A/N: Since I haven't explained this yet, this is after the fourth season, AU in that Claire didn't reveal her ability to the world.

Ava slowly re-arranged the mattress that was her bed, placing it in the corner of the room. She pulled a few of the small flames next to it, before lighting a few more, causing them to float above her, slowly flickering their way towards the ceiling.

She sighed heavily, lying down and turning on her side. A white flame burst from her fingertips, coating the floor, but never actually touching it. The white turned to black, and then to silver as a picture unfolded next to her. A night sky, dotted with stars, shining in the pale light of the moon, which was partially hidden by falling snow. The snow coated the ground, and actually moved as it fell, flake by flake, to the world below.

She sighed and turned around on her other side. She should be exhausted. She'd escaped from The Company, built up a new, temporary life, and met a few people who could turn on her at any moment. It was enough to wear anyone out.

But the fact remained; she hadn't been able to sleep for hours. She sighed and threw her hands out. A pale blue flame exploded in front of her, brilliantly bright, then died down to another of the small lights. It floated down to the floor, taking its place among the rest of the colorful army that stood guard over her.

She sighed, creating another one, a soft orange, followed by an earthy brown.

The brown grew into a tree, exploding with dark green leaves, dotted with purple fruit. It shrunk slowly, giving way to a large expanse of grass, and a large bush of wild roses, which weaved in and out of each other in blues, yellows, whites and the darkest red possible. The entire picture was composed of nothing but fire, but each feature was distinctly recognizable.

And then a child ran across the field. Her black hair flew out behind her as she ran, laughing silently. She looked over her shoulder, her bright amber eyes sparkling.

Ava laughed softly, a sad little sound that barely managed to escape her lips. In fact, it seemed more of a stifled sob than an actual laugh.

The child beckoned to someone who had yet to arrive in the picture, and then kept running, heading towards the tree. She giggled without making a sound, climbing up to the highest branch she could reach, looking as though she'd take off at any second, like she could grow wings and fly away.

She kept beckoning, and Ava found her hand moving towards her. The child smiled, a brilliant smile that seemed to light up the room more than any of Ava's flames ever could.

And then she fell.

Ava gasped as the little girl kept falling, down, down, down, into the grass below. She sprung to her feet, unharmed, but the tree was changing, into a creature born of nightmares. Its branches grew into long, sharp-looking fingers, which reached down and lifted the child back into the air.

The little girl screamed silently, and Ava could do nothing but watch helplessly as she was lifted, higher and higher into the sky above.

The picture grew dark, each color taking on an entirely different hue as night fell above it. There was no moon, no silver light to change it to beauty. No, it was all smoke and ash, and the little girl was thrown back to the ground carelessly, to be taken away by masked figures. She screamed wordlessly, soundlessly. Her lips formed a word; a word that Ava knew was a name. More importantly, she knew the name. She was familiar with the name.

The child's eyes locked on hers as she cried again, though no sound came from her. 'Ava!'

Ava chocked. "No!" she breathed.

But the child was lost, and the flames turned black.

Ava snapped back into the world around her. Disgusted, she demolished the picture, tearing into it as easily as one would tear through paper, each of the pieces vanishing into thin air.

She curled up into a ball. Even awake, her nightmares still haunted her. She was beginning to think that there really was no escape, that this was all there ever was; the dreams and the reality that life was worse than they could ever be.

She wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her cheek on her knees.

It was then that the knock came at her door. She jumped, and a few of the flames died in her shock. She relit one quickly, a strange mahogany that she kept in her hand as she walked.

She opened the door to reveal Dawn, whose face looked downright terrifying in the shadows created by the flame in Ava's palm. She quickly changed its color to a bright yellow, which improved the situation somewhat.

She rubbed her eyes, supposedly tiredly. "Hey, Dawn."

Dawn looked restless, constantly shifting her weight from foot to foot. Ava knew from experience that a restless speedster was never a good thing. "Hi, Ava."

"Can't sleep?"

"No."

"Me neither. Movie?"

"Sure. Jurassic Park?"

"Sounds good. Popcorn?"

"Only got caramel."

"Even better."

It was a simple, short conversation, but Ava could tell that it meant the world to Dawn. Speedsters grow used to everything being extremely fast, so the slightest pause would feel like an eternity. And Dawn had been in the dark, and in the silence, for a few hours. Which gave her plenty of time to think of the thousands of ways things could go badly if she talked to anyone in this house.

"I found it earlier, when I was going through everything." Dawn said, speeding towards the kitchen and throwing the popcorn in the microwave before running back and inserting the DVD. "And I realized I hadn't seen it in forever."

"I've… well, I've never seen it." Ava replied, absentmindedly weaving the flame between her fingers. Its color had changed again, this time to neon green.

"Never?" Dawn's eyebrows shot up. "None of them?"

"Didn't have time really."

"Your movie education is seriously lacking." She paused. "Star Wars?"

"Nope."

"Indiana Jones?"

"No."

"James Bond?"

She shook her head.

"Lord of the Rings?"

"Part of the second one."

"Titanic?"

"Absolutely not."

Dawn whistled. "Ok. We're going to have to fix that."

"Sounds good to me."

There was a pause, then Dawn raced off to check to popcorn. She groaned; microwaves annoyed speedsters, since there was nothing they could do to make them go faster.

Ava waited patiently until Dawn came back. She flopped down on the couch next to her, placing the bowl in between them.

"I put two of the caramel packets on." She told her. "I can't stand it when there isn't enough."

"I bet your dentist loves you."

Dawn barked out a laugh, throwing a piece into the air and catching it in her mouth with ease. "Well, the feeling's mutual."

Ava chuckled and nodded, popping a piece of the caramel corn into her own mouth. "Tell me about it. There are only two things worse than Company Agents: dentists and doctors."

Dawn laughed again, turning the TV on. "I actually ended up punching one of the two. I don't remember which."

"Don't feel sorry for it; I'll fry any guy who comes at me with a needle. Almost did, once."

"Remind me not to go near you with a needle, then."

"Will do."

The two fell silent as the movie came on. They watched it quietly for a good half hour before Dawn spoke up.

"What's that?" The question was quiet, soft.

"What's what?" Ava turned to her, to find her pointing to a direction somewhere behind her. She turned again, to find a large object behind her. A brilliant wall of black flame, trying to shape and form itself into something, but unsure of what.

"You've been doing it for a while, now." Dawn informed her.

"Oh. Sorry." Ava waved a hand to clear it away, but Dawn stopped her, taking care not to actually restrain her, knowing how that would affect a former prisoner.

"No, it's ok." Dawn said. "It's actually kind of… beautiful."

"Thanks." Ava smiled weakly.

"I've never really seen that before. With the different colors and all. I mean, I've met Pyrokinetics before, but…"

Ava nodded slowly. "It's pretty rare, yeah."

"Any color?"

"Pick one."

Dawn paused, then asked, "Blue?"

"Give me more to work with!" Ava replied in mock exasperation, as the wall of flame slowly shifted to a navy blue. "That occurs naturally, if you get it hot enough."

Dawn chuckled. "All right, all right." Another pause, then, "Pink?"

"Um… ew. A little too girly for my liking. Oh well, pink it is." The fire shifted to a hot pink.

"Oh, yuck, take it away!" Dawn laughed. "Ok, ok, green. Dark green."

It shifted to a deep, forest green. Dawn's eyes lit up. "Wow." She breathed.

She stared at it for a moment, then tried, "Red. Like, dark red."

The fire flickered and danced into a deep scarlet. "Come on, give me a challenge!" Ava protested.

Dawn chuckled. "Well, what is a challenge?"

"I have no idea. You figure it out."

Dawn laughed again. "No fair! I can hardly think of it if you don't even know!"

"White." A different voice offered. They both jumped, their eyes whipping around to find Jason, sitting on the stairs, watching the flames.

Ava smiled. "White it is."

The flame changed again, and Dawn gasped.

"Wow. Just… wow." She breathed.

Ava grinned. "You think that's impressive? Watch this."

Ava stood, walking over to the flames, her fingers dancing with them, forming them, shaping them into something new. In a few minutes, a perfect, fiery replica of Dawn stood before them, walking slowly around, then running.

"Can't make it as fast as you, sadly." Ava joked.

Dawn stared, standing and looking at her new duplicate. "Impressive."

"Thank you." Ava took a little mock-bow, and the flames vanished.

Jason sat down on the couch, helping himself to the caramel corn. "She's right. It's amazing."

"Thanks." Ava sat next to him, and Dawn next to her. "You want to watch the movie with us?"

Jason raised an eyebrow. "That's what you're doing?"

Ava nodded, ruffling his hair. "Yep. We just got a little sidetracked."

"Hold up, isn't this movie rated R or something?" Dawn interjected.

"Yeah. And so is life." Jason replied.

"True." Dawn consented, sitting back again.

"Couldn't sleep?" Ava asked sympathetically. Jason nodded, and they said no more.

About halfway through the movie, Christopher joined them. He didn't say a word, but he did make more caramel corn, since their own supply was running dangerously low. He took great care not to touch them, even taking a small bowl for his own to avoid a careless accident.

By the time the movie was over, the only one who hadn't shown up was Sylar, and Ava wasn't exactly upset about it.

But, unknown to any but Jason, Sylar was awake. He was lying on his bed, just listening. He'd considered joining them more than once, and wasn't exactly sure why he wasn't. After all, most of them were murderers, and if they could all get along, then he certainly wouldn't be rejected.

And yet, he wouldn't really be accepted, either. Unlike the others, he killed other people with abilities, simply because he wanted their powers. So really, in their eyes, what was to stop him from doing the same to them?

Speedster. Telepathy. Pyrokinesis. The ability to kill with a touch. They were all here, in one house, all sitting downstairs and watching Jurassic Park. Things couldn't be easier.

Still, part of him, a minute, quiet part that he normally shoved aside, wanted to be down there with them. Laughing, covering Jason's eyes at the gory parts while he protested, eating caramel corn, and every so often trying to throw Ava by shouting some random color at her.

But he could never have that. He could never be like that. He could never be satisfied with a quiet, simple life. He could never have 'friends'. Because humans weren't worth keeping around and any hero would have an ability he wanted.

He turned on his side, willing himself to sleep. It didn't work; it never did.

He surprised himself by not knowing about the person outside his room until his door opened. By the sound of the footsteps, it was someone small.

"Sylar?" Jason's voice called in the darkness. "I know you're awake."

Sylar pretended to snore.

Jason chuckled softly. "Suit yourself. Just… they wouldn't mind, really. I mean, Ava wouldn't be too happy, but she'd get over it. If you wanted to come down and…"

"Leave it, kid." Sylar snapped.

"Fine."

The door closed as Jason walked out. Sylar listened to his footsteps until he was downstairs.

"He was asleep." He heard Jason explain.

"Well, good for him." Christopher said good-naturedly. "I don't think I'll ever sleep again."

"Nightmares?" Ava asked sympathetically.

"The worst." Christopher agreed.

Sylar turned on his side, sighing heavily. It seemed everyone in this house had nightmares. Even he sometimes woke in a cold sweat, screaming, battling against invisible monsters. They were all killers; they shouldn't be scared of anything. They were powerful. Untouchable.

But something had stopped them before. And who could honestly say that something wouldn't do it again?

The thought was enough to give anyone nightmares.

He jumped at the sound of laughter, wondering who it was this time that had made the joke. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, trying not to imagine the four people below, and how they would react should he choose to join them…

At the break of dawn, Sylar was on the roof.

The morning was cooler than the day had been, and the wind was dancing around his skin, sending goose bumps up his arms. There were a few clouds in the distance that suggested rain, and Sylar could hear it falling a few miles away, pattering to the earth in a soft rhythm, a melody of sparkling clear droplets.

He sighed heavily, watching the sun rise in the sky. Perhaps that rain would come here. Perhaps not. It was of little consequence.

His mind was elsewhere, far away from the rain, far away from this house and far away from its occupants.

All of his thoughts were focused on finding answers, answers to questions that he could not ask of his fellow…

He stopped. What? What could he call them? Friends? Hardly. Housemates? It was accurate, but reminded him too much of the word 'roommate', and he'd had his share of foul experiences with those.

He broke off the thought and forced his mind to focus. There was more he needed to know, questions that needed answering before he could move on to such trivial matters.

But how to get a hold of those answers? That was the trick. He could kill Jason, become a telepath and pry the answers out of the first person he saw. But no, Ava would have his head, if Dawn didn't beat her to it. To have a speedster and a Pyrokinetic after him was not a place he wished to be.

He sighed deeply. That was the problem with being a killer. There was no one you could turn to if you needed help.

He shivered; as if he needed reminding of that fact. Perhaps, if there had been another, someone watching his back, he would not have been captured by The Company. Perhaps he would not be in this situation now, wondering who to speak to.

His main concern was how long he had been imprisoned. Time had no meaning in that drug-induced sleep; it could have been minutes, it could have been days, it could have been centuries and he wouldn't know it.

But this was a weakness. It could not be revealed to any in the house he was standing on; they were all killers, save Jason. But Sylar was slowly learning that Jason was the most dangerous of them all.

So asking them was out of the question.

There's always her. Some small voice in the back of his mind whispered to him.

He kicked a rock off the edge of the roof, not bothering to wonder how it had gotten there in the first place. He couldn't see her. Not after what had happened, not after he'd killed her father… both of her fathers, for that matter.

Irritation flooded through him. How old was she now? Did she finally come to terms with her ability, or did she still think she was a freak?

He brushed the thoughts away. There was no doubt in his mind that killing her father-her adoptive father, at any rate- was a mistake. After Noah Bennett's death, it had been far more than his daughter that had changed; it had been the Company itself.

After all, Angela had died a year before (Another ability he'd missed), and therefore, the responsibility of this new Company had been given to Noah. He soon fell into the old, 'bag-and-tag' 'one of us, one of them' pattern. Sylar had already dealt with four of his agents before he decided it was time to finish this, once and for all.

So he killed Noah, thinking that the Company would die with him.

But, no. Noah was replaced. And things got so much worse.

The person who took over afterwards was a heartless, cold woman with black eyes that could stare straight into your darkest secrets. Her laugh was an icy thing that chilled your heart, shattering it into a thousand glittering, frozen shards. Sylar had seen and heard both in his later attempts to destroy her. Unfortunately, she was much harder to kill than Noah had been, keeping herself surrounded constantly by those with and without abilities.

But then she became somewhat paranoid, locking away her own guards in bursts of terror. Soon, her entourage consisted of humans only, locking the rest away, to sleep behind the cold grey walls, condemned to a life worse than death.

Sylar, seeing his opportunity to strike, had instantly walked into her office and tried to kill her. In the following fight against the humans who rushed to her defense, he'd managed to land a bullet in her brain as a needle pierced his skin and sent him into the world of darkness.

A blur of dreams and terrifying nightmares later, a face had been in his, wrenching the IV from his arm and shouting, "Move!"

He knew now that it was Ava's face, her red hair falling into her eyes as she stumbled forwards, frantically trying to escape. Her plain face, so entirely forgettable, had not made an impression on him until she had opened her eyes, showing the amber fire within them.

He jumped off the roof, landing perfectly on the ground and walking inside casually. He wrote a quick note, explaining that he'd be back by nighttime, and then walked out the front door.

A whisper of wind, quiet but fierce, flew past him, and suddenly there was something in his pocket. He pulled it out, revealing a small, silver key with a remote attached to the end.

It was then that he saw the car in the driveway.

He looked back to the door, where Dawn was leaning casually against the doorframe, grinning.

"To make you… inconspicuous." She explained with a sly smile, before disappearing inside the house.

Sylar eyed the car in the driveway. It was hardly inconspicuous; the thing screamed of being fast. It was sleek and thin, a silver streak of a car that looked as though it could go 300 miles per hour.

He rolled his eyes; the perfect car for a speedster; making sure she went fast, even when she wasn't running.

He sighed and placed himself in the driver's seat. It didn't go as quickly as he'd first imagined, but that had been an exaggeration, anyway. He turned the key and smiled at the purr of the engine.

He backed out of the driveway, testing the car's limits as he sped down the street, the car eating up the miles with ease, tearing through the black asphalt like a wild creature.

Sylar lost himself to the scenery, speeding past him without hope of forming into a recognizable shape. He kept the windows rolled down, so the wind blew into his face, causing tears to stream out of his eyes, his hair blowing around in crazy patterns.

As he drove, he turned his thoughts away from his destination and back to the place where he had begun the journey. More importantly, he thought of the people inside.

Mainly, his thoughts were on Ava. Every time he closed his eyes, if only for a second, if only to blink, her eyes would be staring back at him, amber and brilliant, smoldering with fire. She seemed to be taunting him.

There was something about that girl. The gloves on her hands, concealing something beneath… but what? What could possibly be so important that she wouldn't speak of it, not even to guarantee the safety of those she wished to protect?

And then what Jason had said. "She's met you before…" The words echoed in his mind, torturing him with their whispered venom. He had never met Ava in his life. So, obviously, she had never met him.

There had to be something else. One simple little solution that would fit everything together. One piece of the puzzle that would clear up the picture.

Before long, he found himself at his destination. He got out and closed the door behind him, walking to the house calmly.

He knocked twice, then stood and waited for the response. When none came, he tried the doorknob, opening it slowly and poking his head inside.

"Hello?"

No reply.

He walked inside, looking around. The house was, for the most part, dark. There were no lights on, and there were only a few windows to allow the sun's rays inside.

The place was eerily quiet. But someone was here; he could hear the heartbeat, rapid and soft, panicked and trying to regain control.

He took a few steps inside and was shot in the chest three times.

He stared in shock at the bullets in his chest. His legs gave way slightly, and he swayed on his feet, in danger of falling.

Slowly, he righted himself, standing straight as his own crimson blood drizzled to the floor, the bullets clattering on the ground as they fell with it. The sound echoed through the house, the slight tinkling of faint bells, ringing in the destruction of any person who didn't have the regenerative ability that Sylar did.

He heard a long line of swears and expletives-most of which were directed at him- as the bullet wounds closed, sealing themselves neatly, leaving behind only the blood.

"What do you want, Sylar?"

The question was curt and hostile. Her voice was harsh, bitter, colder than it had been before. As Sylar telekinetically switched on the light, he saw her eyes sparkle as she glowered at him. So she really hadn't gotten over the death of her father. Either of them.

"Hello, Claire." He said politely.

"Cut the crap and answer the question."

He raised his hands slightly, as though surrendering. "I'm not here to fight with you. I just came for some answers."

"You won't get them here." She snapped. "Get out of my house."

Sylar didn't even reply; instead, he meandered around, looking at the photos on the shelves, looking at each in turn, taking careful note of who was in each.

"Who is this?" He asked, pointing to one man he didn't recognize.

"My husband. He's got a thing for black holes, so if you don't want to get sucked into one, I suggest you clear out."

Sylar shivered slightly. "You're lying." He said coolly. "He is your husband, but everything else…" He trailed off, letting the sentence finish itself.

She said nothing, her lips pressing into a tight line.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Claire." He said softly.

She studied him for a moment, then asked, "Where were you?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"All these years, I haven't heard a whisper. Suddenly, you show up at my house and want answers. Well, let me tell you, I need answers, too."

He thought about this. "How many years has it been?"

"Since…?"

"Since…" He paused, considering. "Since Noah died." He lowered his voice. "That was the mistake that sent this whole thing crashing down, anyway."

She raised an eyebrow. "Gabriel Grey, are you actually apologizing?" It was a stretch, but Sylar could tell she wished only to infuriate him with the question.

It worked. He ground his teeth together. "Answer the question, please." He was trying as hard as he could to keep as polite as possible, but whenever the name 'Gabriel' was thrown into the conversation, things tended to go sour quickly.

"Two hundred years. It's been two hundred years since you murdered my dad and disappeared off the face of the planet."

Sylar, who had a small paperweight in his hands, dropped it to the floor. Thankfully, it didn't shatter, but rather chipped, before rolling slowly across the ground.

"Two hundred." He breathed.

"Yes." She looked at him. "You didn't know?"

He shook his head slowly. "The Company… I was…detained."

"Oh." Claire paused. "So you don't know about Peter?"

"What about Peter?"

"He's… he's dead. The Company killed him." She looked at him. "I have no love for them either."

Sylar's mind worked furiously, trying to deal with this information. "We're the only ones left." He breathed, completely stunned.

She glared at him. "No. I was. For two hundred years." She pointed to the door. "Get out. Get out and don't come back."

Sylar looked at her. There was something about her eyes, something different. Something had changed. There was a hardness in her features, which had morphed from a child's face to an adult's in a matter of days, in his eyes. Her stare was icy, her hands in fists at her sides.

But it was more than that. In his brief time here, Sylar had already seen three guns,-not including the one she'd used on him- all hidden in strategic points around the room. There was a knife concealed in her shirt sleeve as well; the girl was seriously armed and seemed to have good reason.

Something in Claire had changed.

And it hadn't been for the better.

He couldn't come to terms with these thoughts. Claire, the young woman with so much opportunity ahead of her, had changed into… this.

Sylar nodded, slowly walking out of the house, leaving without another word. These thoughts of Claire had only been fleeting; his mind was still reeling from the shock of having been asleep for two centuries.

As he got into the car, the full weight of the situation hit him. He folded his arms over the steering wheel and placed his head in them, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

He was two hundred years old. Two centuries had passed since he'd seen the sunlight. Two centuries of his life had disappeared, two centuries that he would never get back.

How would you have spent it, Sylar? A nagging voice whispered in the back of his mind. Killing? Stealing abilities from people, keeping what you don't deserve?

He sighed softly. Ever since that day, back at the carnival, this had been happening. Ever since he had that one touch, that one simple taste of what it was to be something different from the killer, a small part of him was reaching, trying desperately to return. But he'd made his decisions. He was Sylar, a serial killer. And Sylar he would remain.

He started the car and sped back to the house.

Ava was sitting on the couch, watching the TV, waiting.

It was one in the morning. One o'clock. Ava couldn't sleep; her nightmares tormented her when she tried.

Every so often, she'd hear something moving upstairs, or feel a gust of wind flash by her, on its way to the kitchen to raid the fridge. She wasn't the only one. No one could sleep. Because no one wanted to dream.

She had changed her red gloves, now wearing the black ones that Dawn had given her. The fingertips had been cut off, and now she was methodically making circles around the edges she'd cut with a glowing finger. This singed the fraying areas, keeping the gloves from unraveling.

She waited.

And while she waited, she thought. She thought of her fellow escapees, the ones who had run with her, the ones who had been lucky enough to get away. She thought of Christopher, with his grey-ish face, his bland features and his hollow, sad eyes. His pathetic figure, skinny and gaunt.

She thought of Dawn, with her nervous edge, bitter and cold. The knife she kept clutched tightly in her fist. The smaller blade she kept in her shoe. The anger, the jumpiness, the speed she used for the simplest of tasks.

She thought of Jason, the kid who didn't even have too powerful of an ability, the child that The Company had locked away with the worst people known to the world. His confidence one moment, and his absolute terror the next. The way he looked at Sylar, as though he knew exactly what he was thinking, all the time.

And then, of course, she had to think of Sylar. She'd seen many people just like him, with such great power that never should have belonged to them. Killers, heartless murderers with no thought but the ability that was just another death away.

But then, there was something else. Something different. Something that set Sylar apart from the others. Yes, he had the sadistic attitude, the cold stare and the mirthless laugh that sent shivers down the spine. But he also had something else, a quality that she couldn't place with any of the others.

He had patience.

And that scared her to death.

The others, those who knew how things worked, they were all impatient, all arrogant and they all assumed that they were invincible. It was one of their greatest weaknesses. They could not be patient when the idea of a new ability was just inches away. They wouldn't wait, they wouldn't watch, to see if anything else was in play.

But Sylar would.

Sylar would watch the person. He would trick them, play games, his sadistic games that tormented a person's heart before he took their life. He would watch, he would monitor, he would make sure that they were not being protected by anyone or anything that could be more powerful than he was.

And he was a regenerist. Which was even worse. It meant that he could wait years. It meant he could wait lifetimes. It meant that he could waste a person's life away, only to reveal his true nature on their deathbed, taking their life before old age or illness could do it for him.

Ava had met only one other like this before. Without thought, without hesitation, without even considering an alternative, Ava was instantly locked in a battle to destroy him.

It was the first time she'd ever killed anyone.

The door opened slowly. Sylar walked inside, trying to keep quiet.

"Hello, Sylar." She said, her voice cold.

He jumped, looking around, before his dark eyes locked on hers. She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her face neutral.

"Oh. Hello, Ava." Sylar turned away casually, placing the keys on a table before walking to the stairs. "I'm going to bed. See you in the morning."

"Perhaps."

He looked at her strangely, but she gave no explanation. She would not see him in the morning. She wouldn't ever see him.

Because she was going to kill him tonight.