7s_prompts prompt set 13.3.5 [unexpected]
Claire didn't know what was wrong with her but she was on edge as she stalked into the house she shared with Peter and her comatose boyfriend. She felt wrong, slightly off somehow; like there was something crawling underneath her skin and she was this close to making the attempt to claw whatever it was out of her. The feeling had started nagging her right from the moment she had woken up to find the same sight she found every day where there was no movement from Sylar or any sign that he was close to waking up.
Slamming the door behind her, she tried to ignore the strange feeling of being watched as she stomped her way into the kitchen. Dropping the bag of supplies onto the counter, she paused for a moment as she struggled just to breathe. She longed for one moment of serenity as she turned away and sighed before moving to find Peter. When she couldn't find him on the first floor, she started up the stairs to look for him.
"Peter?"
His voice floated down the stairwell, faint but clear, and presumably from the room they'd been keeping Sylar in. "Upstairs!"
She wondered how bad of a girlfriend it made her to feel for even a moment that she didn't want to go into the bedroom where she kept a constant vigil over her boyfriend's form but she figured no one could blame her. She didn't want to start losing hope but it was getting a little harder every day not to.
"What are you doing?" she asked when she finally stepped over the threshold.
Peter turned his attentions away from the mess of medical supplies on the table in front of him to chance her a look over his shoulder, frowning. "Changing his IV," he answered, snagging a fresh bag of saline solution off the table. He rounded the bed, taking the old, nearly spent bag down off the hanger and hung the new one up. "It's about that time."
Leaning against the door frame, she crossed her arms across her chest while watching him with a bored look. "Guess so." She could barely hide the sigh in her tone as she shook some hair back from her face. "How's he doing today?" Not that she didn't know but she was hoping that maybe he had noticed something she had missed.
"About the same," he answered, popping one shoulder in a shrug as he set the old bag aside.
It wasn't exactly a lie -- Sylar wasn't any worse off than he'd been the day before or the one before that. If you looked at over all progress, however, at the way the killer looked so small and cold against the sheets beneath him, well then you got into sketchier territory. He didn't dare tell Claire that, though, even though he was certain she could see it for herself, in the curve of Sylar's ribs and the angles of his face, both painfully pronounced now as he'd lost a startling amount of weight.
Claire could see how much weight Sylar was losing and she knew it wasn't a good sign. Or that it was just another of the many signs that acted as a warning against him and the possibility of him coming back to her. It pained her to look at him, especially when she was aware of the fact that she had done nothing to help him. Every time she thought she was close to finding an answer, she ran into some sort of wall that stopped her from getting what she wanted.
"Okay." She didn't know what else to say as she dropped her gaze to the floor with a slight scowl as the situation really wasn't helping her mood.
"Sorry," he muttered, looking away for an instant, too, before going back to his work.
He checked the IV bag a second time, just to make sure everything was where it should be -- not like he couldn't do this in his sleep, but it was force of habit by now -- then gestured to a line of tubing he'd left on the table and hadn't thought to grab. "It's been about three days since I changed the tubing, right? Hand me that?"
Pushing away from the door frame, she moved quickly to snatch the tubing off of the table before stepping across the room to offer it to him. "Need me to do anything else?"
He took it from her, shaking his head as he attached it to the IV bag, and turned to attach the line of the catheter in Sylar's arm, only really half paying attention, casting little looks back a Claire as he spoke. It wasn't as though negligence could cause anything to go terribly wrong and Sylar sure as hell couldn't feel pain, even if he was a little rough. "The catheter in his arm's still good -- I checked it before I did anything else -- so all that's really left to do is -- "
Sylar twitched under his fingers. Peter stopped abruptly, turning to stare at him.
She really hadn't been paying attention because she trusted Peter and what he was doing. Still, her gaze had been focused on the edge of the bed and so she caught the slight twitch that made Peter stop as well. "Wait, did he just ... " She straightened with a bit of an uncertain look.
"I don't ... " He shook his head again. He thought he had felt Sylar move, but he couldn't say for sure -- maybe he was just picking up on whatever faint shreds of hope Claire had managed to hold onto? -- and he didn't want to give an opinion only to let her down.
Frowning, he reached for one of Sylar's hands, fishing around in his pocket for his house keys with the other, and pressed the flat side of one of the keys to the start of his nail. He pushed it into his skin viciously, and the killer shifted away from him reflexively, a small noise slipping past his lips.
Peter felt his heart leap into his throat and glanced back at Claire, sharply. "We have a flashlight?"
Claire didn't want to get her hopes up if the movement hadn't been real but she couldn't stop the little flutter in the pit of her stomach as she watched Peter with renewed interest. "Yeah." She nodded as she hurried over to the little bag they kept nearby and she paused to fish around inside before returning with one of the pen lights they used.
"Here." She handed the light over. She wanted to ask if it was a good sign that he had moved but she told herself to wait.
He took it from her, leaning over Sylar hurriedly as though he thought if he slowed down, the other man would simply stop reacting, and pried one of his eyes open. Clicking on the flashlight, he shone it onto his face for a moment, then took it away, watching as his pupil constricted and dilated, then clicked it back off, looking to Claire again.
"His eyes are responding to light. That's -- that's great, actually."
"He wasn't doing that before, right?" She asked, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth as she bordered on the edge between vulnerable and hopeful.
"He wasn't," he answered, setting the flashlight on the beside table.
"It's -- there's this scale for people in his condition that we had to memorize back when I was learning to be a nurse, okay? And it ranges from, like, three to fifteen. Until just now, Sylar would have been a three." He hoped she got the idea that the lower number, the worse off someone was without him having to explain it. "Now he's ... "
He looked back to the other man, briefly. "Probably about a six?" It didn't sound that hopeful, he knew, but it was better than day after day after day of nothing. "I don't really know how long it's gonna be before he'll wake up, but ... " But if he kept improving, he would, and Peter considered that to be something of a miracle.
"But you're thinking now he will, right?"
She knew that he hadn't given the idea of Sylar waking up much hope before, but she was taking it as a good sign now since he was actually commenting that it could happen in time. Wetting her lips, she was about to ask him another question when the sound of a door closing downstairs made her stop.
"Did you hear that?" She tensed, turning slightly.
"Yeah, I do." He paused, brow furrowing as he strained to hear whatever it was she had, but there was nothing. "Hear what?"
"It sounded like a door closing downstairs." She frowned softly, straining to hear anything else. "Did you leave a window open somewhere?" She glanced back at Peter curiously, wondering if perhaps a breeze had caused a door to close.
"I didn't have time to. I just got back from the store right before you came home," he answered, shifting towards the door, sudden uneasiness creeping up on him. Maybe he was being paranoid, but considering how many times they had been attacked since he'd started traveling with his niece and Sylar, it was better safe than sorry.
"Well, I didn't open any." Her voice had gotten softer as the same sudden uneasiness crept over her as well. She edged closer to him, creating a unified front as she listened for any more noise. A second later, the noise came as a slight creak on the stairs and she knew, in that instance, that someone was coming up the stairs.
"Peter," she hissed his name, glancing back at Sylar worriedly.
He hadn't heard the door close, but he had heard that, and he froze, tense, not bothering to skirt towards the door again. "We need to get out of here."
"How?" She clenched her jaw. "We're on the second floor and he's fucking comatose." The curse slipped out of her before she could stop it but she didn't worry about being polite at that particular moment
Peter shot her a look, nevertheless. "You have a better idea? Because if that's Nathan's guys or someone from that carnival, we're kind of screwed."
She sent him a quick apologetic look but then she nodded because he was right. Suddenly, she turned towards him. "If I create a distraction, can you get him out of here?"
"If they're not in my way on the stairs, then yeah." It probably wouldn't be easy, even with all the weight Sylar had lost, but he was willing to try. "What're you planning?"
"Not a clue." She admitted as she started towards the door. She was better when she was on her toes, having to think and react rather quickly and perhaps a bit recklessly. That was how she often got herself out of a situation ... and into a lot of messes. "Just get him out."
"Claire," he hissed after her, but she didn't stop, nor did he try to get her attention again. He huffed out a sigh, staring at the door as she disappeared outside, then moved to Sylar's beside, grabbing one of his arms in an effort to sling him over his shoulder. It was hard -- much harder than he was expecting, honestly, Sylar's dead weight taking a toll on him -- but somehow he managed. And once he was sure he wouldn't accidentally drop him, he started towards the door himself.
As soon as Peter reached the door, Claire's flying body would nearly send him and Sylar backwards as she slammed into the wall beside them. Crumpling to the floor with a grunt, she clenched her jaw, gritting her teeth, and she slowly pushed herself back up. When she straightened, Peter would see that the front of her shirt was burned, scorched in a few places even. Looking to the couple who stood at the top of the stairs, she drew in a breath as she stepped closer to Peter. "Look out, the girl has fire and the guy is strong. Real strong," she hissed in warning.
Sure enough, the woman held up her flame-covered hands as the man smirked and started to advance. Springing forward, Claire quickly threw herself in between the man and Peter.
"Carnival guys. Great," Peter muttered, readjusting his hold on Sylar. While the comment he'd made had been a sarcastic one, however, as he rolled his shoulders, shifting the killer on them, his weight suddenly seemed as nothing and he registered surprise briefly before managing a small, grim smile. "Actually, on second thought ... that's kind of handy."
Just so long as either of them did try to engage him in the fight, anyway, and the smile fading just as quickly as it had come, he tried to edge around them.
It was no surprise to either one of them when the guy lunged at Claire and the woman started towards Peter. Even though there was a man with super strength aiming a fist at her head, Claire's main concern was the fact that Peter was getting attacked and that it put Sylar in danger.
"No!" she called out, her hand flying up to reach towards the woman in the hopes of catching her attention. She certainly wasn't prepared for when the man suddenly flew back, flying across the short landing to crash into the girl while the window behind them exploded in a burst of shattered glass.
Peter scrambled out of the way, barely managing to avoid being smashed into the glass along with them as they slid across the landing, then cast a glance over his shoulder at Sylar, half-expecting that to have come from him. The other man was still unconscious, still just a weight against his shoulders, however, and his eyes turned sharply to Claire, confused and stunned. She couldn't have done that, but if Sylar hadn't, then ...
"How ... ?"
Claire looked equally confused and stunned as she stood in much the same position she had taken seconds before with her hand stretched out into empty air now. Blinking slowly, Peter's stilted question started to sink in and she looked over at him slowly, the blood draining from her face as she realized what he had seen.
"I ... " She had no idea what to say and so she latched onto the idea of their escape instead. "We need to get out of here," she reminded him, starting towards the stairs.
He was all too willing to follow after her, not sure how long the two of them would be stunned, but he had seen the way her face had paled. He knew she knew something about that little display. And that in mind, as he galloped down the stairs, taking them two at a time, he pressed again. "What the hell was that?"
"I don't know." Even if she knew something about the little display, she still hadn't been prepared for that. She hadn't taken any abilities and certainly not telekinesis. The only person who had that ability was Sylar but somehow she had used it. Scowling, she shot around the corner and hurried towards the garage. "I don't have that ability."
"Looks like you do to me," he shot back, his expression mirroring hers. "What did you let him do to you before he fixed my power?"
Claire hesitated as they entered the garage. "I ... " She wondered how to explain it to him as she hurried over to the car, opening the passenger back door. "I asked him for an ability," she finally admitted, barely meeting his gaze. "He gave me one."
"His telekinesis," Peter concluded, unshouldering the killer so he could push him into the car. "God, Claire. Do you have an idea how badly he could've messed you up if he'd felt like it? He could've given you anything. Like -- like the whole radioactivity thing!"
Claire didn't say anything as he leapt to the conclusion that Sylar had given her his telekinesis. She wasn't good at lying outright, or at least she never used to be and she wasn't sure what to say now. So she stood there, quietly looking over her shoulder before glancing at him. "Do you want to drive?"
She figured she'd distract him or at least try. She also hoped he wouldn't catch on that it wasn't telekinesis that Sylar had given her.
He opened his mouth to respond and a line of fire belched from the window Claire had broken, forcing him to duck behind the car door and effectively silencing him. And when no more came -- he could only assume they were on the stairs now, coming down to meet them -- he pushed Sylar the rest of the way in and climbed in the passenger side, since it was the closest.
"You drive. Let's go."
She ducked when the belch of fire shot from the window and she cursed softly under her breath while scrambling for the driver's seat. Sliding behind the wheel, she slammed the door closed before starting the engine. She barely gave him time to close his own door before she peeled out in reverse, braking hard enough to cause a jolt to their bodies before she shifted and hit the gas.
"Where do we go now?" she asked, irritated that they had been found and attacked. Even more so because of the fact that they had to leave everything, including the stuff they had stolen to treat Sylar. How far behind would Sylar's recovery be now?
"I don't know," Peter answered, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Just -- away from here. We'll figure out what we're doing when we stop."
She drew in a breath to steady herself while she nodded, still feeling incredibly tense from the attack and from Peter finding out that Sylar had given her an ability. Stealing a sideways glance at him, she nibbled her bottom lip as she struggled for something to say but she gave up when nothing came to mind. How could she ever explain what really happened?
[Co-written with Peter (hadtobeahero) ♥]
Slamming the door behind her, she tried to ignore the strange feeling of being watched as she stomped her way into the kitchen. Dropping the bag of supplies onto the counter, she paused for a moment as she struggled just to breathe. She longed for one moment of serenity as she turned away and sighed before moving to find Peter. When she couldn't find him on the first floor, she started up the stairs to look for him.
"Peter?"
His voice floated down the stairwell, faint but clear, and presumably from the room they'd been keeping Sylar in. "Upstairs!"
She wondered how bad of a girlfriend it made her to feel for even a moment that she didn't want to go into the bedroom where she kept a constant vigil over her boyfriend's form but she figured no one could blame her. She didn't want to start losing hope but it was getting a little harder every day not to.
"What are you doing?" she asked when she finally stepped over the threshold.
Peter turned his attentions away from the mess of medical supplies on the table in front of him to chance her a look over his shoulder, frowning. "Changing his IV," he answered, snagging a fresh bag of saline solution off the table. He rounded the bed, taking the old, nearly spent bag down off the hanger and hung the new one up. "It's about that time."
Leaning against the door frame, she crossed her arms across her chest while watching him with a bored look. "Guess so." She could barely hide the sigh in her tone as she shook some hair back from her face. "How's he doing today?" Not that she didn't know but she was hoping that maybe he had noticed something she had missed.
"About the same," he answered, popping one shoulder in a shrug as he set the old bag aside.
It wasn't exactly a lie -- Sylar wasn't any worse off than he'd been the day before or the one before that. If you looked at over all progress, however, at the way the killer looked so small and cold against the sheets beneath him, well then you got into sketchier territory. He didn't dare tell Claire that, though, even though he was certain she could see it for herself, in the curve of Sylar's ribs and the angles of his face, both painfully pronounced now as he'd lost a startling amount of weight.
Claire could see how much weight Sylar was losing and she knew it wasn't a good sign. Or that it was just another of the many signs that acted as a warning against him and the possibility of him coming back to her. It pained her to look at him, especially when she was aware of the fact that she had done nothing to help him. Every time she thought she was close to finding an answer, she ran into some sort of wall that stopped her from getting what she wanted.
"Okay." She didn't know what else to say as she dropped her gaze to the floor with a slight scowl as the situation really wasn't helping her mood.
"Sorry," he muttered, looking away for an instant, too, before going back to his work.
He checked the IV bag a second time, just to make sure everything was where it should be -- not like he couldn't do this in his sleep, but it was force of habit by now -- then gestured to a line of tubing he'd left on the table and hadn't thought to grab. "It's been about three days since I changed the tubing, right? Hand me that?"
Pushing away from the door frame, she moved quickly to snatch the tubing off of the table before stepping across the room to offer it to him. "Need me to do anything else?"
He took it from her, shaking his head as he attached it to the IV bag, and turned to attach the line of the catheter in Sylar's arm, only really half paying attention, casting little looks back a Claire as he spoke. It wasn't as though negligence could cause anything to go terribly wrong and Sylar sure as hell couldn't feel pain, even if he was a little rough. "The catheter in his arm's still good -- I checked it before I did anything else -- so all that's really left to do is -- "
Sylar twitched under his fingers. Peter stopped abruptly, turning to stare at him.
She really hadn't been paying attention because she trusted Peter and what he was doing. Still, her gaze had been focused on the edge of the bed and so she caught the slight twitch that made Peter stop as well. "Wait, did he just ... " She straightened with a bit of an uncertain look.
"I don't ... " He shook his head again. He thought he had felt Sylar move, but he couldn't say for sure -- maybe he was just picking up on whatever faint shreds of hope Claire had managed to hold onto? -- and he didn't want to give an opinion only to let her down.
Frowning, he reached for one of Sylar's hands, fishing around in his pocket for his house keys with the other, and pressed the flat side of one of the keys to the start of his nail. He pushed it into his skin viciously, and the killer shifted away from him reflexively, a small noise slipping past his lips.
Peter felt his heart leap into his throat and glanced back at Claire, sharply. "We have a flashlight?"
Claire didn't want to get her hopes up if the movement hadn't been real but she couldn't stop the little flutter in the pit of her stomach as she watched Peter with renewed interest. "Yeah." She nodded as she hurried over to the little bag they kept nearby and she paused to fish around inside before returning with one of the pen lights they used.
"Here." She handed the light over. She wanted to ask if it was a good sign that he had moved but she told herself to wait.
He took it from her, leaning over Sylar hurriedly as though he thought if he slowed down, the other man would simply stop reacting, and pried one of his eyes open. Clicking on the flashlight, he shone it onto his face for a moment, then took it away, watching as his pupil constricted and dilated, then clicked it back off, looking to Claire again.
"His eyes are responding to light. That's -- that's great, actually."
"He wasn't doing that before, right?" She asked, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth as she bordered on the edge between vulnerable and hopeful.
"He wasn't," he answered, setting the flashlight on the beside table.
"It's -- there's this scale for people in his condition that we had to memorize back when I was learning to be a nurse, okay? And it ranges from, like, three to fifteen. Until just now, Sylar would have been a three." He hoped she got the idea that the lower number, the worse off someone was without him having to explain it. "Now he's ... "
He looked back to the other man, briefly. "Probably about a six?" It didn't sound that hopeful, he knew, but it was better than day after day after day of nothing. "I don't really know how long it's gonna be before he'll wake up, but ... " But if he kept improving, he would, and Peter considered that to be something of a miracle.
"But you're thinking now he will, right?"
She knew that he hadn't given the idea of Sylar waking up much hope before, but she was taking it as a good sign now since he was actually commenting that it could happen in time. Wetting her lips, she was about to ask him another question when the sound of a door closing downstairs made her stop.
"Did you hear that?" She tensed, turning slightly.
"Yeah, I do." He paused, brow furrowing as he strained to hear whatever it was she had, but there was nothing. "Hear what?"
"It sounded like a door closing downstairs." She frowned softly, straining to hear anything else. "Did you leave a window open somewhere?" She glanced back at Peter curiously, wondering if perhaps a breeze had caused a door to close.
"I didn't have time to. I just got back from the store right before you came home," he answered, shifting towards the door, sudden uneasiness creeping up on him. Maybe he was being paranoid, but considering how many times they had been attacked since he'd started traveling with his niece and Sylar, it was better safe than sorry.
"Well, I didn't open any." Her voice had gotten softer as the same sudden uneasiness crept over her as well. She edged closer to him, creating a unified front as she listened for any more noise. A second later, the noise came as a slight creak on the stairs and she knew, in that instance, that someone was coming up the stairs.
"Peter," she hissed his name, glancing back at Sylar worriedly.
He hadn't heard the door close, but he had heard that, and he froze, tense, not bothering to skirt towards the door again. "We need to get out of here."
"How?" She clenched her jaw. "We're on the second floor and he's fucking comatose." The curse slipped out of her before she could stop it but she didn't worry about being polite at that particular moment
Peter shot her a look, nevertheless. "You have a better idea? Because if that's Nathan's guys or someone from that carnival, we're kind of screwed."
She sent him a quick apologetic look but then she nodded because he was right. Suddenly, she turned towards him. "If I create a distraction, can you get him out of here?"
"If they're not in my way on the stairs, then yeah." It probably wouldn't be easy, even with all the weight Sylar had lost, but he was willing to try. "What're you planning?"
"Not a clue." She admitted as she started towards the door. She was better when she was on her toes, having to think and react rather quickly and perhaps a bit recklessly. That was how she often got herself out of a situation ... and into a lot of messes. "Just get him out."
"Claire," he hissed after her, but she didn't stop, nor did he try to get her attention again. He huffed out a sigh, staring at the door as she disappeared outside, then moved to Sylar's beside, grabbing one of his arms in an effort to sling him over his shoulder. It was hard -- much harder than he was expecting, honestly, Sylar's dead weight taking a toll on him -- but somehow he managed. And once he was sure he wouldn't accidentally drop him, he started towards the door himself.
As soon as Peter reached the door, Claire's flying body would nearly send him and Sylar backwards as she slammed into the wall beside them. Crumpling to the floor with a grunt, she clenched her jaw, gritting her teeth, and she slowly pushed herself back up. When she straightened, Peter would see that the front of her shirt was burned, scorched in a few places even. Looking to the couple who stood at the top of the stairs, she drew in a breath as she stepped closer to Peter. "Look out, the girl has fire and the guy is strong. Real strong," she hissed in warning.
Sure enough, the woman held up her flame-covered hands as the man smirked and started to advance. Springing forward, Claire quickly threw herself in between the man and Peter.
"Carnival guys. Great," Peter muttered, readjusting his hold on Sylar. While the comment he'd made had been a sarcastic one, however, as he rolled his shoulders, shifting the killer on them, his weight suddenly seemed as nothing and he registered surprise briefly before managing a small, grim smile. "Actually, on second thought ... that's kind of handy."
Just so long as either of them did try to engage him in the fight, anyway, and the smile fading just as quickly as it had come, he tried to edge around them.
It was no surprise to either one of them when the guy lunged at Claire and the woman started towards Peter. Even though there was a man with super strength aiming a fist at her head, Claire's main concern was the fact that Peter was getting attacked and that it put Sylar in danger.
"No!" she called out, her hand flying up to reach towards the woman in the hopes of catching her attention. She certainly wasn't prepared for when the man suddenly flew back, flying across the short landing to crash into the girl while the window behind them exploded in a burst of shattered glass.
Peter scrambled out of the way, barely managing to avoid being smashed into the glass along with them as they slid across the landing, then cast a glance over his shoulder at Sylar, half-expecting that to have come from him. The other man was still unconscious, still just a weight against his shoulders, however, and his eyes turned sharply to Claire, confused and stunned. She couldn't have done that, but if Sylar hadn't, then ...
"How ... ?"
Claire looked equally confused and stunned as she stood in much the same position she had taken seconds before with her hand stretched out into empty air now. Blinking slowly, Peter's stilted question started to sink in and she looked over at him slowly, the blood draining from her face as she realized what he had seen.
"I ... " She had no idea what to say and so she latched onto the idea of their escape instead. "We need to get out of here," she reminded him, starting towards the stairs.
He was all too willing to follow after her, not sure how long the two of them would be stunned, but he had seen the way her face had paled. He knew she knew something about that little display. And that in mind, as he galloped down the stairs, taking them two at a time, he pressed again. "What the hell was that?"
"I don't know." Even if she knew something about the little display, she still hadn't been prepared for that. She hadn't taken any abilities and certainly not telekinesis. The only person who had that ability was Sylar but somehow she had used it. Scowling, she shot around the corner and hurried towards the garage. "I don't have that ability."
"Looks like you do to me," he shot back, his expression mirroring hers. "What did you let him do to you before he fixed my power?"
Claire hesitated as they entered the garage. "I ... " She wondered how to explain it to him as she hurried over to the car, opening the passenger back door. "I asked him for an ability," she finally admitted, barely meeting his gaze. "He gave me one."
"His telekinesis," Peter concluded, unshouldering the killer so he could push him into the car. "God, Claire. Do you have an idea how badly he could've messed you up if he'd felt like it? He could've given you anything. Like -- like the whole radioactivity thing!"
Claire didn't say anything as he leapt to the conclusion that Sylar had given her his telekinesis. She wasn't good at lying outright, or at least she never used to be and she wasn't sure what to say now. So she stood there, quietly looking over her shoulder before glancing at him. "Do you want to drive?"
She figured she'd distract him or at least try. She also hoped he wouldn't catch on that it wasn't telekinesis that Sylar had given her.
He opened his mouth to respond and a line of fire belched from the window Claire had broken, forcing him to duck behind the car door and effectively silencing him. And when no more came -- he could only assume they were on the stairs now, coming down to meet them -- he pushed Sylar the rest of the way in and climbed in the passenger side, since it was the closest.
"You drive. Let's go."
She ducked when the belch of fire shot from the window and she cursed softly under her breath while scrambling for the driver's seat. Sliding behind the wheel, she slammed the door closed before starting the engine. She barely gave him time to close his own door before she peeled out in reverse, braking hard enough to cause a jolt to their bodies before she shifted and hit the gas.
"Where do we go now?" she asked, irritated that they had been found and attacked. Even more so because of the fact that they had to leave everything, including the stuff they had stolen to treat Sylar. How far behind would Sylar's recovery be now?
"I don't know," Peter answered, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Just -- away from here. We'll figure out what we're doing when we stop."
She drew in a breath to steady herself while she nodded, still feeling incredibly tense from the attack and from Peter finding out that Sylar had given her an ability. Stealing a sideways glance at him, she nibbled her bottom lip as she struggled for something to say but she gave up when nothing came to mind. How could she ever explain what really happened?
[Co-written with Peter (hadtobeahero) ♥]