Chapter 11: To Pieces

The world reappeared around him, Sylar watched as the alien vessel with his Claire on board sailed overhead. There was no time to wait, to rethink the plan, everything was just as he'd left it so long ago, he could feel it through his ability, the ripples and distortions in time. It had accommodated his small indiscretion with her and the other larger ones he'd committed to the world since, snapping back like a rubber band. So that over the time the effect had been a wash in the grand scheme of things; just like always, he thought somewhat bitterly.

But right here, right now, his present self was staring at the ship, on his knees too weak, too hopeless to save her the one time she'd asked him to try, too late when he finally did.

Sylar's feet left the floor and in moments he was rising into the air chasing down the vessel. He was a shining great bulls eye and they rarely missed but he was fuelled with something new and powerful for the first time in his entire life he felt like there was something to live for... to fight for. He landed on the metal having narrowly missed the energy canons. But as the craft ascended the air started to get thin, and frost began to creep across his skin. In seconds he'd be dead, even he couldn't survive the vacuum of space.

He stalked across the metal, until he found a hatch that looked less secure than the others. Of course they hadn't really considered someone with his abilities when designing them, he assumed. He focused on the hatch and blasted it with electricity frying the internal circuits, which seemed to run off something similar to the energy based weapons, which the human race had managed to reverse engineer, but electricity seemed to knock them out well enough, at least temporarily. He yanked it open with telekinesis and dropped down inside, fully expecting to have to dodge blasts, only to find nothing but absolute silence. He frowned, before remembering the wide open hole in the hull, he flicked his wrist and the panel slid back into place, sealing with a hiss.

Sylar paused, as far as he knew, and besides Claire of course and whoever else they'd decided were potentially of more use alive to study than dead, he was probably the first person to get a good look inside one of these ships when it was fully functional... such was the dire state of the war. Quietly he made his way through circular corridors which were too low and narrow for a human being to walk comfortably upright through, so he flew, apparently there was gravity... or at least something like it, which was good because he'd always figured that human flight was more to do with gravity manipulation than having rocket propelled limbs.

There was writing on certain hatches and corridors, scrawls that much like the aliens spoken language he and the rest of the human race had failed miserably to interpret, he fared no better now. Not that it would matter, the damn bastards had never opened any sort of dialogue between their two species. They'd just shown up and started strip mining the place, collapsing cities here and there until the world was little more than a hollowed out husk. Personally he got the distinct impression that they considered the human race something akin to cattle, cattle that occasionally had stings in their tails. Which probably explained the early extermination of major populations.

Still, he wished now that he knew a little more. So far all he'd discovered about them in his extended searching, was that electricity hurt them, they didn't like high frequency sound waves and that ripping the hind brain out made them dumb as a plank, but didn't prevent them from taking a chunk out of you with the rest of their still functional body. Which even he had to admit, whilst repulsive, at least from his point of view, was probably far better in design than a human beings, there were no weak fleshy bits, most of those were concealed behind the hard exoskeleton, around which they also wore armour.

In fairness, even he had to admit Claire was as close as an expert the human race had on the damn things, having dragged the first one into HQ, very dead, but still very informative. Not to mention the copious ways she'd found to inflict pain and death to them with the minimum of effort and ammo. Which brought him back to her current predicament. HQ had warned her, warned him, hell warned her entire squad of burly marines that the damn things were out to capture not kill her now. Apparently the 'psychs' had seen some rather unpleasant things in her future if someone didn't prevent it. As he glanced around the almost cave like vessel, he considered his rather overdue rescue somewhat lame.

But the memory of her, of what it felt like to be loved by someone like her, it was still fresh in his mind and he used it now as he crept through the empty echoing walls, expecting to be vaporised or something equally final any moment. Only he wasn't, his confidence grew with every uncontested inch of ground he covered, of course he also considered that maybe he was going in circles. He stopped and glanced out one of the small portholes he took for windows and quickly looked away, pretending that he hadn't seen the image of the Earth, receding into a black sea of stars. That was a problem for later, if Claire was still alive he'd worry about escape then, if not, well then he wasn't all that bothered about escape.

After half an hour of searching and finding nothing, not even a handy 'you are here' map from back in the days of shopping malls and idiot proof instructions he was forced to close his eyes and look inward. He'd been avoiding this as a last resort, didn't want to know absolutely for sure that she was dead, but as he closed his eyes and focused on finding her, on her exact location... he found it. It was weak, almost feint, but it was there, which meant that whilst she might not be technically alive, her ability was probably keeping her tied to her body.

He stopped and turned right abruptly, landing he began stalking with purpose, feeling like the elite commando he was supposed to be.

Dead end.

Sylar frowned, and concentrated, he was certain that Claire was behind this wall, literally right behind it. Only there was no doorway, granted this whole place was like a rabbit warren, but he was sure this was supposed to be the way in. Sylar lifted his hands and began to explore the wall, he pulled his hands away quickly in mild disgust when they came away sticky, there was some sort of secreted resin all over the surface. He frowned and glanced down at his feet... he'd been so preoccupied he hadn't even noticed his boots were covered in it. Granted any obstruction the stickiness might have caused had been negated by his flying most of the way, and the fact that he really was very strong... and he'd been defaulting to that ability for a while now since Ethan.

There was nothing else for it. The moment his hand slammed through the solid material, with the force of telekinesis and his own strength, alarms began blaring. Or at least what he assumed were alarms. It wasn't a bell like a human alarm would be, instead the light level changed dramatically and also in colour, if he was looking to hide in shadows the sudden almost strobe effect wasn't going to help him. Blinking in shock he continued to pummel the wall until he could pull his way through the gap he'd created. Straightening up he got his first look at the room Claire was supposed to be in.

Sylar froze.

He wasn't sure if it was a medical facility, storage bay, prisoner cell or what; all he knew was that, what was left of Claire was floating in odd tubs of yellow gelatinous goo... several of them.

He choked back bile, he'd thought the sight of her broken and torn apart inside that Drop Cage what seemed like a lifetime ago now, would have been the worst state he'd seen her in.

He was wrong.

Sylar darted forward towards the vat that seemed to hold her head, or rather her head and spinal column, his eyes widened in horror as he realised the majority of her organs were floating in various vats, limbs in others. He pressed his hands to the glass-like material and recoiled in shock as an eye opened.

"Fuck." He managed weakly. "I'm here." he rasped, she blinked, whether it was a reflex or not he had no idea. There was no respirator inside the tank but then she had no lungs so he assumed it was some sort of oxygenated nutrient gel that was supporting the organic tissue. There was also no lid.... he examined all around the edges coming to the conclusion that it was just one big circular dome filled to the brim with goo.

"I'm going to smash it!" he yelled through glass, having no idea if her mind was even intact, or if her ears were functional. He felt rage course through him; even human beings wouldn't have done this to her, and he knew from experience that humans were capable of some truly monstrous acts. Of course no member of the human race would harm a hair on Claire's head, not now, hell you'd be hard pressed to find one that wouldn't dive needlessly in front of an energy blast for her.

Her eyes fluttered and he stopped in his downward swing, focussing on the sudden frantic action, her eyes followed him and he felt his mouth go dry. So she was still in there. He wasn't sure what was worse. The fact that she was alive, maintained by whatever this alien shit was and her ability; or if she'd been gone. He knew which was better for him, he just wasn't sure which she'd have preferred.

"What?" he gesticulated hopelessly through the glass at her, having no clue what it was she was trying to communicate. "The alarms are already blaring... or strobing, whatever the hell it is they're doing. They damn well know I'm here!" he snapped assuming that was what she was trying to warn him about. He raised his hand again and she began batting her eyelids madly at him, he frowned, as her gaze narrowed... he recognised that glare. That was her, 'take another step and your dead' glare, it hadn't lost any of its potency, even given her current state.

He hesitated arm in the air, electricity cackling before he snuffed it out. If she didn't want out of the goo then there was probably a damn good reason for it. He rested his forehead against the tank, leaning in to stare at her face. Her mouth didn't seem to be responding to commands she was giving it, it was slack, hollow, he realised she had no tongue in there, or teeth. Taking note of every trauma she'd suffered, he catalogued them all, he'd repay these bastards for every inch of her skin they'd mutilated.

"Claire." He breathed. "Jesus! Tell me what to do!" Never in all his life had he regretted sparing the life of Matt Parkman more. He would have killed the Pope himself now if he had the power of telepathy to offer him.

Slowly and deliberately Claire began to blink, dot dot dash dot. Sylar blanched, oh he knew how to read it, but he really didn't have time for her to spell out the escape plan to him. But biting down on the panic, the urge to simply smash the vat to bits he watched, taking in every flutter of long dark eyelashes. He pressed his palms to the vat when she was done, her wide eyes watching him expectantly.

The goo was suppressing her ability; but more than that it was reactive, if it was jostled too violently before it came into contact with the air it would quite literally incinerate what was left of her.

"Trust me." He barked through the glass and her eyes widened fractionally. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands to the glass more firmly, searching every arsenal in his body for what he needed. Sylar opened his mouth and screamed; the power and pitch of the frequency he emitted slammed into the glass, or whatever the hell material it was; but didn't send even a single ripple into the liquid goo. His eyes snapped open to fix on hers and he increased the intensity of it, until he found the frequency that would resonate; cracks began to appear in the material.

Long splintering, creeping cracks that shuddered with every blast from his voice. Finally he watched in relief as the liquid began to pierce through the weakest points, spraying out with violent force in to the air. Sylar closed his mouth and pressed his hands to the glass watching as the viscous liquid slowly drained from around her.

He prayed to God he'd been right, that he'd understood her rushed message. But as her head cleared the goo and it dropped below her neck, he watched in fascination as nerve and muscle began to rush along her exposed spinal column. He grinned madly, watching the whole grotesque sight of Claire quite literally being reborn before him as though it were the most beautiful sight in the world.

The last of the goo slid away and left her curled up on the bottom of the vat, skin racing over her to leave her new, golden and utterly perfect; he hardly even noticed the yellow sheen. Claire lifted her head and raised herself onto her knees.

But Sylar didn't have the chance to savour the moment, and energy blast erupted from behind him, it missed his head by a fraction of an inch, and shattering what was left of the vat, freeing Claire fully.

All the rage, every inch of damage he'd catalogued that these bastards had done to her he hurled back at the first unfortunate Roach to stick it's head through the hole. Abilities he hadn't felt the need to use in centuries tore from him with a primal scream of fury, liquefying, disintegrating, microwaving until the corridor beyond looked like a charnel house, and smelt worse.

Claire's hand came down on his shoulder and he spun on her, hand raised, only to have her twist him and redirect the blast of fire into the wall instead of her head. Breathing heavily his eyes practically ablaze he stared darkly back at her.

"They're dead." She told him with quiet anger, but there was a tremble to her voice he wasn't expecting, he wasn't sure if it was true anger or just adrenalin creeping in.

"Not dead enough." He muttered darkly, turning back to obliterate the twitching corpse of the closest.

"I'm sure there will be plenty more for you to kill." She continued, her hands grasping his own, it took him a few moments to realise she was holding them still, his whole body was shaking violently.

"It's shock." She told him quietly, "It'll pass." He glanced sidelong at her.

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" he asked in disbelief at how calm she seemed, the memories of the young Claire and this Claire crashing through his brain and trying to reconcile with what the one he was seeing.

She smirked back at him, her skin and hair still caked with hardening yellow goo, and yet somehow she still looked beautiful to him. "You always were a pussy." He glared at her, but found a smile flickering across his lips. Clearly expecting her to leap into his arms with unrestrained gratitude had been more than a little optimistic on his part.

"Are you...?" the 'alright' died on his lips at her smug look.

"Aren't I always."

"You were in pieces." Sylar managed, looking at the remaining vats that had survived the obliterated room and her organs still floating in them.

Claire chose not to answer, but he noticed she was deliberately not looking at the vats.

"Looks like HQ were right." She muttered. "And you can't say I wasn't warned." She trailed off and Sylar frowned, getting the feeling he was missing something there.

"Was that a thank you?" Sylar asked fishing for something he'd never get voluntarily.

Her eyebrows rose. "We're still..." her eyes flickered across the room and the blood slicked corridor. "Where exactly are we?"

"Roach ship." Sylar replied a little grimly. Her eyebrows rose another inch. "A Roach space ship." He amended, suddenly weary.

"Then I'd say the rescue wasn't quite over yet. Wouldn't you?" Claire pointed out darkly.

Sylar watched as she made her way through the corridor, quite deliberately stepping on as many intact skulls as she could manage even in bare feet until they cracked. It wasn't quite the reunion he'd hoped for, but it was the one he should have expected. After all for Claire nothing had changed he was still just Sylar.

He stalked after her, by the time he'd reached her she'd appropriated several energy weapons and was currently blowing apart two unfortunate Roaches that in his opinion should have played dead. Apparently Claire knew where she was going, and evidently the small compact corridors gave her no issues.

He pulled up abruptly, when she stopped in front of him, at a series of portholes that gave a view outside.

"Where the hell are we?" Claire snarled, sounding slightly unnerved at the sight before them as they stared out of the view port, but it seemed like a largely rhetorical question.

Sylar smirked, unable to resist. "Space… the final frontier." Claire shot him a look that told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn't, nor had ever been, a Trekkie and apparently wasn't in the slightest bit amused at the prospect of drifting into the blackness of deep space with him.