Cold Wars, 3x17

This chapter is dedicated to cerberus angel.

Claire ran a hand through her hair, studying herself in the scratched and blotchy mirror. She had gotten up before everyone else, and was contemplating... What, exactly? She could leave. But... Then again, she couldn't. What would he do to her, after he was done with this soul-searching trip? More importantly, what would he do to her family?

So, no, she couldn't leave.

Her eyes flicked back to herself in the mirror. She didn't look like a victim. To be honest, she looked like one of those 'mean girls' from the movies. She'd probably been one, at some point in her long, colorful cheerleader career. She snorted. Cheerleaders. She couldn't even remember why she'd wanted to become one anymore.

Now all she could think about was her dad and Sandra. And Sylar, because lets face it: who could forget him? He was implanted in your brain from the time you heard about him to when you dropped dead; which for her, just wasn't going to happen.

She sighed, grabbing her sneakers and exiting the motel room. She'd seen a small workout room when they'd come in. She might as well try to work out some of this frustration the traditional way.

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Lyle had tried typing Rebel into Google several times. All he had come up with were definitions.

His phone beeped beside him and he flicked it open.

I'm just here to help. You have to talk to your dad.-Rebel

Lyle sighed and grabbed his phone, typing in his dads' number. Three rings and it went to voice mail. He'd just have to wait, then.

He sighed. He knew his mom had received several emails from Claire. No calls though. Emails could easily be faked, calls were harder. It was hard to wrap his head around. His sister was missing and he had a second Percy Jackson in his bathroom showering. Surreal.

He thought about his mom. She'd be furious with his dad if she found out he had anything to do with Claire not being around. Which he obviously did. She could never find out. His dad had his reasons, no matter how twisted those reasons were. He just needed to find out what was going on. And he needed to help Alex escape as well.

He'd managed to score a fake ID from one of his buddies, and he'd bought Alex a train ticket to Albuquerque. His mom was going to know he'd stolen the house money, but by that time Alex would be long gone. His mom was away with Mr. Muggles for another 5 hours getting her nails done, and Alex's train was coming in in two hours.

His phone beeped again and he held his breath as he read the second message.

Pool cleaners? Really?-Rebel

He frowned. Pool cleaners? What?

A third text came in.

Look outside.-Rebel

He pulled his blinds open and took a peek. Sure enough, there was a van parked outside, with the words 'Pool Cleaners' emblazoned on it in orange block letters. His breath caught in his throat when he saw a girl not that much older than him holding binoculars up to her eyes and peering quite obviously at their house.

Shit. Maybe keeping this from his mom wasn't going to be the only problem.

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Noah's fingers ached from typing out his full length report on how Alex Woolsley had managed to get away from him. His hands closed over the shot of gin and he brought it up to his lips. He didn't usually drink, but this was a special occasion.

His daughter was missing and was missing with the one person he had spent more than three years trying to protect her from. His son had joined a rebellion against the force he was pretending to work for. He was disallowed from looking for his daughter. He was working with people trying to get rid of people like his daughter. His head ached and he tossed back another big gulp while signalling to the barkeep for another.

He smiled as she welcomed him to Costa Verde, made pleasant conversation with him as barkeeps were trained to do.

His world shook a little. Odd. He could carry his liquor. The shaking only started when he was far past his seventh shot, and he was barely on his third... Right?

He removed his glasses, pushing his hair back and rubbing his forehead. Why was everything so blurry? His world was spinning. He felt himself fall.

And the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes and succumbed completely was Peter's face. He struggled to keep his eyes open but it felt like someone was pulling them down. Eventually, he let them.

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Sylar's fingers clenched on the thin sheets as he woke. His eyes darkened as he remembered all that happened last night, and the fact that one of his darkest secrets now rested in the head of a certain blond cheerleader. He wished that the dreams about her would stop. They were distracting and wholly unrealistic, since he couldn't see them ever getting along in the way his dreams suggested.

The one he'd had last night was... Vivid. It was almost always the same. Nathan, Peter, a war. Her lips on his.

He snorted. Maybe he'd been 'repressed' for too long. It wasn't really a good sign if he was starting to dream of a girl almost half his age. On the other hand, the age difference wouldn't really bother him, if he were to consider her like that. He paused, thinking about it. No. What would bother him was her outlook on life. It was so different from his. She'd fight for what she thought was right. He didn't care what was right, he'd take what he wanted.

He smirked at that. He'd take what he wanted. And right now, he wanted his father.

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Everything's blurred, but Noah feels slightly triumphant that he's managed to stay conscious. Unconscious and drugged would just give them full access to his brain and they can't interfere with the plan.. His head jerks with the effort of pushing Matt out of his mind, keeping it occupied with thoughts, how to take apart his gun, assemble it again, the five timetables, what the square of x is equal to when x is equal to.. He groans as Matt pushes past all the external thoughts and plunges into the one he's looking for.

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He's early; Angela is two minutes late. He sees her in her black coat the second she arrives; she has that air about her, drawing your eye the second she steps onto the scene. He wants to joke about how secret-agent she looks in her black trench coat, black gloves and black sunglasses but can't find it in himself. Every thought right now is mostly centered towards either getting Claire back, how to keep the entire thing from Sandra and how to stop Nathan's plan from going any further than it already has.

"It's done, Noah." She says it with an underlying tone of relief, the emotion more open than anything he's ever heard her say. He almost smiles though he feels a bit panicked that the company which gave him his daughter is done. Gone.

"You need to help me track down Sylar." And Claire, his mind screams, but he doesn't want to think about it. About him and his daughter in the same space. He can't stand it.

"I doubt you'll need my help with that." Her tone is guarded again and he feels like she's hiding something from him, but she's always hiding something from him so he can't find it in himself to care that much. She'll tell him when the time is right, he trusts her to do that. And then he thinks himself a fool, because he trusts Angela Petrelli. The idea seems absurd, but he guesses that after Rene, she may be one of his closest friends and allies.

"Rene will be at your service, however. And I will be funding you." She leaves a white envelope on the space on the bench beside him and he stuffs it into his pocket. She leaves another box beside him and he picks it up, opening it. It's a watch. Sturdy, practical and elegant. A bribe, perhaps? With her he can never tell.

She's on her feet by the time he looks up, walking away from him.

"You will tell me if Claire appears in any of your dreams, right?" He can hear the desperation in his voice.

She turns to him, and it seems like she wants to say something, but is stopping herself. She seems to collect herself, and then nods stiffly.

"Keep in touch, Noah." She says briskly, and she turns and disappears round the corner.

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Noah gasps as Matt pulls away from his mind, panting with the effort of it all. He groans and shifts his neck; this is why he refused to work with telepaths. It was so hard to keep them out of your brain and when they pushed, it hurt.

He heard Matt mumble something to Peter and Mohinder and he shoots Peter an accusatory look. He feels the betrayal despite knowing that Peter probably feels the exact same way about him. He sees Peter stiffen at something Matt says and then the younger man jerks forward, shaking him roughly.

"Sylar's got Claire?" His voice is unpleasantly loud in Noah's ears and he nods blearily, his mind jerking into Claire-related worries.

"When, what happened?" His grey eyes cut across to Peter's brown ones, and Peter, ever the empath can see the grief and pent-up worry that's behind them.

"She offered herself up." He coughs out, mouth turned upwards slightly. "To save your mother and me."

Peter's brow furrowed and he turned away, thoughts on Claire. He wants to go save her, but they're in the middle of a war. He can't rush off. He feels Mohinder's hand on his shoulder but he can't properly compute what he's saying.

No wonder she hadn't written. Her weekly calls to him stopping made sense now-Sylar had her. His fists clenched.

He forced himself to focus. Claire could take care of herself, he knew she could, and Nathan... No matter what his brother was doing, he still cared about Claire. Hopefully, he knew and was trying to get her back. This was one thing he needed to trust his brother on.. He was still going to try and look for her anyway, he decided, forcing himself to turn and refocus on Noah. She was going to be okay, he promised himself. She had to be. He tried to ignore the part of him that knew he'd never forgive himself if she wasn't. He knew there were casualties of war- he did. He just really hoped that Claire would not be one of those casualties.

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The sweat was a pleasant distraction. Her fists hitting the heavy bag in front of her made a loud pump-wump that imitated the one she had back home. It was slightly comforting and frustrating at the same time. She heard him come in, heard him watch her.

"You have no idea how many times I've imagined this was you." She said, and heard the responding snort.

"Why don't you try hitting me then?" He sounded bored, and Claire paused to consider his offer. She turned to him, green eyes suspicious and he responded with a smug half-smirk, half-grin and a shrug.

"No using your powers." She prepared her fight stance as he moved closer. He was still just in his jeans without any shirt on and she mentally applauded. Not because the sight was attractive, but because there was one less barrier between her fists and his body and she was going to be able to see all the bruises.

"I don't need powers to be able to defend myself." She jerked into action, aiming her left fist at his face and her right at his gut. She was confident at her approach, and didn't expect it at all when his hands caught hers (both of them), and twisted them so that her back was pressed against his chest.

"See what I mean?" She growled and jerked her elbow back with as much force as she could into his chest. His grip loosened and she sprung toward him again but he ducked easily out of his way.

"Stay still," she muttered. She flung her hand haphazardly towards his face but he blocked her without any trouble. She swung her foot forward against his shin and he hardly flinched, just looked annoyed.

She paused, breathing hard as she glared at his towering form. He was so much swifter than her father had ever been during their practice sessions. She threw her head back, trying to catch her breath and slow down the burning in her lungs.

Sylar paused, tilting his head as he studied the girl, or woman, as she insisted. Her long blond hair cascaded down the back of her neck as she leaned her head back, out of breath. She was attractive, to be sure, even he had to admit that. If she wasn't so innocent, so unpolluted, despite the nature of her family, she might have tried to use it against him. Might have tried to seduce him with whispered words and sly smiles. He knew that's what Elle would have done. In fact, she'd already done it. He liked that Claire hadn't even tried.

"Never figured you for the athletic sort." Claire breathed as she steadied herself, folding her outstretched fingers into fists as she prepared herself.

"I didn't always have telekinesis, you know." He drawled, watching her carefully as she moved towards him, preparing herself to strike. Noah really should have trained her to be more subtle, he mused. A better operative wouldn't have been so transparent in her attack; she would get close to him before delivering the fatal blow. But then again, Claire was one of those leap-first, think-later people. Like Peter. It didn't annoy him as much as it should have.

"I had to learn to defend myself from people like you. The jocks, the homecoming queens." He sneered evenly as he caught another one of her fists and shoved her backwards. He felt the beginnings of sweat on the back of his head. Her face contorted and he knew he'd hit a nerve. Of course, the self-righteous cheerleader wouldn't want all her sins to be thrown back in her face like that. She wouldn't want to acknowledge that once, she was as much of a monster as him.

He was slightly surprised that instead of blowing up at him, she froze, her face becoming slightly... If he had to pick a word, he'd say vulnerable. But he hadn't seen her vulnerable in a long time, and that was the time when she still wore the short red skirt.

"Me and jocks... We never got along so well." She lunged toward him again. She succeeded in surprising him a little, but her movements were easily predicted, and it took little more than a simple hand to twist her against his chest, and another to hold her there. It was quite difficult to have a conversation with someone when they were constantly trying to hurt you, and he was intrigued. The blond cheerleader didn't quite fly right with the jocks? Fascinating.

"Why?" She struggled in his arms for a while before giving up. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. He'd been wrong. Her eyes weren't all green; there were flecks of blue intertwined at the edges of the irises.

"Because I drove the quarterback into a wall before the biggest game of the season. Broke his legs." Her smile was bitter. He raised his eyebrows.

"And why would you do that?" He asked, tilting his gaze so he could stare directly into her eyes.

Claire shrugged and he felt her start to squirm a little. "He got too close."

Her words were vague, but he got the gist of it. Hmmm... If he could just...

"Stay still," he muttered, relinquishing his tight grip on her. He focused on his clairesentience, placing his hand on her palm. He didn't know why he was being so prying, but he wanted to see. See how she felt, what she had done.

He could feel the fear that flooded her system when he refused to get off, to stop. She tried to run, managed to push him off, fell under him again. The feeling of fear and panic almost overwhelmed him as he trapped her under him, felt his hands leave burning lines on her legs. Felt the shame and the filth. And then he felt nothing as her head hit the branch and everything blackened. He watched as she got up in the coroners lab, felt the anger when she realized he had done it to someone else. He felt the flame that licked at her skin when she got out of the car crash and the guilt that stabbed at her when she took in Brody's mangled form, along with a sense of justice she didn't try to quell.

"That was the first time I died." She whispered, and he realized that she had relived it along with him. Her green eyes flicked to his brown ones and he dropped her hand. She moved away from him and towards the exit.

"Is that how you felt when I took your power?"

She tensed.

"No." Her hand fell against the door. "It wasn't... Like that." She left without saying a word.

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The hot water on her skin was a relief. She hadn't given Brody any thought for the past two years, and seeing him again in her mind, remembering, was much more painful than she'd expected. Especially with what Sylar had said the night before.

"Everlasting victim."

She turned the knob and the water stopped, a few scalding droplets falling to her skin. She watched as the skin turned bright red, blistered, then shifted and became unmarred once more. It never became any less strange or fascinating to watch. She pulled back her hair into wet ponytail and stepped out of the shower, closing her eyes at the steam that drifted around the bathroom in a humid cloud.

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Nathan was pissed. He was already pissed at that bald-headed murderer when he left. Actually, he wasn't just pissed. He hated that man. Danko made him furious.

And no he pulled him out of a state dinner. He marched off the elevator as soon as it stopped, face contorted.

"This better be good." He practically growled at the man. "Face-time at state dinners is hard to come by."

If Danko knew about his murderous thoughts, he didn't show it. In fact, he seemed... Distracted.

"Heard from Bennet?" He didn't stop walking, and Nathan was forced to follow him.

"No, why?" He deflated slightly. Danko sounded worried, and if Danko sounded worried, it was bad.

"He's off the grid, going on three hours." He checked his watch. "Orders were to check in after duty, he didn't."

Nathan frowned. Bennet didn't disobey orders unless it had something to do with Claire.

"Is there anything new on Claire?"

Danko paused and gave him an appraising look. "No." He moved toward a glass board with several notes scrawled across it messily.

"I want every inch of surveillance on Noah Bennet." He called loudly and people scrambled toward their computers. "Everywhere he's been and everywhere he might go." If things were different, Nathan might have respected Danko, the knack for leadership he had. But things were not different, and Nathan's despise for the man didn't relent. It deepened.

"You're spying on your own men?" Even he heard the disapproval heavy in his voice.

Danko barely looked up. "Nobody's above scrutiny, myself included." He paged through some files absentmindedly, as if forgetting Nathan was there.

"You and Bennet; you're compromised." He finally looked up at Nathan, meeting his eyes. He didn't look afraid, like some might have if they told the senator that they were compromised. He said it like it was matter-of-fact. Obvious.

"Your brother Peter, your daughter Claire..." He was walking again and Nathan resumed following him.

"Peter gets treated like everyone else, and if we find Claire..." He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. "We'll see."

"See? Right there." Danko pointed at him and Nathan felt like breaking his finger. Or his hand.

"Hesitation. Both you and Bennet are emotionally attached." He moved closer, lowering his hand. "And that makes both of unstable."

A loud, clear bell chimed in Nathan's head as it dawned on him. He didn't have to ask, but he did anyway.

"You spying on me?" His fists clenched at his sides.

"You barely touched your prime rib." Nathan's eyes narrowed at Danko's reference to his meal at the state dinner and Danko's eyes drifted to his in a look that was mocking. Nathan forced himself to walk away before he did something that would prove what Danko said about him-that he was unstable.

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Sylar didn't like driving. It was just one of those things that he didn't particularly enjoy. It was a relief to hand over the wheel to Claire. Luke had passed out in the back seat as soon as he mumbled some vague directions into Claire's ear. He'd need to find a way to convince Luke to give him the full address. He didn't like having to many people around. Liabilities.

Sylar leaned back in the seat, stretching out his legs. He looked over at Claire, studying the way she drove, her neutral expression, the way she glanced over her shoulder at him; not nervous, but on edge. He had time for a character study. He had nothing to do, anyway.

He studied the way she wore her hair; loose, hanging over her shoulder. Impractical, especially with her lifestyle. Told him she cared about her appearance, at least to a certain extent.

The clothes she wore; sweaters and jeans. Always. Practical. A contrast to how she wore her hair.

She gripped the steering wheel with a tightness an experienced driver would never have; expected, because of her age. She couldn't have had any prolonged experience with a car.

He took a moment to study her physical appearance itself; blue-green eyes, blonde hair, hour-glass figure. Beautiful, yes, but not elegant. A commodity, and yet it didn't decrease her beauty. Unusual.

Her expressions didn't vary much. She wasn't overly expressive unless she had a strong emotion. Anger, particularly. She wasn't hard to read, though. She lacked subtlety, and while she wasn't exactly an open book, she wasn't closed off. Not manipulative either, he could tell by the way she fought; wild, nothing held back that she didn't possess the patience to even try to manipulate someone.

She was selfless, most definitely. She had given up everything to come along with him, all for the promise of safety of people who constantly lied to her and manipulated her for personal gain.

She was kind, that much was obvious. She'd tried to comfort him last night, and he remembered her face when she'd seen young Gabriel in the photo; her brows had drawn together and her lips had curved downwards. Sympathy, despite her obvious dislike from him.

"What are you trying to do?" Claire's voice broke into his thoughts. "Read my mind?" She snapped. "Staring at me won't help."

Sylar lifted a brow at her. "Trying to figure you out."

"Good luck then." Claire smirked at him. "I'd doubt you'll even come close."

Sylar shrugged. "I think I'm making fairly good progress."

"I bet I can figure you out faster than you can do me."

Sylar smirked at her words, "Oh, I'm sure I can 'do you' faster."

Claire rolled her eyes at him. "Stop doing that."

"Doing what?" He leered at her. "You?"

She scowled. "I know that you were bullied."

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Obvious. I practically handed that one to you."

"I know you're smart. Otherwise my dad would have caught you long ago."

"Oh, you flatter me."

"I know you're not as heartless as you make yourself out to be. I know you want to belong someplace, with a famil-"

"Shut up," Sylar growled. Claire glared back at him, refusing to back down.

"I-" Claire jerked to a stop. It had started raining while they were talking and now it was pouring down so hard she could barely see. But she'd seen something ahead of them. Something dark and long sprawled out across the road. She kicked open the car door and began walking towards it.

The rain hit her hard and she almost staggered with the weight. She hadn't been in a rainstorm this severe since Odessa in the monsoon season. She'd missed it, and yet, not really. She pulled her sweater closer to her skin, shivering.

She could hardly see but she could just make out a tree trunk that had fallen onto the road. She vaguely heard Sylar get out of the car and curse over the sound of the rain harshly hitting the pavement. She got back to the car as fast as she could and waited for Sylar to get in before pulling over into the shelter of the rest of the trees and off the road.

"We'll wait for the rain to stop, then we start moving again, okay?" Sylar's voice was gruff and she was freezing. Her teeth chattered as she nodded.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sylar pull off his shirt and sweater. Her eyes flicked to his soaking wet chest and the way his muscles sort of rippled as he pulled his sweater over his head. She glanced away quickly, flushing. She hadn't payed much attention to his bare chest earlier, she'd been so angry, but now... "What..are you do...ing.." She stammered as she pulled her sweater closer to her body.

"I'm not staying in soaking wet clothes, Claire." He muttered, dumping his clothes onto the floor of the backseat. Strangely, Luke hadn't even moved. Not an inch.

"Neither should you." He said, glancing over at her.

Claire glowered at him. "I'm not taking my clothes off."

"I'm being practical." He leaned back in his seat, quivering slightly, but he definitely seemed more comfortable than her. Claire simply pulled her sweater closer to her skin and turned away from him, shivering madly. She flicked off the engine and almost instantly sighed with relief as the air-con stopped running. She hugged her knees to her chest and leaned her head against the window, slowly falling into a deep sleep.

Sylar watched her as she pulled her knees to her chest and slowly drifted off. She was a mess; blonde hair soaking wet and plastered to her forehead, her clothes sticking to her skin in a wet heap, and yet, Sylar found he couldn't keep his eyes off her. He ran through in his mind all the things he knew about her; beautiful, selfless, kind, brave (he haphazardly added this to the list because she was brave).

He drifted into a sleep that was filled with blonde hair brushing the pads of his fingertips and green-blue eyes that spat sparks at him.

If you think that this chapter is more Sylar/Claire orientated, you're right. It's by design. This chapter is a lot about them, and the next will be a proper mix of both them and the rest of the cast. I just wanted to get an understanding (sort of) between them before continuing. I also apologize for the long wait, it's been ages since the last update:( The next chapter will be up faster though because I'm on break now. Thanks to all the people who've favourited and followed this story, it means so much. Thank you to cerberus angel for letting me talk through ideas with her and just being a great friend in general, and to julyisfree for giving me ideas and much appreciated creative criticism. Thank you also to my good friend Charming who stayed up with me and talked all my ideas through with me although she had no idea what the story was about. Thanks so much, you three are such wonderful awesome people:)

Please review. Or not. But please do.