A.N. It's back! So sorry this took so long, you guys. This chapter is a bit more romance-oriented than the others. It also definitely has the least complex scenery: a man and a woman in a dark room, and a man and a woman in a well-lit room. It's on the short side and barely edited (I went artistic and tried to just feel what was going on between the people and type what came out of it), but I hope you like it anyway. The next chapter will have a good deal of plot-advancing meat in it, fyi.

Disclaimer: I own a grand total of nothing. Hooray! Today's quote is another one from the great Lewis Carroll.

Chapter 14: No Such Thing As Ghosts

"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, because I'm not myself, you see."

Odessa, Texas

"Look who's back," Elle said to him mockingly. But maybe he should be more flattered than provoked, since she was visiting him on only the third day of his imprisonment.

Sylar gritted his teeth and asked, "Got another needle for me, or is this a purely social visit?"

She rolled her eyes and gave him a quick zap on the forehead. "Don't cut to the chase so fast. It's no fun."

He was finding her pouts and sparks and quips decidedly not cute. Already this second term in jail was worse than the first, and Elle was not helping any. For the past three days Sylar had been sitting in the dark corner of his concrete cell imagining all the increasingly creative and violent ways he could kill Nathan Petrelli. Again.

And the straitjacket - the straightjacket was a new and unbearable experience. Although it was probably the only thing saving Elle from a certain amount of torture at the moment. That and the fact that his powers were suppressed.

"Fine," he said with a sigh, "don't help me. Don't tell me anything, don't give me anything, don't even talk to me."

"Well, somebody's in a good mood."

"Zippadee-doo-dah."

"You're such a wimp," Elle told him. "Daddy put me in solitary tons of times, so don't tell me that the big bad Sylar can't take it. At least you aren't blindfolded."

"There are no lights."

"My electrical manipulation not good enough for you?"

"When you have it and still choose to sit in the dark, then no, it's not."

"You got me there." Silence for about a minute, then: "But when I used it coming in I could tell you look pretty good in a straightjacket."

Now it was Sylar's turn to roll his eyes. "I can't believe my subconscious is making you say that. I must be even more pathetic than I previously thought."

"Hey," Elle protested. "First of all, I'm not your subconscious. And second of all, you're not that pathetic. Normally I'd let someone beat himself up if he got owned by the flying Petrelli, but I really don't think there was anything you could do about it. It's like Harry Potter. The parent's love for the kid is the only thing the bad guy can't beat."

"I'm going to ignore that last part and ask how can you prove that you're not something I'm... projecting?"

A pause. "Why don't you believe me?"

Sylar chuckled and replied in a mockingly childish tone: "There's no such thing as ghosts."

"Says the guy who talks to his dead mother when he's planning to take over the country."

"That- that was-" he didn't know what to say. He didn't think he would ever be able to explain how that happened. "Don't talk about my mother."

"Right. And you don't bring up my father."

"I don't. And that was different." Sylar was confused by her statement; had she just come to his cell looking for a fight? She insisted she wasn't his subconscious, but this felt like a dream somehow.

"Not much. You killed them both." That both murders had been the same was a ridiculous assumption, but Elle's expression was completely serious. Not that she couldn't lie convincingly, but...

All he could think to say was: "What is your problem?"

"My problem? You don't think that after you killed me and Da- my father, and you burned down my home, and you hit on Claire- on Claire - that I deserve to have some kind of beef with you? You're unbelievable!"

No, he wanted to say, what's unbelievable is that you and I are both supposed to be dead, and here we are fighting like a married couple in the dark.

Elle really did miss the humor in the situation. Sylar chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

Sylar grinned at her, "You're mad at me for hitting on Claire."

"Among other things," she said defensively.

"No, no, you're over those," he told her. "I don't need my ability to know how you tick. You're jealous."

Elle was extremely offended, or at least acted it convincingly. "I am not!"

"I think you are."

"I think your ego is sucking the oxygen out of the room."

"Elle. come on. Claire hates me. It was just- I was just having fun. Besides, you kissed Peter. And I was alive at the time, unlike you with my situation."

"How did you know I..."

Sylar shrugged. "Peter told Nathan at some point."

"Awesome."

He waited for her to say something further, but she just sat there. He wished he could see her face.

"But the point is-" Elle finally began.

"The point of what?" Sylar interrupted.

"Of this, of all that crap you did - it's that..." she trailed off, and he waited for her to speak again. "You know you're not Nathan, but you don't know who you actually are. You just- you're more than killing people. I mean, I'm not lying when I say you're special, and you know that to me killing people isn't a big deal."

"What are you trying to say?" Sylar asked, his voice cold as the cement floor.

He heard her sniff, like she had been crying, then half-laugh it off. It made him wonder once again why she was really here. "I wish I could hold your hand right now. I wish you could be Gabriel and I could just tell you it's gonna be okay."

"But it's not," he finished for her.

"Yeah."

The cell had not felt like a crypt until that silence.

Arlington, Virginia

"And you think he's really gone?" Isabel Moreno asked him.

Nathan nodded. He had just finished telling her about the trip with Claire, and couldn't help but think she was taking it amazingly well. He had reminded himself how she had accepted everything else. If everyone was like her, we wouldn't have half our problems. Then he couldn't help but think that people with abilities had been they, not we, to him not so long ago.

"Maybe not gone," Nathan corrected. "More like locked up."

"To protect Claire." She noticed his expression and added, "Of course not only to protect Claire, but that was what drove you to take action. It's not a bad thing."

"I know," he said. "Really, I know." The glass wall in the back of his mind wasn't cracking, so how could he not? This had to be the best thing that had every happened to him.

She smiled at him, and he couldn't help but reciprocate. The lamplight seemed so much warmer than usual, maybe because of what he knew he had to say. "So," Nathan began.

"So."

"There's nothing really to get therapy for anymore, I guess."

"I had a feeling you were going to say that. I just wasn't sure when," she said. "But I want you to be sure that this situation is really over, that you're not in any more danger."

"I'm not," he assured her, and it felt like the truth.

"Good," Dr. Moreno said. "Then before you go, I - I want to ask for a favor."

"A favor?"

"It's going to sound completely childish," she said, her smile becoming beautifully shy for the first time since Nathan had met her, "but I didn't want to let the chance go by."

"Doctor-"

"Isabel," she interrupted. "I'm not your therapist anymore."

"Isabel," he began again, grateful for the new lack of formality, "you're the one person I've been able to tell what's going on. How could I not grant you one favor? What is it?"

"I'd really like to fly," she said, then added, "If you don't mind. I know it's kind of ridiculous, but you don't meet a man who can do that every day."

"And I," Nathan said, "have never met anyone like you. Let's go to the roof."

A.N. So there you go. I hope you like it; I'm not sure if I do as much as the other chapters. Please review with comments, criticism, praise, suggestions, whatever. I really will try to update a few light years sooner.