A gunshot rang out through the hotel room. Hearing a gunshot at any time is a surprising event, but when you are expecting your death, unaware of the presence of a gun, and not feeling the pain of the bullet tearing through your skin, it's absolutely shocking.

Claire's eyes shot open and she immediately looked over her body, finding no blood or bullet holes, she looked for Sylar.

He wasn't hard to find, lying just a few feet from her in a pool of his own blood. There was a pistol in his hand, one that she recognized easily as a Company issue firearm. Elle must have left it with her clothes, but when Sylar found the time to pick it up, she had no idea.

Her mind was a mess. So many different feelings at once. Joy at still being alive. Despair at Sylar apparently being dead. Confusion as to why he used a firearm on himself, instead of dealing her the death blow she had been preparing for.

Amidst her mental turmoil, she realized something was horribly wrong. At least a minute had passed since the gunshot and yet the hole in Sylar's head was showing no signs of healing. Her heart raced as she considered the possibility that he wasn't coming back.

Oh god, what had she done? Was this her fault? Why in the hell would he do something so stupid?

So many possibilities and absolutely no way of knowing which was the right one. She didn't have time right now to dwell on it. She had to figure out why he wasn't healing.

Claire thought back to her hundreds of injuries and came up with nothing. Wait, there was one. When Brody tried to rape her so many years ago, she had ended up with a branch lodged in her head and didn't heal until it was removed. She had actually been dead for a while.

The bullet. That had to be why Sylar wasn't healing. It must have been preventing his body from regenerating.

Claire raced to the bedroom and grabbed her bag. She dumped the contents on the bed and rummaged through them until she found her makeup bag. She removed a pair of tweezers from the bag and threw it on the bed among the pile of clothes.

She ran back to Sylar and dropped to her knees at his side. She cradled his head in her lap, turning its lifeless form to its side so she could see the wound. It was deep. Too deep for her to reach the bullet.

The thought of what she had to do was truly repulsive, but the alternative was even worse so she went to the bar and fished an icepick out of the drawer.

Claire took a deep breath as she knelt next to his lifeless body one more time. His eyes were closed, his skin was still warm though a bit pale. He looked almost as though he were sleeping. Until she turned his head and saw the hole and blood trail running down his head and neck.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she mumbled over and over as tears slid down her cheeks, dripping from her chin and landing on his face with a silent splash.

After taking a deep breath and with her nose scrunched in an expression of disgust, she stuck the icepick into her former lover's head until she hit something solid. Unsure whether it was a piece of skull or the bullet, she tried to feel out the shape with the pick.

Deciding it was the bullet, she maneuvered the icepick trying to slide the bullet higher. She held the tweezers with her other hand and pushed them into the hole, trying to see if they could reach the bullet yet.

After a few more minutes of maneuvering and nearly giving up, she grasped the bullet with the tweezers and pulled. The small object was removed from Sylar's body and Claire tossed it to the side.

"Please work," Claire breathed as she cradled Sylar's head, praying silently for any sign of life.

She was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as Sylar's body mended itself. Claire held him close to her while he regained consciousness.

"Claire?" Sylar finally uttered as he came to.

"Yeah," she answered, still holding his head against her chest, her fingers running through his short dark hair.

"I thought you hated me," he replied, pulling away from her and sitting up on the floor.

"I don't hate you. Why did you do it? Why would you try to kill yourself? I mean, you of all people, someone who has fought so hard to survive. How could you do that?"

Sylar raised his eyes to meet hers, he saw the glassiness that told him she'd been crying. He wondered how many tears she'd cried because of him now. He decided the number was incalculable, but more than she deserved.

"Claire, I've found the smallest reasons to kill for. Searched for things to live for. And finally found one thing I was willing to die for," Sylar told her. His voice was soft, but not without conviction. "I'd die before I'd hurt you and yet, I've already caused you so much pain. You don't deserve this. And even though I want you, I know you're right. I'm never going to change. I will always be a killer who breaks everything he touches."

"You know, when I first started falling for you, I resisted it because of who you were. After I got to know you, I realized it didn't matter to me anymore. I loved you for you, not for your actions. And though I knew it would be hard, I thought we could be okay. I was naïve and thought we'd be fine because we were in love. But you're right. This isn't going to work. We are two different people from two different worlds and we will always have the Company at our back. We just can't do it."

Sylar let out a long sigh. He knew she was right, had even started the conversation, yet it still pained him to hear speak the words. "And you deserve a real life. A family and I can't give that to you." He didn't intend to tell her about the Company's newest plan. He just knew he couldn't risk getting her pregnant with his child. If that were to happen, the Company would stop at nothing to steal their baby and that was something he couldn't put Claire through. "And I won't risk hurting you again."

Claire rubbed her throat, though it no longer hurt, the memory of his hand squeezing it was still there. "I still love you."

"I know."

Sylar softly put his palm against her cheek, savoring the last time he'd feel her skin against his hand. She leaned into him, so slowly he wasn't sure if she'd ever make it to his lips. But she did and her lips just barely touched his in a whisper of a kiss. He used his hand to pull her closer, deepening the kiss as he did but taking care to be as gentle and slow as possible.

"You have to go. Somebody would've heard the gunshot and the police are probably already on their way," Sylar told her when they parted. He stood and walked into the bedroom, fishing a small bag from his bag and tossing it to Claire.

She caught it with ease and pulled it open, revealing a mass of chips. Claire tossed the bag back to him. "I don't need this. You keep it. I'm going home to my parents."

Claire lifted herself from the floor and met Sylar in the middle. He enveloped her in his arms, relishing the feel of her head against his chest as long as he could. The smell of her hair, the feel of her skin, the sound of her laugh, he knew he'd never be able to forget any of it.

*

Sunlight steamed through the window, awaking Claire from a peaceful sleep. She stretched and let out a long yawn as she tossed the blankets aside. She had been surprised at how hard it had been to adjust at life at home again and found she missed the excitement she had felt before.

And more than that, she missed him.

But it had been two weeks since they parted ways and she didn't even know where he was. Her parents had welcomed her with open arms as parents always did and her father was overjoyed to hear about her recent breakup. Her mother had at least pretended to be sympathetic.

Claire climbed out of bed and padded into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She glanced at herself in the mirror, it still surprised her sometimes that she never changed. Never aged. One day she'd be fifty and still look fifteen. A blessing and a curse.

She let such thoughts tumble around her head as she moved the pink brush over her teeth. But suddenly, something just felt wrong. She couldn't explain it, but her stomach felt like it doing flips inside her.

Instinctively, she turned to the toilet just as she began to vomit. "Mom!" she screamed after she was done, collapsed in a pile on the floor.

Sandra raced in, clearly in a panic and found her daughter in the bathroom. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I threw up."

To any other mother, that statement would have caused the typical "oh you poor thing" reaction and a trip to the medicine cabinet. For this mother, however, it caused a panic. Claire had never thrown up in her entire life. At least, not since Noah brought her home.

"Is your ability not working?" Sandra asked.

Claire didn't respond, she simply reached up and pulled open a cabinet, feeling around until she produced a pair of scissors. She raked the blade across her arm and watched as a thin line of blood appeared. The small scratch disappeared as quickly as Claire had made it.

"Yeah, it's working so why am I sick?" Claire asked, worry in her tone and confusion on her face.

"Noah!" Sandra called out, hoping her husband might have some answers.

Noah was there in moments, gun in hand. "What's wrong?"

"Claire's sick."

Noah's brow creased in confusion. "What do you mean she's sick?"

"I threw up," Claire answered from the bathroom floor. "But I am still healing like normal."

"And we all know that Claire's ability prevents her from getting sick," Sandra added.

"Which means Claire's vomiting is being caused by something other than illness," Noah thought aloud.

Noah and Sandra turned to each other at the same moment, both having arrived at the same conclusion. Noah's eyes darted from Claire to the door and he decided on the latter as he exited the room. This was a conversation he could not be apart of.

"Claire, honey," Sandra began, wondering how she could ask this of her baby girl. "When you and Sylar…um...how should i put this...did you use protection?"

"What?" Claire asked quickly in disbelief. Her eyes widened as she realized where her mother was headed. "You mean…I'm….I'm…"

"I don't know, honey. Maybe."

"Oh god, Mom, I can't be…this can't be happening. I don't even know where he is," Claire's panicked voice turned into sobs as the weight of the situation hit her.

"Well, have you had your 'time' this month?"

Claire looked at her mother as though she from another planet. "You mean my period? No, but I don't really keep track of it. Never had the need before. Ugh."

Sandra knelt down next to her daughter and wrapped her baby in her arms. "I know, sweetie. Before we start panicking, let's head down to the store and pick up a test."

Claire choked back another sob and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Just let me dressed."

Sandra nodded and left her daughter to dress. Claire stood up and looked in the mirror once more. How could she ever be a mother? There were so many questions racing through her mind. Could she even have a child? How would her body respond? How would she explain to her child that her father was a murderer? How could she explain to teachers why she appeared the same age as her kid?

She took a deep breath as she pushed those questions to the back of her mind. Her mother was right, she needed to know that she truly was pregnant before she thought of anything else. So, she pulled clothes from her dresser and slipped them on quickly, not even bothering with makeup as she raced out the door.

Her parents were waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Sandra trying her best not to look terrified and Noah trying to hide his rage. Both were failing miserably.

Wordlessly, Claire and Sandra left their home and climbed into the car. The tenseness was almost palpable and the drive to the drug store was silent, both women wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Claire's heart raced as they pulled into the parking lot. She knew then that every moment until she saw those test results would be pure hell.

They found the aisle with the pregnancy tests and were overwhelmed by the choices. They finally decided on a digital one that displayed words instead of confusing lines and headed for the checkout.

The drive home was even more tense than the drive there, if that was possible, and Claire's stomach was in knots. So many questions and no answers. She thought sure it'd drive her insane, if it was impossible to completely lose your sanity in five minutes.

When they finally pulled up to the house, Claire turned to her mother. "What if I am? What am I going to do?"

Sandra grabbed her daughters hand and squeezed. "We will figure all of that out, honey. And you know your father and I will be there for you no matter what."

"I don't know, Mom. How is Dad going to treat the child of his worst enemy? What if he hates it just because it's Sylar's?"

"Claire, you know your father better than that. Even if it is Sylar's, it's yours too and your father will adore that child."

"What about Nathan and Peter? What will they think?" Claire knew she was near babbling now and wondered if it was possible for her to have a panic attack.

"Honey, they love you and they will love your baby, too. Do you really think Peter wouldn't forgive you? I'd bet him and Nathan will spoil the baby to death," Sandra assured her daughter. When Claire had visibly calmed down, Sandra squeezed her hand again. "Now let's go take that test before we get ahead of ourselves."

Claire nodded and they both stepped out of the car and headed straight for the bathroom. Sandra waited impatiently on Claire's bed while Claire paced nervously across her small bathroom floor.

She glanced at her watch. It was time. She grabbed the small white test from the counter and lifted it up, her heart feeling as though it would burst through her chest any second. She finally read the words in the small gray square.

Pregnant.