"Okay, let's try this again," Sylar said patiently, seemingly somewhere between desperation and amusement. "When I start pedaling, you jump enough to sit on the handlebars. I'll try to help you with telekinesis and, uh, we'll make it work."
They were back on the driveway after Sylar had dragged his bicycle out of the garage. He'd strapped his duffle bag to his back and Claire was clutching her bag in her hands. They'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to figure out how two people could successfully ride one bike and it was finally starting to make sense.
"Uhhh," Claire sighed tiredly, it was half past twelve at noon and the heat was really killing her. "Alright, let's do it," she said determinedly. At first she'd seen his plan as simply mad, but since his old crappy bike had no carrier in the back and the crossbar was in an impossible angle, she'd agreed it was the only realistic way.
"Okay… one, two, three and jump," Sylar dictated as he kicked the bike into motion and started pedaling. Claire managed to hop on the right time and balance herself on the junction of the handlebars, with Sylar's help no doubt. There was a critical moment but she managed not to fall off and she would have probably shouted out in delight if she hadn't been so occupied with holding on to dear life.
Sylar quickened the pace, awkwardly looking past Claire who was literally sitting in his view. It was like driving a car with her sitting on the hood, only the actual sitting space was considerably skimpier.
The bike jumped dangerously on the uneven country road and made Claire suck in a sharp breath every time they rode through a particularly steep hole. Her legs were dangling in a weird position and she was trying to hold on to her bag with one hand and to the handlebar with the other.
They made it all the way down the long driveway, Claire's shouts such as "slow down!" and "we're going to crash!" dying down after the initial shock. When Sylar steered the bike left to the main road, however, their balance faltered and Claire had no choice but to jump off her already shaky position with a startled yelp. Sylar hit the brakes thereafter and they became to a halt once again.
"That was pretty good," he said excitedly, running his fingers through his hair.
"Yeah," she agreed hopefully, "but that was like what? 600 feet? We need to go, uh, how far?"
"Only three miles. That's how far my nearest neighbor lives," he repeated his earlier words, staring down the empty road.
Claire wiped her brow with the back of her hand. "And when we get there… what then?"
"We can borrow the neighbor kid's bike. She owes me that much for helping her with her math homework last month," he spoke as if it had been the most normal thing in the world. Well, it would have been if told by someone else. That was probably why Claire couldn't stop laughing though.
"What?" Sylar asked with a dopey smile on his face. "I'm a good neighbor! What's so surprising about that? It's pretty easy when there's only like three-four houses in the five mile radius. Anyway, a second bike would definitely speed things up and if we're really lucky and Mrs. Colter is at home, she could drive us to town."
Five minutes later they were riding along the road again. It was far easier to get going once they'd succeeded in it once already. Also the road they'd turn onto was wider, paved and thankfully deserted. Claire could even relax a little and enjoy their surroundings since Sylar was the one who had to do all the pedaling.
She still snorted in amusement every now and then. There had certainly been several funny occurrences in the past 24 hours and for some reason they just kept popping up in her head and making her giggle uncontrollably.
"Oh, c'mon Claire," Sylar broke finally, "Can you stop laughing maybe? It's hard to keep the bike on the road when you're shaking with laughter."
"Okay, sorry," she promised, pulling herself together.
They kept going in silence for a while but admiring the view gets boring pretty fast when you move as slowly as they were.
"So," she started teasingly. "Is there a Mr. Colter?"
"Yes," he said sharply, immediately detecting her undertone. "He's a drunk and she works often double shifts, so I've kept an eye on the kid a few times. And before you ask, no, I don't have anyone. Do you?" He panted slightly after his monologue and Claire fought the urge to turn around to see his face.
She had never really stopped to think about Sylar's personal life but since this assignment had sort of drawn her into his life in general, she couldn't help but wonder. That had been her impromptu yet subtle way to bring it up. Or perhaps not that subtle… but she had her answer, hadn't she? Guess it would be stupid to not answer his counter-inquiry now.
"West Rosen," she replied dutifully. "He works for the Company too, so maybe you've seen him."
"Um, I don't remember working with him," he said after a short pause, sounding deep in thought.
Claire was lost in thought too. She hadn't quite forgotten the encounter they'd shared in a Stanton Hotel suite the day Nathan had died nor the things he had said, though she hadn't spared a thought on that fabled day for years. Only in her dreams, perhaps, or nightmares rather. But now, in hindsight, it felt as if the man in that suite had been someone else, definitely not the same man who had cooked her breakfast this morning. And after his "reformation", he'd never even attempted to lay a finger on her. How can one person change so much?
Claire could feel his eyes on the back of her head.
"No, West's in the Communications department, not an agent," Claire said absent-mindedly after she realized he was likely expecting her to specify.
"Doesn't have the stomach for it?"
"I wouldn't say that," Claire stammered.
"One of us or one of them?" he continued his interrogation casually, making Claire regret she'd brought up the subject in the first place.
"He can fly. And he's registered with a permit to use his ability in full… unlike somebody else, obviously, which makes him kind of perfect for assignments that require meeting face-to-face."
"I suppose," he said with finality that clearly signaled the end of that conversation topic.
Claire was aware that he was firmly against the whole registration process of evolved humans, especially the chipping part. Nothing quite like it, then a tracking device lodged in your forearm, to make you feel like a criminal. She had dug up hers as soon as it was planted and disappeared from the sight of general public. West, though, had kept his since it was the only way he could still fly around and he didn't really have anything to hide as he worked for the Communications department, the one completely legitimate part of the Company.
Almost ten minutes passed without either of them uttering a word. It was a comfortable silence, though, or at least not an uncomfortable one.
"How much longer before we're there?" Claire asked, knowing perfectly well she sounded like a spoiled brat. She was tired and sweaty and would have killed for a glass of water. Figuratively speaking, of course.
"Not much," he said, breathing more heavily than before. "Even in this tempo 20 minutes tops, I'd say."
Claire closed her eyes to the bright sunlight. "So what do people do on road trips?" she thought aloud.
"From what I know, they play word games and sing annoying songs," he provided. "But I think we should have a car to qualify as an all-American road trip."
"I think you're right, Sylar," she agreed lazily.
"Gabriel," he corrected automatically as if it had been a grammatical error. "Car radio would be welcome right about now, I'll admit though."
Claire nodded, her eyes still closed. Before she could stop herself, she began singing. "On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair…" she hummed, tapping her fingers against the handlebar.
Sylar chuckled as she kept murmuring the song. She wasn't very good but decent enough to carry a tune. When she reached the chorus he suddenly joined in, bellowing the words so loudly, Claire dropped her bag and they had to stop, both shaking with laughter.
"Look, we're almost there," Sylar pointed at a white one-storey building at the end of the road. Claire had barely noticed they'd turned off the main road.
They walked the rest of the way, Sylar pushing the bike along the road.
As they got closer, Claire could see the white color had flaked off in time but otherwise the house seemed rather neatly kept. It had a garage attached to the main building and a few tall oak trees scattered around the front yard to cast pleasant shade.
Sylar climbed up to the porch. "No serial-killer-jokes… in fact, don't mention abilities at all," he warned Claire quickly before he knocked on the door. Moments later she heard footsteps from inside and the door opened revealing a young girl with muddy brown hair. She must have been about 11 or 12, wearing a plain tee-shirt, jeans and a look of utter surprise.
"Mr. Gray?" she asked, her eyes slowly shifting from Sylar to Claire.
"Hello, Jenny," he said politely. "This is-" he gestured Claire "-my, um, colleague Claire Bennet."
"Oh," was all she managed and then "Come in, please," after a short pause.
Jenny led them to a modest kitchen, scurrying about to pour them some water.
"I take your mother isn't at home?" Sylar started.
"No," she said, taking out two glasses.
"Ah, anyway, the reason we're here is because Claire's car broke down and I thought we might borrow your bike to get to town."
Jenny turned around and Claire wondered how one person could look so surprised all the time. But then again she probably wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box hence the need for help with math assignments.
"But I don't have a bike," she squeaked apologetically.
It was the second time that day Claire literally felt her jaw drop. She turned to Sylar, only to discover he looked absolutely dumb-stuck with his mouth hanging open.
"What?" he gaped. "I was so sure she had one," he whispered to Claire, still stunned.
"Seriously, is this some twisted chapter of 'The misadventures of an ex-serial killer and…" she hissed quietly enough for Jenny not to hear her.
"…and a grumpy cheerleader?" he japed half-heartedly as Jenny set a glass of water in front of him and handed another one to Claire.
"Maybe my dad could give you a lift?" Jenny suggested scratching her head. When a door falls shut, a window opens up, indeed.
The two guests gulped down their water and the three of them headed to the living room. Claire noted that Sylar didn't look nearly as enthusiastic as she did. Soon she discovered the reason.
Mr. Colter was stretched out on the couch, a beer bottle resting on his stomach, watching TV. Had his eyes not moved from the screen to measure them up, Claire might have thought he was dead… or sleeping.
He was probably in mid-thirties, round-faced and bald-headed with small beady eyes. Not a kind man, Claire could tell in an instant.
"Dad, Mr. Gr-" Jenny started only to be interrupted by his father instantly.
"I heard, honey. As you can see I'm a little busy here, so you can lead our guests out now."
Jenny looked at them helplessly, shrugging, as if to say "I tried, sorry".
"Oh, how sweet it would be to have Parkman's ability right about now," Sylar murmured to Claire, his fists clenched. Though, she wouldn't admit it aloud, gosh, was he right. Mr. Colter was clearly an ass and not only to them but probably to his daughter as well, even if he expressed his thoughts in a nice voice.
"You heard me," Mr. Colter continued in his southern drawl, eyes fixed on the TV again. "I don't care if you whip out a wand and vanish into thin air like Harry fuckin' Potter-" he laughed so hard, he started coughing "-get going."
"You wanna see a magic trick?" Sylar said through his teeth, sneering in a way that threatened to bring up some unpleasant memories for Claire. And reminded her he could still look pretty damn intimidating when he wanted to.
Mr. Colter turned his watery eyes on him suspiciously. Claire expected Sylar to send him flying across the room, pinning him to a wall, or maybe use some other god-awful ability on him but instead he snatched up the beer bottle that still stood on Colter's belly and threw it out of the open window.
Their generous host jumped off the couch like someone had bitten him.
"It magically disappeared," Sylar said with mock surprise. "Now that you're out of beer and need to go to the store anyway, I'm sure you won't mind giving us a ride."
At first Mr. Colter looked as if he might go berserk but then, against all odds, he burst into laughter.
Ten minutes later he reversed his wreck of a car out of the garage while Sylar wheeled his bicycle in, promising to come and get it once he's back from his "business trip".
Claire asked Jenny if she could make an urgent call to her employer since they had a land-line telephone (one that Sylar, no doubt, had ripped out from his house). Jenny led her to the phone torturing her with questions about watches on the way since she supposed to be Sylar's "colleague". Thankfully Claire had become rather good at dodging bothersome subjects.
"Hello, it's Bennet," Claire spoke in her formal tone, when the call was answered.
"Bennet, are you alright? We've been alerted that you may be in trouble after communication was lost."
"I'm fine, so call off the dogs. I have the target and we'll be in NY by tonight," she answered, scanning the corridor to be sure Jenny wasn't eavesdropping.
After she was done, Claire said goodbye to the girl and climbed to the backseat beside Sylar since the passenger seat was occupied by a crate of empty beer bottles.
As soon as she closed the door, Mr. Colter sped away, waving to his daughter who sat on the porch waving back to them.
Soon enough Claire found herself clutching the car seat. Mr. Colter's driving style was not exactly safe as more than once the car strayed to oncoming traffic. Fortunately the main road was still mostly deserted. Still fidgeting with the car radio and lighting a cigarette while driving 100 miles per hour - not so reassuring.
"I've never been happier I can't die," Claire whispered to Sylar who answered her with a nod and a dashing smile.