Part IV: Anger

2296

Claire spreads her arms wide as she inhales the briny sea breeze. Pebbles scatter beneath her bare feet to clatter along the rocks below before plopping into the crests of ocean waves that crash against them. Twenty-five years have passed since she watched the monstrosity of steel and glass containing him blast a hole in the overcast sky on the heels of white-hot energy emissions. Twenty-five revolutions around the sun. Fifty equinoxes and solstices. One hundred cycles of season. Three hundred risings of a new moon. And she hasn't been able to sleep for a wink of it.

Cold, hot, silence, noise, outdoors, or in… partners, or none, something is always off sequence, out of order, or just plain missing whenever she closes her eyes. Her body may not actually require the rest, but the fatigue never dissipates. He never dissipates.

Chilled air rushes past her, stinging her eyes as she hurdles toward the sea. The frosty waves lap over her body, the undertow threatening to drag her out into an endless expanse of crushing blue, splashing up her nostrils and down the passages of her throat, cleansing. But he's still there creeping through her veins and just behind her eyelids like a pestilence that doesn't end.

Compulsion alone brings her back to the surface, one singular thought allowed to echo through her mind, an invisible force not of her own creation drawing her muscles to break waves. A silent call that offers no choice other than to be heeded. She crawls onto the sandbar hacking and spluttering for breath that she's not even sure she needs, or wants for that matter. Scraping her mussed locks from her eyes, a vision greets her that sends adrenaline to pummel her heart like she hasn't known in any age that could be considered recent. Too vivid to be a hallucinogenic work of fiction there he is, sunbathing on a nearby rock with his chin tilted up to catch diminished rays. "Sylar?"

"I couldn't sleep," he tells her. Dark purple bruises haunt the hollows of his eyes like death; like hers. "It felt like it took forever to get back to you." He chuckles to himself without humor. "We know a little something about 'forever' don't we?" Indeed they do.

White granules of coarse sands stick to their flesh when they take each other on the shallow strip of beach as though a single day of separation had never occurred. "I love you," he whispers to the skin of her neck with each rise and fall of their bodies. Claire admits to missing him, lacing her fingers through his hair, but an admission of love has never crossed her lips. "I'll always come back for you," he mumbles from the fringes of consciousness. It's a promise, and he keeps his promises. Locked in one another's embrace they fall into sleep to the bittersweet drumbeat of eternity coursing through their veins.

2300

Chiming bells and showers of rose petals accompany the words that only they truly understand. "Until death do us part," he declares with an ironic smirk.

"Until death do us part," she agrees quietly.

Death weighs heavily on her mind while he leads her through curtains of snow white lace and silk sheets. He chose golden bands in accordance with a tradition that has been extinct for nearly two centuries because the symbolism has become unique to them in all the world just as they themselves are. Two parts to a whole. A matching set. But the historical use of jewelry isn't enough for him. It stings slightly when his use of imprinting brands their spoken vows, inky black, around her finger with permanence. "Until death do us part," he mutters again, hissing his breath as the letters swirl into formation on his own digit. Yet another promise that she knows he'll keep, but she can't help wondering just how much he really remembers of their past; or how much she's supposed to remember. Something stirs in the back of her mind. Something long lost that she knows must be important. Something… wrong. His lips crash against hers urgently and the idea is brushed from the surface of her mind as quickly as it came. She has no right to accept his devotion the way she does.

2352

He's beside himself watching her belly grow. Deceiving palms splay possessive fingers over the rounding structure of her body. He presses his ear against her and sighs contentedly at the internal echoes of another being that they've brought life to.

A piece of him. A piece of her. Two halves of a whole that wriggles and coos in the bundle of blankets he holds gingerly to his chest. Possessive. Protective.

"What should we call him?"

"Noah." It's the first name that comes to her mind.

Sylar scrunches his eyebrows for a moment, crinkling and contorting his features in dark concentrated thought. "Noah…" He looks into the face of his newborn son and says the name aloud. A slow smile creeps over his lips and the gentle gleam in his eyes is enchanting. "Noah," he repeats again as tiny fingers wrap around one of his.

2356

She knew better. Something dark and ominous had itched in the back of her mind since the night he was born. Their lives had been too comfortable, too happy, and too perfect. They knew that he wasn't like them. That he hadn't inherited their immortality. That one day, unlike them, he would move on from the planes of earth that they were damned to share for all eternity. But it wasn't supposed to happen so soon. He was supposed to grow and learn, scrape his knees and make friends, find a mate… He was supposed to watch his own children come into their own. He was supposed to age into an old man and pass peacefully in his sleep while they looked on, holding hands with him catching her tears as they fell. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Claire knew better. She loved her son, but knew better than to get too close to what she knew would only ever be lost. And yet, her heart aches and yearns for yesterday as she watches her grief stricken counterpart mourn the death of their child.

Chants of revolution were once again in the air. Flames filled the streets, licking at the falling flakes of snow. Percussive force cracked the foundations of their home as the bombs descended from the heavens above. She clutched her terrified son tightly to her chest, protectively shielding his tiny body with her own as best she could while Sylar had focused his energies on maintaining the integrity of structures that would have otherwise collapsed upon them. Even as a trail of dark crimson trickled from his nostrils with the strain, he continued to exert himself, mentally willing their world to hold together as it pressed heavier and heavier upon his shoulders. It wasn't enough.

Inevitably, all was consumed in a brilliant flash of dazzling light so much brighter than the sun. Walls of super-heated winds crushed everything in their path, pulverizing body and building before it could be incinerated. They don't even have a body to bury. Noah's little bones had been instantly vaporized in the first blast wave.

Ash sizzles the freshly created skin, still pink as it winds and wraps around her muscle tissues. She wants so desperately to comfort him, but as Sylar sobs in the dampness of frost that cannot touch the seared ground only bitter vengeance reigns in her heart. She screams for all the pain and grief in the world. She screams for all the lost love converted to hate. She screams for everything that she has known and lost in a life too long for any human being to bare. Freshly regenerated memories twist their way through furiously firing synapses, and blood blacker than death spills over her lips as she continues to howl into the night, her vocal cords forming and reforming as they are continuously torn apart.

2407

He doesn't touch her anymore. They've barely even spoken since the night their son disintegrated in her arms. A part of her blames him for Noah's death. If he had been stronger, more powerful, he would have been able to save them. If he had never given her a child in the first place…

A part of him blames her for Noah's death. If she had passed on her genes for regeneration, if she had held him tighter, shielded him more… If she had never given him a son then he wouldn't have failed to protect them.

Claire doesn't even flinch anymore as he spills the blood of their enemies, ripping abilities from the skulls of the innocent and guilty alike until the dirt around their feet pools with the rivers of death that they leave in their wake. Her pistols fire as rapidly as they can be reloaded, tearing souls from their owners. His telekinetic claws rake into the flesh of any mortal brave or unfortunate enough to cross his path. Metal clatters to the ground as she relinquishes her weapons in favor of something more primal. Blades primed for combat slash and whistle through the air amidst the shrieks for mercy. Arches of lightning crackle through skin and bone. Their crusade is ruthless. His promises have become hollow, and yet the pain of hate binds him to them more than ever.

2465

One hundred and nine years have revolved around them before the drums of war dissipate into the holographic textbooks of history students. One hundred and nine years since their campaign began, cutting swaths of terror across continents and country sides, burning the homes of their foes, and ravaging their peoples into quiet submission. She's pitifully ashamed to think that she only barely clings to the reason they began their march of death. The memory of her little boy haunts the fringes of her subconscious, but she can't quite remember what he looked like anymore. In the void of her love for him that scars her heart is a bitter cluster of self-loathing that she knows he shares in equal portions.

Their guilt and pain has morphed into a mutually abusive relationship. When they make physical contact, it is only with the brief intention to cause injury. When they speak, it is only with abrasive words of acidic nature. And yet, the more they hate one another, the more they need each other.

"Don't walk away from me," he shouts after her, gripping her arm with enough force to turn the skin a sickly purple shade of broken blood vessels.

"Why? What are you going to do to me, Sylar? Yell at me? Hit me?" Claire jerks her arm away from him, successfully popping the joint in the process. She snorts at him with disdain and continues to stalk away in the opposite direction.

Her body locks up, bound by the control of the puppet master. Sylar appears in front of her more furious than she's seen for decades. "Maybe I'll just give you some more of that pain you need so much." An invisible hand reaches into her chest to grasp her heart and give it an abusive squeeze. She chokes on the blood filling her lungs, sputtering for air through a constricted throat. All she can think about are the impulses traveling along her nervous system to command her limbs to thrash against his control, but her body refuses to respond. "You think I don't know what you do at night, Claire? Holing up in your little tent and cutting yourself to ribbons. Trying to cut out your own heart before you pass out. Practically fucking yourself with your own knife."

"Somebody has to do it because you sure as hell haven't."

Sylar roars like a beast of old at the sarcastic venom in her voice causing the earth beneath their feet to rumble angrily. "Maybe I've had enough of your shit for the last dozen lifetimes or so. Maybe I'll just kill you and finally get some fucking peace!" His palm flies to her chest, exercising an ability she hasn't seen used in ages. A bright golden glow filters out from the edges of his hand. Claire screams, feeling as though her soul were being ripped from her flesh, her immortality draining from her weary bones.

Blackness fades from her vision after a moment. He's still there, studying her curiously, something strangely akin to remorse in his eyes. The emotion is alien on his features.

"What's wrong, baby? Couldn't go through with it?" she snarks at him in rasps, her body still constricted in his threads. He scoffs at her, almost daring her to try pushing him further, which of course she does. "Still impotent I see." A vicious sneer crosses her lips to mock him. "That's right. I know what you do at night too, Sylar. All the girls in the camp talk about it. Poor baby can't get it u-"

"Maybe I'll show you exactly what it is I do," he whispers, leaning in until their noses almost touch, "with everyone but you," he finishes with his own cruel smirk.

"What happened to 'forsaking all others'? Just couldn't keep your promises anymore?" Sylar shrinks back as though her words have the power to physically burn him. It's a powerful strike to his pride and honor. "Do it!" she screeches at him with all the breath left in her body. "Just fucking do it and kill me already!"

Tears freely flow down her cheeks for the first time in more years than he cares to remember. He starts to reach for her to offer comfort out of some long forgotten impulse, but draws back. This is something they need. "Until death do us part," he smirks, flipping her the finger with those very words imprinted upon it in a motion that insinuates a gesture only they would recognize as being crude. Her body drops to the ground with more force than necessary, and the fight is on.

Claire screams of her hatred for him while they trade blow for relentless blow. Her unrestrained fury, warm once more instead of icy, sparks something that has been lost between them. Passion.

"At least I know you can still feel something, you cold, unforgiving bitch!"

"It's your fault! You failed us! You failed us, and Noah died! It's all because of you! All your fault!"

"You're not the only one that lost him, Claire! He was my son too! You shut me out!"

Their argument goes on, gaining heated momentum as they crash against one another in battle. The ground cracks apart, and all ill-fated structures splinter to pieces from the force of their impacts. Random fires light the path of their embittered encounter as destruction rains down on them. Blood spatters in impossibly long arches over every surface.

Sylar pins her up against a pole with a metallic spike protruding from her chest. She drives her trusty blade deep into his gut with a vicious twist. Both exhausted from their collisions and exerting themselves for air with grotesque gurgles, they slump together, heaving.

"I'm sorry." His voice cracks in her neck. "I'm sorry I failed you. I'm so sorry…" Hot trails of saline color pale lines through the blood caked on his face.

Claire runs her fingers through his disheveled hair, lacing a crown to lift his face to hers. She doesn't fight him when his lips search for hers, ghosting over one another to give pause before crashing together in desperation. "I'm sorry I left you all alone," she sobs, breaking down around him. "I - I don't… I don't hate you."

"Is it too late to start over?"

"We still have forever."

He doesn't waste anymore time reveling in the aftermath. He rips away the remnants of their clothing, sending the tattered shreds to the ground before hiking her thighs around his hips. They don't even bother to remove the implements impaling them, eagerly finding their fingers entwined. With blood, sweat, and tears they renew their vows in hopes of new beginnings, of healing more than a little surface damage.

"I'll never lie to you, or betray you. I'll never abandon you," he pants against her neck, moving within her.

"I'll never forsake you," she groans into his lips, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him close.

"I'll never lead you into the hands of your enemies. I'll never keep secrets from you. I'll never let anyone else hurt you."

"I'll make sure that you're never lonely again," she replies.

"I'll always come back for you," he grunts between gritted teeth, losing his control.

"I'll always be there for you," she promises as they drop any semblance of rhythm or time. The slow burn becomes a wild fire that threatens to consume them both.

"I love you," he gasps into the tangles of her hair, pace growing frantic. "I love you. I love you. I love you," he chants in whispers like a lover's prayer. "I'll always love you." It's a solemn promise, and he keeps his promises.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

To be continued…