Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, places, or things nor the rights to them.
A/N: Already working on the next chapter. Going to try to put out chapters a little faster as I have more time to write now. Feel free to review. Expect the action to really start to pick up next chapter, whereas this chapter is not a lot a plot and just Claire/Sylar stuff.
Sylar woke to a sharp stinging pain in his neck. His eyes shot open to see the syringe being pulled out of his neck and back through the open car window. Claire was already out of the car, on her knees being held under the arms by two men in ski masks. Grabbing the wrist of the man who had injected him, he put his other hand out to electrocute their captor.
He felt tired, weak, and very normal. Not even a spark emitted from his hand. He was forced out of the car quickly and pulled to face Claire. She had received a similar injection. The man next to her pulled out a pistol and without words, sent a bullet into Claire's thigh. Her scream cut through the silence of the isolated highway. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she raised her eyes to meet Sylar's. The blood from a very real and unhealed bullet wound stained her jeans.
"Gabriel, please," she cried in agony. He felt so hopeless, so pathetically human. "Gabriel, help me. Plea-"
Her words were cut short by a second gunshot. She clutched her stomach, but the dark blood poured through the gaps in between her fingers. She didn't scream this time, her colorless lips just gasped for air.
"Go ahead, Mr. Gray, save her," the man mocked placing the end of the barrel to Claire's temple. She looked back at him with sobbing eyes and silently mouthed the word 'please.'
"I am sorry," Sylar finally choked out. He closed his eyes and embraced the emptiness of the inside of his eyelids. He wished he wasn't so aware of his surroundings, he wished he could just cut himself off from reality. Claire's gasps for air interrupted the sound of the cool breeze rushing through the trees off of the road and the squawk of the birds living with in one of them. He wondered why he was overly aware of what was around him. He could smell the dust on the barren road, Claire's perfume, and the musk of the man that stood in front of him.
The gunshot made him flinch. He clinched his eyes shut further.
The echo of the gunshot rang a hundred times over in the darkness of his head, getting louder each time. The noise was deafening. Drowning out every other sense he had. He wished for the aloneness of his nightmare, the quietness. Finally, he forced himself to open his eyes.
Sylar sat up and inhaled deeply, a cold sweat covering his body. The familiar sight of the interior of the car and the hum of the running engine calming him as he let his head fall limply back on the headrest of the seat.
"Jesus, you really are a psycho," Claire mumbled.
"It never used to be like this," he reflected ignoring Claire's insult while trying to catch his breath.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean: the second I try to change my life, my only friend almost dies. I start doing the 'right' thing, and I start having nightmares. Plus, no offense, but going on a road trip with someone that wants to kill me wasn't at the top of my 'to do' list, especially after five years in my personal hell." He paused and took a deep breath. "I guess it comes down to the fact that: it was a lot easier being Sylar."
"Of course it was," she assessed, "living life with no rules. Just going around doing whatever you want, killing whoever you want. It's going to take a big adjustment."
"That makes sense," he paused for a long time. "How do you do it?"
"Do what?" she asked puzzled.
"You know," he said, rubbing the back his neck sheepishly, in a way that reminded Claire too much of Peter, "Be a hero?"
She laughed out-loud, "I am no hero. That's Peter's job."
"Well, counting yesterday, you've saved Peter's life at least twice. You stabbed me… what three times? Even killed me once. Oh, and you played a pretty big role in keeping New York from exploding. So, yeah, that sounds kinda like a hero to me."
"Whatever," Claire said rolling her eyes with a smile.
"So, give me some advice, you've been one of the good guys for a lot longer than me," he joked.
"I don't know what to tell you," she sat there silent for a long time. "I guess it just comes down to believing that I was given this gift, this ability, for a reason. And even if I will never fully understand this ability, it's my job to figure out what that reason is."
"I guess, that doesn't apply for someone who took all of his abilities," he added somberly, pausing as he reflected on his former self. "I am scared, Claire, that he'll comeback. He's still in here," Sylar pointed to his head. "I can feel him. Waiting."
Claire felt a cold chill run up her spine. It terrified her to no end, to think that the "real" Sylar was still lying dormant inside his head. The "real" Sylar was confident, powerful, and devious, and the man that sat in the passenger seat next to her was not. She felt in her gut, that they hadn't seen the last of that Sylar.
"You have to find a way to keep him in there. You can't ever let him out," she commanded.
"I know," he agreed. "Promise me, if he ever comes back, you'll kill him, no matter what Pete says, no matter if you think you can bring me back."
"You know, he's pretty tough to get rid of."
"I promise to keep him trapped up there as long as I possibly can, as long as you promise me you'll find a way to kill him if he ever comes back. I am not letting him control me again."
"Deal," she said understanding the gravity of her promise. He gave her sad smile in return. They sat there in silence, both analyzing their end of the bargain.
"Let's get something to eat," he said in a more upbeat voice, breaking the silence. "Then, lets find a place to sleep. I am tired of sleeping in a car."
"Whatever, that works for me," she concurred nonchalantly. Trying not to sound giddy at the idea of a bed and a shower.
They walked down the hallway of the upscale hotel they had checked into quietly. It was around midnight when they checked in and getting a noise complaint wasn't the best way to stay under the radar. They just wanted to blend in, get to their room, and go to sleep. Claire walked behind Sylar, angrily whispering at him, obviously being lest worried about blending in.
"Hey, sideshow, did over hear you saying you got a room with one queen sized bed?" she half whispered half yelled at him.
"Yep," he responded casually as he ran his finger along the wall lightly as they approached their room.
"Maybe you can't count, but there's two of us and one bed," she whispered slowly and sarcastically.
"Whoever's after you would be looking for us in a two bed room, plus only need one bed," he whispered back as counted the rooms as they passed them.
"No. No, Sylar. We actually do need two beds," she said keeping the sarcastic façade by acting like she was talking to a child.
He turned to face the door, inserted the keycard into the card reader on the door, and opened the door for his companion.
"I'd rather get stabbed in the eyeball with a pencil then share a bed with you," she remarked pushing past him into the room. He just grinned back.
Sylar closed the door behind him and locked the dead bolt and chain lock. Then, he walked over to window. He looked out the second story down to the parking lot. Claire stared at him as his eyes darted from the hotel exits, to cars, to empty parking spaces, to the street. She could see the gears turning in his head, he took everything into account: threats, escape routes, getaway vehicles, anything suspicious. She wondered what it'd be like to look at the world through his eyes. Analyzing every single thing he saw until he understood it. The more she thought about it the less and less appealing living one's life like that seemed. She knew sometimes in life not understanding was a blessing.
"What are you thinking?" she questioned from where she sat on the side of the bed. It was a rhetorical thought she had accidentally said out loud.
"Whether the versatility of a SUV outweighs the ability to blend-in of a sedan," he answered with out turning to face her or changing expression.
"Does your brain really work like that?" she questioned.
"Yes," he answered still deep in thought.
"That's weird," she responded. It came out of her mouth sounding a lot more insensitive than she meant it to. "Sorry," she quickly amended.
"No, it's fine. You should take a shower now if you are going to, we're going to leave early."
"I guess, I'll just change back into these three day old dirty clothes when I am done then," she sighed, walking over to the bathroom wishing she had a change of clothes.
"We'll can go get some clothes tomorrow after we check out, sound good?"
"Sure," she said as she closed door to the bathroom.
Claire exhaled, exhausted from the last week of her life. She could feel it coming from deep inside of her and despite how hard she tried to fight it; the tears welled up in her eyes. She felt so tired, so angry, so scared, and so isolated. Every emotion hit her at once as she tried to slow her breathing to calm herself, but she started sobbing even harder. She closed her eyes in embarrassment when she the knock on the door.
"Everything alright?" Sylar questioned from the other side of the door.
"Yeah, I am fine," she responded, cringing at the fact that she sounded overly chipper trying to conceal her bawling. Turning on the shower to drown out the noise of her crying, she pulled herself on to the counter and sat with her head in her hands, silently adding humiliation to the list of emotions she was feeling. She wished her mom was there, her dad was there, Peter was there, Gretchen was there, anyone was there. Her one pillar of guidance now was a man who was out in the other room analyzing the tactical advantages of a Toyota versus a Honda. Not to mention he had killed her biological father and mother. Though it was becoming more and more evident that this man was different from the murder he once was, not that it changed the facts.
She told herself she was strong enough to get trough this. That she had been through harder situations than this, but she was tired of being strong, of having something to get through. She just wanted to live for once.
The steam filling the room indicated the heat of the shower. After kicking off her shoes, Claire slid off of the counter and began to disrobe. Stepping into the shower, she new that the heat would have stung if she could have felt the pain. But, now the temperature just felt therapeutic. She lost track of time, letting the water cleanse her physically and emotionally. Being alone for once, simply let her unwind. She new Sylar was trying his best, but it was hard for her to communicate with him. At anytime it was either like talking to college professor or a seven-year-old.
Claire shut-off the water, feeling refreshed for the first time in days. She took her time drying herself, dreading the fact that she'd half to change back into her grimy clothes. But, even the three-day-old clothes couldn't ruin the unsullied feeling of freshness about her.
She walked out of the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam. She furrowed her brow, overstressing the crease in between her eyebrows, when her eyes met an empty bed missing one pillow. She was fully read to sleep on the ground or in the one lone chair at the desk by the window. A smirk crept over her face, as she noticed the tall gawky form of a reformed serial killer sleeping on the floor with his back propped against the door and a pillow behind his head. Claire shook her head, her grin growing even bigger as she walked to the bed.
Slipping under the covers of the sizeable bed, she then removed her pants and placed them on the nightstand with in reaching distance for the next morning. She couldn't keep herself from looking at him. He didn't look comfortable at all, but he looked like he was sleeping deeply.
The words crept out of her mouth inadvertently in almost a whisper.
"Thanks."