Ava had a knife in her hands.

The blade was wickedly sharp and cruel-looking. It was long, almost a small sword instead of a knife. It shone in the moonlight as she walked silently up the stairs, stopping every so often to make certain her heart rate didn't go up. She was pretty certain he could hear it, and she didn't want it any louder than it already was.

She crept quietly into his room. It was pitch-black. Ava, being a creature of light and flame, created a silver-grey one that would likely be put down to the light of the moon. It wrapped around her hand, dancing along the blade, shining, glinting.

Her chest was tight. She was scared, she had to admit. Carefully, slowly, she stole over to the bed.

The covers were pulled over his head. She pulled them down slightly to reveal…

Pillows.

She'd only just processed the idea that this was a trap when she was suddenly fighting for her life.

Electricity crackled around the serial killer as he stood before her. His eyes shone in the blue light as it came in a wave towards Ava. She instantly surrounded herself with a deep purple fire, powerful and hot. It licked around the room, setting fire to everything it touched, including Sylar himself.

With a carefree thought, Sylar extinguished the flame with a gust of wind. Ava swore and rolled to the other side of the room, leaping to her feet. She'd barely regained her balance when Sylar sent her flying backwards, telekinetically throwing her against the wall, causing blood to flow from a wound on her head.

Ava stood again, white fire pouring from her hands and onto the floor, falling out in pulses towards Sylar, flowing like water. Two thick chains, created of the glowing flames, wrapped around her wrists, trailing down to the floor.

Sylar was off the floor, hovering in the air, a smile on his face. Ava was thinking of a thousand ways she could wrap the chains around him, perhaps gaining purchase on his neck and slowly strangling him…

"Come now, Ava. Do you really think you have a chance?"

Ava didn't reply; she simply sent one of the fiery chains towards him. It wrapped around his wrist, and he cried out as it burned his skin.

The knife was in Ava's hand in a split-second, and she pulled the chain roughly. Sylar was forced to turn as he spun around, his back suddenly facing her.

Ava threw the knife with precision, aiming for a certain spot on the back of his skull. Just before it pierced his skin, however, Sylar's telekinesis caught it and sent it flying back towards her.

She brushed it aside with a careless wave of the hand, the knife sent aside by the navy blue flame that came from her gesture.

Sylar was turned to face her by this point, and radioactivity began to glow around him. Ava surrounded herself with fire- the typical red-orange kind- forming a perfect bubble around herself. Had it been normal fire, it would not have saved her, but as it was, her ability kept her safe.

Sylar barreled into the bubble, coming through with major burns that began to heal the instant he was through. Ava swore loudly and sent a jet of purple in his direction before running again, dancing aside and tearing through the bubble to give her more room.

"ENOUGH!"

Ava stumbled back, surprised at the intensity of the voice. Jason was standing at the door.

A rush of wind flew past Ava, racing past the fires and extinguishing them quickly. Christopher was already at Sylar's side, his hand clamped on the killer's shoulder.

Dawn, her job complete, stood behind Ava and kept her hand on the Pyrokinetic's shoulder, even as she tried to tear away and begin her battle again.

Christopher's effect on Sylar was instantaneous and obvious. Sylar looked rigid, as though he was unable to move. And though Christopher's ability couldn't actually kill Sylar, it seemed to hold him back while his regenerative ability fought against it. His skin was somewhat grey, the color spreading from Christopher's hand like a disease, creeping across Sylar's face.

Jason stood in the doorway, his eyes burning brightly. "We stopped the Company from killing us, just so we could kill each other?"

Ava refused to be ashamed, though the tone he was using was much like the one a parent would use to lecture naughty children. She resisted Dawn's grip, fighting the urge to burn her hands. Couldn't they see that Sylar was temporarily helpless? Couldn't they see that this was the perfect opportunity to finish the job she'd started?

"Dawn, get her out of here." Christopher ordered. Dawn nodded, and sped Ava to the basement, where she protested loudly.

Dawn locked Ava inside, but not before warning that she'd douse her in water at the first hint of smoke. Ava knew that she couldn't burn through the door without smoke, so she sat on her mattress with a sour expression on her face.

Dawn raced back up the stairs, where Sylar was being similarly confined. Christopher removed his hand from the serial killer's arm, warning that it would be back in an instant if Sylar tried anything. It looked unlikely; Sylar seemed to have been weakened by the encounter.

They closed the door to his room, then grouped together.

"So why was she trying to kill him?" Dawn asked.

Jason considered this. "Perhaps… Perhaps because she was scared. We all know what it means when a person says they 'know how things work'."

The others nodded gravely.

"They won't stop." Christopher said quietly.

Dawn nodded. "He's right. Ava's actively tried to kill Sylar now. That gives him a reason to try and kill her. This won't end just because of a few threats."

"It will have to." Jason said. "This can't happen again. If it does, then one of them will have to leave."

"We can't just kick one of them out!" Dawn protested. "Not with the Company out there!"

"We may have to." Jason said coldly.

Dawn studied him. Something had changed in the little, terrified boy she'd known from the day before. There was something dark in his eyes, some secret inside him.

"Fine." She said, then sped down the stairs to inform Ava of the decision. Christopher nodded solemnly and went to tell Sylar.

Jason returned to his room, sitting calmly on the bed. The threat would be enough to stop them, he knew. But only for a while.

He could hear Ava and Sylar, both protesting, their thoughts crying louder than their words. Sylar, demanding to know how it was his fault that Ava had attacked him. Ava, trying to reason with Dawn, telling her that Sylar could easily kill them all, that this was exactly what he wanted.

Jason sighed heavily and tried to return to his dreams. For once, they hadn't been terrifying; they hadn't caused him to wake up, crying. For once, he'd been asleep.

Until he heard Ava and Sylar fighting.

He fell into darkness, into sleep, and the fear returned, its sharp claws dragging him further and further into the shadows.

Ava glowered at Sylar, and he glowered back. The two hadn't spoken to each other that day, resorting to shooting death glares at each other instead.

Ava sat down on the couch, angrily weaving a picture out of red flame, taunting Sylar with her ability, practically begging for him to try something.

Sylar, on the other hand, was practicing with his telekinesis, throwing objects across the room, making unspoken threats. He seemed determined to ignore her Pyrokinesis, keeping his eyes away from the flames that hypnotized the others.

The two said nothing for two days straight. Not even to the others. Ava wouldn't even speak to Dawn, and often shot a death glare in the speedster's direction. If there was one thing you never talked about with a Pyrokinetic, it was water.

What no one knew about Ava was that she'd once been in a room, filled with the stuff. No matter where she turned, it was wet, and a showerhead rained the liquid down on her. Despite how she tried to shield herself, she could do nothing but collapse to the ground and shiver, screaming, begging for the pain to stop.

Oh, she would make him pay for that one. The man of the Company, the man with the plan, the man who ran the place. The man who had taken everything from her.

Without realizing it, Ava's flames turned black and grey, weaving around her. A long blade formed in her hand, reaching out, brilliantly sharp.

Sylar could not help but stare. And the more he stared, the more he wanted that ability. And the more he wanted it, the closer he got, until he could see nothing but a red haze, threatening to blind him as he pictured Ava's blood running down her face…

"Sylar!"

Sylar snapped out of it, looking for the speaker. Jason was standing on the stairs, shaking his head.

Sylar glowered at the boy, then turned around and began throwing the objects again, faster and faster, never touching them as he created a tornado of various things, from books to paperweights, pictures to broken glass.

Ava, on the other hand, hadn't even noticed. The black flames wrapped around her arm as she absent-mindedly swung the sword.

She felt someone's cold hand touch her shoulder, and she jumped. Dawn was standing next to her, her grey eyes locked on Ava's own.

The flames disappeared. Ava looked back up at her.

"I'm sorry." Dawn whispered, then sped away, back up the stairs and into her room.

The next time that Ava and Sylar talked, it was just a simple request. Ava was going out 'shopping', and Sylar asked, quite simply, for an extra jacket.

After that, it was as though nothing had ever happened. The two quickly fell into their old pattern; not quite hating each other, but not particularly enjoying the other's company, either.

Eventually, Sylar knocked on the door to the basement. When Ava answered, she folded her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing in distaste.

Sylar smiled disarmingly. "Hello, Ava."

"Sylar."

"May I come in?"

Ava's eyes narrowed ever further, but she stood aside and allowed him entry.

He grinned, looking perfectly relaxed as he walked inside. He whistled. "Impressive."

Ava said nothing as Sylar examined the walls of the basement. She'd been very busy the last few days, decorating the room with a thousand different pictures, each made of flames. In the corner, a few stood alone, stacked up against each other as though they were actual canvases.

Sylar studied them for a moment before Ava stopped him with a few cutting words, "Why are you here?"

He turned back, still relaxed, still smiling. "I just wanted to talk, Ava. Is that a crime?"

"Yes. Get out."

He chuckled lightly. "Very well…"

He went to the door, Ava right behind him. Just before he made his exit, Sylar turned back to her.

Ava didn't dare move. She was directly next to Sylar, her face only an inch from his.

He moved even closer, his lips going to her ear. He whispered, his breath tickling her skin as he spoke.

"Who is the girl, Ava?"

With a blood-curdling cry, Ava shoved her palms into Sylar's chest. Fire exploded around him, setting the serial killer alight as she pushed him out of the room. She slammed the door in his face as, laughing softly, he extinguished the flames.

He began to whistle softly, the tune unconsciously forming into the theme from Jurassic Park. Perhaps more of that movie had gotten into his subconscious than he cared to admit. Ah, well.

To say that Christopher had been unprepared for death would have been an understatement.

"No one's ready for death." His psychiatrist told him, her voice calm and cool. She sat up straight, prim and proper, her legs crossed in a lady-like fashion. She was wearing all grey, save the barely visible white shirt that peeked out of her jacket. Her earrings were black crystals that dangled on the end of silver chains. Her brown hair was obviously dyed, as her roots were solidly silver. Even her eyes were grey, watery and lifeless.

Did these people not understand how drab they were? Did they not see how Christopher didn't want to be told that his feelings were 'normal'? Because he felt abnormal, he felt different. Perhaps it was selfish thinking, but Christopher didn't care. Not anymore.

"Christopher?" She'd asked, her typically cold voice sounding concerned. "Why do you think you're so unprepared? Why do you think those scans caught you off guard?"

Oh, those scans. Those scans that diagnosed him with cancer. Those scans that ended everything, changed everything. Those scans that said he had only seven months to live…

"I don't know." He'd said curtly. And that was the end of it. Christopher was done with her, with her opinions of why he was the way he was. She knew nothing of him.

A very scared, very lonely Christopher walked out of the office without ever looking back. He kept his hands stuffed in his pockets. Why was the sun shining? Why wasn't the rest of the world as depressed as he was?

He shuffled back to his house, alone, miserable. He placed his hat and coat on a rack and walked to his favorite chair, exhausted.

A knock came at the door an hour later. Or maybe it was two; he wasn't really keeping track of the time. He stood slowly, weakly. He didn't even remember walking to the door; he just seemed to be next to it suddenly.

He turned the doorknob. A smiling mailman was standing there, a package in his hands. Christopher would never forget what the package contained. A book. Just a book. Nothing huge, nothing big. Just a book of poems by Robert Frost. Christopher himself never really had a taste for poetry, but his wife loved it.

He scowled at the smiling mailman, who handed him a clipboard to sign. Why did this man have so much life ahead of him, when Christopher had only months? Why was he so cheerful? Why wasn't he on the verge of tears.

Bitterly, Christopher signed the paper, then handed it back to the mailman, who was still smiling, still happy. Their fingers accidentally brushed against each other as he took the clipboard.

If Christopher had been unprepared for death, then it was nothing compared with what happened next.

The mailman froze. His eyes grew round, and something grey was traveling up his arms, his veins standing out slightly, a deep black against the grey.

Christopher gasped. His finger seemed permanently attached to the man, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't separate them.

He felt something inside him. A warm, bright glow that flowed down his arm, into his chest. It spread out from there, healing him, changing him.

The mailman fell over, a blank look on his face. The grey had vanished, leaving only his pale and clearly dead body on Christopher's steps.

Christopher chocked on a cry. He didn't know what to think, what to do.

After a moment, he pulled the mailman's body inside the house. He could go no further, though, as he collapsed on the ground and began to sob. What had he done? What had he done?

He'd killed someone. He was a murderer.

That was how his wife found him, an hour later. He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes.

"Chris?" She asked, her voice trembling. "Chris, what… what happened?"

She reached down to touch him, but he spun away. "Get away from me!" He cried out. "Don't touch me!"

She stumbled back, shocked and hurt. "Honey… what… what did you do?"

Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I didn't try, I didn't want to do it, it was an accident…"

"Chris…" She reached forward. Before he could stop it, her hand was on his.

"NO!" He screamed, but it was too late.

He watched as the grey slowly spread up his wife's arm, as she froze, a look of horror on her face…

Perhaps it was Christopher's scream that sent Ava bolting out of bed and running out the door. Though the thoughts had been on her mind for quite a while beforehand.

She put the key into the stolen car's ignition and backed out quickly, the tires squealing in fear as she raced down the road.

She kept the windows open, letting the wind pour into the car from the outside, trying to regain her breath. Tears were forced from her eyes by the fierce gusts, despite how she fought to keep from crying.

The car sped along the road, the lights slicing through the dark night like twin golden blades. Ava could almost see the fire in those lights, yellow-gold and dancing…

She pulled over, the car nearly toppling over as she swerved violently to her left.

Ava sat there for a very long time, staring out at the dark road, her breathing harsh and heavy.

Slowly, cautiously, she opened the car door. Trembling, she spilled onto the asphalt, struggling to remain upright.

Standing with her back facing Ava was a young girl. Long, black hair trailed down her back. Ava was positively shaking as she came up to her.

"Friday?" She breathed.

The child turned to face her. She smiled. "Guess again, Ava."

The little girl shifted and changed. Reality around her warped for the briefest of seconds. Standing before Ava now was a woman with a sadistic smile on her features. Her eyes had deep-set wrinkles and dark circles under them, though her hair showed no signs of graying.

Tears prickled at her eyes. "Hello, Manda." She said, trying to keep the emotion from clogging her throat. It was hopeless; her heart was pounding rapidly, her arms and legs covered in goose bumps. A new, and yet so terribly old, pain stabbed at her chest.

Manda Cressidy chuckled lightly. "Oh, you've been such a bad girl, Ava. The Company is very, very unhappy."

"Tell me something I don't know." Ava watched Manda carefully. She had a few scars left over from her last encounter with the illusionist. Manda had a nasty habit of hurting anything that dared look her in the eye, that dared question what she said. Cruel, cunning, and far beyond caring about what happened to herself and those around her, Manda was known, to those who listened to Company legends, for her ruthless way of dealing with people and incredible skill of avoiding death by inches.

"Oh, if you insist." Manda said teasingly. She all but glided over to Ava, whose amber eyes never strayed from Manda's face.

"He's still alive." Manda whispered quietly. "And, last I heard, he's livid. In fact, last I heard…" She shuffled on her feet, looking for all the world like a schoolgirl with a secret. "He's got a price on your head that makes Claire Bennett look like child's play."

Ava swallowed. "Impressive." She managed to squeak out, then cleared her throat and tried again. "It seems I've rather beaten my record."

Manda laughed without mirth, her glittering black eyes never straying from Ava. There was something disconcerting about the look she was giving the Pyrokinetic, something that made Ava shiver.

And then she recognized it. Strangely hurt and greatly disappointed, Ava looked at Manda disapprovingly. "I honestly thought you were better than that, Cressidy. Has the Company really changed you so greatly already?"

"Hey, money is money, Ava." Manda shrugged carelessly, but her eyes were as hard as steel. "I'm not happy about it, but it's all I got." Her gaze penetrated through Ava's defenses, and her voice lowered slightly. "They've got something we care about. And I'm sorry that yours will never be free." She looked down. There was no more sadistic smile, no more mirthless laughter. Only the dark eyes, shining in the night. "Mine's still got a chance."

Ava swallowed. "I'm not the only one. We can stop them. Together. We can get them both back."

"I don't think so." Manda shook her head. She pulled her collar sideways, revealing a small tattoo on her neck. "They've got me traced, kid." She sighed deeply, and pulled a gun out of her belt, training it on Ava's forehead.

"Really sorry, Ava."

"Me too." Ava replied quietly. "Cressidy…"

Manda fired a single shot.

Ava barely knew what happened next. One moment, she was facing death by bullet. The next, a large gust of wind blew past her, throwing her red hair backwards and eliminating any chance of creating a fiery shield to protect herself. This shield was soon unnecessary, however.

Standing in between the two, a golden pebble of a bullet pinched between her thumb and index finger, was Dawn.

"Hi!" She said brightly, a smile plastered on her features. Her knife pressed to Manda's throat and, in the same bright, cheerful tone, Dawn proceeded to throw the worst swears she knew at her, before whispering, "You are a traitor, Manda Cressidy…"

Ava placed a hand on Dawn's shoulder, shaking her head slightly. "No more." She whispered. "No more…"

Dawn studied her for a moment, then nodded once. She shot one final death glare in Manda's direction before whirling around and gripping Ava's shoulder.

Suddenly, in a burst of speed so quick that Ava could barely comprehend it, the two were back in the car. Dawn was driving, her eyes intense and focused.

"I should have killed her." She said, her words coming out in a menacing hiss.

"No." Ava looked out the window. "No, Dawn. You did the right thing…"

Dawn looked at her for a moment, then turned back to the road.

The silver car sped on into the night.