"This isn't going to go the way you think it will, Claire."
Claire glanced over at Gabriel from where she stood on the sidewalk outside a very suburban household in a very suburban neighborhood. He was clearly feeling entirely out of place. His shoulders were hunched, his hair falling in front of his eyes as he glanced up at the house as though it were a living being that would come to life and swallow him whole.
"Just let me do the talking," she said. "You stay out here. Invisible, preferably, so no one calls the cops. When it's safe for you to come in, I'll let you know."
Truth be told, Claire wasn't feeling as much confidence as she put on. If Molly was anything like she herself had been 20 years ago regarding Gabriel, then this conversation would be over before it even began. Still, she knew that she had to try. There was no other way to find the man who had killed Peter.
She knew that Micah was a good backup plan. After all, he could easily trace where the video had been uploaded. But if the man in the video was half as smart as he put on, he would see that coming, and the location would lead nowhere. She had still reached out to Micah before they left and asked him to find out what he could, but Molly was their best bet, and she knew that.
Claire hoped Molly knew that, too.
She felt a strange twinge of guilt leaving Gabriel outside by himself. He looked so lost and unsure; it wasn't a look she'd seen on his face very often. He had always had a sense of confidence about him that Claire envied, though she'd never admit it to him. Knowing what she knew now, she realized that much of that confidence was bravado put on as Sylar to cover any insecurities, but ever since the hospital, that confidence seemed more well-earned, more natural. It was admirable, but as she left him behind and walked up to the front door of the house, it seemed to be gone.
She let out a long breath, wiping the sweat from her palms on the sides of her jeans before lifting a hand and ringing the doorbell. There was a moment of silence, stretching on just long enough that Claire began to wonder if Molly was even home, before the door swung open and a woman who appeared to be in her early thirties stood on the other side.
Claire didn't recognize her at first, but it was clear from the look on the woman's face that she recognized her. Her eyes widened slightly as she gripped the doorframe tightly, her knuckles turning white.
Molly had grown up. Claire knew this, of course, but seeing it was somehow different. She remembered the young girl who lived with Matt Parkman, her thin brown hair and wide, frightened eyes. Now, a woman stood before her, looking even older than Claire herself. The thought made her stomach turn slightly as she was once again reminded of her immortality, the fact that she was stuck in time while everyone around her aged and grew and lived.
She quickly pushed the thought away, locking it down tightly in the back of her mind.
"Hello, Molly," she said finally, and the woman in front of her narrowed her eyes.
"Where is she?" Molly demanded. Claire stiffened slightly, opening her mouth to reply, but Molly cut her off before she could speak.
"Don't lie to me, Claire," she said. "I know that you two are working together. I know why you're here. Where is he?"
Claire pressed her lips together, feeling all of her well-laid plans fall apart around her. She didn't get a chance to respond before Gabriel was at her side, suddenly visible again. Molly jumped, the blood rushing from her face so quickly that Claire reached out in case she fell.
"Don't touch me," Molly snapped, though whether the words were directed at Claire or Gabriel, Claire wasn't quite sure. She quickly moved her hands back, glancing around to make sure that they weren't drawing any attention.
"Please, Molly," she said, feeling the desperation lacing her words even as she tried to remain in control. "I need your help. If you know why I'm here, then you know what happened to Peter. He deserves justice, regardless of what happened in the past."
Claire watched as Molly's face went from fear to rage quickly, before her jaw went slack and she opened her door.
"You might as well come in," she said finally. Claire didn't wait for her to change her mind before stepping inside, glancing around the entryway as she did so. There were no photographs on the wall, not even of Matt. The walls were blank.
Claire glanced up as Gabriel stepped through the door, awkwardly shuffling on the entry mat while Molly closed the door behind them.
"Take your shoes off," she said flatly, before turning into the living room.
Claire slid off her shoes, shooting Gabriel a sidelong glance before following Molly into the living room. There was little in the way of decoration there either. There was a single piece of art on the wall, a painting of a meadow filled with flowers, though entirely in black and white. There was a small tan couch and a black armchair, but otherwise the room was empty. Claire sat down carefully on the couch, on the farther end from Molly, while Gabriel stood in the entryway.
"Sit." Molly's voice left little room for argument, and Claire watched as Gabriel sank slowly into the black armchair, his long legs awkwardly stretched in front of him.
"...Thank you for agreeing to talk to us," Claire said. She looked over at Molly, searching for the words she had practiced all the way here, but found them dying on her lips at the look on the woman's face. She no longer looked afraid or angry; she didn't look like anything. She barely looked alive. Claire glanced around the room again, taking in the lack of decoration or photographs, and the absolute absence of color. The stark silence of the room was almost overwhelming. It took Claire a moment to realize that she didn't even hear the ticking of a clock.
"You showed up at my house," Molly said simply. "Not much of a choice there."
She wasn't even looking at Claire. Her eyes were focused on Gabriel, who sat like a bug under a magnifying glass. Claire felt another stab of pity deep in her chest, knowing even as she felt it that Gabriel would hate her for it. He still held his pride, if nothing else.
"Then you saw the video." Molly nodded slowly, still looking at Gabriel.
"Yes," she said. "I saw it."
It was only then that she tore her eyes away from Gabriel, and Claire felt them on her. The intensity was almost overwhelming, but she forced herself not to look away.
"Peter was in touch with you a few years ago," Claire said. "That's how I found you. But why were you talking with him? I thought you wanted nothing to do with him, because of…" she trailed off, hating how far off track this meeting had gotten already.
"Because of him?" Molly gestured towards Gabriel with her head, her jaw clenched tightly. "That's right. Peter knew that I wanted nothing to do with him so long as he was involved, but he still liked to check on me. Make sure I was doing alright." She frowned, looking away from Claire again. "I told him after the last time to lose my address. I guess he didn't."
Claire found herself at a loss for words. She folded her hands together tightly in her lap, willing herself to find the words she had practiced, to convince her, somehow, that this was the right thing to do, but all she could see was the way that Molly was looking at Gabriel, like he was something both revolting and terrifying.
"We—I need to find the man responsible," Claire said. She knew that distracting herself from Gabriel at this point was pointless, but still hoped that the word 'we' wasn't enough to turn Molly against her. "Micah is trying to trace the video, but he'll have already moved, I'm sure. We need your power."
"And he's here to take it, is that it?" Molly's voice was harsh but also resigned, as though she had been waiting for this day for years. Claire felt a wave of revulsion as she realized that this was what Molly had been waiting for: the Boogeyman, come back to cut her head open and steal her powers.
"No," Gabriel said. Claire had almost forgotten he was there, he'd been so silent. She looked at him now, silently willing him to be careful with his words.
"No?" Molly asked, raising her eyebrows at him. "That's what you do, though, isn't it? Steal powers? Why else would you be here?"
Claire shook her head quickly.
"That's not it," she began. "It's just–"
"No," Molly interrupted her, her voice sharp. "Let him speak."
Gabriel looked again like a deer caught in the headlights. All bravado and confidence was gone, replaced by a man who was unsure of himself in every way.
"I told you this was a bad idea," Gabriel said, looking at Claire. She opened her mouth to respond when Molly spoke again.
"Don't talk over me like I'm not here!" Her voice was harsh, almost frantic. She had her hands pressed against the armrest of the couch, but Claire could see her arms shaking, her lips trembling. Suddenly Claire could see the child again, hidden beneath the exterior of the adult she hadn't recognized.
"I want to hear from him why you're here," Molly continued, gripping the armrest so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"...I don't know," Gabriel said. "Claire seemed to think she could convince you to help us. I didn't think it would be that easy."
Molly smirked slightly, shaking her head.
"No," she said. "It wouldn't be that easy, would it?" She paused, seeming to collect herself before continuing. "You remember what you did to me?" There was silence. Claire again noticed the absoluteness of it, the absence of anything in the house. It felt like a tomb.
"Yes," Gabriel said, finally meeting her eyes.
"Say it."
Gabriel frowned, breaking eye contact for a moment. "I–"
"Look at me."
Claire stiffened, feeling her muscles contract, ready for any movement. The tension was so thick she felt as though she was choking every time she took a breath.
Gabriel slowly turned his gaze back to Molly, as though the movement hurt him.
"I killed your parents," he said finally. Molly stared at him, as though waiting for more. Gabriel sighed, looking as though the words pained him. "I cut their heads open and took out their brains. I tried to kill you."
Molly stared at him for a few minutes, as though searching for something in his gaze. She finally shook her head.
"You ruined my life," she said finally. "I can't hold down a job. I can't have a relationship. I constantly see your face when I close my eyes. I see my parents, dead at the kitchen table. Matt tried to send me to therapy, but that didn't work. He comes over when he can, but I haven't seen him in a few years now." She shook her head, gesturing widely at the house around her.
"I can't keep anything red in my house because it reminds me of blood. Hell, I can't even own a damn clock because it reminds me of you," she spat. "And now you're here, sitting in my living room, asking for my help?"
Claire was silent. She suddenly saw herself in Molly, in more ways than she found comforting. This could easily have been her life, had things gone even slightly differently. They were both victims of Sylar, just at different moments of their lives. And had Claire not had the experiences she'd had, at the hospital and with Peter, she would be just like Molly, angry and paranoid and afraid.
"...I know an apology doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry," he said softly, and Molly laughed, the sound ragged and broken.
"You're right," she said. "It doesn't mean anything."
Claire waited in silence for a few moments before she spoke again.
"...Regardless of what happened before, Peter is dead," she said. "I know that you respected him, if nothing else. Please help me stop anyone else from dying."
Molly was silent for so long that Claire wondered if they should just leave, before she finally spoke.
"I already found him." Molly stood up, grabbing a crumpled piece of paper from the coffee table between them. She thrust the paper into Claire's hands, her fingers shaking. "That's their base. I saw it. They're all there, and they don't know that I saw them."
Claire carefully took the paper from Molly, smoothing it out on her lap.
"...Thank you, Molly."
Molly shook her head, looking at Gabriel as she spoke.
"Don't ever contact me again."
–
Claire sat at Gabriel's kitchen table, listening to the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the living room. She had spent the last three hours contacting everyone she could, setting up a meeting for the next day. They had to move quickly if they wanted to find the man who had killed Peter before he moved locations.
She had told Gabriel that she could handle leading this movement, but she was beginning to doubt herself. This was Peter's place; he was the charismatic leader, the one who was able to rally people to his cause with powerful words. She was meant to follow him, to protect him, and if she couldn't protect him, what part of her thought she could replace him?
So far a lot of people had been willing to meet with her, but she didn't know what to say to them. How could she convince them to risk their lives?
Claire hadn't seen Gabriel since they got back from Colorado. He hadn't said a word as they left Molly's home, ignoring Claire's questions and retreating to his bedroom. Claire hadn't seen the inside of that room since she'd essentially moved in with him a few weeks ago. That was another line she wouldn't cross.
She'd seen a part of him that he clearly didn't want to share. There was no way to describe the look on his face when they came back; if she had to use one word, it would be broken. It wasn't a word she'd ever associated with someone as strong as him, and the thought was disturbing.
She sighed, staring at the half-empty pot of coffee on the counter that had long since gone cold. This domestic game she was playing was confusing to her. Sometimes she tried to imagine what her family would say if they knew she was living with Sylar. Her father would have broken the door down and dragged her out by her hair, but not before putting a bullet in the back of Gabriel's head for good measure. Somehow the thought brought a sad smile to her face. Her father's memory was bittersweet now, despite the guilt she still felt over his passing. Twenty years had taken the edge off, at least enough that she could remember him without screaming or crying. This was not a period of her life that he would ever have understood in the past; and to be honest, she wasn't sure if she understood it now, either.
Something was changing inside of her. She couldn't pinpoint it, didn't want to, but she felt a fierce protectiveness over Gabriel that simply hadn't been there before. When she saw the look on his face after they came back from Colorado, she had somehow felt anger at Molly. Even she could recognize how twisted that was; after all, she was also a victim of Sylar's murderous rages. Both of her parents were dead by his hands, too.
But she could no longer reconcile the man who had haunted her dreams with the one sitting in the other room.
The longer she stared at the papers, the more her vision began to blur. Claire slowly pushed herself to her feet, knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep that night. A shower might help clear her mind. She stepped out of the kitchen, making her way down the hallway and towards the bathroom.
The hallway was dark, the only light shining from beneath the bedroom door. It was cracked slightly, spilling light into the darkened hallway. Claire paused near the doorway, listening. She could only hear her own breathing.
She frowned, feeling her feet move before she could convince herself this was a bad idea. She pushed slowly on the door, catching her first glimpse of Gabriel's bedroom.
It was sparsely furnished. There was a single dark oak bookshelf in the corner, packed to its brim. A dark bedside table sat in the corner with a lamp and a glass of water on its surface. A few pieces of art lined the walls, one of a darkened library with maroon books lining its shelves and one of a park at night, illuminated by a streetlamp. Somehow the room was exactly what she expected.
A large king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, covered in black sheets that were twisted around a large figure, sprawled out at an awkward angle. Claire paused in the doorway, waiting to see if he would move. When he didn't, she found herself stepping in further, glancing around and feeling an innate sense of wrongness at having crossed a border she was not meant to cross.
Her mind told her to turn around, to close the door and end this chapter before it began, but still she moved further into the room. Her eyes fell on a single photograph on the dresser near the doorway. It was framed and standing upright. She took a step closer, feeling her breath hitch in her throat when she saw that it was a photograph of Gabriel and Peter.
She remembered taking that photograph. It had been a few years after the hospital, during one of the monthly dinners they had together. Peter had his arm around Gabriel's shoulders, and was in the middle of laughing at a dumb joke they had made together. They acted like brothers most of the time, something that had been difficult for Claire to accept at first, as her mind was continually drawn back to Nathan, her father, Peter's blood brother. But watching the two men together over the years had convinced her that she had made the right decision in forgiving Gabriel. Watching the two of them together made it impossible to second-guess Gabriel's redemption. Peter was an excellent judge of character, and he loved Gabriel like a brother.
Had loved. He was gone now.
Claire frowned slightly, turning away from the photograph and looking back at the bed. At some point Gabriel had sat up and was watching her, his dark eyes intense and focused. She jumped, feeling like she'd been caught doing something wrong.
"That's my favorite photo of us," he said simply. His voice was rough with sleep, his hair tousled like he'd been tossing and turning. Claire realized quickly that he wasn't wearing a shirt again, and somehow the room felt smaller.
"It's a nice one," she said quietly, turning away from him and back to the photo, avoiding his gaze.
"What are you doing in here, Claire?" he asked, and she felt a flush color her cheeks as the answer eluded her. To check on you. To make sure you're okay. The words were there, but she couldn't bring herself to speak them, to cross yet another line that she swore she never would.
"I wanted to tell you that I set up a meeting for tomorrow," she lied, though the words held some truth. She could feel his gaze on her even as she studiously avoided his eyes.
"That's a lie," he said simply, and she cursed inwardly. He hadn't used that power on her in a long time, or at least he hadn't called her out on her lies in years. She'd almost forgotten about it.
"It's not," she protested, finally turning her gaze back to him. "We're supposed to meet with at least thirty of Peter's contacts tomorrow at noon." She met his eyes, challenging him, but he shook his head.
"That's not why you're in here, though," he said, and she frowned, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room while he watched her from the bed.
"...You've been in here for a long time," she said finally, her words soft, though she knew he could hear them. "Are you okay?"
She knew as soon as she asked the question that it was a ridiculous one. Of course he wasn't okay. He'd had his past quite literally thrown in his face today, all thanks to her insistence on his coming with her.
"No." His response was simple, clipped, as though that were the end of the conversation. Claire wouldn't let it drop now; she'd promised that he would not become Sylar again, and part of her worried that if he was allowed to dwell on his own thoughts, that was where he'd end up again. The thought terrified her for a multitude of reasons.
"I'm sorry that I made you come with," she said, taking a single step closer. His eyes watched her in a way that reminded her of the way he'd looked at her years ago, like a predator watching its prey. She shook the thought away quickly.
"It doesn't matter." Gabriel shook his head. "I'm still a monster to her. That will never change." He paused. "Maybe I can never change."
Claire felt a sudden rush of anger, and she clung to it, finding it much more comfortable than whatever else was hanging between them.
"That's bullshit," she snapped, relishing the way his thick brows came together in surprise. "You think I would be anywhere near you if you hadn't changed?"
He shook his head again. "I killed her parents, Claire," he said. "I'll always be a monster to her."
"You killed my parents, too." The words were out before she could take them back, hanging heavy in the air between them. Her chest felt tight as she took another step closer to him. "I didn't forget about them, Gabriel. I still remember Nathan. I still remember Meredith. And I still remember lying on that table in my living room while you cut my head open."
She could see him flinch at her words, and her chest tightened further, until she found it hard to breathe.
"But I forgive you," she managed, her words spilling out, tumbling violently from her mouth. "I have to do it every day. Some days it's harder than others, but I do it. Peter saw the good in you, and I do, too. Don't throw that away because someone else doesn't see it."
She could feel tears pricking the corner of her eyes, though whether they were due to picturing Peter's face or something else entirely, she wasn't sure. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing them back, and when she opened them he was standing in front of her, closer than she would have liked.
She glanced down, her eyes falling on the tattoo on his arm. Her own face stared back at her, a stark reminder of what had set him on this journey of redemption. She remembered that day in her college like it was yesterday, the way he had come looking for a connection, fearing his inevitable solitude. She remembered the way his lips had felt on hers, and instead of the shame and revulsion it had brought before, she felt her stomach coil tightly.
She reached out and touched his arm, nearly jumping as her fingers made contact with his skin. He stiffened slightly but allowed her to trace her fingers over the lines of the tattoo, wondering if the expression on her face mirrored that which looked back at her. She knew even as she touched his arm that she was crossing that line she had been so afraid of, but now that she stood in front of it, all she wanted was to see what lay on the other side.
So when he leaned down and kissed her she opened her mouth under his, feeling the steady pressure of his lips, first gentle and then bruising. She made a soft sound of surprise as he bit down gently on her lower lip, pressing his body against hers until her back hit the bookshelf. She gasped into his mouth at the contact, feeling his hands on her shoulders, sliding down to her lower back. His fingertips left a trail of fire in their wake, and she realized that this is what she'd been afraid of for so long now. But now that it was happening, she felt no fear; only desire.
