"How are you feeling?"

Something warm is touching his arm. D-1 shudders and blinks. It can't be her. His vision is blurry.

"Shhhh, it's ok."

Soft lips. Vanilla. Blond hair swept over her shoulder.

Pushing aside his indistinct memories, D-1 rubs his eyes and staggers backwards until his back hits the wall. Tries to focus. But the face haunting his dreams is somehow still staring back at him.

"No," he croaks. He clears his throat. "I watched you die."

The young woman's intense gaze searches his face. "You thought you did. It's protocol that they shoot intruders." She gives him forced smile. "I can heal very quickly."

D-1 stares at her dumbfounded. "That's impossible."

"Not for me. But for you…"

She reaches forward and sweeps a warm hand over his forehead. He winces involuntarily at her touch. Odd, it didn't bother him last time. The gash from Sylar's handiwork is still painfully raw. She glances up to the camera. They are watching. Her acting—and D-1's acceptance of it—could make or break her future with the Company.

"Do you feel any better since I saw you last?" she asks. Her hand drops back to her side.

D-1's eyes narrow. He ignores her question. "You were shot last time you came to me." He waves a hand at the camera's direction. "Don't they know?"

"I took more precautions this time," she says, almost too quickly. She tries to rebound. "They can't see us. I jammed the link."

She can tell by the hard line of his mouth that he doesn't buy it. Not for a minute. She needs a distraction, and quickly.

"You don't remember me, do you?" she stammers.

No shit, Sherlock, D-1 wants to say, but doesn't. "Just from the last time."

"That's too bad," she reaches towards him again, and he lets her. Her fingers graze his bare chest. The tingling sensation is intoxicating. He doesn't want to think. He wants to drown in it.

She moves closer to him, her hand moving dangerously low on his abdomen. "I told you last time that I loved you," the agent begins, recalling the video. Her fingers stop at the hem of his sodden white pants. Little modesty has been preserved, and his natural response makes her smile.

"What they don't want me to tell you," she breathes against his ear, "is that you loved me too."

D-1 stops breathing.

He thinks he can feel her lips against his neck. He isn't sure. His heartbeat is thudding too loud in his ears. Something deep inside of him is screaming. It's all wrong.

"Who am I?" he asks quietly, and tilts his head towards hers. Her exploring lips and hands pull away.

"This isn't enough?" she asks. Whines, practically. He frowns.

D-1 grabs her shoulders. "Tell me!" he yells. His voice echoes in the room.

Her eyes go wide. She tries to back away but can't.

"Let me go!" after another moment of struggling, she sighs and looks away from him.

"Fine, you really want to know?"

D-1 waits.

Almost imperceptibly, her eyes flick up toward the camera again. Asking permission. D-1 pretends he doesn't notice.

At last, she speaks. Her voice is like steel.

"You're name is Sylar. You're a serial killer."

A/N: I live! Not sure if anyone is still reading this, but I thought it was worth an update anyway. Still sticking to the vignette style, but more to come soon. Feedback always welcomed!