Title: Forget Me Not

Author: Bunny

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Nope, not at all mine.

Summary: Set around Shadowboxing; Claire discovers an amnesiac Sylar wandering around and takes it upon herself to help him.

A/N: So, had to share; I saw Lady Gaga in concert this week while she was on her Monster Ball Tour. A total life changing experience, I still feel like I am floating. Words cannot express how utterly wonderful it was. 8-D Okay, I'm good, now off to the fic…

The faces all around me they don't smile they just crack
Waiting for our ship to come, but our ships not coming back
We do our time like pennies in a jar
What are we saving for?

~Believe; The Bravery

Chapter 1

Miles away at the Sullivan Bros Carnival, Sylar sat straight up in his bed with quick breaths. Sliding off to the side he looked in the mirror and inspected his face. Everything looked normal, he supposed. Taking both hands he rubbed his face vigorously to get some sort of memory back that was his mind. Ever since Damian had touched his mind everything that had been that other man had completely disappeared. And all Sylar was stuck with was the visions of those he had murdered. And the memory that it had felt so good.

He shuddered and pushed away the accompanying nausea. A small part of him was comforted at the thought that he hadn't killed Captain Lubbock. Granted he had wanted to, then proceeded to electrocute the man, and stood there as Edgar finished the job; but he had not been the one to murder him.

Grabbing a stray plaid shirt Sylar left his trailer. Seeing the backs of Samuel and Lydia as they huddled together, he strode to greet them morning. When the pair slipped out of sight behind a curtain he caught up enough to overhear their conversation and what he heard made him freeze.

"Your quick fix assassin hasn't turned out to be such a quick fix," came Lydia's voice.

"Damian removed the memories of this Nathan and tried to awaken those of Sylar, specifically of his hunger." It sounded as though Samuel threw a rag against a table before sighing. "It's just taking more time than I would have hoped."

"He couldn't kill the Captain, what makes you think he could go out in the world and pull the figurative trigger on another person?"

"Because at his core he is a killer, you showed me that. You just wait, Sylar will be our assassin yet." Samuel cleared his throat, "Now let's see what you have to show me today."

Sylar stumbled backwards, getting away as fast as possible without drawing any attention to himself. Stuck in a numb shock he barely registered as other Carnival members greeting him a good morning. For the second time that morning he felt physically ill, stumbling to the edge of their encampment he dry heaved into a nearby trashcan. With a shaky arm he cleared off his mouth and couldn't but wonder; were they right? Was his only purpose in life to be a killer?

He couldn't be, decided Sylar. He would do everything in his power to not kill again, his hands had already claimed enough lives. But staying here he wouldn't be able to fulfill his own promise. Looking up into the sky, Sylar suddenly felt himself up in the air and flying away. To where, he did not know. But it was bound to be better for him than here.

X~ X~ X~

Claire opened one of her cardboard boxes to extract a pair of black pumps. Checking the clock she decided there was enough time to put the shoes in the bottom of her closet. She set the box in front of the door and looked around her new bedroom. This room alone was bigger her dorm had been with the Queen sized bed fitting comfortably as evidence. There were only a handful of boxes left sitting around to be unpacked in the apartment.

Following Gretchen's departure and eventual drop out, Claire couldn't stand to keep living in her dorm room. In such a short time it was already too full of negative memories. To her surprise, it hadn't taken much to convince her parents that moving into an apartment off campus was a good choice. Less than a week ago she had moved into a furnished apartment with a bed and armoire for the bedroom; coffee table, a few chairs, a generous sized television, and a couch in the sitting room; a bathroom with a rather large tub; and a kitchen with top of the line appliances and a smaller table to eat at.

The niceties that had been included made Claire absolutely certain that her birth father's side had financially provided the room, not that she had a problem with it in the long run. Coming straight from the college dorm all Claire really had to move in were her clothes, books, and a handful of personal items she brought with her in the first place.

One of her parents conditions was she had to maintain an active social life in campus activities, which meant she still had to participate in sorority events and interact with her campus mates. Which was the reason she was preparing to attend yet another mixer at the moment. One of the functions for this week involved getting to know a few fraternity pledges to expand their own personal social network. Claire was fine with using Facebook for such means, but she knew she could put aside her own feeling about the ridiculous idea if she was allowed to keep her sweet new apartment.

Finishing her task, Claire slipped on the pumps with one hand and picked up her makeup bag with the other. With a sigh she headed to the bathroom when there was a knock from the front room. Furrowing her brow she hurried to open the door. "Angela?"

"Hello, Claire," she greeted with a flat, polite smile. "May I come in?"

"Uh, yeah," she agreed standing aside, still surprised by the unexpected visit. As the dark haired woman entered the apartment with a few inspecting head turns, a wrapped package was handed to Claire.

"A housewarming present," she explained before the question could be posed.

"Um, thank you…."

"It's a crystal serving bowl," she once again elaborated, her attention still on her surroundings. After glancing over the room a moment more she turned to face her. "I have to say I approve of the wall color."

Before any of her stuff had been moved in, Claire had spent the day painting the walls in the sitting room from an unbearable white to a warm tan and to a pale brown in her bedroom. "Thanks," she repeated. "My next door neighbor, Sweetie, helped. She's a nice older lady." Caught off guard by the compliment and surprise visit, Claire closed her mouth and set the present on the table. "I'm actually going to leave in a few minutes…"

"Oh I won't be long," Angela assured, hands coming to rest in front of her. "I just wanted to make sure you were settling in well." She nodded hesitantly, positive there was another reason Angela would have traveled in person from New York with no heads up. Another polite smile curved her red lips. "That's good."

Claire smiled back and began to walk to the bathroom with her bag to apply her makeup. Sensing that Angela was following, she said, "Not to sound rude, but a phone call would have done fine. Then you wouldn't have had to come all this way."

"There is another reason I came in person," she confessed. Claire looked at her in the mirror as she brushed on her foundation. "I need to know what happened between you and Sylar in the Stanton."

Claire nearly dropped her brush as the air sucked out as though she had been punched in the gut. What brought this on? So she asked.

"I had a dream involving you and Sylar," explained Angela, "and I need to know if there were any sexual interactions between the two of you."

"What? No!" she exclaimed, whirling to face the older woman. "Absolutely not!"

"Are you absolutely positive?" Angela's face was creased in worry as she interrogated. "You mentioned that he had control over your actions, perhaps he forced himself on you, wiped your memory afterwards?"

Claire couldn't help it as she laughed as she shook her head. "No, I mean he basically offered, but in a sick way he was hoping I would go to him willingly." Returning to the mirror she worked on her face as she continued, "Besides, he would have wanted me to remember a traumatic event like that." Involuntarily, Claire shuddered in disgust.

"I'm sorry, but I need to be sure." Digging into the black bag she held on her shoulder, she extracted a pregnancy test box and handed it to Claire. "I need you to take the test."

"No way," she retorted, once again laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. "I am most definitely not pregnant."

"I am not going to leave until I know," Angela bargained, still holding the white and purple box out.

Letting out a groan of disapproval, Claire accepted the test and slammed the door in her grandmother's face. Several minutes later she exited with a made up face and a white stick. Angela was sitting patiently in a chair, looking quite comfortable. Claire envied her ability to appear in control of every moment no matter if she had the upper hand or not. Handing over the pregnancy test, she said, "Negative. I told you I wasn't pregnant."

"Good," she sighed, studying the red negative sign with a furrowed brow. Angela breathed somewhat easier. "Good," she stated again, "but if you do come across Sylar again –"

"He's dead," Claire interrupted with absolute certainty. "We stood there at Coyote Sands and watched his body burn."

Lips pressed impossibly tight, a pale Angela choked out an, "Of course."

"Look," she assured kneeling down to take her grandmother's hands. "Whatever you dreamed must mean something completely different or maybe it was just a normal dream."

Angela gave her a deadpanned look, "I appreciate your input, dear, but I've had my gift long enough to know what a normal dream is and what isn't one."

Worry gripped at her stomach at the brisk response and Claire leaned to catch her eye. "He is dead, isn't he?"

"Of course, dear," she repeated after a pause, one that did not put Claire's worries at ease. The older woman patted her hands and stood indicating the conversation was done.

As she headed towards the door Claire followed, "Are you going to be alright?"

She opened the door. "Carrying on, that's what we are all so good at; the art of deception combined with plastered smiles. And perhaps if we're lucky, through the faking happiness we will actually find some relief."

Claire nodded slowly, a bit depressed because she understood perfectly. "So, is that a maybe?"

Angela settled on a relaxed, sad smile. "Just remember the sins of the father are always paid by the children." Angela touched Claire's cheek gently as her eyes misted over, "And I am so sorry for what we have done that you will deal with." Dropping her hand she cleared her throat, "Just be careful, Claire."

X~ X~ X~

It was well after 1am when Claire began to walk back to her apartment. She carried the black pumps in her hand and walked along the sidewalk barefoot. It wasn't that they were hurting her feet, as she could no longer feel pain, the walk home may have ruined them and any stone or glass she stepped on wouldn't bother her bare feet. The streets were eerily quiet for a Saturday night, even for so late.

The mixer had been enjoyable for the most part, but maintaining the plastered smile that Angela mentioned earlier had proved draining. All Claire wanted was a long hot bath, her fluffy white robe, and to crawl into her large bed; perhaps without pajamas. The high thread count did feel good on her bare skin, perhaps this would be a night without clothes to properly enjoy it.

A plan fully formed in her mind, Claire opted to cut down a few alleyways to get back home faster. Though the street lights did not reach down the dark pathway, the moon was plenty fully enough to light her way. Glancing down at her green party dress she saw that it heavily reflected the moonlight. As she walked, she smoothed out an imaginary crease and completely missed as a dark figure unexpectedly shot around the corner. He crashed into her and Claire felt to the ground with an, "Oomph." She felt her knees and left arm get scrapped up, but begin to heal rapidly.

"I'm sorry," rushed the man, "I – I don't know what's – I'm not exactly sure where – I mean…" He stopped his nonsense speaking to brush his dark hair back with shaky hands in an attempt to clear his head.

Anything he said was lost on Claire as she remained on the ground gaping at the man in front of her. Her throat had closed up the moment she saw him, her body frozen in disbelief. He was there in an open plaid shirt with a white undershirt and jeans. His clothing and face were messy with dirt as though he had been traveling around for quite some time with no rest.

She shut her eyes tight to get her thoughts together and her vocal chords working again. Maybe this was her imagination, maybe it wasn't him, maybe nobody was even really there. Her hopes were proved false as his warm hand settled on her shoulder. Eyes flying open, but still too stunned to move, Claire saw him kneeling before her concern written on his face. "Are you alright? I didn't hurt you did I?"

Licking dry lips she managed to croak out. "Sylar?" His eyes lit up hopefully.

"Do I know you?"