Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, places, or things nor the rights to them.

A/N: Sorry it has been so long since an update. I have been extremely busy and I have rewritten this chapter more than a few times.

Claire woke up slowly. She had slept deeply and felt completely refreshed. Then, she remembered the previous night and who was driving the car and felt tired all over again.

"Morning, Claire," Sylar greeted her solemnly.

She turned away acting as if she hadn't heard him.

"Where are we?" she mumbled noticing a severe change in landscape. The rolling hills and fields patched with clusters of trees were far from the bustling metropolis of New York City.

"Radford," he mumbled back.

"Okay, what state?"

"Virginia," he answered almost cracking a smile.

"So, we drove all night?"

"Yes, we did. Are you hungry?" he inquired.

"No, I don't eat right after I wake up."

"Oh, okay."

Those were the last words they said to each other for a long while. She stared out the passenger window; he focused on the road. As awkward as it was for her to try to talk to him, the silence was ten times more awkward, so she thought of the only question she could ask him, the one Peter had to told her to ask.

"So," she started trying do sound as disinterested as possible, "how did you and Peter get to be friends so fast?" She want to add in a comment like 'I mean you killed his brother' or 'after you've tried to ruin his life for the past four years' but she was interested in hearing the story. She figured she'd get a straighter answer if she didn't antagonize him before he had even started.

"You sure? It's a long story," he explained, trying to talk his way out of sharing his nightmare with Claire. Fearless Claire, who will probably laugh at my innumerable years in hell, he thought.

"You're right, there's so much else to do right now," she said looking over the surroundings making sure he sensed her sarcasm. She couldn't help herself, she was trying to do him a favor by acknowledging his presence and talking with him, but he seemed like he would rather sit in silence pretending to be alone.

"Fine. I guess it starts with this," he said, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to expose the tattoo of her that still remained imprinted on his skin.

"Oh God, I hoped that was gone by now," she remarked, looking down at his forearm.

"Me too," he agreed. As much as he wanted Claire's forgiveness, he figured a tattoo of her on his arm was a little over the top. "Anyway, you remember our conversation in the closet?"

"Yea, how could I forget? Making 't-charts,' and my best friend's life being endangered. It's one of those days that sticks with you. Plus, it was just few days ago."

"Yeah, I guess it was. But, to be fair, her life wasn't in danger."

"Whatever, details, get to the story," Claire urged with an annoyed impatience.

"Okay, so we figured out that I needed to get rid of my powers to become more human. Right?"

She hated how he said 'we' like they had voluntarily worked together on solving his psychopathic problems; as if they had labored through all of issues one by one and drawn up a conclusion. No, in reality, he had tricked her into helping him unwillingly.

"Obviously that didn't work, because here you are unholy powers and all," she assessed continuing to get impatient.

"You're right. The only person I could think of powerful enough to suppress my abilities was Parkman. So, I went to California. I threatened Matt's family to try to get him to suppress my abilities. Instead, he trapped my inside my own mind."

"What do mean inside your own mind?" she questioned finding herself skeptical yet somewhat interested in his story now.

"I was alone in a city I could never leave. Seconds were days; hours were years. I had no idea how I had got there or why there was no one left, but in reality I was just sitting in his basement comatose," his sad words tried to explain the inexplicable.

"So, it was a dream?" she attempted to understand.

"No. It was real. I could feel, I could taste, I could hear. Every millisecond was real to me. The emptiness was real. I knew it was what I deserved, what I had earned for myself." His words were sharp. He knew she would never fully understand what he had gone through, but he tried to express how real it was.

"That sounds terrible," she couldn't believe she was empathizing with a serial killer but the miserable way he told the story actually, for a second, made her believe it had changed him. "But, it still doesn't explain you and Peter."

"Of course, Peter. He showed up one thousand, one hundred and thirty-nine days later. He was banging a pipe on the pavement of Whitley Avenue. After over three years of solitude, I couldn't believe he was real. He had to be my mind tricking me. So, I ran away from him, tried to hide. He found me and asked for my help. Could you imagine? I had killed his brother, tried to ruin his life for years, and hurt virtually every person he loved and yet he wanted to save Emma so bad he would rescue me from this nightmare to help her. But, it wasn't so easy. We spent years trying to get out."

"How'd you guys get out?"

"At first, I didn't want out. I had earned my prison cell, and I would rot there for eternity. But, Peter, he was so desperate to get out, to save Emma. I decided I wanted to help him escape. And then out of nowhere a wall, a brick wall, appeared. For some reason, we knew it had to be the way out. First, Pete hit it with a sledgehammer everyday. Then, we both hit it everyday. He is so stubborn, must run in the family," he jabbed as a grin crept over his face. "For years not a pebble moved, but he hit it every second he could. Finally, one night at the wall he admitted I had changed. He admitted he was ready for me to leave my prison. The wall finally crumbled. So, we both hit it. And then, we were back in Parkman's basement, and it had only been half a day."

Claire was silent. She hadn't expected that. For some reason, she believed him. Still, Peter may have forgiven him, but she still wasn't going to. Peter had years to grieve and forgive Sylar. The wounds of Nathan's death were still open and bleeding for her. And, she didn't see them healing anytime soon. But, understanding that Peter believed in him almost made it tolerable to ride in a car with him.

"So, are you hungry yet?" Sylar finally said timidly. "Because, I am starving."

"I guess I could eat," she conceded.

"It's noon, you want breakfast or lunch?" he said through a sneer, mocking how late she had slept.

Though, the question was asked sarcastically, Claire surveyed her options carefully.

"Breakfast."

"Good choice," he agreed.

Peter woke sore all over. He twisted his head in an attempt relieve the intense pain in the muscles in his neck. He deserved the sharp pains encompassing his body, sleeping in a chair does that to you. Streaks of sunlight broke through the gaps in the shutters and cast stripes a crossed the hospital room floor. The haze of the night before struck him like a freight train as he sat up with a jolt. Looking at the bed in front of him, he saw Emma sound asleep, bandages around her head and fingertips. Panning the rest of the room he realized he was not alone.

"Hello, Peter," Angela Petrelli greeted her son with a dignified yet sad smile.

"Mom?" Peter moaned through tired eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I am worried about you, Peter. Things are changing very quickly. I want to make sure that our family is ready."

"Mom," Peter he said still waking, "Right now, I am just worried about Emma."

"Of course you are Peter. That is who you are. You will always put others before yourself. And, that is why all I am asking of you is to stay here and keep quiet while I deal with your niece's little stunt."

"I can do that," Peter agreed walking over to Emma's bed and inspecting her chart. "Has there been any word on Doyle and Sullivan?"

"No. Unfortunately, those two seemed to have disappeared into thin air."

Peter looked at Emma worried. "You think they'll try and use her again?"

"It's hard to say. I wouldn't put it past Samuel Sullivan. That kind of crazy has no morals and follows no rules," she paused for a second seemingly cultivating a plan in her mind, "Would it help if I had René come around?"

"I guess it couldn't hurt."

Peter wanted to fight his own fight, but he didn't want to take any chances with Emma. "The Haitian" had always proved as useful as he was loyal.

"I will send him by. When he gets here I think you should go home and rest. You're spreading yourself too thin, Peter."

"I've got by so far spreading myself thin, I think I manage, mom."

There was a long silence as Peter continued to flip through the pages on the clipboard.

"I trust Gabriel and Claire are out of the city."

"Yep. They left last night."

"Good. Where were they going?"

"Not sure. I guess I should call them here soon."

"Give them some time, Peter. Isolating them from you might be the best thing, for both of them. Just give them a few days before you call."

"Maybe."

"Well, Peter. I have quite a day in front of me. I'll come back by soon."

"Bye, mom."

Peter hugged his mother and returned to his chair. Folding his arms in front of his chest he sat there in silence waiting.

Neither of them talked much during their breakfast. Food was much more important than conversation. The diner was small, dirty, and had some of the scraggliest patrons either of them had ever seen. Needless to say the food was delicious.

After eating and paying their tab, Sylar left to use the bathroom. Claire sat at the table alone for a moment. Her gaze dropped the keys he left sitting on the table. If she wanted to leave this was her chance. Before she new what she was doing, the keys were in her hand.

"Go," she told herself, her eyes still fixed on her hand clasped around the keys. She tried to force her legs to move. She had to move.

"Going somewhere, Claire?" Sylar asked with an eyebrow raised after emerging from the back of the diner.

"No, I just thought I could drive for a while," Claire lied.

He looked down at her, a disappointed look on his face.

"You know I'll always been honest with you, Claire?"

She hated the way he used her name. It felt so fake, so condescending, to have him talk to her like they were friends. And for some reason she let that hate saturate her.

"Fine, you fucking drive," she growled, shoving the keys into his chest and walking past him towards the door.

"Claire?"

She walked through the door ignoring him. He chased her out of the diner into the parking lot. Claire crossed the parking lot to where the car was parked.

"Claire!" he shouted this time grabbing her arm to spin her to face him. "What the hell is your problem?"

"You're my problem, Sylar! This whole situation is my problem," she screamed at him, "What do I do know?"

"I don't know," he broke for a second raising his voice, "Maybe you should have thought of that before you jumped off that ferris-wheel. Have you ever taken a second to consider that you might not be the only one who doesn't want to be here?"

She looked down at the gravel realizing how childish she felt right then. Sylar instantly felt bad for yelling at her.

"I am sorry, Claire," he said as softly as possible. "But, we have to make this work, because there's really no other choice. What happened happened. Now, we have to deal with that. Those are the facts. And, we can fight about it or we can keep moving forward."

She was blown away. She had seen a range of emotions she never thought possible by Sylar. He had appeared to her, if only for a second, human.

"I had my chance to leave. I could have picked up those keys and walked out here and drove off. But, I just sat there," she confessed the real reason for her frustrations.

Sylar just looked at her, silently taking in her every emotion. He knew the feeling. The hunger for abilities, the need to kill, had driven his life for years; he hadn't had control in a long time. Even before Sylar he let his mother or his profession direct his life. So, he put the keys in Claire's hand and walked around to the passenger's side. The keys represented freedom, represent choice, and he had just handed her pure independence. A smile crept over her face as they both entered the SUV.

"Where are we going?" she asked adjusting the driver's seat to match her much shorter legs.

"Where are we going?" he asked her in response. She sat there perplexed. It was a loaded question. In reality, she had four options, four directions. She picked the most familiar.

"West?"

"Sounds good to me," he confirmed.

Dropping the shifter into 'D,' she floored the gas pedal. The tires spun wildly, sending gravel flying behind her.

Quietly glancing over at Sylar every few moments, she studied his appearance, as much as it made her sick to her stomache. The bags under his eyes and unkempt hair on his face revealed his fatigue. She knew he couldn't go more than a few more hours without sleep. As much as her ability helped her in tight spots when it came to injury, she still needed to eat, sleep, drink water, things that "normal" people do, to stay functional. She figured asphyxiation or dehydration wouldn't kill her, but could wreck havoc on her brain. She had learned the effects of sleeping deprivation in Anatomy, too. More things that wouldn't kill her or Sylar but weren't worth the risk. Not that she cared if he screwed up his already deranged mind.

"You look horrible," she pointed out.

"Thanks," he said through a yawn.

"No, I mean, you look like you should get some sleep," she corrected herself.

"I'll be fine."

"Alright, all I'm saying is if you wanted to rest for a little while, I can handle it alone for a few hours."

"I don't need sleep," he said a little more sternly.

"Glad to see most of Peter's stubbornness wore off on you. I guess after God knows how many years, you guys can probably finish each other's sentences," Claire paused, staring down the road considering what mental purgatory must have been like. "I can't imagine years and years of interactions with just one person. I mean, it had to be better than the years alone, but still I am surprised you didn't kill one another."

She took fleeting look back at Sylar. His legs were up on the dash, his seat reclined, hands folded behind his head, and, of course, he was fast asleep. Claire quelled the instant urge to violently wake him.

"You son of a bitch, I actually try to talk to you, and you're going to sleep through one of our first real conversations?" Claire whispered annoyed under her breath making sure not to awaken him.

Despite her irritation, Claire liked him a lot more like this: asleep. He wasn't the psychotic egotistical serial killer he was when he was awake. She kept glancing back at him; it was completely unreal. She had never imagined him eating, sleeping, or doing anything regular, just killing and tormenting. Witnessing him doing normal things was fascinating to her. Though, he slept less than normal. He shifted, winced, and groaned as if he didn't like where he went in his dreams.

"He's very careful," he thought out loud, "but he'll make a mistake."

He was right Sylar hadn't let Claire out of his sight for more than a minute in nearly 24 hours. He didn't let her go into the gas stations alone. He stood outside the restroom when she had to use it. He was smothering her, and at some point, probably soon, she would get tired of it and run off.

It wasn't tough following them. The lo-jack on their car made sure of that. Staying a few miles back and changing cars at every once in a while kept him hidden.

The cell phone in the passenger seat buzzed with an incoming call. It was her, it had to be her. She had giving him the phone, and he hadn't received a call from anyone else on it. He flipped it open to accept the call.

"Yea… No, not yet… Soon… I will…"

The conversation was one-sided and it ended abruptly. She had put a lot of money into attaining his services, yet she was getting impatient, but he wasn't going to get sloppy, he wasn't going to rush. Because, thanks to her he had time, time enough to wait for the right opportunity. Time enough to figure out how to get the cheerleader's ability and kill the watchmaker in one encounter.