I remember the first time I saw him. He was quite old, but he still held himself with an erect posture and a dignity that spoke volumes. His hair was a striking combination of silver and gray, and it waved back behind his ears. Even at his age, his mouth held a sensuality when he smiled that I hadn't been expecting. It frightened me a little, in fact.

I was waiting tables in a café in New York, and he was sitting all the way in the back, sipping his coffee and staring at me. Even all the way in the back, and with me moving about all over the place and busy, I could feel his eyes on me. I was young and poor and desperate, and I kept telling myself that if he made me a proposal, I should take it. There's no shame in doing what you have to do to survive.

Finally he reached the bottom of his coffee, and he was laying a bill down on the table. I was half relieved and half disappointed, not understanding why I felt the latter.

I had to wait on another couple, and by the time I was done with them and had walked back to his table, he was gone. I swallowed and began to collect the dishes and the money. And then I felt a hand on the small of my back, a touch so soft and delicate that I nearly dropped the dishes to the ground.

He whispered in my ear, "You're beautiful. Meet me in Times Square if you want a better life."

So help me, I met him! It was dark, and the crowds were terrible, but I saw him easily. It was like he was made of pure light and my eyes could do nothing else but find him. I went to him, and he caressed my cheek. I'd been touched by a man before, men before, but his touch was like nothing else. I knew he was no ordinary man.

And in spite of his age, he was an excellent lover. The next morning, with me lying in bed still nude, him standing fully clothed above me, he told me that I was special. That I had a gift.

"I will give you everything you want: money, fame, education. And I ask only one thing in return," he told me.

"What's that?" I asked, my body sore and sensitive, and yearning for more. I would have done anything in that moment.

He reached down and cupped my face in his hands. "I want you to give me my life back. Time has stolen it from me, but you, darling, will return it to me."

And I did! My oh my, but I did! But once was not enough. Again and again, I had to do it. I had to feed him. But what choice did I have? I was in love, and I knew that no man would ever be able to love me the way he did.

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Claire knew she could be walking into a trap, but she also didn't care. She felt the same way she did months ago when she met Gabriel (then Sylar) at his lair and gave herself to him in spite of all logic and reason. There would be moments when she lost control, that she would be reckless. But she wouldn't be much of an "Indestructible Cheerleader" if she didn't. She laughed to herself. She was the stuff of legend. Perhaps hundreds of years from now, someone would tell her story.

Claire knocked on the door, but got no response. She knocked again, then looked at her watch. Yes, it was 5 on the dot. She stepped back and looked at the door. Yes, she was in the right place. Malcolm had meant that very day, she questioned herself. Finally, tired of standing in the hallway feeling like a fool, she took a deep breath and tried the door, giving a warning knock as she found it unlocked.

At first the room seemed empty, but then Claire peered around the corner and found Malcolm and Margaret sitting in chairs facing one another, him holding her hand in both of his. She looked distressed, and he was trying to comfort her. They both looked up in surprise when they saw her.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to intrude," Claire said in embarrassment.

"No, that's all right. It's my fault, I heard you knock," Malcolm said, getting up. Margaret took a deep breath and stood up as well.

"Do you want to see me now?" Claire asked, feeling unsure of everything.

"Yes! Yes, please, sit down," Malcolm indicated the chair Margaret had been sitting in.

She sat down, and an uncomfortable silence followed. She was unsure why. Then Malcolm turned to Margaret and said, "Would you excuse us, Margaret?"

She stared at him, seemingly shocked that he would ask her, his trusted partner and advisor, to leave the room. But she smiled a fake, pleasant smile and turned to leave. She looked back only once to give Claire a very cold look, the same look she gave her the first night they met.

Claire felt unnerved by that, but her discontent was soon replaced by anxiety over the fact that Malcolm was now sitting close to her in the other chair. Trying to shake it off, she smiled sadly and said, "Is she all right?"

Malcolm's perpetual smile fell. "I wish that she was. This whole thing that's happened with Carlisle and Mindy…oh, she blames herself for what he did."

"Then—then he did do it?" Claire asked softly.

Malcolm looked at her evenly. "I have no doubts, though I wish I did." He sighed. "Carlisle…raised me, you could say. I was born into wealth. The name of this restaurant—Juneberry—I named it after the home I grew up in in Boston. My great grandfather built it himself."

So I was right about the pictures, Claire thought to herself quickly.

Malcolm continued. "Carlisle was the groundskeeper for several years, and although he treated me with great love and affection, I knew there was something sinister to him. But, when I decided to leave Boston and start my own business, I felt like I had to take care of him. So I took him along with me. I hate to say this, but Margaret became almost like a caregiver for him once I became engrossed in my business. That's why she blames herself."

"You and Margaret are very close, aren't you?" Claire asked, remembering the iciness of her stare.

Malcolm seemed surprised by her question, but he nodded. "I've learned a lot from her. She's kept me sane in many situations. She's…almost like a mother to me." Claire couldn't help but notice that when he said that, he almost seemed to be trying to suppress a laugh.

"Well, I guess she's old enough," Claire said without thinking. Malcolm gave her a strange look.

He got up from his seat. "Can I get you something to drink?" Claire politely declined.

As Malcolm helped himself to a drink, Claire stared at him through narrowed eyes. She felt like there was more going on between Malcolm and Margaret than either one of them would let on. Truthfully, it was none of her business.

When Malcolm returned to his seat, he smiled flirtatiously at her and asked, "What about you and…I'm sorry, what's his name?"

"Gabriel," Claire said in such a flat manner that she was sure he'd heard the anger in her voice. "Our relationship is…complicated."

"The best ones always are," he noted, sipping his drink.

Claire looked away. She didn't come here to discuss her relationship with Gabriel. She came here for answers.

"Does talking about him always make you this uncomfortable?" Malcolm asked.

Claire laughed as lightly as she could and said, "Yes. Always."

Malcolm leaned a little closer to her. "He has a dark past, doesn't he?"

Claire felt herself get cold, and goosebumps rise on her skin. "Yes. How did you know?"

Malcolm sat back again. "I could see it in his eyes. I've become quite good at seeing into people."

"A part of business?"

Malcolm paused for a moment. "Yes. Business." He smiled again. "Gabriel frightens you sometimes."

"It's more of aggravation these days."

"It's because you two are different. You want to live in the world. He wants to live above it."

Claire smiled in surprise. "That's a good way of putting it. I hadn't thought of it that way before."

Much to Claire's surprise, Malcolm took her hand in his, the way he'd taken Margaret's before. "You and I, on the other hand, are very much alike. We see the beauty in the world's pleasures." He began stroking her hand with his thumb. It felt wonderful, but Claire forced herself to break away.

"Malcolm…you don't know me. You don't know what I can do," she told him. She got out of the chair and walked away.

He followed her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You believe that no one can understand you. You feel that even now, even with Gabriel there, you are alone. But you don't have to be." He turned her around. "I can see into you. You are so much more than…this." He ran his hands along the sides of her arms, then pulled her closer to him. Before Claire knew what was happening, her lips were pressed against his.

She almost felt lost in herself, but she broke the kiss and said, "I can't. I can't do this." She pushed herself away from him.

Malcolm sighed, as if in frustration about the circumventing of a conquest. "You don't trust me, do you?"

Claire turned to him. "I haven't survived by trusting everyone I meet," she answered coldly.

He laughed wryly. "I understand that. It takes more than sweet words and a kiss to win the heart of Claire Bennet. Your boyfriend should know."

He walked to his desk and sat down, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together as if to negotiate a business deal. "What would it take for me to win you away from him?"

Claire scoffed in surprise. "I'm not a commodity to be bartered," she told him indignantly.

Malcolm sighed. "There are still things I need to tell you, I know. But if you give me a chance, I will leave nothing uncovered. In return, I can give you wealth, fame…love," he said with his most charming smile.

Claire smiled disbelievingly. "That's not enough to make me happy."

"And the freedom to live the life you want," Malcolm added. When Claire didn't answer right away, he got up from his seat and put an arm around her shoulders, walking her to the door.

"Think about it," he told her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. "This has my home address. If you decide to take my offer, come see me here. Juneberry will be closed for the rest of the week because of what's happened."

Claire walked out of the office and continued down the hall, listening only for the sound of the door closing behind her.

She returned to the hotel to find Gabriel outside, leaning against the side of the building, smoking a cigarette and staring thoughtfully into space.

She felt a knot of dread in her stomach when she saw him, but it was replaced by confusion when she saw him taking inhaling the smoke, making the lit end of the stick burn brighter with the intake of oxygen.

"I didn't know you smoked," was the only thing Claire could think to ask him first.

He shrugged and put it out. "One of the security guards gave it to me. Told me that I looked 'tense' and that it would help calm my nerves. Always worked for him, he said."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You don't seem like the type to do something like that."

He looked at her with complete unconcern. "Well, maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do, Claire," he said quietly.

Before she could answer, he began to walk away. When he had gotten a few feet, he stopped and turned around. "By the way, I know you were curious about the drawings I did. I left one for you that you might find interesting." With that, he continued walking towards the setting sun.

Claire felt like she had just been slapped. Her whole body felt cold and in pain for some reason. Slowly she turned and went to their room. After she had closed the door behind her and took off her shoes, she walked over to the bed, where a folded piece of paper lay on her pillow. Cautiously, she unfolded it. It was a pencil sketch of two people, a man and a woman. The man had his hands on the woman's arms, and he was dipping his head down for a kiss. The man appeared to have dark curly hair, the girl had shoulder length blonde hair.

Claire gasped. He had seen.