A few days later…
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," I seethe. After several days of that awful train, we finally made it to Memphis, only to find out that our journey would be delayed. The attendant at the train station told us that there would probably be a new train to Dallas within a couple of days, but that it could end up being as much as two or three weeks.
All this is particularly disturbing in light of the fact that I'm almost certain I've been recognized. Some of our fellow riders could not stop sneaking glances at me when they thought I wasn't looking, and more than one person here has done a subtle double-take as Bill and I move through the streets. Not that we've spent too much time exploring the city—Bill's taking all of this much more calmly than I am, but I know he's worried too.
"Settle down," he says from his seat at the desk. "We're fine. You worry too much."
"I don't think you understand the gravity of this situation, Bill," I respond tightly. "My husband is very possessive, to say the least. If he finds out what we have done, he will make you wish you had never met me. And I'll be dragged back to New York."
His clear gaze wavers for a moment. "Claire, if I'm leaving you in Mexico, what's to stop him from finding you there? Taking you back home then?"
I keep my face smooth, but I feel like I could punch the wall. It's none of his concern, and I don't want to discuss it.
Why's that, Claire? Is it because you don't want to admit this is just a giant temper tantrum?
"Nothing," I interrupt my own thoughts. "Except maybe a desire to avoid a scene."
"Then why are you doing it?" he asks directly. I guess I can see it from his point of view. From the outside this trip looks like a waste of time, waste of money, and a waste of energy.
Fortunately for me, I've got a surplus of the first two. And the last one…well, I'm doing my best.
"Because I won't wait around doing nothing," I answer flatly. "This subject is closed."
Bill shrugs and leans back, still watching me. I walk to the bathroom for something to do, and he follows me, standing just outside the doorway to give me some privacy. My reflection stares back at me as I splash water on my face. Blonde hair, green eyes, smooth skin. I don't look any older than seventeen or eighteen, except maybe in the eyes. I'm haunted by the things I've done, by the things Sylar's done. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget.
An abrupt burst of rage shoots through me, and I punch the mirror as hard as I can. It's cheap, and shatters all over the floor.
"Claire?" Bill comes in and sees me standing with chunks of glass in my knuckles. "Come over here, I'll clean this up."
"No, don't worry about it," I mutter. "Sorry." I crouch to start picking up the broken mirror, disposing of them as quickly as possible. He stands there until I rise to rinse the blood off my fist, pulling me to sit on the bed.
"Are you all right?" he asks.
I show him my hand, completely healed. "I'm fine."
He shakes his head, though. "That's not what I meant. Are you okay? I have to assume you broke that thing for a reason." I don't answer him, and he takes my hand gently. "Claire? You're not unbreakable, you know."
He's awfully nice. Nice enough that I let myself lean against him without feeling guilty. His arm moves around my shoulders, and I can shut my eyes and just breathe. I don't have to talk. I don't have to worry about anyone listening in on my thoughts or manipulating me. It's an odd mixture of relief and an undertone of mild…loneliness. But it's nice.
"I know you don't want to talk about this," he starts, "but I don't know if you heard the staff at the restaurant yesterday." Of course I heard them. Not that we could hear much, but the words 'Sylar' and 'wife' were distinct. I shiver involuntarily.
"I'll protect you," he says quietly. I suppress a snort at his confidence, but it does sound good—the idea of being pampered and protected. But it's not realistic. I haven't told Bill, but my husband won't let me go unpunished for this any more than he'd spare Bill. But then, Gabriel's never treated me the way Bill does. And with that in mind, I turn my face up to his. He kisses me chastely before pulling away.
"It isn't right," he says with a rueful smile. "You're vulnerable right now, and it would be taking advantage." He chews on his lower lip, stands, and stretches. "Let's go get something to eat."
I take his hand and follow him, more interested than ever by this man who is so different than the one I've known for so long.
A/N: We are back, thank you for you patience. :)
--Mel and Chuck