Exposed, 3x18

For Stephan,
who likes this story
more than she should.

Noah took a sip of his coffee, watching as Danko pinned Peter's picture up with Parkman's under the 'at large' label. Along there with them were Hiro Nakamura, Ando Masahashi, and Sylar. He gripped his mug a little tighter at that one, but continued to watch the scene unfold.

"These men are charged with kidnapping, assault, armed robbery and attempted murder of a federal officer." Noah snorted. He wasn't sure he actually counted as a 'federal officer'.

"These men are to be considered armed and dangerous and should be taken down - by any means necessary." Another, deep sip of coffee.

"Short of lethal force." Nathan slid into the room, his hair flying every where. He was beginning to realize why Peter and Claire had always referred to Nathan as 'Senator Flyboy'. He looked like one. He also, in Noah's opinion, was a dick.

And a self-righteous prick.

It rhymed.

"Actually Senator, my men have been given the go ahead - shoot to kill."

"On who's authority?"

"Mine."

The two men glared at each other, and Noah hated that he was rooting for Nathan in this particular argument. Danko had shown more inclination to finding Claire than Nathan had and it was fraying on his nerves - Nathan refused to even talk to him about joining Sylar's task force, and he had more seniority than anyone in the business of finding that particular serial killer.

And that was because Noah had made him.

And Nathan had stood there and told him that he couldn't go after his daughter, the one he had taken when Nathan didn't want her and told her that he would 'take care of it'. Even rehashing the conversation made him want to shoot something - or better yet, break something. Like Nathan's jaw.

He watched as the two men exchanged hushed words and turned back to his own work - finding his daughter.

So far, he had tracked them as far as Arlington, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly where they were - Sylar was smart, something Noah had always despised about the man. Claire was smart too, but she wouldn't want to be found. She would want him and Sylar to stay far apart from each other because she thought that Sylar would always win.

He clenched his jaw, rubbing his eyes. He needed to find her. She was his daughter - despite anything and everything Nathan had said - she was Noah and Sandra's daughter. He looked up at the picture he had of her on his desk, age 12 hugging an 11 year old Lyle, a stubborn tilt to her chin that was completely Sandra and a glint in her eye that he sometimes saw as his own.

He stared at the map again, taking another sip of his coffee and finishing it. He was going to find her.

"Sir, we have a lead." His head jerked up. "Manhattan."

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"Matt." He tried to pull Matt away from the canvas, but Matt yanked his hand away like he'd been burned and continued to paint. Peter looked around at the paintings, feeling panic rise at the edges of his mind.

It was the same thing, over and over again.

Matt, bombs slung around him like he was some kind of terrorist.

And another, bigger, more deadly drawing of the White House that he had spent the entire night painting - eyes feverish and white - the entire building blown up.

"Matt!"

Matt snapped out of the trance, looking disorientated. "What? What happened?"

Peter drew his hand through his hair, pulling on it hard and blowing out a breath. "You've been painting the whole night. We have to go. This is a known place for us - it's not safe."

Peter turned away, preparing to leave, but Matt grabbed his hand. "Hey - I have to find her." He gestured wildly around the room. "This - isn't going to help me find her, Peter. I need to keep painting - please. Let me save her."

Peter looked at the man before him - eyes desperate and pleading and he couldn't say no. He couldn't. If someone gave him the chance to save Caitlin - or Simone, even, he'd take it - even if it meant chancing getting caught.

"One more." He hedged, and Matt nodded eagerly, already turning to the next canvas.

And then - the old computer screen beside him flashed to life. Peter drew away in shock and even Matt looked up.

'REBEL' the computer typed out on the blue screen, '283 E Street S.W. , WASHINGON D.C. Daphne is there.' His eyes flashed up to Matt's, who's face was taut with lines and eyes bright with hope. 'THEY'RE COMING. GET OUT. NOW.'

The screen flashed out, and Peter let himself take a breath.

"Well." Matt turned to Peter, a half-smile playing on his lips. "Let's get going."

Peter thought about all the arguments he could make - how did they know this 'Rebel' was on their side, for one, how were they going to break in somewhere that was obviously going to be guarded like a fortress with a two man team, when the door burst open behind him and a woman with short, glossy brown hair and narrowed eyes.

"I'm Hana Gitelman. I was sent by Rebel to assist you in the retrieval of Daphne Millbrook."

Matt's mouth gaped, at a loss for words. Then his eyes narrowed. "The last I heard of you, you'd been deleted from life, or something like that."

"Someone rebooted me." Her brow furrowed. "I'm not sure... But I think it was Rebel." Her face cleared. "And he has given me a mission. A mission I intend to follow through with." She froze then, for a moment, before focusing. "They're 5 minutes away. Come with me - now - if you want to save her."

They were out of Isaac's loft 4 minutes before Nathan's agents arrived.

The diner was in full swing by the time she'd gotten back. And by full-swing, she meant there were people dancing. Lots of them. She tried squeezing her way through the crowd, but it was almost impossible with the heavy mass of Italian people (where were they even coming from?) moving across the small, cross-tiled floor. It didn't help that she also had no idea which direction she was going in, because Luke was absolutely nowhere to be seen.

"Signora!" A young, black haired Italian man with a bright smile grabbed her by the waist and swung her in and out. Claire hastily tried to detach herself but apparently, he didn't speak English. Frustrated and thoroughly annoyed, she yanked her hands out of the man's arms with all her might, falling backwards into another pair of arms. Claire cringed as she righted herself. "I'm so, so sorry.." She said, glancing up balefully at... Sylar. She pulled herself away from him like she'd been burned, and he just looked amused. As always.

She frowned, her cheeks burning hotly and turned away from him, muttering under her breath. She was mad, she was embarrassed and she really needed to find Luke. She needed a buffer between her and Sylar, and she needed it right now.

What was he thinking, she fumed as she tried rather unsuccessfully to push through the crowd, kissing her? She wasn't... That. She just wasn't. She was Claire, and he was Sylar and it was just wrong. Her mind wandered back to the kiss, her cheeks heating again and she yanked her way through a clamor of people angrily. Luke was at the bar, still chatting up the small, blonde petite waitress from earlier. She sighed and marched her way toward them, but before she was within seven-feet of them when she was hauled around the waist and pushed back into the mass of bodies.

She couldn't tell who had done it exactly, but now she was trapped between three young, pimple-faced Italian teenagers, all of them looking equally excited to have such a... Foreign, she guessed, with her blonde hair and blue eyes, girl dancing with them. Although, she wasn't really dancing, just looking flustered and annoyed.

"Excuse me," she tried saying as she tried to edge her way around them or between them, but there was no escape. She puffed out a breath, almost ready to give up, when unexpectedly a hand pulled her out of the circle of boys. She sighed in relief, and then in frustration when she saw who it was. Sylar smirked down at her. She scowled, thoroughly irritated and just completely exhausted.

"Let's just go find Luke so we can get out of here and forget all this ever happened." She pulled away from him but the crowd had pushed her back into his arms within an instant. She threw her hands up in frustration and turned to face Sylar. "Why can't I just get away from you?" She asked him, arms crossed as she tried to stand her ground and not let herself be pushed any closer to him by the mass of seemingly ever-increasing Italians.

He gave her a sneering grin. "Maybe we're just meant to be." He drawled out sarcastically.

She deflated, exhausted with trying to get away from him, trying to figure him out. It was impossible. He was vulnerable, regretful, smug, irritating and horrific, and suddenly, a very small part of her found that beautiful. It made him seem so... Human. Kind of like her. Her dad, even. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes completely.

"Just don't kiss me." She said finally, her voice tired but determined. Even though a part of her, very deep inside had liked the kiss, maybe on a purely physical level, she was not going to allow it to happen again.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to, cheerleader. You're not really my type." He sneered, looking down at her. Her anger surged to the forefront again with that stupid nickname. She turned, stomping through the crowd, this time uncaring who she bumped into and hit along the way.

She hated that. 'Cheerleader'. It made it seem like she was only a cheerleader. And she wasn't even that anymore. She was... More complicated, than that girl. That stupid girl, and a part of her wept for that girl, the one who didn't know the first thing about a taser and had the slightest tinge of a southern drawl that you only heard when you listened really carefully. Another part though, despised her.

Her mind was a blur of mixed emotions and half-thought-through thoughts and when she found Luke, she didn't say anything, just tugged on his hand despondently and pulled him to his feet, uncaring of the blonde waitress that protested as she half-dragged him out of the packed diner. "Claire, what the -"

"Luke, just come on." She folded her arms around herself as Sylar burst out of the diner. He looked mildly irritated, but then again, he always looked mildly irritated.

She led the way to the car, tucking herself into the backseat before Luke could beat her to it.

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They were in Washington in four hours.

Hana had hacked into a flight manifest to check what planes were heading to Washington.

Matt had tricked security into letting them on board.

Peter had sat silently, thinking, planning.

Nathan had chosen his side; against, and Peter had chosen his side; for.

It felt strange going into battle without his brother. He glanced up at the tall grey building that loomed over them.

Building 26.

He guessed he'd just have to get used to it.

They'd been driving for about an hour when Sylar noticed the car. Big, black and SUV, they weren't really trying to hide their presence. He rolled his eyes. Always so overconfident.

He was interested to see what amazing strategy Noah had come up with this time, so he didn't make a move.

The truck that appeared out of nowhere was hardly some surprise either - there was no way he would move in without back up of some kind. Sylar's eyes darkened, his smirk becoming feral. He could send as many as he wanted - hell, he could send an army.

He was in the mood for death.

Two other big industrial vans flanked the first one, appearing at the sides of their stolen car and surrounding them.

This is a US government seize. Stop your vehicle and come peacefully, and no harm will come to you.

He twitched his fingers and the car stopped. And then he twitched another finger, and the first van flew into the air, tossed up and landed a few meters away, with a shuddering screech of metal.

"Luke, get down!" He heard Claire scream from the backseat, but he ignored her. All he could hear was the rush of blood that roared in his ears and the tingling in his fingers that urged him on, 'kill, kill, kill'. He wasn't helpless to ignore it - no, he just chose not to.

He got out of the car, and walked into the center of the wreckage.

"Come on out." His lips pulled back in a feral sneer. "You're all going to die anyway."

The men rushed out like ants out of an ant hole, their guns prepped. He barely heard the individual shots, they blended together like one huge explosion. He let them get close, close enough that he could see the details of each bullet. They surrounded him like a solid wall of metal. He held them aloft, smirking at the men who surrounded him.

"My turn." He had the bullets poised in his mind, crushed them till they were nothing but dust. He could feel the fear - it felt amazing. Then he let the lightning fly out of his palms, soaking in the screams and savoring them.

And then someone jumped between him and the agents, and into the power surge that he was forcing from his fingers. Claire.

"Sylar - stop it." She pushed back against his power, willfully walking towards him, steps slow and shaky because of the energy that was coursing through her. She was shaking, understandably, and in that moment, he was angry. So angry.

Because she was so pure, and so... Claire. She was like a mirror, reflecting back all the things he didn't want to see. He pushed a larger current out of his hands, watching with spiteful satisfaction as she struggled harder to move towards him. The side of her face was red with blood, probably from a stray bullet and her skin was constantly blackening and healing over, but her eyes glowed and for some reason, it made his breath catch in his throat and his anger flare further.

"Sylar, please..." Her voice was cracking under the pressure. "Stop.." She collapsed forward, reaching blindly for his hand. She caught hold of it, and he felt the softness of her hand through energy that buzzed between them. "Please."

Her green-blue eyes caught his, and the amount of sincerity there made him pause, stumble around in his head for someone, something that was like her. Something beautiful.

The fact that he found it, her beautiful only made him angrier. He channeled as much electric current into his hands that he felt he could, and felt her breath stutter in her chest and the way she clutched at his hand tighter, trying to hold herself upright and not fall to the knees with the effort of keeping herself upright.

"You can't save everyone." He said, and his voice was rough and harsh, even to his own ears. Her skin was burning and healing, constantly, in his hand.

"I'll try anyway." She snarled back with him, her eyes flashing up at his angrily. "And you know what?" She stood up straighter, though he knew the effort it took her ever-healing body to do so. "You can't kill everyone."

He chuckled. "Says who?"

"Me."

It was funny how she said that - like she believed she could stop him.

"And how are you going to stop me?" He sneered. "By bleeding on me? Claire, don't delude yourself. You're a victim. Just a victim, and as much as you tell yourself that you're a hero, like your naiive uncle Peter, who has failed to save you from me within the last three months, you aren't." He injected as much spite and malice into his voice as he could, and he reveled in the way her mouth dropped into a small 'o' of surprise and the angry tears that welled in her eyes. "You are nothing, Claire."

She gave a strangled sort of scream and she lashed out, pulling her hand from him and slapping him hard in the face, scratching at him as he grabbed her hands and pulled her into him. She struggled briefly before giving in, and he felt the exhaustion that was seeping through his bones. He guessed that's what absorbing approximately 26, 000 volts of electricity did to you.

He rolled his eyes, lifting her up into his arms and walking back to the car. His face was like thunder, a storm. He shoved her into the backseat, and got into the car, and parted the mass of half-dead soldiers lying on the road with his telekenisis like the red sea. The hum of the car roared in his ears, and he was grateful for the distraction it brought.

"Micah?"

"Noah."

"You can't be calling me on this line."

"It doesn't matter. This call is untraceable."

"What did you get me?"

"I've got your daughter."

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This is a short chapter. I don't really have time right now to make a longer one, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. To my awesome, and now, OFFICIAL beta Princess Charm, who gives me the greatest ideas and actually stays up with me to read through these, I WUV YOU;) And this chapter is actually for Stephan, who makes me smile uncontrollably and can constantly manage to put up with my constant Sylaire rants, and loves this story, I love you very very mush as well. I don't even understand why you like this story, but I am extremely amazed and touched that you do.

And the same goes for the 97 people following this story! My god, thank you! You've kept me going with this and I am so glad that you did:) This is my favorite thing in the world and you guys have encouraged me so much:) Thank you! I am so sorry about the three month long waits, and this kind of short chapter, but I hoped you enjoy the plot twists. Again, thank you all so much!

Review?:)