out from beneath her, and the white swallowed her up. She could hear the roaring of the wind, feel the cold spreading throughout her body as the snow piled over her, the warmth of a hand on her arm as she was pulled up and urged along. She followed as though in a daze, wondering what lay at the end of the field. She imagined finding herself back home in Costa Verde, her father's arms around her, and the cold seemed to dissipate a bit.
The wind howled a mournful song in her ears, and she longed to stop and listen to it; her legs were numb, and she could no longer feel her fingers. Pins and needles spread throughout her body as her blood attempted to regenerate her body, pushing itself through every finger and toe until every step became agony. She gritted her teeth, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other, refusing to think of how far they had yet to go, how her feet screamed for relief as she placed them down time and time again in the snow, sinking down far enough to surprise her every time. She wondered if eventually she would just continue to fall.
X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X
After what felt like hours, the pressure of Sylar's hand on her arm began to decrease.
She'd long ago stopped realizing that he held onto her, though she doubted she would have risked pushing him away even if she had. It would be far too easy to become lost in this landscape of whiteness, and she needed to find her way out, for her family.
The snow had begun to decrease in intensity, though it was still difficult to see, and even harder to walk. She turned slowly, struggling to see him through the mess of blonde hair that obscured her vision, whipped into a frenzy by the strong winds.
He was shivering violently, his lips a strange shade of blue that made her stomach turn. Even as she watched he lost his hold, stumbling for a few steps before falling to the ground, a small sound coming from his throat that sounded almost like a groan.
Claire stood stock-still, watching as his head lolled slowly to one side, his eyelids fluttering as he struggled to keep his eyes open. She could no longer see the building where they'd been kept, but that didn't mean anything; it was still hard to see through the falling snow. They could be within view and not know it.
"Get up," She said, unsurprised at the coldness in her own voice. "We need to keep going." When had it become we, she wondered?
Sylar didn't respond. He blinked at her confusedly for a moment before slowly nodding, struggling to pull himself to his feet before falling back into the snow. His fingers were blue and swollen, as were his feet. She looked down at her own skin, pale and unblemished, and shook her head slowly.
"Why aren't you healing?" She mumbled, but of course he didn't answer. She pushed back a fresh wave of nausea as she grasped his arm, struggling to pull him up, but he was far too heavy. The anger and frustration she'd felt since seeing him earlier that night came bubbling to the surface, and she bit her lip to keep in a frustrated scream as she nudged him with her foot, longing to leave him behind to die here. But he couldn't die; could he?
"Get up!" she shouted, a new kind of panic rising in her chest. The storm was dying down quickly now; it wouldn't be long before they would be visible, even from a distance. She could see the faint outline of the building they'd left behind in the distance, but it wasn't far enough; they had to keep going or risk being caught. She tugged desperately on his arms, but he was far gone; he was staring straight ahead, as though he couldn't even see her. She didn't think as she brought back one hand and hit him hard in the jaw, feeling something crack in both her hand and his mouth, but all that she got in response was a small groan.
As sickening as it was, as base as it felt to admit it, she knew that she didn't stand a chance of making it away from this place without him. He was deadly, a killer; he wouldn't want to go back either, and would fight and kill if he had to in order to stay free. All she had to do was make sure she wasn't in his line of fire, though even if she was, it wouldn't last long.
"Why aren't you healing?" She demanded, raising her voice as his eyes seemed to struggle to focus on her before sliding past, gazing at something far away that she couldn't see. "Sylar!" She shouted, but still he didn't move. "Look at me!" She screamed, grasping his face and forcing him to turn her way, eliciting a small moan when she bruised the small bones she had probably cracked in his jaw. "Why aren't you healing?"
"Took-it away," he slurred, and she rolled back on her heels, staring. His lips were a darker shade of blue now; she pressed two fingers against his neck, but she could barely feel a pulse beneath them. Somehow, it was true; he couldn't heal. And yet she had seen him use at least one of his other abilities.
She thought of Peter's father, her grandfather, and what he was able to do: take away abilities. What was to say these people hadn't found out a way to do it as well? She felt a strange, sick satisfaction at the thought of leaving him here alone to suffer and die, just as he'd made her suffer so many times. Meredith and Nathan were both dead at his hands; he didn't deserve to live. He'd taken away her family, and so many others. It wasn't fair.
She saw the orderly's face in her mind. It was only for an instant, but it was enough to make her sick. The small, dissenting voice in the back of her head, the one that reminded her constantly that she was more human than he, was silent.
Claire didn't think as she took the key from his pocket, closing her eyes tightly as she dug the metal into the soft skin of her palm until it split, her blood dripping slowly onto the carpet of white beneath them. She'd seen her blood heal others; it had brought her father back after death. It should be able to heal someone who had yet to die, shouldn't it?
She felt a small smirk tug on her lips as she picked up the key once more, dragging it roughly across the soft skin of his wrist until it tore the skin open, watching as he bit his lip while she pressed her palm against his arm, feeling her blood flow into his veins, praying to any God that might exist that his would not flow into her.
She watched his face as she waited, and it wasn't long before color began to return to his cheeks. His jaw realigned itself from where she'd hit it, his toes and fingers turning back to the color of his skin. When his lips lost their blue hue his eyes shot open and she pulled away, stumbling back in the snow as he stood up, looking down in obvious shock at his now-whole body.
"You-" He began, but she cut him off, shouting to be heard above the wind that had begun to pick up once more.
"Hurry up," She snapped, turning back towards the open field. There seemed to be no end, and she felt her chest constrict slightly at the sight. They would never make it out.
"Claire-" He began, and she spun around, glaring.
"Shut up!" she shouted. "I don't give a damn what you have to say! I only healed you so you could get us the hell out of here, so just shut up and do something about it!"
The outburst startled her, but she also felt a strange sense of release, a warmth spreading throughout her body that offset the cold, if only for a moment. Sylar looked at her steadily for a moment before nodding.
"Then follow me," he said simply, stepping around her and beginning to walk. She glanced back at the bloody key lying in the snow for only a moment before picking it up, holding it tightly in her palm as she started after him, hoping that the storm would cover their footprints.
X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X
Woods bordered the field once they reached the end. Sylar stepped inside of them easily, glancing back every so often as though to make sure Claire hadn't wandered off like an unwatched child. She bristled at the thought, stepping up her pace until she was walking beside him rather than behind, watching him from the corner of her eyes as they found shelter from the storm beneath the thick canopy of trees.
"Do you know where we are?" She asked, keeping her voice calm and level, the opposite of what she felt on the inside. Their escape still seemed like a distant dream, an impossibility that would be snatched away from them at any given moment.
"No," He said, ducking beneath a branch that he held back for her. "But I did hear a few of the workers talking about going to visit family in New York, when they thought I was unconscious."
She felt a frown tug on her lips as she stepped ahead of him, feeling a small stab of annoyance at their predicament.
"So you have no idea where you're going either," She said, and he didn't respond. "Why would you say 'follow me' if you have no clue where you're going?" She demanded, glancing back at him when he was silent. She caught the hint of a smirk on his lips as her eyes met his, and quickly turned away again, ignoring the way her skin shivered violently in the cold. The nightgown she wore was far too thin for anything other than summer, and even then she found herself huddling tightly beneath the covers they allotted her. She watched the tracks her feet left in the snow, praying that the oncoming snow would cover them before they were pursued. She hoped that the chaos back at the facility they'd left behind was enough to keep them occupied for now, or at least until the storm was over.
She supposed she should have assumed Sylar was somewhere in the building. She'd thought it impossible to catch him, but these people were obviously far more creative than she'd anticipated. She thought again of her leg as they'd taken it away, ignoring the way her stomach turned violently at the memory. How long had he been there, she wondered? Her stomach dropped as she thought once more of Peter, wondering if he was back there behind closed doors. She'd rescued Sylar, of all people. She should have looked harder for a familiar face, even if it meant her recapture.
Guilt gnawed at her conscience as she continued to trudge through the snow, listening to Sylar's labored breathing beside her. She didn't know how long the healing her blood had evoked inside of him would last, or if she would even bother to help him again if it wore off. She could find her own way from here, couldn't she? He had no more of a clue than she did.
The storm had picked up intensity once more, and it began to fight its way through the branches, whipping her hair around her face as she picked her way among the brush and branches. Her legs had begun to ache, and despite the fact that she knew she would continue to heal, she knew that she had to stop and rest if she hoped to continue on at more than a crawl. Her eyes scanned the area around them quickly, though all that met her eyes were more trees, more branches, all of them naked and bare from the winter's freeze. There was no cover from prying eyes, should they choose to look.
Claire paused in her stride when Sylar grabbed her arm, his fingers cold even against her own skin as he pulled her back, causing her to stumble on the uneven ground. The only thing that kept her from falling was his hand, and she flinched as his fingers dug into her skin. She quickly pulled herself away as soon as she regained her balance, opening her mouth to demand what the hell he thought he was doing when she saw the sharp drop less than a foot from where she stood. The ground dropped away, ending in a frozen river far below. Her stomach dropped with vertigo as she took a single step back, quickly turning her eyes away from his, refusing to acknowledge what he'd done.
He turned away from her, walking along the edge of the ravine. After a moment she reluctantly followed, keeping her eyes trained on the ground to avoid further missteps, wondering why he hadn't simply let her fall.
X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X
They walked without words, each deep within their own minds. Claire watched her breath fog in the air, wondering what the temperature had become over the past few hours as they trudged through the snow. Sylar kept up his pace, though she noticed him stumbling more and more often as the hours passed. It wasn't until they found a crook behind a grove of trees that they stopped, settling close to the indented ground so that they wouldn't be spotted from above. Claire sat as far from him as she could while still remaining hidden, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest as she listened to the sounds of the night.
It was nearly silent; she could clearly hear Sylar's labored breathing to her left, and she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, noticing the way he shivered, his breaths coming faster for a moment before slowing along with his pulse. The blood had almost worn off, she thought. If he slept now, he probably wouldn't wake up.
He turned his gaze on her, and she forced herself to hold it. She didn't see the same hunger, the same raw need for understanding and abilities that had always seemed to take hold of him before. She remembered the last time she'd seen him, speaking to 'Gretchen' about how they were similar, how having so many abilities could damage your humanity. She'd caught a glimpse of him from the top of the Ferris wheel, had heard Peter tell her how he'd changed afterwards, but none of it had mattered. He still held a place in her mind that she saved for fear, hatred, and revulsion, a mixture that made her sick to her stomach every time she saw his face, every time he appeared in her nightmares.
He didn't deserve forgiveness. He was still a monster, still the one who had played games with her life, her family. He had killed Meredith and Nathan, her parents, her family. He had broken into her home and ripped open her skull, forced himself on her, controlled her body like it was his to use for his own amusement. But somehow Peter had forgiven him, even after he murdered his brother. She'd never understood the whole story; she only knew that the few times she was able to see Peter after that night at the carnival, he had told her a bit about his time trapped with Sylar, about the revelations he'd had. If Peter could forgive him, after everything he'd done, why couldn't she?
The thought made her stomach turn. She didn't want to forgive him. She wanted to forget him and everything he stood for. She never wanted to see his face again. The bloodlust she'd felt everytime she'd seen him before had become a dull, numbing complacency. She'd accepted the hatred she harbored towards him, even embraced it. It was familiar, it was comfortable; it was all she knew.
He turned his eyes away before she did, and she felt a strange sense of relief. She bit her lip, scooting a bit closer to him as she looked at her arm, the bloodstains left from where she'd healed him before. She looked down at the key she still held in her hand. She could feel his eyes on her as she dragged the teeth roughly across her skin until it broke, glancing at him as he held out his own arm wordlessly, allowing her to do the same to him. She gritted her teeth as she pressed the wounds together, closing her eyes tightly as she struggled to ignore the warmth rushing quickly back into his own skin as her blood healed him from the inside out. She slowly pulled her arm away once her wound had healed, scooting away from him once more. She gripped the bloody key tightly in her palm, her stomach turning at the thought of using it again.
"Why don't you let me die?" He asked.
His voice made her jump, her eyes turning quickly to his, surprised at the genuine curiosity she found there. He was expecting her to kill him, to leave him in the snow until he froze from the inside out. That would have been too painless a death, she thought distantly, unsurprised at the dark turn her thoughts had taken. She'd thought often of killing him even before her imprisonment. She'd wanted him to feel as helpless as he'd made her feel.
"Why don't you just take my power like you did before?" She demanded, realizing as she spoke that she'd been wondering for hours now. They were far enough away that her screams wouldn't attract any attention; he could easily take her powers once more, even kill her as he did so. She was no longer the catalyst; she was just Claire. Even if she could heal, destroying her brain would be enough to keep her down forever. He knew that.
"I don't do that anymore," he said, with such simple certainty that Claire felt herself reel back. "I've learned that I'm capable of taking abilities without killing," he said. "Like Peter." At the sound of her uncle's name Claire felt her blood warm, angry that he could even think of comparing himself to Peter. "It's empathy. I've only done it a few times, but I know it's possible."
"Empathy," she repeated, hearing the disbelief in her own voice. "You're capable of empathy?"
He sighed, as though she were a child incapable of understanding certain things. She felt her hands clench into fists at her sides as he opened his mouth once more.
"I understand things, Claire. Machines, problems, solutions. I can break them down into parts and figure them out. With people-it's different. They're harder to understand because they don't function like machines. There are too many variables. I can only take an ability through empathy if I understand them, and if they choose to understand me. I can't just take it; they have to let me. Or at least, that's how I've come to understand it."
Claire couldn't bring herself to believe his words, despite the sincerity in his voice. He was Sylar; he wasn't Gabriel, wasn't human. He was never capable of empathy; if he had been, it had disappeared long ago. She could feel her mind racing as he watched her, as though waiting for a reaction, a confirmation of his words. She shook her head slowly, feeling her nails dig into her palms as she clenched her hands into fists tightly.
"I'll never understand you," She said softly, her voice tense. "And you'll never understand me. I'll never let you have my ability again, Sylar. You deserve to die."
He didn't react, as though he'd expected as much from her. Instead he simply nodded, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the tree trunk behind him.
"I know," he said simply, and then he fell silent.
To be continued.
