Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, places, or things nor the rights to them.
Thanks for the reviews. Having a lot of fun writing this. Things might slow down a little for a few chapters but, I will try to keep it interesting until action picks back up.
Claire's hand went directly into her pocket. She pulled out her phone and dialed a number quickly from memory. Walking away from Sylar, she pressed the phone up to her ear.
She felt the phone pull out of her hand and fly back behind her. Whipping around, she saw Sylar catch it and check the outgoing call. The contact name read "Dad."
"Claire, this is a bad idea," he said hanging up the phone. "He probably still has reporters buzzing around him. Not to mention he has Sullivan to deal with."
"Give me back my phone," she demanded anger cracking through a monotone voice.
"Why do you still believe in him?"
"Because, he's my dad. Now, give me back my phone!"
"Claire! He can't protect you!" Sylar shouted.
"He's done a fine job so far!" she screamed back.
Sylar turned to a nearby dumpster, reached in, and pulled out the top of a tin can. After rolling up his coat sleeve, he ran the rusty jagged edge across his forearm.
"Has he?" he said, as the gash on his arm healed, leaving only a trail of blood.
She stared at his arm unimpressed. Finally she sighed, and gave in. She was too tired to put up anymore of a fight.
"Well, then I guess we better get a cab. Actually, why don't you just fly yourself over there and I will catch a cab and meet you at the hospital."
Sue Lander's ability buzzed inside his head. He had forgotten what it felt like when someone lied.
"You don't expect me to believe that do you? Let me give you a bit of information Claire," he leaned closer to her like he was about divulge a deep secret no one had ever heard, "lying to me, it doesn't work."
Claire rolled her eyes, taking two steps back to create distance between them.
"Another ability you pried out of the head of a helpless victim?" she interrogated, turning and walking down the street. Sylar followed.
"Yes. Yes it is. But, I wouldn't have had any use for it if it weren't for grandparents. I mean, they told me-" he stopped mid-sentence realizing he was trying to justify the killing of an innocent woman. "Yes. I killed her. And I wish I could take it back."
"Sure, you do," she responded sarcastically, "We'll see how remorseful you are when another appetizing ability shows up on your radar. My bet is the top of their head is off like that."
He shuddered slightly as she snapped her fingers at the end of her last sentence. She couldn't help but smile a little. She liked the new Sylar a lot more than the old one. She could shake him a little. She could get him to argue with her. She could get under his skin.
"Alright, Claire. The sooner we get to the hospital, the sooner you can get rid of me."
"Thank God. Why don't you get us a cab then?"
"No. I think we'll raise too many questions with you walking around looking like you just stepped out of a horror movie."
She stopped and looked down at herself. He made a valid point: her upper body was mostly covered in blood.
"So, what's your plan?"
"Put this on and come with me." He handed her his coat and motioned for her to walk with him.
She took off her jacket, threw it into a nearby trashcan, and put on his.
"So, that guy, he tried to steal my ability, right. He's like you?" Claire curiosity beat out her frustration.
"Like I used to be? I guess. He must have seen the your jump on TV and tracked us down."
"You think he'll come back."
"I did."
"What?"
"Think of the times I got stopped from taking your ability. It didn't deter me. I had to have your ability," he was staring straight ahead, recalling the former Sylar with ease, and possibly some nostalgia, "Every time I was stopped, it made me want it even more. It's power over any other ability, Claire. Anything that can be done to you, it doesn't matter because you're immortal… you're invincible."
"So, you're telling me I pretty much have every psycho with a TV trying to hunt me down and cut open my head."
"Well, luckily there can't be too many people with my ability, one or two probably. Hell, Bennet might even have a file on a few of them."
"Yeah, I don't know how happy he is with me right now."
"I wish I had seen his face."
"You could have, he was only a few feet away from you."
"No. I couldn't have. When you have the chance to witness one of the defining moments in human history, you don't look away," Sylar was obviously still marveling about the jump.
"Defining moment? I don't think so."
"We'll see, Claire. Somehow I don't think the world will overlook tonight easily."
The walk turned silent for a minute or two, until Sylar looked over at his companion's attire and began to chuckle.
"What's so funny?" she questioned sounding as annoyed as possible.
"Nothing. You look like a little kid with my jacket on."
He made another valid point. The coat was enormous compared to her.
"You would look like one too if you were wearing a coat ten sizes to big," she responded still annoyed but in a little lighter tone.
"I guess you're right," he said still laughing. "Here's a good spot."
He pointed to a small convenience store. The store was well lit and had one clerk running the empty store.
"Okay, Claire, I am going to go get some stuff in there. If anything happens, scream as loud as you possibly can. Now, do you need anything?"
"I need you to leave me the hell alone," she mumble loud enough for him to hear.
"Soon enough, Claire. But, I was thinking like something to eat or drink?"
Claire found herself wishing he was less polite. Not, that she cared about hurting his feelings, but to anyone overhearing their conversation she sounded like an insufferable bitch.
"I am little thirsty. But, I'll survive."
He smiled at the unintentional pun and walked into the store. It was a very eventful few minutes while he was in the store: An old man walking his dog in the middle of the night, two young men walking on the other side of the street arguing about the Yankees, but the most interesting was the young man getting kicked out of the house by his apparent fiancée. Claire got so enthralled with their yelling that she jumped a little when Sylar approached her.
"Here," he said handing her a white 'I heart NY' sweatshirt out of a plastic bag, "this will probably fit better than my jacket. And, you can clean up a little with this." He handed her a jug of water and a towel brandishing the same logo as her sweatshirt. She took off his jacket and tossed it at his feet. She poured some of the water into the towel and started cleaning herself as best she could.
After removing as much visible blood as possible, she dumped the towel, which was now stained pink, in a trashcan and threw on the sweatshirt. Sylar pulled something out of the plastic shopping bag and threw the bag away, then bent down, picked up his coat, and put it on.
"I almost forgot," he said handing her a small carton of chocolate milk, "you said you were thirsty."
"Nice. What am I six?" she mocked at the children's size and style of drink.
"Never mind," he said subjugated. He opened the flaps and lifted the carton to towards his lips.
"Wait! That doesn't mean I am not going to drink it, freak."
He sighed cynically and handed her the carton. Sylar watched her slowly bring the carton to her lips. He smiled slightly, as she slowly inhaled through her nose and closed her eyes as she drank leisurely. It looked like a religious experience.
"What are you smiling about?" she questioned, taking a break from the drink.
"You obviously really like chocolate milk."
"Yeah. I guess so," she responded aggravated.
"What are you six?" he said through a grin, while raising his hand to hail a nearby cab. Claire didn't think it was as funny as he did. Apparently, the "reformed" Sylar's favorite hobby was the same as the old Sylar's. And, that hobby was pissing off Claire Bennet. The cab screeched to a stop in front of them. Ever the gentlemen, Sylar opened the door for Claire before walking to the other side of the cab and entering himself.
"Where are we going my friends?" the driver questioned.
"Mercy Heights Hospital," Sylar answered.
"Ah, everything okay?" he asked pulling off the curb with a lurch.
"Yes. We are fine. Just visiting a friend."
"Ah, very good," the driver said looking through the rearview mirror at Claire still drinking her beverage. "No food or drink in the cab. But, for a pretty girl, I will make one exception. Just no spilling."
"Thank you," she said turning to look out the window obviously not impressed by the driver's compliment.
"Very, very pretty. You too," he said looking back at Sylar. "Very handsome. Pretty couple. Beautiful children someday."
"Oh no. Were just friends. Not a couple," Sylar corrected. Claire snorted an irritated laugh at the "just friends" comment. 'Friends don't cut each other's heads open,' she thought to herself.
"Ah, well, you're not going to date her. Maybe she'll date me," the driver said belting out an overly ferocious laugh. The comment ended the awkward conversation and started an even more awkward silent cab ride. After a ten minute ride the driver broke the silence.
"All right my friends, we are here."
"Thank you," Sylar said leaning forward and handing their driver his payment.
They walked into the lobby to find Peter sitting in the reception area waiting for them. He stood as they approached him.
"You made it," he greeted with a sad smile.
"How is she?" Sylar questioned.
"She's in surgery now. They won't know how bad it is until afterwards, it should be a few hours." Peter's face bore the tiredness and grief of a man twice his age. He looked awful.
"I am so sorry, Pete," Claire said giving her uncle a hug. "We'll wait with you."
"Thanks… Hey, I have got an idea," Peter said looking past Claire and running a few yards down the main hallway of the entrance. He grabbed the shoulder of an obviously familiar nurse in pink scrubs. He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck as he talked to her. After an exchange of words Peter finally motioned for Claire and Sylar to walk over to him.
"Claire, this is Shannon, she is going to take you to the nurse's locker room so you can shower," Peter said.
"You sure you don't want me to stay with you," Claire said, not ready to leave her uncle's side again.
"I'll be okay just don't take forever," Peter said somehow summoning what resembled a smile.
"I won't," she said. Turning, she followed the nurse down the hallway and disappeared around a corner.
"Some night," Peter said exhausted.
"Some night," Sylar agreed.
"You wanna go for a walk?" Peter inquired.
"I think you should try and get some rest," Sylar recommended.
"Naw, I am not tired," Peter lied.
"Yes, you are," Sylar corrected.
"I need to talk to you and I couldn't sleep if I tried."
"Okay, Pete, you win. Let's walk."
Peter led Sylar through the commotion of the remarkably busy hospital. Through the hallways and up a couple flights of stairs, they both remained silent. Until, they stood in an empty room filled to the brim with memories.
In reality, it had only been a few short weeks since they had stood toe to toe against each other in the unfinished wing of the hospital.
"It doesn't look like they've done much work since we were here," Sylar observed nodding at the pile of untouched wood still stained with Sylar's blood.
"Yea from what I understand, they don't have the money to finish. It's supposed to be a new children's wing," Peter explained.
"So, what do you want to talk about?" Sylar questioned, cutting out the small talk.
"I need to know what happened after the car accident. Why were you there?"
"I followed you guys, just to make sure you made it home safe. I watched you crash. Then, he grabbed Claire."
"Who?"
"I don't know, Pete. But, he was like me."
"Like you, how?"
"He wanted her ability. He almost had her head open when I stopped him. And he's still out there. If I had to bet, I would say he'll be back… sooner rather than later."
Panic came over Peter's face.
"We have to go get her. We just left her alone down there."
"Peter, she's fine. He's not coming after her in a crowded hospital," Sylar calmed Peter. He knew the M.O., he stays in the dark, uses the shadows, avoids crowds, tries to never interact with people, and he's always someone else.
"Your sure?"
"I have a lot of experience. He's not dumb enough to come after her now."
"When will he come after her?"
"When she's alone. When she's defenseless. When she's an easy target. When there's no one to protect her," Sylar's words were miserably reminiscent.
"Then I need you to do me a favor."
"Sure, Pete. Anything."
"Protect her."
"No way. Peter, she hates me, unconditionally, categorically, unreservedly, and absolutely. You saw what she did in the parking lot," Sylar pleaded.
"This is how you start to make up for what you did to her. If you're truly going to be a hero, you don't turn down this kind of offer, as unpleasant as it might seem," Peter reasoned.
"Peter it won't ever work."
Peter stared into Sylar's eyes for a long awkward pause. Then, slowly, a grin crept over his tired face.
"You're scared of her, aren't you?"
"Shut up."
Peter belted out a much-needed laugh that echoed through the empty room.
"Oh my God, you are scared of a teenage girl."
"Of course I am," Sylar yelled, "The one person that I need forgiveness from to move on with my life is downstairs, my one victim that's still alive. And, she wants to kill me. And, to tell you the truth, I am inclined to let her. She deserves it... I deserve it!"
"Easy, buddy," Peter said calmly, trying to defuse the situation, "Clam down. No one is killing anyone. If you die now, all those people, every victim, was lost for nothing."
"Don't you dare tell her."
"Tell her you're terrified of her? Of course not. But, listen, we need to protect her from this guy. It changed her so much last time. I don't want to think what it would do to her, if this guy got a hold of her. So, what we ne-"
Peter's cell phone ringtone interrupted their conversation. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID.
"It's Bennet."
He flipped open the phone and began to talk to Noah.
"Hello... Yea, she's fine… More or less… You lost them?… I hope to hell you find them… Well it was your job for decades, Noah. So get it done," Peter was yelling by the end of the conversation. He slammed his phone shut after the last sentence.
"What's wrong?" Sylar questioned sensing Peter's frustration.
"Noah and his girlfriend lost Samuel Sullivan and Eric Doyle. It wouldn't be a big deal, but Noah thinks they'll come for Emma. To use her ability to rebuild their 'family'," Peter sounded even more exhausted.
"It's going to be okay, Peter. Let's go through this one thing at a time and make a plan."
So, they sat on a pile of lumber in the middle of an empty room and formulated a strategy, a plan of attack. And, Claire was going to hate it.