LATE JUNE 2547

He took me home after that, after I begged to be punished and felt as if my heart would break. We didn't speak on the flight to New York. He cradled me in his arms the entire way, jaw clenched and refusing to look at me. I felt so ashamed, so confused. How could things have gone so terribly wrong in such a short amount of time? I had been so sure I had been right, so positive that this time I was justified in hating him and had enough fuel to do so for the rest of my life. And then… and then he'd done just as he always had. He had surprised me, turned my world upside down, and made me his.

Why was I so selfish? Why couldn't I focus on something outside of myself for even a second? Not even motherhood had cured me of my narcissism.

I didn't delude myself into thinking I had never been the victim. God and anyone else sick enough to direct my life knew that what Sylar had done to me, what he'd torn me from and molded me into and the way he had done it. But I'd gotten past all of that , and had managed to build from the remnants of my person, a life. It was not a normal life, and I was beginning to think that no matter how much masquerading I did, it never would be.

Twenty plus years with Danielle and Gabriel—and it had been for nothing. My husband, the one who had become the foundation of my world, had gone on a few long road trips, gotten kidnapped by some sort of African tribe, and I had left. I, who had worked harder than anyone to make our life normal, had let my old insecurities destroy it all in a few months.

I really was a faithless bitch.

And now, back in our home in Manhattan, Gabriel seems determined to forget it all.

And so today, I am going to offer myself to him. I have stripped naked and am standing in the living-room. I've brought out all of his favorite tools and laid them on the coffee table. I've tied up my hair to keep it from interfering, and I've even pierced a few unmentionable places in hopes of enticing him.

But he hasn't come home yet, he's meeting with a few of his generals somewhere in the city. So I stand stiffly on the carpet, shifting my weight from foot to foot every now and again when I become uncomfortable.

He doesn't arrive for several hours, but I don't begrudge him. I feel like a penitent, suffering for my sins and for forgiveness.

I hear him before I see him. He lands on the porch, pauses for a moment and sighs. The front door unlocks and he steps into the room. Light floods in around him. He looks like an angel enveloped in warmth. If only he'd feel warm towards me.

"Claire," his voice is soft, hoarse. The door shuts behind him and I can see him more clearly. He looks so tired and worn. In all my hundreds of years I've only seen him this way once… just after I lost the baby.

"Gabriel," I say. I try to sound sultry. "I thought you might want to de-stress," I say, "You always liked to do that after diplomatic meetings before."

"This isn't before, Claire," he snaps.

I jump. He sounds so harsh, and for a moment I feel hopeful. Maybe he'll snap and take this sadness out on my body. I can take it.

"Christ," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

"Gabriel—"

"Please put these things away," he says softly before making his way through the room and up towards the bedroom.

I try to stem the flow of tears before they come, but I guess I'm not as strong as I thought I was, because they flow freely down my face, making my vision blurry as I stow the things away and pull my robe on. I leave the piercings in. Penitence.

How did we get to this place? How did I break us? How did I break him? Why, God why, is my husband in pain? My husband who is strong, domineering, sadistic, and passionate.

My husband who is fragile.

I of all people should have known. I who have been hurt more times than anyone could count. I should have known. I should have known there was no outrunning him, not when he loved me so intensely. Not when I needed him to be complete. Not when running could break him into thousands of little irreparable pieces.

He is right. He cannot give me normalcy. But is normalcy enough? Is a normal life without him worth it? I tried it with Bill. It was empty. It was false. There was no love there, no pleasure and pain. No passion.

What have I done?

I've thrown everything that meant anything to me away. I let my imbalances, my stupid fucking complexes destroy my life.

And now I have to fix it. No matter what. I have to fix this. I have to fix us.

Because without him… without him I don't know how to live. I don't know how to breathe. I don't know how to be myself when he's not near me. And he hasn't been near me since we came home, not emotionally and not physically when he could help it.

He's been polite but dispassionate. We haven't talked about what happened.

And I feel so goddamned lost, so helpless.

"Oh Gabriel," I sigh, sinking down to my knees by the couch and letting my face tilt upwards toward the ceiling. He's there, above the plaster and the wood, sleeping? Ignoring me.

Trying to forget.

And I pray, facing the only God I've ever known and wondering if he even bothers to listen anymore.

Please, God, let me fix this. Let me fix us. Please.

A/N: Just a reminder that the end is nigh. I think there's something like ten posts left. We are at a stopping point in our writing where it makes sense to stop... we may decide to write an epilogue or one shots surrounding the series in the future. We'll ask what you think more once you read the finale. Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)

--Mel and Chuck