Everybody knew Matt Parkman hated Sylar. Among the agents two rumors circled about how it came to be. The first of them involving a tow-truck driver named Hank and a tire iron and the second one a roaring fireplace and Parkman's wife. Both were unconfirmed, of course, but still inspired stifled giggles whenever Sylar came in for an assignment.

As Claire and Sylar walked down an empty corridor in the Company's New York facility, their steps echoing loudly, she found herself debating within her mind whether to verify the rumors or not. But in the end she simply couldn't summon the courage to bluntly ask him right before they were about to step into Matt Parkman's office.

Parkman had made quite a career in the Company during the years after the Central Park incident. Now he had been the head of Claire's department – Surveillance and Control, for over three years. Their mission was to make sure that evolved humans wouldn't inflict harm on others and contrariwise so Parkman's former career as a police officer made him a perfectly suitable man for the job.

It was way past midnight when Claire knocked on the familiar door of her superior. The lights were still on and no longer then a split second after the knock, Parkman's voice boomed through the door, "Come in, Bennet."

Sylar quirked an eyebrow at her as if to say "do we have to?". Claire answered with a firm nod before she pushed the door open and entered the modest office. The cabinet was unconventionally small for a head of a division, windowless and furnished as scantly as possible.

Matt Parkman sat behind a massive desk covered with files, reports and all other possible documents. The table lamp provided barely any light away from the desk and Parkman looked like he was about to launch an interrogation. To Claire it seemed that he looked older and more tired with every time she saw him. He wasn't the man he used to be. The years as an agent and leading a division after that had taken its toll – he was colder and meaner, better at his job but not the moral and compassionate man he'd once been.

"Alright, let's get on with it," he said in a voice deprived of any emotion after his late night guests had taken seat. "I had hoped you'd get here sooner so you could take the red-eye to Boston, but since it's so late, you'll have to go first thing in the morning." He slid a file over his large desk so Claire could pick it up.

"There're plane tickets and all the relevant information on the target, though your briefing should be sufficient enough already, agent Bennet," he explained without casting a glimpse at Sylar. "You leave at 06:45 and I expect a report no later than at noon."

Then his eyes finally shifted to the dark haired man across from him. "Bennet, I'll take it you'll manage to inform him of anything important if you haven't already…" he said with noticeable distaste, "and keep him in check, there're not many agents who are willing to work with him anymore, as legendary as he may be."

"Well, maybe you should stop calling me out here," Sylar said with a tight smile. "I'd much rather spend my time differently."

For a moment a hint of a smile appeared on Parkman's face that Claire could only interpret as the joy of having such power over the infamous ex-killer. "Since I thought you would leave immediately, no arrangements were made for accommodation," he turned to Sylar, "but you can stay at level 1, no locks, naturally. And I've heard the beds are much more comfortable there than what you're used to at level 5."

Claire had to bite her tongue not to burst into laughter. The expression on Sylar's face was absolutely murderous.

"Is that your understanding of a joke, Parkman? Because if not, you must be insane if you think-" he growled.

Before things could get out of hand, Claire interfered, "you can stay at my place, so don't sweat it. West is out of town anyway and I happen to have a big couch."

Sylar opened his mouth, still not satisfied with Parkman's behavior, but was once again intersected by Claire. "We should go now," she said, getting on her feet while sparing a side-glance to her boss to be sure he was okay with the whole outcome. "We need to get up early tomorrow."

She approached the door, Sylar obediently following her lead when Parkman spoke again. "Before you go, one more thing," his eyes were fierce as he aimed his glare at Sylar once again, "If you ever ignore the Company's call again, you're going straight back to level 5 where you belong. This is your last warning. Good night."

With those words ringing in her ears, Claire marched down the empty hallways again, his trusty sidekick on her heels. Neither of them was in the mood to talk.

They managed to exit the Company's building without encountering a soul. While heading to the parking lot, Claire noticed Tracy Strauss walking towards the facility. She was wearing her usual black business jacket and a tight pencil skirt plus carrying an impressive heap of folders.

"Agent Bennet," she said with a respectful nod, then looking up at Sylar with a smile, "and Gabriel. Haven't seen you for a while. Return of the prodigal son?"

"Well, yes, once again I've been roped into the Company's business," he said matching her smile. "I see some things haven't changed, you still run to the office in the middle of the night." Claire simply kept looking from one to another.

Tracy Strauss emitted a light laughter, "Another communications emergency." A ringing phone disturbed their conversation and Strauss awkwardly shifted the load of folders to one hand while receiving her cell phone from her purse with the other. She spared a quick glance at the screen, "Oh, this is important, I really gotta run. You might have heard that there's another demonstration in Washington in less than 12 hours and our rights need to be protected." She answered the phone while mouthing good-bye to them and started walking towards the building again.

"I didn't know you were so familiar with the ice queen," Claire said as they sat into her Company issued car. And Tracy Strauss was literally an ice queen.

"She helped me with my court case years ago," he said nonchalantly, obviously trying to avoid the subject.

"NO, wait!" Claire said with a huge smirk spreading across her face, "You and Tracy Strauss! Whoa! This is just too good!"

"What?" Sylar's head snapped up, his eyes regarding her with some caution. "Where do you take this stuff from?" he asked somewhat accusingly.

"Oh, come on, you're so busted. The moment she called you Gabriel I had you. Nobody calls you Gabriel! It just sort of sounds wrong," she explained between chuckles. "And I detect these things from half a mile away."

Sylar dragged his palm down his face seemingly willing her to shut up. "My name sounds wrong? That's your evidence? What should it be then?"

"I don't know. Lucifer?" she smiled innocently before bursting into laughter. "Okay, okay, I'm just kidding, sorry!" she muttered frantically, trying to pull herself together. She didn't even know why it was so funny to her, maybe because he tried to avoid the topic with such stubborn persistence. "So give me the details?" she asked, producing the sweetest smile she could muster.

"I'd rather have you insert a six inch steel spike into my switch-off spot," he answered with the nicest smile.

"Alright then," Claire said, starting the engine. It was more than clear that this topic was off limits. They exited the Company's parking lot, driving through the New York night.

"Wait, you said Strauss helped you with your court case? You mean the one regarding your mother's murder?" Claire inquired. "I didn't know she was a lawyer as well…"

Sylar was staring out the window. It reminded Claire a little of herself when she was in Texas. He was home again, trying to notice every alteration, making sure the place hadn't changed beyond recognition.

"She's not, but she knows the law pretty well."

"So she got the charges dropped? I mean you were guilty after all," she said warily, not wanting to upset her companion again.

"Actually the case was dropped due to lack of evidence. Apparently the key to the case – the murder weapon – was misplaced and couldn't be found in the evidence," he said his eyes still clued to the passing urban scenery. "Tracy's got a lot of connections. She knew somebody who knew somebody who had access to the evidence locker."

"Oh." He sounded a little sad so Claire decided to drop the subject.

Streets were half-empty that late at night, so they arrived at Claire's place rather quickly. She spent five minutes searching for her keys and when she finally got the door open, they threw their bags on the floor, both falling to the couch.

Claire's apartment wasn't big, but you could say it was big enough. It had a conjoint living-room and kitchen and a spacious bedroom. When Sylar seemed to prefer dark wood and antique then Claire's taste was simple – light colors and minimalistic furnishing.

"Um, I don't really have an extra blanket," Claire said, getting up to go through her cabinets.

"I'm fine, really. I'll manage," Sylar said, his head laid back and his eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Claire dropped a checkered plaid and a pillow on his lap, which made him open his eyes. "So West doesn't mind you having another guy stay overnight?" he said with thinly veiled amusement in his voice.

"He knows you're the last guy on earth he should feel threatened by," she countered carelessly, now going though her kitchen cupboards. "By the way, if you're hungry then all I have is cereal."

Sylar raised his eyebrows and Claire could easily catch his meaning – he was at least ten times more powerful than West, but then again, that was not what she'd been referring to and he knew it.

They ate cereal as Claire flipped through the file Matt Parkman had given her.

"Ready for a briefing?" she asked Sylar.

"Uh-uh," he replied his mouth full of cereal.

"Okay. Five days ago there was an explosion in the suburban area of Boston. A private residence was completely destroyed. Otherwise it wouldn't be our business, but the owner of the house-" she dragged her finger over the document until she found what she was looking for- "Corey Kenrick, happens to be on our list of people with specific genetic marker that indicates he probably has an ability. No bodies were found on the scene but no-one's seen the owner ever since. Also the cause of the explosion is undetermined but the chance of this being an accident is ruled out. So we really need to know what happened. If it was Kenrick who caused the blast, he may be dangerous. But we have information about some pretty radical movements that operate in Boston and might have been responsible."

"So we just go to the scene, I touch some stuff and that's it?" Sylar summed up light-heartedly.

"Yes," Claire sighed rolling her eyes as she took another mouthful of her already soggy cereal.

They took turns using the bathroom. Claire went first, soaking in the shower for almost thirty minutes before saying a hasty 'good night' to Sylar and retreating to her bedroom. When she finally crawled to her bed her only wish was that she wouldn't have to wake up so damn early in the morning.

She could hear the bathroom door closing and then the water running. About ten minutes later the water stopped. She heard him exiting the bathroom and… was he putting his shoes on? Was that the front door closing?

Claire jumped out of the bed, bursting into the living-room. The plaid was still on the couch, neatly folded, and Sylar was gone.

"Fuck," she muttered to herself getting dressed as quickly as she could. She ran like a bolt of lightning down the stairs and through the double doors of her apartment building, panting heavily as she stopped to scan her surroundings. The cool night air hit her in the face, leaving her breathless just for a moment. Then she spotted him walking down the street. Where the hell was he going?

At first she thought about crying after him and giving him a good scolding for taking off like that, but in the end curiosity prevailed and she decided to follow him instead.

Sylar walked with long strides, his shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets, so Claire had to almost run to keep up with him. He stopped for a moment to purchase something from a kiosk before he dove down the stairs to the subway to catch a train.

He exited in some station in Brooklyn, which left Claire gaping with puzzlement. She knew he once lived in Queens when he was still just a regular watchmaker… but Brooklyn?

She stayed behind, keeping in the shadows, as he followed Sylar along the streets of Brooklyn. He didn't go far from the subway station, 10 minutes perhaps. He came to a stop on a dimly lit street and sat down on the curb across the street from some old closed shop.

Orange light illuminated his face as he lit a cigarette, blowing a huge cloud of white smoke skywards. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" he said just loud enough for Claire to hear, gazing at the empty windows of the dark shop.

"Shouldn't you?" she said as she walked to him and sat on the curb as well.

"Do you know that we don't really need sleep? It's just a habit, but we can go without it. And I had a quick nap on the plane."

"So you don't sleep? Why?" Claire felt somewhat astonished though she kept her voice indifferent. She had tested her ability to quite some lengths – cut off her toe and gone without food, but she'd never thought about ditching sleep or that it would even be an option.

"I try not to. It's a hard habit to kick, though. But why do I do it? For the same reason you wake up covered in cold sweat in the middle of the night."

"Gosh, I'm not even gonna ask how you know about it, because it's beyond creepy, but I get your point." And she really did. Because even after all these years Claire was still haunted by nightmares. Sometimes they were about Sylar, even though she knew he was no threat to her anymore. Sometimes they were of other things, of her mom and dad, of Peter and Emma, but most often of that night in Central Park. She was haunted by what had happened to her just as much as by the consequences of her own actions. That must have been the first time Claire got actual proof that Sylar had a conscience too after all…

"Didn't know you smoked," she pointed out after a short pause, still trying to figure out why he was here in the first place.

"I don't really. I used to. It's a great distraction. Every time I used to feel like I can't do this, that I might lose it, I had a cigarette. First I must've smoked like two or three packs a day," he laughed softly, never turning his gaze from the building across the street. "And then with time less and less. But I thought I might need one tonight. It's not like it can harm my health."

"Oh." It sounded stupid. "Why did you come here? I mean I can't figure it out for the life of me."

"Really?" Claire realized it amused him. She looked around for a while before she finally got it. The writing on the dusty shop window announced: Gray & Sons.

"You own this place," Claire said a little skeptically. The shop looked like it had been deserted for a while.

"Yes. But I haven't been here for a very long time. Wow… now that I think about it, I haven't been here since 2006."

"Why?"

"Well," he started, his brow furrowed, "I guess it's sort of an altar to my former life."

"And let me guess – you hate your former life."

Sylar snorted at that and took another drag from his cigarette. "I did," he admitted, looking at the asphalt now. "I was a loser, a no-one. I hated who I was. But since then I've learned that it's better to be a nobody than a homicidal maniac."

"Who would've thought," Claire said sarcastically, but her voice was gentle. She felt like she should've been angry. He had no right to tell her about his pain, no right to make excuses for what he had done. But, as it so often seemed to be lately, there was no anger, only a tinge of sadness as she vaguely wondered what could drive a man to become such a monster.

"I wanted to be somebody else so badly," he continued, though it seemed he was talking more to himself than to her. "And now. Now I wish I could recapture what it felt to be innocent, good." He dug through his pocket fishing out a small metal object. At a closer inspection Claire noted that it was a key lying on his open palm.

"You want to go in?" she asked. He thought for a long moment before he squeezed his palm to a fist and stuffed the key back to his pocket.

"No. I just wanted to see the place again," he said as he put out the cigarette stub.

"Nostalgia, huh?"

He nodded, an odd smile dancing on his lips. "Do you want to tell me about West?" he suddenly asked out of the blue, turning to face her at last. "You haven't called her once in two days and in your apartment there were no pictures of him, I saw nothing that might belong to him."

You don't have pictures of anybody, Claire thought to herself bitterly, but he was right. "We're taking a break. A long one, I suppose, since he moved out last week," she said her voice barely audible, yet still sarcastic. That was one thing she hadn't fully admitted even to herself yet. And she had thought that Sylar seemed pathetic… pot meet kettle, indeed. Why did he always have to be so perceptive?

"Why'd you lie about it?"

"I didn't lie. You could tell, remember, genius? I just left some facts out."

They stared at each other for a while before starting to laugh.

"You see, Claire, everything changes," Sylar said, "- you, me, West, Parkman, our relationships, our motives, our desires, everybody and everything. I think that's why we look into the past, trying to find something to hold on to."

Then, without warning, he stood up and extended his arm to Claire to help her up. She accepted it and was pulled to her feet with ease. They started walking back towards the subway station and Claire found herself agreeing with Sylar – everything changes.