Title: Empty Memory
Genre: Romance / Angst
Rating: T
Pairing: Sylar x OC
Spoilers: N/A
Summary: You will forget. To remember any portion of it, any word, will cause you pain, terrible pain, growing more terrible as you fight to remember.
Word Count: 1,174
Warnings: Weird timeline.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Summary is from Star Trek: The Original Series.

A/N: I am pretending Heroes: Reborn doesn't exist.


The question of good or evil, reduced to one simple choice: Survive. Or perish.


He plans his escape, and hers, with the focus of invading a small country. He waits, builds his strength, his energy for days. Most importantly, he talks to Evie – she does not know him that is clear and that hurts. But it is such a… joy to hear her voice, see her smile. Several times he makes her laugh out and the sound makes her heart clench like a vice in his chest.

She doesn't even know how important she is to his plan – but she doesn't need to. She just needs to have faith in him. So he tells her why he is here. Not all of it, not the nitty gritty details – but enough that she understands what kind of person he is. That she understands that he is dangerous, so dangerous that when they escape he will kill whomever stands in their way. But not her, never her. She must know that at least.

"So you have… powers?" She sounded skeptical.

She gasps when he reaches out a hand and uses a mere sliver of his power to float the measly pillow on his cot around the room. "Yes, many."

Her eyes are wide with surprise, then, just as swiftly, with delight. "Can you get us out of here? Is that why they locked you away – because you're strong?"

He smiles. "Yes… and yes. I will get us out of here, Evelyn…" His voice softens. "Evie. I promise."

"But how?"

The how is revealed a week later when the guard comes to shove food into their cells. Evie is sprawled across the floor of her cell, a crumbled heap of akimbo arms and legs. The guard glances from her to Sylar, unsure.

Gabriel shrugs. "Maybe she finally starved to death."

The guard hesitates, then lets himself into her room. The moment he does, Sylar reaches out and yanks him with all his strength against the wall. He falls in a heap and Evie stands, staring at his body with wide eyes. Glass shattering makes her turn her head, watching as Gabriel steps through the shattered remains of his cell window. He holds out a hand to her. "Let's go."


"Come on, Evie, let's go."

She giggles at him… giggles! Like a child, and he feels his ire rise. "Noooo I'm having fun!" She spins in a circle, arms splayed wide, to prove her point. He reaches out when she stumbles, but she catches herself and stares at him happily.

"You're drunk."

A grin, dimples flashing. "Yup!"

He sighs. "Evie, where did you get the fake ID?"

She puts a finger to her lips, pretending to think. "Someone." That cheeky brat –

"Come on. I'll take you back to my apartment so your mother doesn't kill you." When he reached for her wrist, she took several darting steps backwards, but tripped over her ridiculous heels. This time he grabbed her, pulling her close to keep her from falling. "Evie, let's go."

Her head lolls back so she's staring directly into his face. "You're so pretty, Gabriel."

He sighs and shifts her to his side, letting her lean on him as he walks her home. It is a slow, teetering process, made longer by the fact that five blocks from his apartment she throws her shoes into some bushes and complains that her feel hurt. To expedite the process he lifts her into his arm, determined to carry her the remainder of the way. But he was unprepared for having her so close to him, her arms wrapped around his neck, the feel of her soft thigh under her hand, the smell of her perfume in his nose.

By the time they're in his living room, he's rigid with self-control, and can't wait so set her on his couch so she can pass out. But when he sets her down and moves to stand, she holds on. She leans back to look into his face, her eyes are wide and thoughtful. "Gabriel…" When her gaze falls to his lips he opens his mouth to protest. But they are already kissing.

He has spent five blocks carrying her, and he has spent three years trying to forget the memory of his, her, their first kiss. But it was seared into the very fiber of his being, and he can't even put up a token resistance. The groan comes from deep inside him, years of pent up feelings and emotions he should not be feeling unleashed into one kiss.

"God, no one kisses like you…"

Her words first make a spike of purely male satisfaction swirl through him, followed by a jealous rage. Others had kissed her? Who? "No one else ever will." He does not think before he speaks. They feel right. He pushes her back into the couch, crowding into her until he is lying on top of her. She sighs when his weight falls on her.

Oh God, this is too perfect – she's all soft curves and fleeting touches. Her breasts are pressed tantalizingly against his chest and his fingers itch to touch them. But one hand is tangled impossibly in her hair, tilting her head back to bare the column of her throat to his mouth. His other hand is pressed possessively against her hip and when she shifts, he lets it slide down, down, down to the hem of her dress.

Skin, soft, creamy skin under his palm makes him groan into the curve of shoulder before him. He's panting as he reverses course, hand inching higher and higher, slowly sliding closer and closer to that secret part of her that he has been doing his best for years not to think about. Not to think about what it will feel like to sink into her, what noises she will make.

She's breathing harshly, little hiccupping breaths. One hand is so tight in his hair it almost hurts. The other – he hisses when her other hand suddenly slides against his hip, under the waistline of his jeans. It's hot and soft and so close to the part of him that is aching for her touch that he arches against her soundlessly. When she gasps he smells cheap whiskey and it brings him careening back to earth.

She's drunk… She's drunk.

He starts to pull away, though it's the hardest thing he's ever done. "Evie, Evie," he calls when she attempts to cling to him. He brushes her hair soothingly, kisses her softly. She sighs in contentment and settles more fully into his couch.

"Gabriel…" Then she is suddenly and deeply asleep.