Bags of groceries crowded the black and white checked floor of her kitchen. Claire was crouched down, sorting through the food. Using his special way, he managed to 'convince' her to get a shit load of junk she didn't want. A mess load of food that she wouldn't eat. Looking down at the jars of pickles, she scrunched her nose up with distaste. Did he really need 4 jars of pickles?

"I'll go shopping alone next time," she stated, pushing the jars to the back of the fridge. Setting a few other things to the side, ketchup, mustard, hot sauce and other condiments, she stood up to look over at him. He wasn't even helping! Claire seen him with the toiletries in his hand a few moments ago, and now he was just standing at the edge of the kitchen watching her.

A soft smirk hinted at his lips as he leaned over the counter to stare at her. "How domestic," he commented, and her green hues narrowed dangerously.

Claire pulled the glass plates out of the box, and set them aside as she began to pull out the bowls. Did she really think that he could be civil? Could she really be civil towards him? Shaking her head to herself, she frowned at the glass plates. They weren't even the ones she would have chosen. "Put some of this stuff away, I didn't even want half of it, and I'm stuck doing all the work." Her voice was low, and it irritated him.

Suddenly, she was reminded why she had gotten the plates. Claire set the bowls down, and pointed across the counter at him. "Also, do not do your freaky puppet shit on me in public. Or ever again. Or I'll---"

"What, Claire? What are you going to do?"

Her mouth snapped shut, and she dropped her hand. Sylar leaned a bit closer, and he continued, "I don't take orders. I give them. And like it or not, I've got the upper hand. I'll always have the upper hand. You're just going to have to find a way to live with that."

He turned away from her to stare into the empty living room. It was still bare, but at least she had picked out some end tables and a coffee table.

Snatching up a glass plate from the table, she chucked it across the room. It crashed into the back of his head, and then it shattered into tiny pieces as it bounced off onto the floor. She heard a tiny crack, and seen a flash of crimson before she dropped to the floor, hiding behind the counter.

"Claire!" He barked, spinning around. The room appeared empty. He knew she wasn't invisible, so she was hiding behind the island counter. Sylar walked around to the edge, and Claire looked around for a weapon, anything. She grabbed the first thing that looked like would hurt if it connected with his head, and she leapt into the air to slam it down onto his forehead.

Surprised, the glass jar of hot sauce smashed into the side of his head, the red sauce pouring out and covering his eyes. He howled as the volcano sauce erupted over his eyes. She hadn't meant it, but she blinded him with the hot sauce. He scratched at his eyes, trying to rub the sauce out. It only burned more. His eyes were blazing and he squeezed them shut as he searched for the sink. He heard her footsteps across the broken glass, and he lifted a hand in the direction.

A second later, she was lifted blindly into the air. Her body was shook wildly as he slammed her against the wall, then brought her towards him to send her crashing into the counter. Her body hit the corner, and the familiar sensation of pain bit into her back as she bled on contact. Her eyes squeezed shut as he sent her into the counter again. After he washed his eyes out, he glared at her, furious.

"I guess you'll just have to learn the hard way."

A flash of fear shone in her eyes before she was rammed on top of the island, sending food and dishes crashing to the floor. He didn't care, his eyes were glued fiercely on her. When she was sprawled out on top of the counter, like a patient for a doctor to examine, he came to hover over her. Her body was pinned by his unseen force. She couldn't even struggle, she had no control except over her eyes and mouth.

He lifted a hand, and from the center of his palm the gift from Elle exploded from his hand and shot through her body. It shook her body, and she could taste the blood in her mouth from biting her tongue. She couldn't scream. She wouldn't. Her fists wouldn't tighten, but her head screamed in pain as he cut across it.

For a few moments, this is how it happened. Quietly, he would cut her up, bleeding until the wound was just about to heal. Then, just as it was sealing shut, he'd send a jolt of electricity through her blood, literally. A couple of times, a soft squeal would escape her lips, but her mouth would fasten shut as soon as it happened, and he'd spend another minute trying to get another out of her.

It wasn't enough though.

Not many moments later, he brought his face inches away from hers. "You will never do that again, do you understand?"

Her eyes were hot, molten with anger. "I hate you. And I will kill you," she hissed at him, her voice laced with venom.

His eyes shifted for a moment, and then he drew back. He put two fingers up, like he was making a pair of scissors, and began opening and closing them. Her bloodied, green shirt was split up the middle, and it parted to reveal her flat stomach and her dark tan bra. Her eyes widened with shock, and she frantically tried to regain control over her body. The only thing she could do was jerk her head from side to side, it made her feel as if her brain was loosely wobbling around, and made her ache even more.

"No!" Her scream broke through the disturbing silence.

At that moment, he hadn't decided whether he wanted to tear the bra up the middle, or if he'd save her from that embarrassment. When her livid eyes linked with his, it made his decision. She still wasn't feeling ashamed? He'd give her something to be ashamed about. A moment later, her bra fell to the side and she was revealed beneath him.

Claire swallowed hard, and her eyes clasped shut. This wasn't happening. He wasn't doing this. This was another nightmare. For Pete's sake, he was still dead. He had to be. She wasn't about to be raped by this monster, by this beast. What was worse was that, not only was she mortified, but a tiny part of her was thrilled. What the hell was that? Why?

He stared down at her, carefully absorbing her completely. As if she were a gourmet meal he was about to devour, or an exquisite piece of art work he was contemplating on buying. He began to cut through her tender skin, still a soft pink from the healing and the blood. A few seconds later, her lower abdomen was pooling with blood.

Gently, he traced the tip of his fingers up between the valley of her milky breasts, forbidding himself to touch. Then his fingers trailed down her stomach, to the hem of her jeans.

Hot, angry tears spilled over the brim of her eyes. "No," she whispered, her voice agonizingly sad and pitiful.

Infuriated, Sylar turned his eyes on her. It was as if he read her mind. "I won't take you like this, Claire. You'll have to beg first." The thought made her stomach churn, and she turned her face away from him. Against her will, her head turned until her eyes met his.

"And you will be begging for me before this is all over with," he promised, then brought his face until he was centimeters away from hers. It was almost intimate, considering the distance they usually kept between each other. "Your innocence died with me a long time ago, and as much as you'd hate to admit it…" His voice trailed off as he brought his hand up to her face, his hands stroking her cheek like a soft feather.

"Our fates are intertwined. I will always be the constant in your life; after Lyle dies, after both of your fathers die, and both of your mothers. I will always be the one at the end of that dark, dark tunnel. The sooner you realize that, the better for you." He drew back, still brushing her cheek carefully. Then he lifted a finger to touch her full, pouty bottom lip.

"You're mine, Claire Bennett."