As we said before, this is a dark story and is rated M for a reason. You have been warned. Don't forget to review.

Mel and Chuck

JUNE 2518

Once upon a time, I was a cheerleader, rooting for the school team and living my happy little life with my family. Then, Sylar appeared and changed all of that; he'll pay for that, but in the meantime, I've had to learn to cope. One year after I was on my own, I turned to selling my body. My remarkable ability to withstand punishment and mutilation made me a favorite among a certain crowd of men and women. Then Sylar found out.

I was surprised it took him so long really. I had expected him to know the moment I began, but it had taken him nearly a month. When he had, it had satisfied a part of me I barely knew existed, the part that wanted him fiercely possessive and irate; the part of me that wanted to be desired and cared about above all else, even if it was by a ruthless murderer who had held me captive for years.

I had regretted it afterwards. I did not hate the people who had used me; they had given me fair compensation for my services. Still, I couldn't bring myself to really feel sad as one by one their mutilated corpses turned up on my doorstep. It seemed somehow fitting that they should go in the same way I couldn't. Once he was finished with them, he came for me, reminding me of exactly who my body belonged to and re-staking his claim.

If I'm not mistaken, he told me in the throes of passion that if I ever took another lover he'd put a spike into the back of my head himself. By that time, I'd learned that I wanted to live… at least until he was dead. Needless to say I've been celibate since then.

I dress in front of the bathroom mirror as I think, noting the lack of scars on my skin. A part of me mourns my inability to keep any lasting marks on myself. There are so many things I'd like to remember. In that sense, I have no history, much like the nation I'm living in.

Once I am clothed, I go for the jewelry. Every morning I re- pierce my ears, liking the look of the diamond studs and the pinch that comes with them. And then, I lift the locket from the edge of the sink and drape it around my neck. The chain is long and the pendent rests beneath my shirt and between my breasts, a brand against my flesh, reminding me of everything I never had and everything I lost. I wonder briefly why I let him touch me this way, loving the indirect caress of his gift on my skin. It's like I'm encouraging his sway over my thought, loving the memories such a small piece of silver and its contents bring me. Maybe it's the specific pictures inside, he and I together on two occasions, my stomach swollen with his child and a completely voluntary smile on my lips.

I don't know why I'm sinking into this trap he's set for me. Letting him drag me down into longing for everything I hated. It's confusing, this desire for the complacency he gave me, especially as I remember vividly the way my little brother's blood looked splattered across his white tee-shirt. Lyle. It's strange. I can't even remember the color of his eyes anymore.

I shake off the strange feeling that I've been chasing my tail for the last five centuries and turn away from the mirror.

He's there.

Of course he's there.

He lets me throw myself at him, standing still as stone as I let my knife rise and fall down into yielding flesh. By the time I've tired myself, he's on the white tile of the bathroom floor and everything around me is covered in a dark tint from his blood.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" I scream, falling back and letting my knife clatter to the ground. I can barely breathe. I'm sobbing and breathing through tears I don't remember shedding.

It takes him a while to answer me. I think his lungs have to fix themselves and seal over the puncture wounds I've put in them.

"You don't want me to leave you. If you did, you wouldn't be wearing my gift." He's right, but I'm not ready to give in.

"Fuck you," I hiss through gritted teeth.

He's off the tile and above me in a heartbeat, crushing my chest to his, hot breath on my face.

"You don't know how badly I want that," he says, the familiar electricity tingling across my skin as his hands rove. "But until you admit it's what you want, that's not going to happen, Claire," he says, voice gone low and calm

"I don't—"

"Shut up!" he cries, one hand covering my mouth as his other arm wraps around my waist and lifts me up. My feet are dangling above the floor as he holds me tightly to him, staring into my eyes, his gaze burning. "Don't even bother to speak to me if you're going to spew lies. I know exactly what you're thinking, Claire Gray," he hisses, "and I can make perfect sense of the twisted little thoughts you're trying to repress. You need to snap out of it, princess, and realize that you're not the only one that this," his hand snakes up my shirt, tracing up the taut flesh there until he comes to the locket and grabs it hard in his hand, yanking forward unrelentingly so that my chin rests against his shoulder and his lips rest against my ear, "affected."

"You have no idea what the hell you're talking about." I shudder as he inhales the scent of me, letting his lips rest against my neck as he speaks again, sending shivers down my spine. He still knows the spots I love.

"I know. I know exactly what I'm doing and what you're feeling. And the truth, Claire, is that you want to be with me more than you want to kill me. I am your other half. I give your life purpose, no matter what I've done in the past. And you're just too damned stubborn to acknowledge it." He lets his hand trail back down my stomach and to the waistband of my jeans. "Well, pretty soon I'm going to be done waiting for you to realize the truth," he breathes as he undoes the button there and lets the zipper slide down with his fingers. I can't bring myself to fight against him as he begins to incite the flames within me. "And then I'm going to take back what belongs to me."

As his fingers slip inside of me I cry out. He crushes his lips to mine and I bite down, enjoying the ruthless, unrelenting pleasure he gives me and thinking the whole while that I'm allowed this small measure of happiness.

"Close enough," he whispers. Too late I remember that he hears all of my thoughts, even the guilty ones in which I acquiesce to his desire.

Oh hell, I think, I'll go back to hunting him tomorrow.

He chuckles as he brings me to the edge and back down again, reminding me once again of his superb patience and complete mastery over my body, with or without his puppeteer's abilities.

All I can do is moan into his mouth and let him play me like a fiddle. I enjoy every guilty second.