Death Becomes Her

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone that's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

Chapter Four

Gabriel "Sylar" Gray – The Pinehearst laboratories – (continuation of Sylar's recollections)

Four years ago…

And just I'd braced myself for the backhanded slap Bennett was preparing to deliver across my cocky expression- Angela's authoritative voice rang out.

"That is quite enough, Noah!"

Like a big sloppy basset hound heeding its master's command, Bennett's reaction had been immediate. His raised arm, frozen in mid-action, had ceased to execute his next move.

The dumbstruck Haitian, meanwhile, had eventually broken his silence. "Pardon, Madame Petrelli." His apology had been humble and heartfelt.

"Fermez la bouche, Rene! I'll deal with you in a moment." Angela's dark piercing eyes had narrowed with disapproval. Bowing his head in disgrace, the Haitian had precipitously obeyed her by shutting the fuck back up.

I had marveled, with some satisfaction, at how subservient Rene had been. Bowing and scraping like a good little lapdog, as he acknowledged and acquiesced to Mommy Dearest's authority.

With two imposing looking agents flanking her on either side, the Company's grande dame had swiftly advanced upon us with the sure-footed steps of a sovereign.

Decked out in the high-society regalia customarily worn by women of her lofty station, Angela's lithe figure had been clad in a tailored navy-blue Chanel business suit. Meantime, the click-clack of her matching stiletto-heeled Manolo Blahnik's had resounded all around us with a distinctive ping reminiscent of ricocheting ammunition.

As I had continued to scrutinize her, I couldn't help noticing that Angela's neck had been adorned with her signature rope of pearls. She had claimed, of course, that the necklace had been a family heirloom, passed down to her from many generations of Shaw women. I, on the other hand, had other ideas regarding the pearls. To be perfectly honest, I half suspected that the clever old gal may have actually utilized said "heirloom" as a garrote.

Her dark hair had been swept up into an elaborate up-do. This had been done of course for functionality, not aesthetics. And the luxurious cosmetics (Clinique or Estee Lauder, if I remember correctly) which had been meticulously applied to her lips and eye lids reminded me of ceremonial war paint.

Yep, Angie had been dressed to the teeth. And to the untrained eye, Mama Petrelli's outward appearance conveyed all the elegance and blue-blooded aplomb of old money. Judging the fierce expression etched across her face, though, this woman had been outfitted for battle right down to the sharpened points of her French manicured claws.

After bringing her little procession to a complete halt, the Company head faced us. A tremor of apprehension had crawled its way down my body as her cold eyes promptly appraised the sorry state of affairs.

Barely able to contain her ire, Angela had inhaled deeply through the delicate nostrils of her patrician nose. While her body had become visibly tensed, her countenance tightened into a grim expression.

Leveling her weighty glare over at Bennett, her voice sliced through the painful stillness. "Well, Noah. Would you care to explain to me exactly what in blazes is going on here?"

"Angela, you of all people should be able to understand…" he had begun to slowly explicate his motives – hoping, yet again, to weasel his way out of a very sticky situation.

But he was immediately cut off by the harsh words uttered by Claire's bio-granny. "…understand, Noah? The only thing that I have to understand is the fact that the escapees from Level 5 are still at large.

And I had been under the distinct impression that you and I were on the same page regarding this problem. Apparently, you've had your own hidden agenda all along.

No matter, the mission I set forth was quite explicit: you and Gabriel were to re-capture the fugitives and bring them back here, where they belong. Nothing, and I mean nothing, should have derailed you from that! Yet, what do I find? My son bloodied and beaten by the very man I thought could mentor him. He needs guidance and someone to teach him the ropes of how things operate in our organization."

As expected, Bennett had objected to mother's intentions most vehemently. "But Angela, you can't expect me to take him under my wing like some wayward stray. The bastard hurt my daughter, your granddaughter. He's a killer, a monster for God's sake!"

"The harm to Claire notwithstanding, some would say the same about you. Let's not kid ourselves, Agent Bennett- you're no innocent. Your hands have been permanently stained by the blood of your countless victims, just like Gabriel.

You've also killed indiscriminately.

Oh I know, you'll say it was for the greater good, to keep people like you safe from people like us – like Gabriel and me. But you and I know better than that, so let's cut the shit, shall we?"

Defeated by the truth of his own misdeeds, Noah bit down on his tongue as he turned his head away. To my supreme pleasure, the man had been subjugated and ashamed.

And it was in that instant that my heart had swelled with pride and an overwhelming love for the formidable woman that had claimed to be my mother. I wanted nothing more than to lay my weary head upon her maternal bosom and allow her to comfort me in a protective embrace. After days of self-reflection and doubt, I had started to accept the far-fetched notion that perhaps I truly was her long lost son, her Gabriel.

Moments later, I was suddenly wrenched out of my familial musings when Angela, with the unassailable comportment of a drill sergeant, had commenced to issue her orders.

"Rene, reel in your ability and allow Gabriel to heal, right now."

"Oui, Madame Petrelli." The Haitian had meekly replied.

I smiled inwardly as wave after wave of blessed relief had promptly washed over me. A grateful sigh had slipped past my lips as the surge of power flowed and ebbed throughout every corpuscle. I could actually sense the firing of synapses, as my entire being pulsed with the energy of restoration. I had been caught in a delirious state of flux, a near-orgasmic renaissance, as the bruises and cuts had vanished and broken bones snapped back into place.

When the healing process had run its course, I quickly touched my fingers to my newly restored face to ensure that everything had shifted to its proper place. Reassured at what I had found, I softly whispered a hasty word thanks to the girl who'd been inadvertently responsible for my extraordinary revitalization. Mercifully, the only evidence that any violence had taken place at all had been my sullied suit.

"Thank you, Claire".

"Did you say something, Gabriel?" Angela had asked with some concern.

Choosing not to answer her, I only shook my head in a negative gesture.

"Very well then…why don't you allow Agents Harris and Jessup lead you back to your cell, dear? They'll make sure you get cleaned up and settled in for the night." Her eyes had crinkled up as the briefest of smiles stretched across her lips.

I'd practically beamed as I returned the gesture with a smirk of my own.

Wordlessly, I did as she'd asked. I'd already torn myself away from Noah's greedy grasp and had started to follow Angela's mute attendants back down to Level 5.

I was almost out of earshot, cursing the loss of Dale Smithers' ability when the verbal tirade began again. But Angela's scolding words to Bennett had reached me just the same.

"You disgust me, Noah. After all these years and you still feel an aversion to specials. I don't know what Thompson ever saw in you. And yet, our Company entrusted you with our greatest treasure, our Claire. I had objected, of course. But Kaito, misguided fool that he was, had overruled me. He actually believed in you and your ability to keep her safe.

But you know what I see, Noah? Underneath that dedicated Company Man, tough-as-nails James Bond frontage, you're still that used-car salesman Thompson had plucked out of obscurity. If hadn't been for us you'd still be charming the unsuspecting dupes with a load of horseshit until you cinch the deal. The only difference now is that you carry a gun.

In other words, you're a bully, Agent Bennett- and a bigot as well, which I find distasteful. Men like you destroy what they don't understand. Men like you killed my parents and tore my family apart.

My God, what would Claire say or do if she were to ever find out what you did to poor Gabriel? What you've always done to our kind, when given the chance. Why, I have half a mind to pick up the phone and tell her myself!"

Fearful that Angela would've made good on her threat, Noah had cried out, "You wouldn't dare!"

Her tone had turned to ice. "Oh, wouldn't I? Continue to try my patience and see what happens. Now get yourself together. I expect you and Rene to report to my office in 5 minutes. Is that clear?"

After a moment's pause, the Company Man had mumbled his reply, "Crystal."

lllll

Two weeks later

It had been the end of yet another grueling day. I don't know what had been worse: the never ending backbiting and squabbling with Bennett or wrangling around with a very beautiful yet very nasty female constrictor. The bitch had tried to crush the life out of me and then my so-called partner. Thank God I'd been able to subdue her by telekinetically slamming her head into a brick wall. Not hard enough to kill, mind you- but the force of the impact had sent the brunette beauty straight to Slumber Town.

Naturally, there had been no words of thanks, no gratitude of any kind from the man whose life I'd saved. Bennett had simply grumbled at me, like some hairless ape, to prep the fugitive for transport back to the Company.

Oh goody, grunt work!

Far be it for Noah to have actually done any of the heavy lifting. Why should he, when all he had to do was delegate all the shit detail to yours truly.

And being a do-gooder had been exhausting work.

Ah well, it didn't matter. Besides, Angela had Papa-Bear Bennett on a very short leash these days, ever since his little transgression. And I, on the other hand, had been a very good boy by doing everything I could to prove my worth.

And yet, no matter how many feats of heroism I'd performed, I still hadn't earned the golden ticket out of my concrete living quarters down in good ol' Level 5.

Not that it was all bad. I mean, Angie had seen to it that I got a real bed with a comfy Sealy Posturepedic mattress. Hell, it sure beat having to sleep on that cement block, night after night. I was also given books to read to pass the time between missions, a few toiletries and new suit to replace the one that Bennett had ruined.

And now, as I'd stretched myself out on the bed, a sudden realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

I was bone tired from bagging and tagging other specials while trying to suppress the dark impulses that still stirred within me. Despite my so-called rehabilitation, I still was restless and more importantly, very, very lonely.

I'd truly hoped that as the weeks passed that Angela and I would bond somehow. I was desperate, hungry for the positive reinforcement and the nurturing that only she, as my mother, could provide. But her visits had become more and more infrequent. And when I'd questioned her about it Angela had cited a busy work schedule as the reason for her absence.

Mind you, I knew the woman had the weight of running the Company on her narrow shoulders. But surely she could have spared a few minutes for her prodigal son.

Something had been amiss, the pieces just didn't fit.

As my mind had continued to ponder this dilemma, the lights had suddenly switched off, plunging the entire cellblock into darkness. I knew then that I had to let go my troubled thoughts and call it a night. So I adjusted my long slim body into a comfortable sleeping postion then closed my eyes. Moments later, just as I was finally drifting off to sleep, imagine my complete surprise, when the fluorescent lamps had flickered back on illuminating my cell once again.

"What the hell…?" I'd groused in disapproval. As I slowly sat up to investigate the source of the well-lit intrusion I suddenly found myself staring into the eyes of the last person I'd ever expected to see.

"Claire?"

The petite blonde's face had been locked into a disgusted scowl as she unflinchingly stared right at me from the other side of the observation window. And without any preamble, Claire had bluntly stated the purpose of her unforeseen visit. "You may be total whack job. But you've never lied to me. Now I want you to tell me exactly what happened between you and my Dad."

TBC…