Author's Note: Here it is, the end to the story. I apologize for how short it's been, but it accomplished what I wanted to accomplish, no need to inane details. I'm currently plotting a longer fic, possibly with an Original Character, plus all of our other lovely Heroes. Keep on the look out for that.

Disclaimer: I, obviously, do not own Heroes. It was created by Tom Kring, the mind behind Crossing Jordan. It is owned (I assume) by him, and NBC Universal Television Studio. Word.

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The knife came closer and closer to Simone's flesh. It was moving slowly, as if the man was hesitating. Simone was trying to fight it. Her emotions were building up: worry, anxiety, and sadness. Her eyes closed and she could feel traces of hers falling down, but her hand moved closer and closer still. She thought back to the briefcase. It was moved, she knew it had. And she had moved it… with her mind. She had to believe it, she had to believe that she could do it. She could stop this guy. Tightening her eyes shut, she focused all of her concentration on something—anything—coming over to help her. She felt her hand brush against her bicep. The blade tickled her skin, the tip grinding closer and closer.

'I can do it…' she thought. But it was no use, she gave up. She opened her eyes soon enough to see the man stepping away from her, he seemed ready to leave. Another tear, another inch closer to her. She thought of Peter, how she had left him like that in the rain, now she was the crazy one. She thought of Isaac, leaving him like that. She felt horrible. She betrayed him. "Isaac…" she whispered.

She then fell to the ground, the knife still in her hand. The cloaked man straggled backwards, she looks up to see him fall down, crashing onto the floor. A few meters away from him was her briefcase. She had done it again. She got to her knees and looked over at him. He looked like he was knocked out. As she tried to stand up she let out a shriek. Underneath, her, on the floor, was blood. The knife was on the floor, she had dropped it after she fell, but not before it sliced open a gash in her neck. Holding her hand against the wound she tried to make it to the kitchen. There was a phone in there.

Simone opened her eyes and all she could see around her was a white room. She was propped up by pillows on a bed. She looked to her left, a sharp pain went down the side of her neck and saw an empty bed next to her, and a small tray with water and some food on it.

"Doctor told me to tell you not to turn your head, much… You severed something, don't remember what it was."

It took her a minute to register who's voice it was, but when she did, she straightened herself back up and turned her eyes to the right of her. "Isaac…"

"Hey," he said. He looked cleaned up, dressed up. He got up from the seat and bent over her, giving her an affectionate peck on the cheek, even though he knew full well they were "broken up".

"What am I—how did you?" she asked, unable to really bring together any thought. She was exhausted. "How long have I been out?"

"A few hours… You cut yourself in your apartment. I came as soon as I heard, I… It was my fault."

Simone's eyes narrowed, as she watched the man sit back down. As nice as he looked, he seemed uncomfortable. She smiled as lightly as she could and gently turned her head in his direction. "It wasn't your fault, it was--"

"No, Simone… it was. I've had a picture of what happened for weeks. I didn't… I didn't want to tell you. It's all my fault, I shouldn't have…"

"Issac—Isaac, I didn't try to kill myself."

He smiled at her and pulled his chair closer. He moved his hand onto hers, which were neatly placed on her waist. "I know."

"That's not it. Isaac… I can move things with my mind."

He started laughing, didn't give her a chance to finish. "And you think I'm insane…" he muttered with a grin, and reached over, kissing her again. This time, she returned the kiss.

'Oh well,' she thought, closing her eyes. 'We'll get through insanity together.'