Author's Notes: This chapter is going to be a tad bit more depressing than most. I've seen plenty of stories where Sylar is haunted by Elle's memory. In my story, Elle is haunted by Sylar's memory. But don't worry. Good things will happen for Elle soon. I'm sure most of you will actually be pleased with this chapter.

ECLIPSED

Chapter Four: I Don't Believe You

Unbearable, bitter pain was all that Elle felt for what seemed an eternity. One thousand thoughts raced through her mind; her life flashed before her eyes in an instant. The time she had accidentally set her grandmother's house on fire, those awful experiments at Primatech that she hardly remembered, her father pushing her to become someone that she wasn't, the first time she had met Gabriel Gray . . . And then nothing. Only darkness.

The darkness was better than the pain, at least. It was almost soothing, pleasant in a way. Was this death? If so, maybe Elle could learn to enjoy it. She was better off here, wherever she was, than with Sylar. Why had he killed her? It had all been so sudden. Elle had expected him to be angry with her for lying to him, or even send her away, but kill her? That didn't make much sense.

After what seemed like years of absolutely nothing, a light caught her attention, and Elle wandered towards it. Well, she didn't exactly "wander" towards it. It was more like the light came to her. Before she could think about what the heck was going on, or what this light was, it disappeared completely and was replaced by an all-too-familiar face. Gabriel Gray stood in front of her.

Elle opened her mouth to form words and realized that she could speak.

"What are you doing here?"

They weren't exactly the words she was looking for, but they would have to do. What else was she supposed to say? Ask him why he had killed her? Scream at him for breaking her heart? Beg him to take it all back? There was no way.

Gabriel, or Sylar, or whoever he was smiled – a twisted, odd smile that sent a shiver down Elle's spine. He had his hands in his pockets like he sometimes did, his brown eyes studying her intensely like he had never seen her before. Elle could usually guess at what he was thinking, but this time was different.

"Hello?" she asked, irritated, and her voice echoed in the empty blackness. "Are you gonna answer me or not?"

He shrugged. "You brought me here."

"I brought you here?"

"You wanted to know why I killed you." He paused, probably trying to come up with an answer. "And I don't know why I killed you, Elle. Maybe I wanted to."

Elle shook her head immediately. "No you didn't. I know you didn't."

"I didn't want you around anymore. I didn't need you anymore. I wanted to kill you."

"I don't believe you," Elle whispered into the darkness, tears forming in her eyes. She was so vulnerable in her dreams . . .

Those words struck something inside of him, rekindled some lost emotion. He lowered his head to avoid her blue-eyed gaze, removed his hands from his pockets, and took a step closer to her to grab her hand gently. Finally, he looked up, and Elle saw that his eyes conveyed a strange emotion – guilt. Strange for him, at least.

"I was afraid that keeping you around would be a weakness, a liability. I was afraid to put my trust in you." He leaned in closer. For a moment Elle thought he was going to kiss her, but he only whispered in her ear. "I'm sorry, Elle."

The horrific pain returned; Elle reached up a hand to her forehead and blood trickled between her fingers, running into her eyes, blinding her. The cut had reopened, almost as if he had killed her a second time. "Oh, god. Oh, god, no." She let out an agonized cry, unable to hold it in anymore. The last thing she saw was Sylar's guilt-struck face staring back at her before everything faded to black once more.

* * *

Elle woke with a startled cry and found herself covered in sweat. It took her a moment to realize where she was – in the motel, alone in her room. She took a deep breath to calm herself, for she had been very close to hyperventilating, and pressed a hand to her forehead instinctively. The blood was gone. She was alive. It had all been one terrible nightmare; none of it had been real. However much she said it aloud, Elle still didn't believe it. The dream had seemed real enough. It had felt like death.

Elle turned her head to look out the window and immediately saw that it was morning, well past dawn. The sun that shone through her window reminded her of the light in her dream, bright and foreboding. Elle stared at it for a long time, shading her eyes against the blinding rays. She didn't really know why she was staring at the sun. Maybe it was only because it stopped her from thinking about the nightmare.

A knock at the door caused her to finally look away. Elle sighed, which sounded more like a sob, and stood up, slipping on a pair of house shoes and making her way towards the door. The knock sounded again, this time louder.

"I'm coming," she said, trying to banish the sad tone. "I'm coming, I'm coming." Elle already knew who was at the door. There was no denying it. She would have to face him sooner or later anyways.

When she opened the door, Sylar was there, and she couldn't' help but think about her dream again. She wanted to close the door again, to slam it in his face and run away, but she couldn't. He had done nothing wrong. Well, he had done something wrong, but not today.

"What are you doing here?"

Sylar's brow creased in irritation. "What do you mean 'what am I doing here'. We're leaving. Get dressed and come on."

"Where's Peter?"

"Getting ready." The anger left his face quickly, and Sylar studied her in a concerned sort of way. "Is something wrong? You seem . . ."

"Depressed? Angry? Mortified?" Elle finished the sentence for him. "Sure. I am."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Elle groaned. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Sylar stepped in the room and closed the door behind him without saying anything. Elle had expected a sharp reply, for him to walk away and leave her alone again, but he didn't. He was actually going to talk with her. That made her feel a little better.

He took a few more steps inside and sat on the edge of her bed, looking up at her with a sincere expression on his face. "What is it, Elle?"

Elle couldn't believe it. After a whole day of arguing, Sylar was being nice to her. Maybe he actually did care. Maybe she had misjudged him. Elle shook her head to clear her mind and sat down next to him, trying her best to get as far from him as possible, and that only ended up looking awkward.

"I . . . I had a bad dream last night." She sounded like a child – a dumb, scared child. Why did she always end up sounding ridiculous?

"And?"

Elle sighed. "And you were in it. You told me that you killed me because I was a liability, and you were afraid to trust me." Sylar didn't reply. He only stared at her, forcing her to continue. "And then you apologized . . ." It was difficult to say the next few words; she paused and wet her lips before finishing. ". . . And then you killed me. Again. At least, I guess that's what you did."

Elle didn't turn her head to look at Sylar. She didn't really care what he thought of her dream. She only wanted to know the truth. If she had looked, however, she would have seen the sad, painful expression on his face. He was having a difficult time dealing with her, just as she was having a hard time dealing with him.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, and his words were not unkind.

"Because," began Elle, shifting her weight uncomfortably on the bed, "I want to know the truth. Is that really why you killed me? Are you really sorry?"

Sylar looked down at his lap, putting his hands together as if he were in deep thought. Since when did he think things through? The silence between them was awkward and unnecessary. So while Sylar thought about whatever it was he was going to say, Elle talked.

"Do you remember the time when I stopped you from killing yourself? You were lucky I showed up, huh? What if I hadn't stopped you in time? What if you had killed yourself?" Elle shuddered. "My father would still be alive, I would still be working for The Company, and you would be dead. But would my life be any better?" Sylar looked up, but Elle hardly noticed. "And when you visited my cell at Pinehearst. Do you remember that? I was so angry . . . So mad because you killed my dad. I tried to kill you, but you forgave me. You even got down on your knees and made me forgive myself. Would things be any different if I hadn't forgiven myself? Would I still be locked away at Pinehearst crying my eyes out? Sometimes you've gotta wonder--"

"What are you talking about, Elle?"

Elle shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy. Just don't listen to me." She looked him in the eyes, her face void of all emotion. She had worked so hard to push those emotions away. "Could things ever be the same between us, Gabriel?"

"No," he said simply. "Probably not."

Elle nodded. She understood. If Sylar had asked her that question, she would have said the same. They were both damaged goods, just like he had said before he had killed her. They could never change; they would always be killers. They would always be hopeless. Elle didn't want to believe it, but what else was there to believe? She had given up on hope long ago.

Sylar placed a hand on her knee, which surprised her. She didn't push it away, though. "But I am sorry, Elle. For everything."

Elle managed a smile and watched as Sylar stood up and walked towards the door. Once he had opened it, he turned around to look back at her again.

"Now hurry up and get ready or me and Peter will have you leave you behind."

The emotional moment between them had passed. Elle was grateful for that. Moments like that only came every once and a while between people; that's what made them special. But now that Sylar was back to his old self, Elle didn't mind.

He cast her one last smile before walking out the door, saying as he went, "We're leaving in ten."

After Elle had packed her things, it had been twenty minutes, but Peter and Sylar didn't seem to mind it too much. She knew they had been bluffing. They needed her. After handing in their keys and leaving the motel, Sylar went straight to their stolen Porsche. At least he wasn't thinking about stealing another car. The day long ride to Virginia would be a long one, quite possibly the longest car ride any of them had taken. And they weren't exactly a friendly bunch. What with the endless arguments and bickering, they may never reach their destination.

Peter finally managed the courage to ask a few questions, most of which had to do with Sylar and Elle's working relationship. Elle answered each one of them with a quick lie. Lucky for them, Peter didn't catch on. He was too preoccupied with coming up with the next question.

"Are you still working for The Company?" That question was directed at Elle, and it took her a moment to answer.

"Uh . . . No. Not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

Elle spun around in the passenger's seat to face him. "Well, I was working for Pinehearst, but I quit."

"Quit?"

"Would you quit questioning me?" she snapped. "I quit, okay? And so did Sylar. We don't work for anyone."

Peter smirked. Obviously she was avoiding the question. "I think there's more to the story."

"Well . . . If you must know." Elle glanced at Sylar briefly. It seemed as if he weren't paying attention to their conversation, so she went on. "Sylar kinda killed me. Maybe. Sorta. But it's not a big deal, right? Just an everyday occurrence in our world of 'having powers'."

Peter's eyes widened. "He killed you?"

Sylar had been listening to their conversation. He slammed on the brakes, causing a build up of traffic behind them. "Elle!"

"Would you speed up? You're causing a traffic jam."

Sylar growled, but Elle wasn't scared of him anymore. The threat had no effect. "Shut up." He glanced over his shoulder, looking back at Peter. "Don't listen to her. She's delusional."

"Fair enough," Peter said, laughing softly. Maybe Sylar did kill Elle. Maybe he didn't. Either way, he didn't want to know.