A/N: Oh my goodness, I am so sorry I didn't get this chapter up sooner. First I got writer's block like none other, and then real life went into massive overdrive (midterms... AHHH!!!). So I sincerely apologize for leaving you guys hanging. I swear, it was nothing personal.

This chapter was inspired by the song "Rowena" from Mr. Holland's Opus- The Original Soundtrack. I listened to it while writing a majority of this chapter, and I feel it captures the attitude and feelings of especially the middle to later parts of this chapter. Essentially, what I'm saying is that if you're into film scores, you should seriously download this song (legally, of course) and check it out.

Once again, thanks to those who've reviewed/favorited/alerted this story. It means a lot to me!

Disclaimer: Yeah... I still don't own Heroes. Unfortunately. This was written purely for entertainment purposes, no personal profit is derived from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.


The house was thrown into a flurry of activity as its two occupants attempted to throw everything back in order... make it appear that no one had been there. Sylar immediately doused the fire with a blast of ice, and the building plunged into an icy cold. Claire's teeth chattered some as she quickly put all the furniture in its proper place. Then, with everything fixed, they walked outside. Sylar had a large dufflebag thrown across his back. He glanced at Claire, and then glanced at the sky.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you Cheerleader?" he asked. Claire shook her head.

"No, why?"

"No time to explain. Just don't let go."

Sylar scooped her up in his arms and leapt into the air. Claire shrieked slightly at the sudden movement. Through squinted eyes, she looked down at the ground, and saw it disappearing rapidly. Oh, God, maybe she was afraid of heights!

Sylar sighed, sensing her unease.

"Calm down, Cheerleader," he yelled above the rushing wind. "I won't drop you. And even if I did, you wouldn't die."

Claire grumbled something under her breath as she tightened her grip around the serial killer's neck. He really did know how to make someone feel better.


Snow whipped through the air as several helicopters hovered over the small cabin. Two tactical teams fast roped down the sides of their respective choppers and carefully made their way to the house. One in the front counted down with his fingers, and then kicked in the door.

The house was cold when they walked in, and their breath misted up above them. The soldiers moved through quickly, expertly, clearing the small cabin room by room. Finally, they deemed the entire house clear. Bennet walked in and surveyed the scene.

"Search everything."

The small building was instantly thrown into a complete state of chaos as the soldiers began tearing through it, searching for some clue. Bennet started walking slowly through the house. Over the clang of pots and pans in the kitchen, he could hear the soldiers quickly and efficiently communicating. The living room had books strewn across the floor, each one open and with a few pages torn out. It was a shame, really. They could've donated the books somewhere. Everyone knew any museum would pay top dollar for something as old and obsolete as that. After all, anything that was read nowadays was done so on a small tablet that could be taken anywhere. It had been created in an effort to help relieve the back problems that school-age children had been suffering from, and eventually had turned into a basic commodity. Bennet almost had half a mind to tell them to stop; the Company could always use some help to give it a good reputation. But he didn't. Finding Gabriel and Claire were too important for petty history.

The search continued through the night and into the morning. By then, they'd smashed holes into the walls, tore up the floorboards and removed almost everything from the walls. The small cabin looked like a tornado had hit it, with stuff strewn everywhere, and whenever someone went to walk through it, they had to dodge rather large piles of stuff. Bennet hopped over a few floorboards and brushed some sheetrock dust off his jacket as he walked through the house, monitoring their progress.

"Bennet!" a voice yelled. He looked up and saw one of the soldiers holding a white sheet. As he walked over to him, he noticed the red that stained it. The soldier held it out to him, a worried look on his face.

"There's blood all over this sheet, Sir," he said. Bennet nodded.

"I can see that." The soldier shook his head.

"You don't get it, Sir. This blood is red. If it was old, it'd be brown." He paused, letting his words sink in. "They've been here, Sir. And judging by the state of this sheet, I'd say we just missed them."


They'd stopped in the small city of Harlan, Kentucky for a few minutes during their traveling, just long enough for both to stop into a small coffee shop and warm themselves with the dark, hot liquid. The last convenience store in the US had closed over one-hundred years ago. Now, there was a specialty store for almost anything. Sylar inwardly grumbled about the cost of the coffee. Just one sixteen ounce cup of a regular brew cost over five dollars. It was worse than Starbucks! Then he remembered how inflated the economy had become over the past fifty years. It wasn't like the government was going to do anything about it; they'd already learned from history that they couldn't do anything to better the economy. No amount of stimulus bills passed would help pick things up. So, they turned their efforts to something a little more immediate- international affairs.

After the two fugitives had defrosted some, they took off once more. The large storm had slammed into Louisville, just like it'd hit most every state on the middle and northern East Coast. At least it had stopped snowing there. They managed to find a relatively cheap hotel and checked in under fake names. Sylar immediately bee-lined to the bathroom, muttering something under his breath about frozen body parts and ice-floes. Claire ignored him, choosing to sit on the bed closest to the window. With a sigh, she drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them.

The city outside was booming, despite the thick layer of snow that had blanketed it. Strobing lights flashed on ecologically friendly buildings made mostly of recycled materials. All she could see were skyscrapers across the horizon. Single-story buildings didn't exist anymore, and almost everyone lived in huge buildings with anywhere from one-thousand to five-thousand other peoples. Populations had exploded after both the Third World War and the Fourth, and the cities had been forced to adapt to it. Their response was stuffing as many people into a building as tall as they could safely build.

It was obscene, compared to what she'd grown up seeing.

Times like these forced her to question how she'd gotten here... how she'd managed to live this sort of life. She couldn't help but to wonder what her dad would think of this. He'd probably laugh in disbelief. Despite his outwardly progressive attitude, he was still old-fashioned at heart.

Claire let out a sarcastic chuckle, shoving a hand through her tangled and windswept hair as she stood and walked over to the small window-seat. It was funny, ironic even, how history seemed to be repeating itself. Hadn't it been something like two-hundred years ago when she'd been running from the Company for the first time? Some things, she guessed, never changed. She would always be a freak. Sylar would always be a serial killer and her arch-nemesis. And the Company would always be looking for them.

With another sigh, Claire let her chin rest on her knees once more. Some life she was living. She would've thought she'd learned how to live a normal life over the past few hundred years. But she hadn't.

"And now look where I am."


The hot water was soothing on Sylar's tense muscles. He leaned forward some, resting his forearms on the tiled wall as the water streamed down his back. They could probably stay here for one night, two at the max. Then they'd have to move again... run away once more. That would be their life until either that Bennet man died or the Company gave up on finding them.

In a way, he almost felt guilty for how they were now being forced to live, and that was saying something. He knew how to control the hunger; there was no excuse for him not to. But instead, he'd decided to be spiteful... to piss the cheerleader off. And look where that got them. They were stuck in a cheap hotel in the middle of Kentucky, running from Company agents who wanted nothing more than to use them as lab rats.

What a lovely life he lived.

Stepping out of the shower, he quickly dried off and then donned the dirty clothes he'd been wearing earlier. Sylar made a mental note to go buy some new ones whenever he got the chance.

Claire was sitting in the little window-seat when he came out of the bathroom, looking out over the city. She didn't move when he opened the door, nor did she give any indication that she knew he was in the room once more. Instead, she sighed, shaking her head some.

"And now look where I am," she muttered, seemingly to no one. Sylar walked over to the bed closest to the door and sat down.

"We'll stay here for two days max," he started, causing the cheerleader to jump. "That'll give us enough time to get some new clothes and then figure out where we can go next."

Claire nodded, understanding where he was coming from.

"How'd you know they were coming?" she asked. Sylar shook his head some. He had been hoping she wouldn't ask that question.

"Precognitive dreaming," he answered. "From Angela. She-... she taught me how to use it before she... you know. Died."

"And flight?"

"I stole from your Dad. Bio-Dad. Nathan."

"Before you killed him."

Sylar winced inwardly, then nodded slowly.

"Yes. Before I killed him."

Claire shook her head, her eyes showing disdain. She stood and walked over to the other bed, pulling the covers down. As she sat down, she kicked off her shoes. He could feel her pain and confusion without seeing her face. Sylar opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking and feeling like a floundering fish as he tried to find the right words to say.

"Claire, I-"

"I don't care." She swung her legs up into the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. "I'm going to bed."

"But, I-"

"Goodnight, Sylar."

With a deft flick of her wrist, Claire turned off the lamp, plunging her side of the room into darkness and effectively ending the conversation. Sylar let out a long breath, rubbing his forehead some. He knew he wasn't going to be able to get to sleep. Truth be told, he hadn't really slept well for the past fifty years. On a good night, he maybe got four hours. The rest of the time, he usually read, sometimes manuals and training books, other times classic literature, but always in the old fashioned way- thick sheets of paper bound together. Unfortunately, he wasn't at any of his houses, so he had absolutely no access to any books at all. It didn't matter, though. The Company had probably found all his houses by now, and they'd probably trashed everything in them. Those people had no appreciation for what their past was, only their future. And while looking towards the future was great, Sylar had always been a firm believer in the idea of one having to know their past in order to know where they wanted or needed to go in the future.

Once he heard Claire's breathing deepen and slow, Sylar stood, walking over to the door that led to the balcony. The city was still alive and bustling, despite the obscene hour. Sylar rested his arms on the railing and leaned into it some, his breath misting above him. Hiro had managed to teach him teleportation before he'd died, but not time travel. Silently, he wondered if traveling back to 2209 and stopping their meeting in that North Carolina bar would prevent any of this from happening. It's not like it would do any good, though. And besides, Hiro had always preached that he must never change the past. Truth be told, Sylar would almost see it as a dishonor to the Japanese man if he attempted to do something like that.

He remained on the balcony the rest of the night, thinking about various topics as they came to him. When the sun began to peak over the horizon, Sylar crept back into the room. Claire was still asleep, lying flat on her back, her blonde hair spread out around her head like a halo of sorts. It took him a few moments, but Sylar eventually located the complementary notepad and pen and scribbled a note on it for the cheerleader. Then, he walked out of the room.


Sylar was nowhere to be found when Claire woke up. Rolling over, she looked at the clock projected on the wall. It was just past 9:00 AM.

Standing, Claire stretched some, attempting to shake the tension from her limbs as she staggered into the bathroom. She'd never been much of a morning person, and all the traveling she was doing wasn't helping any either. Reaching into the shower, she turned it on. Steam filled the air as she closed the bathroom door.

Twenty minutes later, Claire stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in one of the towels in the room. She heard the door to the room open and close as someone walked in. Sticking her head out the door, she saw Sylar setting several bags down. He looked up and saw her.

"I went ahead and got us some new clothes. I hope you don't mind."

Claire shook her head, padding softly out of the bathroom. Sylar held a single bag out to her, averting his eyes.

"These are yours. I hope they're to your liking."

Claire nodded and took the bag before walking back into the bathroom to change into them. He'd bought similar clothes to those he'd gotten before. Once again, she found herself pulling on a pair of cargo pants that were slightly long on her, though these were dark brown instead of the previous black. She pulled a white wife-beater over her head and then topped that with a white waffle-knit long-sleeve shirt. Digging farther in the bag, Claire found a light blue hooded cable-knit sweater. She had to admit it- while she knew Sylar was going more for function over fashion, he did know how to pick out some decent clothing.

"Keep your old clothes," he told her when she came out of the bathroom. He held out the olive green dufflebag that he'd brought with him. Claire could see his old clothes were already in it. She obliged to his request, though, and shoved the dirty clothes down in there. In the meantime, Sylar dug through another bag and produced a pair of socks and a shoe box. He handed them to Claire. The shoes inside were brown sneakers with pink and white detailing on the sides.

"I think we should probably leave here sometime later today," he said. "I checked around some, and there's a train that leaves here for St. Louis this evening. We should probably be on it."

And indeed, the two fugitives found themselves sitting in a compartment in a train car that was speeding towards the Missouri city. Sylar had slept (or feigned sleep; either way, Claire couldn't tell the difference) for the first hour-and-a-half. He woke up when the attendant had come by to ask them if they needed anything. Claire hid a smirk at his startled reaction, and turned, looking out of the window.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

For the first time since they'd boarded the train, Sylar broke the silence that had fallen between them. Claire turned and looked over at him. She could tell him she was fine, but they'd both know that was a lie. And truth be told, Claire really didn't want him reading her mind again.

"How long are we going to keep this up?" she asked. "Running from city to city... hiding under assumed names... how long will this last?"

"As long as it takes," Sylar answered, leaning back in his seat. "Besides, we're both experts at this. After all, we've both got at least two hundred years experience. Personally, I could do this the rest of my life. Hell, I probably will do this the rest of my life."

"So we're just going to keep running from the Company?"

Sylar fixed a leveling gaze upon the blonde woman sitting across from him, his dark eyes serious.

"Face it, Cheerleader- there is nothing else we can do. The Company will always be searching for us. They will not leave us alone until they capture us, or until we drop off the face of the Earth again."

Claire's green eyes sharpened some as she looked at the serial killer.

"I'm tired of running, Sylar," she said, her voice clipped. "I ran from all my problems before. I cannot keep running from them now."

Sylar crossed his arms and propped an ankle on his knee.

"So what do you suggest we do?"

Claire dropped her voice some as she leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees.

"We're both essentially immortal, Sylar. And you've seen the inside of the compound in DC. You know important things about it. You know how it works, you know who's there... you could probably run the place if you wanted to." She looked at him, a slight smirk playing on her young features. "What I'm suggesting is that we destroy the Company... once and for all."