JANUARY 2521

It's the end of January, and it's freezing out. There have been snowstorms lately that have forced the two of us inside. I've drawn the shutters over the windows and Dani and I have adapted to the poor electric lighting. At least the pipes haven't frozen this winter.

She's getting bigger every day. I've had to find her a whole new wardrobe because she's outgrown the tiny thing she arrived with, and it's far too cold for the onesies. We've grown attached to one another in the four months since I found her on my doorstep. And why shouldn't we? There isn't a doubt in my mind that her parents are dead. Sylar wouldn't leave a loose end like that. He intended for me to have her, like a stray puppy I could find and feed and love and keep. And however twisted it seems I'm going along with it. I can't help loving the little girl I've made my own.

I dress her for the day, picking her up from where she lies in the bassinet beside my bed. She kicks her legs and waves her fists, smiling as I take her out of her long pajamas and slip her into long cotton underthings and a jumpsuit. Her hair is getting longer, blonder. It wisps out in fringes around her face and waves around her cheeks as she giggles.

She smiles so much now. When I kiss her hands and feet. When I tickle her tummy. When Sylar comes to visit. I think that disturbs me most about the situation.

Of course he couldn't just give her to me and leave it at that. No, Sylar is all about the pleasure with the pain. You must hurt to appreciate pleasure. It's something I learned early in our relationship. In the beginning, there was rarely a time he would stroke me without sending low volts of electricity through my skin. I learned then that all kinds of tension could lead to release. But now, he's treading on the emotional.

He visits at least once a week. The first few times he came, I tried to kill him. The knife felt heavy and familiar in my hand as it sank through flesh and cracked bones. I'd been able to work up quite a powerful stroke in the last half millennium. But the display had upset Dani and left me with a bloody mess to scrub off of the hardwood floor of my kitchen. Besides, what were the odds I'd find the spot randomly anyway? As good as stabbing him felt, I had the baby to think of now, and mothers couldn't just go around trying to kill people. I had decided to be more careful about it.

And so, as I set Dani in her high chair and open the fridge to find some milk to warm for her and a can of mashed peas, his voice doesn't send me into a frenzy of hatred.

"You're running low on food." His voice is low, calm.

"Well, the weather hasn't exactly been great for bartering lately," I say without turning around. I know without having to look that he's holding Dani.

I hear him step out of the room and my heartbeat accelerates. Still, I stop myself from following. He won't hurt her. That's not his style.

I kick the fridge shut and turn on the gas stove, taking the time to warm her food thoroughly before following them into the living room. We discussed this over a month ago. Fighting him about holding her had become wearying, and he just did what he wanted anyway. Sylar had chosen to make himself a part of my daughter's life, and all I could do was watch and hope for an opportunity to end him before she was old enough to get attached.

That particular prospect wasn't looking so promising, not when almost every minute of my day was spent with her and he was basically indestructible.

I'd tried killing him various ways over the centuries. My particular favorite had been in the 2200s, shortly after the volcano had erupted. He'd found me as the lava was still flowing, making sure I was alive to toy with. I'd pushed him into a lahar, a boiling mud flow that should have filled his lungs, disintegrated his flesh, and encased him in a cement-like substance when it dried. He had found me a week later. Our discussion hadn't been pleasant, as it consisted mostly of me screaming and re-growing lots of charred flesh. The one thing I'd learned then was that it is best to stick to the knife. Getting creative only ensured misery for me afterwards. Besides, sticking a spike in his special spot was the only way to get rid of him for good. I could rip him to pieces and burn them all up and his ashes would still reform themselves if I didn't take out that bundle of nerves first. The only problem there was that he was a shape-shifter and could move the tiny spot wherever the hell he wanted, whenever the hell he wanted.

Come to think of it, stabbing him was really more of a formality these days anyway, one I could easily dispense with until my daughter was grown. Still, there was the problem of him insinuating himself back into my life, something I had sworn before I would never let happen.

When I round the corner into the living room, he's there, sitting on the couch with Dani in his lap. She's lying on her back, head resting on his knees and tiny feet beating against the firm expanse of his abdomen. He's smiling as he looks down at her, fingers waggling above her face. She's reaching up, fists wrapping around his fingers as she giggles and snorts.

I clear my throat. "It's time for her breakfast," I say. The smile leaves his lips instantly at the sound of my voice, and I'm almost sad to see it go. Almost.

"I think we have some things to discuss," he says thoughtfully as I scoop Dani off of his lap and balance her on my hip.

"I think we've had enough discussions," I retort. I turn to go and his control swamps me, freezing me in place, the weight of the baby on my hip.

"I'm going to move in here. With the two of you," he says, voice low and musing as he rises and approaches us. He says it as if the thought only just occurred to him. I shudder.

"No." My voice is firm, but useless against his resolve. He laughs.

"Yes." He comes around to face me and plucks Dani out of my arms. She smiles at him and wraps her fist around a patch of his tee-shirt. He meets my gaze, eyes sober. "And we both know how frustrating it gets when you disobey me… so let's not make this a power struggle. I don't think Danielle would appreciate having a puppet for a mother." With that, he gives me a grin, releases his hold on me, and makes his way into the kitchen.

By the time I work up the strength to follow, he has her in the high chair and is feeding her the peas, spoon in his hand and airplane sound effects on his lips.

It's my nightmare. He's back in my life, in my home. He's holding the child that he gave me. And all I can think of is that day on the couch, the ease with which we spoke, laughed, kissed. And how he said things would be different.

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Mel and Chuck