Claire could almost hear Sylar's crazed voice calling after her, even though she was now several blocks from the Ryan Avenue. She was glad she had brought a jacket; walking on the streets with a bloodstained shirt was sure to attract attention. However, the dark red fluid was beginning to seep through the jacket; she couldn't hide it for too much longer.
There was a clothing store not too far away, which was about to close. Claire darted into the store, not caring what she could find. She grabbed a short black t-shirt, paid the clerk, and went back on the street, looking around with terror to see if Sylar was around. Much to her relief, she didn't see him. She then ran into a coffee shop a few doors down from the clothing store, darted into the bathroom and changed her shirt, leaving her bloody pink sweater in the trash. After she was done, she took a quick look at herself in the mirror. Aside from looking tired and afraid, no one would ever believe she had just been choked, thrown against a wall, and stabbed through the chest with a knife.
She now headed towards the bus depot. She checked the schedules and tried to come up with a reasonable place to go. She decided, finally, to go to Ridgemont, which was one state over in Oregon. It was close enough that she could find her way back or give her father directions to find her, and far enough that Sylar might not think to look there.
The bus doors opened with a whoosh of air. Slowly Claire boarded the bus and sat down, leaning her head against the window rail. She felt very tired all of a sudden. There was no one sitting next to her, and she was about to move her bag from between her feet to that particular seat when Peter materialized there, sitting next to her. He turned to her with the most angry look on his face that she had ever seen.
"Peter!," Claire exclaimed, startled.
"Surprised to see me, aren't you?" Peter said in a snarky manner. "What the hell are you doing?"
Claire's eyes filled with tears automatically. "I need to go," she said. "I'm only hurting the people I love by staying here."
"You're running from what you've done," Peter said. "I saw you and Sylar together."
Claire felt like she had been struck across the face. "You…you saw?" she whispered.
Peter leaned forward. "Yes. How did that happen, Claire? Please tell me Sylar has some power of mind control."
Claire leaned back in her seat and shook her head. "I wish it was as simple as that, Peter. I know, I know! Every bit of logic in me says that what I did was wrong, but…"
"But?"
"I'm attracted to him. In the worst way. And when I was with him, I felt like—I felt that…I don't know, that I was seeing more of him than we thought possible."
"You fucked him and now you think he's a great guy?"
"I didn't say that!" Claire was practically yelling through her tears. A couple of their fellow passengers were staring. Self-conscious, Claire lowered her voice. "I know what he's done. But I feel that maybe…maybe there's the chance…that he could change. For the better."
Peter groaned. "Claire, he's killed ten people, that we know of! Without mercy, or remorse! He's had his chance to change! He needs to die!"
"But he didn't kill me, doesn't that show he's changed? And there was a man with a special power he told me about. He was tempted, but he didn't do it!"
Peter sighed and took her face in his hands. "Claire, you're young. You've been fooled. Please. Come with me. I'll take you to the airport and put you on a plane to Paris. You'll meet my mother there. That way, you'll be safe, your family will be safe…and you'll never have to see Sylar again. Please, just for once, do what I tell you?"
Claire looked at Peter. He loved her. Like a sister, she was sure. If things could have been different…but they weren't. But he did love her, and all he wanted was to keep her safe. How could she defy him? And he was right—she could be wrong about Sylar. He might turn on her at any moment. So, reluctantly, she nodded.
Peter drew her to him and hugged her. Once she was safely on the plane, he decided, he was going to find Sylar and murder that lying, manipulative, sadistic bastard.
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As soon as he knew she was gone, Sylar threw his clothes on and practically flew out of the house. How could she leave him like that? Didn't she know it would kill him if she did? Well, he was going to get her back.
Stalking down the street, Sylar could hear that voice in his head again, saying, You're a killer, Gabriel. Claire doesn't want a killer. She wants a boy scout, like Peter Petrelli.
"No! She does want me! She does!" Sylar yelled out loud, much to the alarm of his fellow pedestrians.
He stopped short in the middle of the road, frantically trying to think of where she might be. Then it dawned on him: there was a good chance she wouldn't go home, because she'd know he'd look for her there. Claire might try to leave the state, maybe even the country. The airport. It wasn't too far away. He turned in the opposite direction and ran.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
"Ok. Thanks, Peter," Noah said, ending the call with his daughter's uncle. He shut his cell phone and sat down on a bench in the park, rubbing his eyes. He now had to call Sandra and give her the good news that, yes, Claire was all right, but Peter was taking her to Paris to be with her grandmother, for an undetermined amount of time. He sighed deeply. This was so much easier when he had the power to wipe his wife's memories. He was able to spare her so much heartache.
"Noah!" called a voice. It was Hikaro Nakamura. The Japanese businessman came and sat on the bench next to him.
"What do you want?" Noah asked testily.
"Why, to see how you are, my friend," Nakamura told him. "I see that you didn't take my advice and stay out of Claire's affairs. Peter Petrelli can be convincing, I know. What with his righteous words and his impassioned beliefs. But, in the end, it happened just as I had seen it."
"What happened?" Noah asked, almost afraid to know.
Nakamura chuckled. "I'm a bit of an artist. And I decided to sketch it out for you."
With that, he handed Noah a drawing done roughly in pencil on a sheet of paper. Noah looked at it with wide eyes. There, was Claire, unmistakably, with her forehead pressed against that of a man who could be no one else but Sylar. They had their arms around one another. They weren't happy, but they were intimate.
"You…can see the future? Like Isaac Mendez could?" Noah asked him.
Nakamura smiled. "No. Not quite. You see, Isaac, and now Sylar, see the future. I, however, see the present."
Noah snorted in disdain. "Some power. We can all see the present. You don't need powers for that."
"Ah, you don't understand, my friend," Nakamura chided. "I see all moments of that present at once. I know what is going on all over the world at a particular moment in time. Normal people can only experience what is happening to them. But I can experience what is happening to anyone. I have only to think about it."
"That's where your son got his power," Noah deduced.
Nakamura shrugged. "From me, and from his mother. Noah," he began, turning to face his old friend, "do you remember the day I gave Claire to you?"
Noah smiled nostalgically. "Of course. You put a tiny infant in my arms and I was scared to death."
"And do you remember what I told you afterwards?"
Noah's smile fell. "That one day I'd have to let her go."
Nakamura nodded. "Yes, my friend. I'm sure you thought I meant you'd have to let her go to the company, but what I meant was to her destiny. Right now, at this very moment, Claire is about to make a choice that will decide the course of the rest of her life. And only she can make it. She has gotten all she could from you; you and your wife raised her to be good. Now it is time for you to take your wife and your son, and move on with your life."
Noah sighed. "So you're telling me to abandon her?"
Nakamura smiled, and clapped his old friend's shoulder. "No. I'm telling you to let her go."
CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC
Sylar stalked his way through the airport, desperately trying to pick up sounds that might lead him to his Claire. But there was so much interference: the loudspeakers, hundreds of people talking at once, the sounds of the cars and the planes. It was enough to give him headaches like when he first took the power from Dale.
Dale…one of the many people he'd killed. She never did him any harm; she just fixed cars and listened to rap music. But she was special and he killed her.
You're a murderer, Gabriel, the voice sang in his ears. You'll always be one.
Sylar shook his head to rid himself of the voice and kept looking. His eyes stopped once he caught a glimpse of a head of blonde hair. His telescopically gifted eyes centered on it and focused. Yes! There she was!
She was holding the bag she had when they met on the street, and she was speaking to a woman behind the desk, who handed her a ticket. She smiled and thanked the woman, but he could see that her eyes were sad, like they usually were.
"Oh," he said to himself in awe, smiling. He was so close. He was going to have her now.
But then, someone else came into the picture that turned his smile into a grimace of disgust. It was the pretty-boy cubscout, Peter Petrelli, his hands on her shoulders, whispering in her ear. No doubt she'd told him everything, and he was now determined to get her as far away from Sylar as possible. Sylar's fists clenched, and began to radiate heat and light, but he noticed it in time and calmed himself down. He had planned to kill Petrelli right then and there, but that would be no good. Claire would see, and he'd lose her. No; he would let her board the plane, and he'd find out where it was headed, so that eventually he could meet up with her there.
Then he'd track Petrelli down and kill him. The little goon would be out of his hair forever, and besides, once he killed him, he wouldn't have to kill anymore. All he'd have to do is be among people with powers, and he'd automatically have them too. He'd dispose of the body thoroughly, so no one (especially Claire) would find out what happened to him. Yes; that was the best plan.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Nearly a mile away, on the other side of the airport, Peter gave his niece a last hug.
"Call me as soon as you get there," he told her.
Claire smiled. "I will. And tell my dad I'll call him too. Thank you, Peter."
"Hey," Peter said, cupping her face in his hands. "You've saved my life, over and over again now. It's the least I could do."
Claire smiled again, and, waving, walked through the gate to the plane.
Peter sighed as the last trace of her was gone through the ramp. He'd kept her safe. But, he wouldn't feel secure until he was sure her plane was up in the air and headed to Paris.
He went over to the courtesy desk and asked if there was anywhere that he could watch the planes taking off that was private. The agent told him that there was the waiting area for the mile-high club members only. He smiled and asked where it happened to be, just for future reference. She pointed him in the right direction.
Once he was away from sight, he became invisible and walked carefully to the room. It was dark and empty. But from the huge glass windows, Peter could see all the planes in the lot. He would sit down and wait to see Claire's plane, the American Airlines, take off.
"Must be a slow night," Peter said out loud to himself.
"That's what I thought too," said a voice from the darkness. Peter turned around, startled. A figure emerged from the darkness and flicked its wrist. Instantly Peter was thrown across the room and smashed against a row of chairs.
Sylar smiled. "Hello, Petrelli."
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Claire found her seat on the plane and sat down, greeting the large red-haired woman who was seated next to her at the window. Evidently the woman took Claire's "hello" to be an invitation for chit-chat.
"Going to New York too, dear?" the lady asked in a Southern drawl.
Claire, who really didn't feel like talking at this point, but still felt the need to be polite, smiled and shook her head. "To Paris," she said simply.
"Oh! My my! I always wanted to go there myself! You ever been before?"
"No."
"Oh, well then! This should be a treat! Business or pleasure?" the lady pressed.
Claire internally rolled her eyes but replied as sweetly as she could. "I guess you could say pleasure. I'm trying to avoid some drama here."
"Oh honey, I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes you just have no choice but to run from your problems."
Until then Claire had her eyes closed, hoping the woman would think she was tired and get a clue, but now she opened them and looked at her seatmate. "Run?" she asked.
"Well, yeah, honey! Why deal with all the "drama" as you put it, when someone else can do it for you? Make your life as easy as you can, is what I always say."
Claire's eyes widened. She was leaving her problems behind! And they were problems only she could fix! Her mind returned to the picture that Sylar had painted of them together, and then to what Mr. Nakamura had said: Make passion your weapon. She finally got it. It was never her job to kill Sylar; it was to bring him back from the wrong way. Her passion wasn't sex; it was her goodness, her determination to do good in this world. She realized now that she could never kill Sylar; but she could change him. That was the power she could have over him. It all made sense now!
Her seatmate brought her back to reality. "You ok, hon? You look like you just had a million things run through your mind just now!"
Claire looked at her seatmate and shrugged. "I did. Now I know I have to go." She grabbed her bag from under her seat and squeezed herself out of the aisle.
"Go? But honey, you just got here!" her seatmate called after her.
Claire flew through the aisles of the plane and made it to the entrance just as the flight attendant was about to close the door. Apologizing for her rash decision, she leapt onto the ramp and ran back to the gate.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Peter, groaning, collected himself from the chairs to face Sylar. The tall murderer remained where he stood.
"You afraid, Petrelli?" Sylar taunted.
"Not at all," Peter replied, and with a flick of his wrist send Sylar sprawling through the air and against the wall. "I'm glad you found me. Now I can make you pay for what you did to Claire."
At the mention of her name Sylar's eyes lightened slightly. "I did nothing to her," Sylar hissed, and used his radioactive powers to send a flame of energy across the room to burn Peter.
Peter screamed in agony, but his reddened flesh quickly began to heal itself, turning back to its original olive hue. Eyes burning with anger, he made himself invisible and lunged toward Sylar, landing a perfect left and then right hook on his unwitting face.
"You did nothing, huh?" a disembodied voice said. Sylar looked around frantically to find it. "She's only 18, and you fucked her like she knew what she was doing! It's bad enough that you're a killer; did you have to add molestation to the list as well?"
Sylar's hearing told him the voice was coming from up above him. With a point of his finger, he aimed at the voice and pointed down, and hoped that telekinesis would work even if he couldn't see the object. A dull heavy thud and a groan told him, joyfully, that it did.
"What's going on in here?" a voice called from the door. Peter and Sylar both looked up to see a guard standing there. Peter materialized involuntarily, which shocked the guard, but Sylar pointed his finger at the man and sent him flying out of the room and into the hallway.
After a frantic search for Peter, Claire was nearing the members only lounge when she saw the guard get thrown into the corridor, frightening a number of passersby. Claire looked into the room and saw two figures moving about combatively. Peter and Sylar. She knew she had to do something, and when she looked down, she saw that the guard's gun had fallen out of its holster and slid several feet away with the impact. Quickly she ran to it and picked it up, and was about to the enter the room when the injured guard said, "Stop, girl! You'll get killed if you go in there!"
Claire turned back and smiled. "Maybe. But I'll make sure no one else gets hurt." Then she went into the room and closed the door behind her.
Claire pointed the gun at Sylar and shouted, "Enough! Stop it!"
Peter and Sylar looked at Claire, then at each other. But Sylar was the faster. He sent Peter flying to the wall and pinned him there. Peter screamed and tried to free himself, but Sylar had more experience using the power than he.
"I have to kill him, Claire," Sylar said determinedly. "Once I kill him, I'll have all the powers I need. I'll be done."
"No, you won't," Claire said. "The way you're going, you'll never have enough. You have to stop here. It has to end here," she took a step toward him, but he backed away.
"I have to be special," Sylar growled. "I deserve these powers. I should have yours too! But-"
"But what? Why haven't you killed me yet?" Claire asked him, hope in her eyes.
"Because," Sylar said with a sidelook. "Because I'm weak. But I kill him," Sylar said, pointing to Peter, who was beginning to look like he was losing air, "and I'll be strong again."
Claire's heart fell. What could she do? Then she had a thought. A dangerous thought.
"Well," Claire said, now pointing the gun away from Sylar and to her own head, "there's only one thing left for me to do. Let Peter go or I'll blow my brains out. And you, better than anyone else, know how this works. It's all in the brain. I pull the trigger and I don't ever come back."
In spite of his own suffering, Peter's eyes widened in terror for his niece. What the hell was she doing?
Sylar was terrified too, but he tried to maintain an apathetic tone. "You're not going to kill yourself, Claire," he said calmly. "You love your life."
"And I love Peter too," Claire said. "And if killing myself means that it will give Peter a chance to escape you, then I'll do it. If he lives, part of me lives on, too. That's one thing you still haven't learned, Sylar. You're not really alive until you put someone else's life before yours."
Sylar's mind whirled with a mass of thoughts. The easiest thing to do would be to release Peter, so that Claire would take that gun away from her head. But then what? Spare them both? He needed Peter in order to get what he had wanted all this time. He could pretend to release Peter, so Claire would take the gun away, and then quickly kill him, but Claire would try to stop him and he'd either hurt her again, or she'd hate him, even more than she already did. Then the voice inside his head spoke again.
Why are you even losing time on this, Gabriel? What does it matter to you if an 18 year old girl kills herself? You have Petrelli, get on with it and kill him!
"Shut up!" Sylar yelled out, holding his head with one hand put keeping the other trained on Peter so he wouldn't escape.
Claire was beginning to lose confidence. She couldn't stand here forever, holding this gun to her head while Peter was suffering. Something had to be done. Even with the cold metal barrel placed against her temple, Claire had to smile. Maybe this was what she was meant to do, all along. If she killed herself, Sylar would be distracted long enough for Peter to get free and stop him. And maybe her death would turn Sylar. There were so many "maybes." But, in that moment, that was all she had.
She looked at Peter with love in her eyes, love that he returned whole heartedly, despite his agony. She would put his life before hers, he who was her rescuer, her protector, her brother in spirit.
She felt a tear fall. "Goodbye," she said, and pulled the trigger.
