Oh, divine readers! ;) You make my day happy with your reviews. :D Keep them up! The song within this chapter is entitled "So Close" from "Enchanted." Enjoy!

VVVVVVVVVVVV

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Our feet hit the ground in the middle of the woods. Breathing hard, vapor surrounded my head, lit only by a distant streetlight.

"Where are we?" I asked Sylar. Our feet crunched on pine-needles as we turned.

"Just a little way outside of the town just south of ours," he answered, sweeping his gaze all around us. "You saw—the cars stopped inside the city limits somewhere."

"Do you have some sort of plan?" I wondered.

"Flynt isn't going far," Sylar said. "He doesn't have what he wants. We have to figure out a way to get him out in the open." He looked at me. "If we play our cards right, we won't have to chase him. He'll come to us. We just have to find a way for him to contact us—but in a way that doesn't corner us."

"Wait—you want to negotiate?" I turned on him. Sylar gave a dark grin.

"I've found that pretending to negotiate is the best way to find out information, and to create opportunities. Especially if Peter and Emma are close by."

"Okay…" I had caught my breath, and now glanced toward the road. "So…what do you suggest?"

"I suggest we find someplace with a lot of people. A diner, a bar—"

"No."

He held up a hand.

"Okay, not a bar. A dance club or something. Something open late on a Friday night."

My gut tightened. But he was right, and I couldn't think of anything better. And Peter and Emma were tied up in the back of some government agent's car.

"Okay," I sighed. "Lead the way."

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

We walked right into town. I hadn't expected that approach. But Sylar led on, and I kept up with him. We hit a sidewalk, and walked beneath the bright lights of the main street.

Down the street, at the corner, I noticed about two-dozen parked cars in front of a taller, well-lit brick building that bore a marquee.

"What does that say?" I asked, squinting.

"City Ballroom Dance," Sylar replied. Then he glanced down at me, and slowed his long strides to match mine. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I had brought my jacket.

"He's watching us," Sylar muttered.

"How do you know?" I whispered, fighting the temptation to look around.

"Practice."

My mouth tightened, and I closed my hands into fists.

"Are you afraid?" he asked. I hesitated.

"I dunno." I bluffed weakly.

"Don't be," he said, his voice low. "I'll protect you."

I looked up at his profile—the contrasts of light and dark beneath the streetlamps—remembering how he looked when the blue lightning had danced across his features. But now, I saw something hiding behind his eyes. Something secret, resigned—sad. I kept my voice quiet, and spoke the truth, no matter how strange it felt.

"I know you will."

His subdued gaze fell onto mine. I didn't look away. His steps slowed, and he stopped. I stopped too. We were about a block away from the dance hall, and I could hear people talking and laughing both inside and outside of the building. Sylar held out his right arm to me, solemn and quiet.

"Shall we?"

I paused. But pressure built all around me—the pressure of the memory of Peter and Emma's panicked voices. So I nodded once, and took his arm.

He rested his left hand over mine, then guiding me straight toward the hall as if we were out for a night on the town. He felt warm next to me, and, shoving my reservations aside, I walked closer to him.

We passed a group of people outside the hall on the sidewalk who stood visiting. Sylar smiled broadly at them when they looked over.

"Hi, how are ya?" he greeted them. Their replies were equally friendly. Sylar then stepped forward, grabbed the door and opened it for me. Trying to act natural, I stepped over the threshold.

"I don't think I'm dressed nicely enough for this…" I winced, realizing I was wearing my casual blue shirt and loose black pants, and boot shoes that were not meant for this sort of thing.

"You're beautiful," Sylar said lightly. "Go on. I'm behind you."

We stepped into the loud, fairly well-lit, large room. On one side, there was a table where they were selling drinks and food. There were several people of all ages sitting in folding chairs around the edges of the room, but the bulk of them were in the middle, dancing. I halted.

"Well…" I let out a breath. "This cover is going to be hard."

"Why?" Sylar asked.

I gestured to the dancers.

"I can't waltz."

Sylar came around beside me and assessed the room.

"We can't stay around the edges," he said. "It's dark in the corners. Flynt either won't see us or he'll rob us of the publicity we need by cornering us unnoticed. The ideal place for him to approach us would be out among the dancers."

My stomach turned over.

"But…"

Sylar faced me and inclined his head.

"May I have the honor?" He held out his hand. I froze. The music stopped, people clapped and laughed, and then the lights lowered and they brought up some bluish, softer lights, and quieter music began. Sylar raised his eyebrows, and his smile was gentle.

I took his hand. He led me to the floor.

We took our place among the dancers, and I glanced at all of them. My heart was thundering.

This is stupid, Claire, I hissed to myself. There are FBI agents after you and Peter and Emma and you're nervous about dancing?

"Now, I know this will be a new thing for you," Sylar said quietly. "But you're going to have to let me lead."

I lifted my face and met his eyes. He gazed down at me, slipped his right hand around my waist, and took up my right hand with his left. My shaky left hand found his shoulder.

For a moment, we stood that way, silent. And then, with slight pressure against my back, he moved me into step with the other dancers, and the song began.

"You're in my arms

And all the world is gone

The music playing on

For only two

So close together

And when I'm with you

So close to feeling alive…"

The words closed my throat, and the nearness of his body to mine made my cheeks hot. I stepped on his foot. I grimaced, glanced downward and pulled back, only to step on his foot again.

"Crap!" I hissed, my heartbeat now alternating between fluttering and hammering.

"Claire." He pulled us to a stop. The other dancers whirled around us.

"Claire, look at me."

"I can't. I have to watch my feet," I protested.

"No you don't."

I raised my eyes. His captured mine. He shook his head.

"All you have to do is look at me, and let me guide you." The corner of his mouth lifted. "Don't worry. I'll steer."

I swallowed hard. He stepped closer to me, wrapping his arm more firmly around me. I could almost feel his heartbeat. He took a breath.

"Here we go." And he leaned, and led me into the dance again.

And I finally let go. And guess what?

I looked into his face. He looked into mine. And we actually danced.

"So close to reaching that famous happy end

Almost believing this one's not pretend

Now you're beside me, and look how far we've come

So far

We are so close…"

The music built and swelled, sweeping and triumphant and strong. Sylar spun me out, and I twirled, never letting go of his hand. He pulled me in again, hard, and we spun together—a whirl of light and feeling. My feet almost left the ground. His nose was an inch from mine, and the two of us were miles away from anyone else. I wondered what Sylar was seeing in the music using Emma's ability. If it looked anything like the way it made me feel, he would be blinded.

And then, the music quieted, and our feet slowed. I felt his breath catch, and his left hand gripped mine uncertainly.

"Oh how could I face the faceless days

If I should lose you now?"

He restored his grasp, tightened his jaw, and, in sync with the other dancers, he spun us once more.

"We're so close

To reaching that famous happy end

Almost believing this one's not pretend

Let's go on dreaming

For we know we are

So close

So close, and still

So far…"

The song tapered away. We slowed to a halt. The other dancers cheered and clapped, and congratulated each other. Sylar and I merely stood there, not breathing, our eyes locked.

I felt a finger tap my shoulder. I jumped, and faced the newcomer.

It was a tall, middle-aged blonde man with cool blue eyes and a carven face, and dressed in a suit. He smiled at me.

"Could I have the next dance?"

Sylar's hand tensed on my waist. And with his unspoken signal, I snapped back to reality. My blood ran cold as death. Sylar had been right.

It was Aaron Flynt.

I took a step back, pressing to Sylar's chest.

"I hope you don't mind," Flynt said, addressing Sylar.

"You're allowed one dance with the nice gentleman," Sylar said, and his deep voice through his teeth suddenly sounded like a wolf. "I'll be watching."

And then Sylar's warmth vanished from behind me. He had withdrawn. I clenched my jaw. Flynt smiled again, but the expression did not reach his wintery eyes. Without another word, he stepped in and took hold of me, and began leading me into the next dance with the others. I fought to keep in rhythm with him, stunned at how difficult it suddenly became.

"Claire Bennet," he said, his voice mellow and even, his eyes steadily on mine. "Just the woman I've been wanting to talk to."

"What do you want?" I demanded. His eyebrows went up.

"Easy, honey—I'll tell you what I don't want. I don't want to hurt you. Or your friends."

I frowned as he spun us.

"You kidnapped Peter and Emma."

"And they're fine, I promise you. It's all part of the plan."

"What plan?" I snapped. He just smirked. My eyes flashed.

"To get Sylar?"

He glanced down a moment.

"You'll be happy to know that no real warrant has been issued for your arrest," he said. "No one who has any brains believes that you, Peter Petrelli or your friend Emma are co-conspirators with a serial killer." His gaze burned into me. "But we wanted to drive you together, force all of you to work together, to become some semblance of Sylar's inner circle. Give him a sense of dominion, of security. Then, we counted on the fact that his obvious obsession with you would cause him to slip up, to make an error of judgment." Flynt smiled minutely. "And he has. He's let you in. He trusts you." Flynt pulled me closer, and into the center of the dancers. "That's exactly what we wanted."

"What about kidnapping Peter and Emma?" I reminded him fiercely. He shrugged.

"We wanted to get your attention. And I wanted to make sure you were willing to cooperate."

I looked at him sideways.

"Cooperate?"

"Yes. If you do what we ask, you, Peter and Emma will go free, and all of your names will be cleared."

My eyes narrowed.

"And if I don't?"

His hand gripped mine so hard it would have hurt. His expression lost all softness.

"I'll kill Peter and Emma myself."

My mouth fell open.

"But you just said—"

"I would prefer not to, but have no qualms about it," he stated. "In my mind, any freak of nature has the potential to do what Sylar did to my niece." His voice lowered to a deadly tone. "To me, it would be justice."

My blood still ran cold, and my chest turned to lead. I sucked in a breath that was hard to get.

"What are your terms?"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Gabriel stood off to the side, his arms still warm from when he had held her. His eyes followed her every movement between the flow of dancers as Flynt led her around the room. Gabriel's mind was quiet, his breathing even.

He didn't have to hear what they were saying to know what was about to happen. He had known since Hiro had said Flynt was chasing them. He had realized the inevitable conclusion to this story.

And for once, he was not going to fight inevitability.

Because this time, it was right.

Gabriel folded his arms tightly over his chest, in an attempt to subdue the feeling that it was swelling up inside him. Yes, he knew what was right, and what he had to do.

But that did not mean that it was easy to stand motionless and silent while his heart—for the true and very first time—was breaking.

TO BE CONTINUED