Fic: The Chronicle of Perdition

[vespaer]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Deep Water (Part One)
Characters: Sylar/Claire
Summary: It happened so fast Claire wondered how she'd ever managed to underestimate the surety and swiftness of Sylar's determination.
Rating: PG13 for some language
Spoilers: Season 4 stuff

A/N: Ahhhh this is nice - like slipping on my favorite old robe after a VERY long, hard week at the office =) I'm still alive, folks, still breathing, moving on, everything is going to be okay - and I'm WRITING! This was a big achievement, finishing this chapter. It was a milestone - it told me that I would be able to come back to myself. But now I've really gotta go back and re-read eveything I've written so I can make sure I don't step on my own toes, LOL! The show must go on! We have the birth of a new trio, my lovelies, AND what I think is some really nice Sylaire interaction. A real conversation, folks - a step in the right direction. I truly hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes or anything remotely related and I bow humbly before the television gods, please have mercy on me.

Read Chapter Fourteen | Read Chapter Sixteen

"You're absolutely positive?" Lauren asked for the third time since they'd stepped off the plane and began their trek, streaking through a ruddy martian Arizona landscape interrupted by the occasional jarring appearance of alien cacti, in a compact rental car.

"I've already told you," Tracy gritted with sand in her teeth, "all I could find in those file cabinets was that he had gone to Coyote Sands, but nothing stated what he was looking for."

"Or what he found..."

"You looked at the same files, you know..."

"I know, I'm just trying to be thorough. Old habit."

Lauren was still picking at a chapped flap of skin on her lower lip, mesmerized by her own ponderings, when they pulled up to the very same cursed unmapped outpost - a foul collection of crumbling, derelict buildings and unmarked (not to mention disturbed) graves in the middle of blustery nowhere.

Where another vehicle also happened to be parked.

She locked suspicious eyes with her partner at the uncanny coincidence, then, weapon having unconsciously migrated to her twitchy hands, she proceeded to cautiously exit the vehicle. Her heels had no sooner crunched two dainty holes into the crusty earth when both women jumped, a boisterous clamor having split the still, dry air - that of collapsing lumber, brittle and arid as a mummy's tomb, emphasized by hacking, raspy coughs… and a another woman's voice.

"Jesus Christ, fucking snakes - shit! Gonna freakin' die out here…" Emerging in a cloud of dust and waving arms was young red-head neither of them recognized. "Can't even get a decent cell phone sig-" She halted in mid-sentence upon discovering she was astonishingly not alone in the surrounding vastly desolate expanse of desert. She instantly spied the gun Lauren held rigid but ready at her side. Transparent thoughts shone a frightened kaleidoscope across the gleam in the woman's eyes - clearly she feared for her life.

"I… I know I'm not trespassing," she defended, lifting her hands complacently.

Happy to assume control over the situation, Lauren did nothing to reassure her. This time, gratefully, Tracy let her do the talking.

"Who are you?"

"Jennifer," the woman confessed, "Jennifer Ozias, although really I prefer just Jen - am I doing something wrong here?"

"That all depends - what are you doing here?"

For a split moment - one Lauren could relate to on a deeply personal level - a flare of indignance steamed a blush over Jennifer's cheeks, but another glance at the expertly gripped firearm in Lauren's hand kept her from vocalizing her misgivings.

"I'm a freelance investigative journalist," she offered instead with an undertone of impatient sass. "I provide material for news stations and several publications in the Chicago area. I'm, uh… I'm currently working on a piece dealing with the disappearances of several people with para-human abilities across the country. They came to my attention around the time a local woman's husband went missing."

"And that's what brings you to an abandoned military facility in the middle of the desert?" Lauren lied.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, and without compromising the anonymity of my sources, I have reason to believe that this 'facility ' had less to do with the military than you would like to think." Well, now. Who would've thought. Not just any stranger miles from modern human civilization, but a well-informed one. "The activity surrounding these missing people," Jennifer continued, "all seems to have something to do with two particular individuals, beginning around the same time one of them returned home from a trip… here. I just wanna find out why."

"Well that makes three of us," Tracy muttered not quite out of earshot.

"What have you found?"

"Are you going to shoot me, or are we going to talk like women?"

The object in question began to tingle with acute discomfort between Lauren's anxious fingertips. She didn't want to like this 'Jen ', with her courageous straightforwardness and kindred inquisitive nature, but found she couldn't help herself. She put the gun back in its holster.

"I can only assume you're referring to Neil Culbertson…"

"You've heard of him?"

"He has been in the news a lot lately," Tracy pointed out.

"Look - obviously this isn't the kind of stuff I'm gonna dish to a couple of strangers like we're a bunch of old school girls or something… I think I've been really generous already - and I didn't even freak at being held at gunpoint -"

"What? I didn't even lift it!"

"You mind telling me who you are?"

Stymied, Lauren met Tracy's eye again, but found no affirmation there.

"What, it's not fair to ask in return?"

Of course it was. And Jennifer was right even though she wasn't - they were all trespassing. Equally. But then, like the spark at the tip of a candle in the dark, an idea began to twinkle to life in the deeper recesses of her imagination… something Noah had said. The only way to end this conflict - to bring Neil Culbertson and his cohorts to justice - was to publicly expose them. Perhaps this woman was the key… Maybe they were on the same side. And if she was wrong about her, well… her gun said she was in charge, right? And if not that, then the human-shaped freeze ray that traveled with her? Had she really lost any control? What did she have to lose, period? In a situation where time was of the essence, she figured realistically some risk was to be assumed. So, she made a decision, and placed her bet on trust.

"No, it's fair enough. I'm, uh… my name is Lauren Gilmore, and this is my partner, Tracy Strauss. We, uh…" she stammered at Tracy's continued silence, disappointed she didn't jump in this time, "we actually work for a non-profit organization protecting para-human rights. We, um…"

"We have Tawni Britton in custody," Tracy finally interjected, "and little Casey. We've heard of Barry Britton. That's your missing husband, isn't it."

"Yeah…" Jennifer wrinkled her delicately freckled nose at the truly bizarre set of circumstances she'd come to find herself in. Lauren could hear it in her voice - she, too, was struggling not to overstep the boundaries of her tight lips, but knew she could accomplish so much more if she just took a leap of faith. "Yeah, that's the guy…"

"Alright, look, this is stupid," Lauren plainly stated. "We're all smart, empowered women, I think we can all see the big picture here - we all want the same thing - so I'm just gonna come right out and say it. We know Neil Culbertson, and the church he belongs to, are involved in these… disappearances, whatever you want to call them. We have actual proof, or at least we've seen it. And we, too, know he came here while on a business trip. So... here we are." She swirled her hands with great flourish. "Let's discuss."

"It would seem he may have found something here that allowed him to formulate some kind of plan, then act on it," Jennifer began.

"Exactly. But here's the problem."

"Naturally, there's a problem."

"Oh, there are lots, I promise. More importantly, though, he's got a pair of hostages - a woman and her son. Her husband has what any idiot could see is an extremely useful ability, but it's also a very dangerous ability."

"They're making him do things, aren't they?"

"Yes. And wherever he goes, people turn up dead or gone… or both."

"Usually both," Tracy commented.

"Which leads us to the other individual you're investigating," Lauren added. "Would his name happen to be 'Sylar'?"

Jennifer didn't answer immediately, but her spine stiffened with intimate recognition at the sound of the two diminutive syllables labeling the obsession that had plagued her for the past several weeks, and her eyes widened with baited intrigue. It shouldn't have surprised her that her present company had heard of the enigmatic man, given their profession working with the para-human prey upon which he'd hunted for so long. It was that the conversation was taking place at all, lost on an uncharted parcel of Navajo desert no less, that surprised her.

"That would be the guy, yep."

"Yeah, we've met."

"Seriously…?"

"Don't get us started," Tracy rolled her eyes.

"And you lived?"

"You might find it interesting," Lauren ignored the question as she cocked her hip and eyed a passing shadow - a circling buzzard or cactus-dwelling hawk, "he has his own theory about what's happening to all of those people."

"Yeah, what self-respecting serial killer wouldn't have some sort of grand delusion professing his own innocence?"

"Well, this self-respecting serial killer's grand delusion has an established alibi," Tracy smugly imparted. "He says he was out of the country when some of these… 'disappearances' took place, and there is evidence to support his claim."

Judging by the impressive altitude her eyebrows managed to reach, Jennifer never saw that coming - never once considered, like most sane, rational people, that Sylar might not be guilty.

"That's… wow. That's interesting…"

"You have no idea…" Lauren murmured under her breath. "We also know that at least one of the victims he's reputed to have 'killed' is actually very much alive and well. Gretchen Berg was treated for a minor head trauma at the Odessa Regional Medical Center before being released to go back home to her parents' house in Virginia. Other than that, though, she's just fine."

"I doubt she thinks she's fine," Jennifer countered, "and she definitely has a story to tell - what did happen to her? What happened to the rest of those people?"

"The general consensus we're reaching," Lauren replied, "is that Parkman -"

"Who's Parkman?"

"- our friend, hostage's husband, keep up - we think he's creating illusions in order to protect his wife and son. We think he's convincing these victims and their families that Sylar is on a massive killing spree to throw the authorities off the trail."

"But to what end?" Jennifer mused. "And that still doesn't answer my question - what happened to those people?"

"According to the files we've seen," Tracy answered, dodging a tumbleweed by taking one conspiratorial step closer, "it looks like people are being kidnapped and stashed in great big caves dotting the Edwards Plateau in Texas."

"The place is like swiss cheese underground," Lauren added, "although even more recently he's started chartering a ship that's been making several trips out to the middle of the Gulf of Mexico for whatever reason."

"Neil Culbertson comes from a long line of oil barons - it's not hard to surmise that the place is probably an oil rig."

"It's like suddenly the caves weren't good enough, or maybe he wanted to try putting all of his victims in one place." Lauren shrugged in further thought. "I can see, maybe, why someplace with light and electricity and fresh air might be more attractive than a bunch of muddy old caves."

"So it sounds, then," Jennifer guessed, "like he's hoarding people. But why? And why the illusions? Why frame Sylar?"

"Oh that's easy," Lauren told her. "Barry Britton's family thinks he's dead, and it's very likely Barry Britton thinks his family is dead. At this point, neither of them are looking for each other - the tie is severed. It keeps things much cleaner. I wish I could say it wasn't a tactic my… previous employer hadn't used every once in a while. But what we still don't know is why. Why everything. Why finance politicians and push so hard for para-human registration legislation only to turn around and collect them on an oil rig in the middle of the ocean in your spare time…?"

"Because…" Jennifer tapped her lips with one slender, well-shaped ruby fingernail, "the registration would be public. The United States Government would compile his list of victims for him. As long as he has this Parkman guy, and Sylar to take the fall for them… he'd be free to do whatever he wants."

"And the answer to the 'whatever he wants' has to exist right here… somewhere," Tracy breathed.

"Well," Jennifer admitted, "in that case, you better come with me - I think I may have found something."

~*~*~

Everything was fuzzy and grey and moving, like she were rolling on a soft, anti-chromatic blanket. Her stomach leaped when her body took another gravity-defying dip, and she crashed back to her senses at the bottom of the crest. Claire held herself steady with her left hand, clinging to something hard and metallic, stinking of sea grime and disintegrating lead paint. Despite her disorientation, her feet were planted and solid while the rest of the world pitched and yawed away toward the horizon - a melancholy tumult of watery slate and bubbly white foam, matching the gloomy overcast sky above. Figures in a broad encompassing hemisphere began to become more distinct as she forced her eyelids to blink, and muddled hums she'd only just noticed began to transform into individual voices. Some were whispering, others were arguing… one was just… breathing.

"No - leave her out of this - she hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Sir, you need to back! Up! She's obviously with the demon -"

"She's my niece - you don't know anything about her, OR what's happening!"

"Why aren't you listening to me…"

"She's got some sort of power of suggestion, Peter… I can keep us clear, but she's really powerful…"

Power of… was that what held her rooted to the spot? She sucked a startled breath when something like downy hair tickled her right wrist, and she truly saw for the first time the towering mass of human being who loomed over her with unnerving proximity. Carefully she squinted up at him, and his features began to sharpen as if a woodcarver slowly chiseled them into something real. An unbidden breeze merrily tousled his thick black unruly hair, just long enough to tease the tips of a heavy, formidable brow - one that shadowed deep, sad eyes. He moved with the boat, but was otherwise motionless, lips slightly parted as he devoted his dark-rimmed, soulful gaze to the ocean. Then, without warning, he shifted, placing both hands on the railing and locking both elbows as he transferred his weight. His posture made it horrifyingly evident he was preparing to climb over the side - he was going to fling himself overboard. Before Claire could determine whether or not Sylar was actually suicidal or acting outside of his own volition, she felt her right hand clang against the long metal rail as well.

It was zip-tied to his left arm.

"You've got to be kidding me…" It was the cave all over again.

"Matt - help me out here! Tell her Claire is telling the truth!"

"She's gonna have to stop throwing people overboard first…"

Oh God. If the shock of water didn't pull Sylar out of his brainwashed trance he'd drag her down with him like a pair of concrete shoes. She would drown - they would both drown - and sink into the sightless depths, a mile or more from air… never to be seen again… never be found, never be revived, oh god, this was a real death…

"Sylar!" she hissed through a mortal panic she'd never known before. "Snap out of it!"

"And why should I believe you two any more than them? Why should I believe any of you? We ALL know who he is!"

"But Pete's right, I can actually prove it, they -"

"Do you have any children, sir?"

All around her Claire could hear wispy snippets of false memories, faint as every accusing tear that splashed against the dampened deck.

Killed my wife. Killed my husband.

Killed my brother. Killed my sister.

Killed my parents.

Killed my babies.

Murderer. Killer. Monster.

Undaunted by her plea, he lifted a foot, bracing it to pull his hip up onto the railing, tugging her along to grind her ribs against the unforgiving steel rod. Insistently she yanked against him trying to topple his tall, top-heavy weight, but found she couldn't budge him.

"Sylar!"

"Lady, I KNOW who killed my fucking family, and I know what's happened to yours, too, if you would just listen!"

"So, you admit you're with him?"

"Matt… you're gonna have to use your ability…"

"I'm doing all I can…"

"Is that a threat…?"

Sylar had one long leg already over the side and was in the process of bruising the fleshy planes of Claire's abdomen as he dragged her with him when, grasping for dangling ideas like carrots on sticks, she did the last thing she could think of. She mashed herself into the railing, stretching her petite frame to its fullest extent, and bit him just above his elbow with all her might, chomping until she felt the meat compress like a rare steak in her jaws.

"YEEOOOOOWUHH!"

With the lithe agility of a skilled hunter he made one fluid movement that brought him fully back around and onto the deck with both feet. Claire would've collapsed with relief if she hadn't been preparing to receive the sharp end of his malevolent wrath… which was currently wild-eyed and descending upon her like a bloodthirsty pterodactyl.

"What the fuck was th-"

"Shhh!"

"Of course it's not, but do you really think killing her makes you any better than him? Or killing anyone for that matter?"

"What was that for!" he snarled, adamant about finishing his statement.

"Don't be pissed at me!" Now was not the time for his infamous capriciousness to make an untimely appearance. "I had to do something! You were under her weird… spell thing, and -"

"No I wasn't!"

"Yes you were! She was about to make you -"

"Then how come you aren't?"

"Maybe it doesn't work as well on women? I don't know! You have to -"

"Why are we tied together?"

Why wouldn't he just shut up and listen?

"I was in the wrong place at the right time. You have to do something!"

"What did you do?"

"Really? Now? Sylar!"

"What did you do!"

"I…" She lifted their conjoined limbs to her forehead, which she rubbed prodigiously in equal parts exasperation and reticence. "Fine. Whatever. I defended you, okay? There. I said it."

He recoiled inwardly and his expression grew slightly frosty. Yet the way he wouldn't meet her eye told willingly of a warmth that suffused him and stopped just short of his cheeks and ear tips.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because it's the truth…? Look, it doesn't matter, she -"

"And now we're tied together." It was like his brain was still coming back online.

"Would you just shut up a minute? Good lord! She's gonna notice you're not under her control anymore and she's going to try to get you back. You have to do something!"

"Who?"

"HER! It doesn't matter, just -"

"Do something, yeah, I got it - do what?"

"I don't know! You're the genius with a buhzillion powers - pick one!"

"And you really think that evil son of a bitch is just gonna leave all of us alone? You are either stupid, naïve, or badly misinformed! This isn't murder, it's self-defense!"

Claire bounced restively on the balls of her feet as she shot furtive glances between her unlikely partner and their even more unlikely captor. Sylar's even sigh, however, drifting over her flushed skin when he faltered, drew her back to him as he retreated a half step, fists clamped strenuously against his sides. His eyes returned to that same distant spot on the reeling waves.

"You don't understand, Claire. You have no idea how hard this is… you have no idea what I'm going through… what I live with…"

"Lady, look, what happened to your family was just an illusion, I -"

"Oh no! I KNOW you are not seriously going to stand there and tell me that you're right and EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US is wrong!"

"Every day of my life, Claire… every day that I can remember…"

His sheepish, uncharacteristic reluctance made her want to kick him in the shins. More than usual, even. Where were the men with guns when they needed them?

"Sylar -"

"Look at me, Claire! Look at what I've become! All shaky and clammy and sick and shit…? And ten seconds from plunging into that water?"

"That's not -"

"I don't wanna be this anymore! I don't wanna do this! Everybody here hates me! Everywhere I go, everybody hates me! There is not one single living thing on this planet that doesn't want me to disappear! My whole life is empty and meaningless, and everything I did to try to change it was, was… was what made it happen in the first place! You have to understand this - everything I have ever done has been a mistake!" He lowered his voice in hushed humility. "I'm alone, Claire - I am alone. No matter what I do, I am always alone. Peter's charity is not a home. I want… I want something, I don't know. I want someplace where…" he wedged his hands, "I fit. But if I do this, Claire - to this person you're talking about… I do something that harms her…" balefully he shook his head, conveying an unspoken emphasis, "I… I'm afraid I won't be able to stop, my… my control over this, it's… it's so fragile… Claire, I will kill everyone on this ship. You have to know that…"

"So you're not gonna do anything at all - you're just gonna go take a swim if that's what she tells you to do?"

"Claire, please, it's not that -"

"And what is this bullshit with you all wanting some kind of 'normal' life all of a sudden?"

"That's not what I -"

"Yes it is! That's exactly what you're saying! Wanting to… fit in, or whatever, and just be some guy. YOU! What the hell is wrong with you? What was it you always used to tell me?" She jerked herself up onto her tip-toes and puffed out her shoulders, squaring her elbows in her most masculine, and most patronizing, impression possible, "we're NOT normal, Claire! You should really try to see your true potential! Don't be such a waste of prime, grade A genetic material!"

"Claire, I never -"

"Yes you did!"

"Okay, well I was wrong, alright? Is THAT what you want? I've been a psychotic fucking idiot all of my fucking life and I've made a huge bloody mess out of it and I was WRONG! Are you happy now?"

"No, I'm not! That's NOT what I want!"

"THEN WHAT!"

"I don't want to drown! Sylar, she is going to kill us!" Grabbing his shirt and dislodging him from his anchor of self-pity, she opened her face to him in pleading sincerity. Her lips quivered and her breath came in fearful spasms. "I'm asking you to rescue me! Please," she begged with a final whisper, "I don't wanna drown."

His brow creased in consternation and the seconds ticked like years. He dropped his eyes away and lifted his free hand to cover them as the earth continued to turn. His teeth speared his upper lip as he spiraled in confusion, and all around them the wind whipped the sea into frothy peaks while the ship's sailing bulk continued to crash over ceaseless murmuring and arguing.

"Ma'am, that's EXACTLY what I'm trying to tell you. And while no one's denying -"

"You're insane!"

"NO ONE'S DENYING that that man has killed people, and that he's definitely not to be trusted and absolutely should be kept under lock and key, but when it comes to what brought us all here, I am the one who's responsible!"

"It doesn't matter anyway," Peter broke in while he could, "neither one of those two can be killed - they're invincible, and on top of that? He can fly. So why don't you bring them on back in here and we can talk about this rationally."

"Oh!" Sylar's abrupt exclamation shocked her with a jolt of hope, "here!" Between their noses he lifted the obstinate little plastic bond that bound them together, at which he aimed a deadly cutting fingertip.

"NO!" Claire cried as she pulled it away just as quickly. "That is not a solution!"

"What are you talking about? Of course it is! You'll be safe!"

"But you won't!"

"Now, stop it! Say whatever you want - I don't believe for one minute that you actually give a shit -"

"NOBODY MOVE!"

The rattling thunder of footsteps shook the outer deck, emanating from a pair of staircases leading away into forbidden parts of the ship above. A mystified audience watched in silence as the stairs became coated with a layer of kneeling men carrying rifles.

"Y'all've had enough fresh air for today," spilled a crackling voice through a radio that was dangling from the hip of a flannel-clad militiaman. "I really don't want to have to have these nice gentlemen persuade you to go back into the hold the hard way, so why don't we all just turn around all order-like, m'kay?"

A foreboding rumble growled from Sylar's throat, urging Claire to follow his line of sight to where it locked with laser precision on the shape of a man occupying the foggy windowed captain's chamber located high overhead… a man with a familiar stocky frame filling out a sickly grey suit… the same sniper who shot at her father in front of a cave in Texas.

When Sylar had sacrificed his life to save a man he hated.

The injury to his pride disfigured his scowl into something far more terrible. Things were about to happen. Sylar was getting irritated.

"Sylar…"

"Claire…"

"Don't…"

"I can handle going to prison, Claire. I can handle facing the death penalty. I want to pay for my crimes." He lowered his eyes to hers with a look that froze her with grim promise. It was soaked with the same intent that stung her when he coldly split her screaming skull, long ago. Despite his words, this man still toed a very fine line between repentance and madness - his own history was far too convoluted to grant him that sort of acuity. "But I want it to be on my terms." He lifted his lashes to his brow, allowing a short scan to appraise the herd, choosing his first victim. Claire felt her stomach twist. "I'm tired of being hunted. Aren't you?"

Where was his reluctance now?

It happened so fast Claire wondered how she'd ever managed to underestimate the surety and swiftness of Sylar's determination. His right arm sliced through the air, and a human-shaped smudge blurred her peripheral vision. Ignoring the raucous clacks of loading weapons she turned away from the mute, gaping mob to find a howling man dangling in mid-air over the churning sea, just in time to watch his forgotten gun slip from stunned fingers and plop into the ebon open water beneath him, poised and ready to swallow him whole like a hungry whale.

"OHGODOHGOD PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN!"

"Sylar - what are you doing -"

"Turn this ship around and he'll live!" Sylar shouted up at the stoic figure behind the glass.

"Bring him back and no one gets hurt," the man's voice countered, pealing disembodied from the impersonal confines of the radio.

"Surely you must know," Sylar smirked in his typical smarmy way, "that I can stop your men from firing." Claire was disturbingly aware of how powerful his bad side was, and she hesitated to wonder how he would accomplish such a feat… but she couldn't help but hope he wasn't bluffing. They were in deep water. "And even if I can't," he muttered more to himself, "I can count at least two, maybe three, other people right here on this deck who can."

The ensuing high-noon pause shattered her thin veneer of calm. While her terrorized lungs sucked air, waiting for someone to break the stalemate, she met the faces of her uncle, of Emma (who'd only just returned from the dead), even that of fatalistic Matt who was prepared to meet his family in their idyllic shared afterlife, and those of countless others she'd never met but would probably like to know - at least have the chance - and she wondered what they'd look like pelted with bullets while, through her own special brand of cosmic unfairness, she picked herself up, dusted herself off, and wiped away the blood…

Sylar was never good at waiting. Stalking, yes, but waiting no. He was much better at forcing the hand. He hunched his shoulders and squeezed the fingers of his outstretched hand into a 'C' shape, causing a dreadful reaction in his hapless floating prey - the man gurgled incoherently and clawed at his throat… as if here were being hanged by an invisible rope. The man was turning purple… would he…?

"Sylar, stop -"

"Who's gonna be next after this one?"

"NOOOO!" The feminine wail caught Claire off guard. She whirled to see Peter pull hard against Monique to keep her from charging the object of her worst nightmares, straining against her earnest and athletic struggle to get free. "He'll kill her! You bastard - you've taken enough from me! He'll kill her!"

Returning her darting gaze to the grey-suited man, Claire could quickly see the scene upstairs had changed dramatically. The man had a powerful bargaining chip - a slight, dark-skinned woman, the same one she'd seen descend the stairs after Emma in the hold before they all fell asleep - with her cheek pressed painfully against the glass. The woman held the radio in her trembling fingers, unwillingly traded for the pistol that was digging into the back of her skull. Her terrified tears smeared against the translucent pane, marring the reflections of circling sea birds.

"Please," Monique continued to blubber, "I won't make you jump ship, alright? Please? You killed my husband, killed my boys… my sister is all I have left…"

"He didn't kill anybody," Matt breathed at her shoulder, assisting Peter in keeping the volatile situation as calm as possible. "I know it's hard, but I'm asking you to believe me -"

"AAUGH OH GOD!" the radio roared with static. "He says, he says, he says… let him go, or he'll give my sister a real reason to make you suffer…"

"You're kidding, right?" Sylar bit with his sarcastic self-assuredness. "That's hysterical - you're funny. I think we all know there isn't a soul on this ship that can hurt me, or stop me if I don't wanna be stopped."

"NO!" Monique cried. "You monster! You piece of shit! Where is your humanity? You don't have one single shred of decency! She is innocent! She's a good girl, she doesn't deserve this! PLEASE!"

Claire held her breath. She felt like she was standing on a sheer and mighty cliff face waiting for the wind to knock her either direction - behind her was a savage beast who had no qualms about sacrificing a human life if it meant he could start laying waste to his enemies one by one, and ahead of her was a black, dizzying chasm, at the bottom of which waited a tiny, dim soul whose gossamer light flickered weakly like a fading lantern, one who had finally learned precious things like mercy and forgiveness. She wanted to believe she could reach him but he was so far away… Acting on their own accord, the fingers of her right hand touched his left, delivering a hopeful squeeze - a silent appeal.

"PLEASE!" the radio cried. "Please stop! He's not messing around!"

His fingers slinked away as if by burnt by recrimination, but she could tell by the way the razor in his glare had dulled and softened that her message had been received. With the unwillingness of steel groaning under a hard cake of rust his arm creaked around and deposited his hostage with a graceless 'thud' back on the deck, exactly from where he'd been unceremoniously plucked, gasping and clutching at his neck. Sylar sneered bloody menace up at his opponent. He didn't enjoy defeat. He didn't accept defeat. He was merely biding his time. There was a clatter that came over the air waves as the grey-suit flung his bait aside and retrieved the fallen radio, unable to resist the barb.

"Well, now, if this isn't just the most interesting turn of events. Our resident unrepentant serial killer has tossed away a sure bet for… what? A pretty girl?" Claire heard Sylar's knuckles crack as he clenched his fists. "It sure as hell ain't because you've found a soul all of a sudden, or something. All it would have cost was one little life, and you all could've been free… but suddenly that was too much for you? Well, don't sweat it, buddy. There's no telling what I'd do if I were tied to that, too." The snicker he oozed was revolting. Feeling the need to reassure him to avoid further violence, Claire tickled Sylar's hand with one more finger.

"Don't let him get under your skin."

"Too late."

"Monique, be a dear now," the man continued, "be nice to your sister and get your crew back down in the hold, mmkay?"

Gladly, she didn't have to use her ability, and she found no argument.

~*~*~

"Look, I can see very easily how you must be telling the truth, but how can you expect anyone to want to believe you? I don't dare hope I'll ever see my husband and my boys again, not after what I saw happen to them - don't you think it's a bit cruel? What if you're wrong?" It was obvious Monique was fighting tears of bitter anguish in order to conduct what Claire hoped was a rational conversation.

"Ma'am, I'm in the same position. I know just how you feel. But I'm also responsible for all of this, and I can tell you beyond the shadow of any doubt that your family is very much alive, thinking you're the one who's dead."

"Matt," came Peter's cool timber, "why do you think your family is dead?"

"Because. I've been replaced by your siren girlfriend. Keeping Janice alive is a liability - she's a very powerful witness. And while I'm not so sure they'd kill a baby, I'm pretty damn sure I'll never see Matty again. So now, they'll just lump me in to be processed with the rest of my kind."

"What are they going to do to us?" Monique prodded.

"I wish I knew. Countless times I've probed the big guy upstairs, but even he doesn't know."

"Plausible deniability," Peter added.

"Exactly. He's just taking orders. And he's very loyal."

"Even if I am to assume everything you've told me is true," Monique went on, jabbing a finger in the air, "your buddy over there is a danger to us all. You even said so yourself."

"Yes, I did. You don't even know the half of it."

"But Matt, he's right - you looked into his mind, you have to know he's telling -"

"Look, I gotta stop you right there," Monique turned to interrupt Peter. "I know that girl is family to you, and that you don't like it, but I have to think of everyone else, here - can you blame me? If you're going to vouch for him, then I need to hold you accountable, and that girl is your only collateral. They stay tied together, and that's that. I see her, but I don't see him? They're both off this ship as soon as I catch 'em, you got it? And I'm telling you right now… I still got half a mind to send you both with 'em."

"No, I know, but nothing's gonna happen, okay? They're alright. Let's focus on what we're gonna do. Those guys out there may be the ones with the guns and a hostage, but we're the ones with all the powers, right?"

Claire twisted her right wrist against the plastic cuff cutting uncomfortably into her skin. It was looking like she wasn't getting rid of the milky white little torture device quite yet. A sticky bead of sweat was building between her skin and that of her unwanted companion, and it was beginning to itch. Noticing her unease, he shifted his arm closer to her to accommodate her shorter stature, attempting to allow her to relax, but he never lifted his head from where it rested - chin perched on knees pulled tightly against a heaving chest, fuming eyes too furious to make contact with anything or anyone other than the solidly shut cargo bay doors. Doors he could telekinetically open… if he were willing to risk Monique's sister.

But he wasn't.

Was that what kept him so upset? Being called out on going soft - a sucker for a 'pretty girl'?

All around her was a pool of faces, no longer whispering, but watching him intently as if he were a bomb about to go off at any given second. She thought she ought to say something to try to diffuse him, but somehow felt 'hey, you didn't kill anyone, and you did the right thing when no one expected you to - good job, way to go,' wasn't exactly going to do the trick. So, she did the unthinkable. She tried to get him to talk. On purpose.

"I wish I knew where we were going."

She didn't know why she said it, didn't know what difference it would make. It was just… kindling to start the fire.

"I know where we're going."

"Oh you do?"

"Mhmm. There were oil rigs on the horizon - I saw them when we were out there. Gets my guess."

"… why oil rigs…? Think they're gonna set us on fire?"

"No idea."

"Why set us on fire if they could just sink us and drown us…"

She picked at her other thumb with her teeth while she waited for him to answer. His tensely quiet pause, however, told her he had no further interest in the subject matter - his mind was too busy chewing through other material.

"I wonder if we'd survive a fire… Well, I have, but I mean a total fire - like, do you think we'd ever turn to ashes?"

Still nothing, no dice. She tried a different tactic.

"So... back in the hotel parking lot… in Texas… What was it you were talking about…?"

"You'll have to be more specific."

"When you were yelling at my dad."

"Oh. That."

"Yeah, that. Something about 'you didn't show up to save my life,' or whatever. 'Your company just had to have its monster.'"

"Right."

At last she was making headway - this finally stole his eyes from where they sought to penetrate the unyielding steel mass of the bulkhead. Yet for someone who had been so eager, at one time, to rabidly spill the beans on the topic, his tongue fell unusually speechless. At least for the moment. Claire was beginning to understand why the dynamic between this man and her uncle worked so well - Peter was a living, breathing well of infinite patience, and she was coming to realize that dealing with Sylar required an overabundance of it. A brain like his, designed purely for assigning order out of chaos however it saw fit, took time to formulate things like thoughts, reactions, and schemes. It was when he pushed things that he made mistakes. Tampering her own innate tenacity to see what would happen, she waited. And then he spoke. What ultimately came from him were words from a story, yet they spilled from his lips with human inflection and tone instead of drawing lines across her eyes in his comical, looping blue penmanship. It stirred something within her - something she did her best to ignore while she listened.

"Why…" he sighed, "why do you wanna talk to me so much?"

"Well… look at us. I mean, we're tied together and we've got nothing better to do than sit around and wait for death. And I'm scared. Maybe I just wanna take my mind off of it."

"Fair enough. But it's not something I really like talking about."

"Coulda fooled me… you were practically screaming about it then…"

"I know… it's just… I dunno. There are parts of that should be known, but there are other parts that're…"

"What? Shocking? Condemning? Because, Sylar, let's be honest -"

"No, nothing like that…"

"Then what? Embarrassing?" The way his teeth seized his upper lip told her yes. She would have to proceed delicately. "Oh for Pete's sake, stop acting like you still have dignity and just tell me already." She took him for the kind that preferred a more direct approach.

"Oh fuck off, alright? Can your little cheerleader featherbrain suspend your disbelief for one minute long enough to consider that maybe - maybe - I didn't always want to be this? That maybe there was a time when I didn't want to hurt anybody? Or is that too mindblowing for you?"

"That you were just some regular joe? Yeah, maybe."

"Well, I wouldn't…" He shrugged away the rest of the statement. He'd never really been 'regular', although he wouldn't verbally concede that far. She got that. 'Regular' guys didn't become killers, unless they became deranged in the military or by something equally traumatic.

But something traumatic did happen, didn't it? The leather-bound account still guardedly concealed in her jacket pocket bore evidence, mimicking the ghost of a dream that lingered in the hollows of her waking memory - a little chart: two columns, four rows. 'Watched mom die.' Would… would he talk about that?

"Look… alright," he began. "You want it? Fine. Here goes. Did your dad ever tell you that the Company had me? Long ago?"

"Like, locked up?"

"No. Like, being observed. He didn't tell you?"

"Sylar. He didn't tell us anything. What he told us was that he worked for a paper company. Don't be silly."

"So, then I'm guessing he didn't tell you what I was doing when he found me."

"This is the embarrassing part, isn't it. Was it something dirty?"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't even know why I'm subjecting myself to this. NO it wasn't anything fucking dirty… although I suppose some people shit their pants when they hang -"

"Like… from a noose?"

"No, Claire, from a fuckin' chandelier - of course from a fucking noose! Would you just shut up and let me tell the story?"

Cold comprehension washed over her - her dad had caught him in the act of committing suicide. It wasn't that it was embarrassing - it was just intensely personal.

"Sorry."

"Whatever. Anyway. Yeah. So… yeah. I, uh… I was a very different person once. Like… I wasn't exactly the social, outdoorsy kind…"

"I thought you were gonna tell me something shocking or amazing." He singed her with a scalding hot glare. "Sorry."

"I was angry. Well, sure, like now, except all… you know. Pent up, I guess. At the time I didn't really know why, only that there was just something… wrong between me and my mom and I hated it. Something wrong with my life… something… missing, maybe? Something. She… she hoarded me. I felt like a doll, sometimes, I dunno. My whole life was just… weird. Like… the kind of weird that you can't quite put your finger on, but something was just… off. Weird enough that I wanted to escape… but I didn't and I don't know why."

"Is this your real mother?"

There it was again. That icy, jagged, reproachful break in the pace of their usual banter, stopping the cork over everything he wouldn't be saying.

"No," he finally said, "no, my adopted mother. And… yeah. That probably had a lot to do with it. I should've applied for that assistanceship at Stanford… it's scares me to think sometimes about how different things would be… She wanted me to be… you know, all of these things, but nothing I did ever really made her happy. She wanted me to be successful, but not if it meant I went away or left her life, like she didn't trust me. She pushed me in all of these directions that she never wanted me to take. I think she might've been crazy." The assessment, coming from him, was laughable but she managed to contain herself. "Bipolar, something. I dunno. She hung on, all my life, like I might fly away."

"Because you were never really hers."

He nodded gravely in a manner that made her wonder if there was more to it than she was really seeing. She had no doubt that was likely the case.

"She had this huge collection of snow globes. I gave a lot of them to her, looked high and low for interesting, unique ones. Some were very expensive, others were just neat. All of them were from places we'd never been. Claire… I lived my whole life inside of a fucking snow globe… trapped inside a dome of glass, preserved in some fake little world made from molded plastic. Mom just wanted everything to be perfect all the time, but to me it was all just… fantasy. Nothing was ever real."

"So you killed her?"

Shamefully, he dipped his head and mashed his nose against his thigh.

"I'd already… yeah. Yeah, I'd done… things. It wasn't like that, though. It was an accident - she was scared of me and she panicked and… it just happened. I didn't mean to… I just… I'd just found out I was going to end up killing millions of innocent people and I wanted her to tell me I wasn't… I just wanted her to tell me I was going to be okay. Claire…" he turned haunted, plaintive eyes to her and she tried to mask her confusion, "you have to believe me when I tell you there have been many times when I knew what I was doing was wrong and I wanted to… to just stop… to be anything else… but I didn't know how."

"When you were partnered with my dad…was that…?"

"Yes. That was real. Well, from me it was, but everything else turned out to be just lies - your fucking grandmother… but that's not what this is about. That came after. No, my first dose of reality came when I met Dr. Suresh."

"You talked about him in the cave. He did something."

"He came to me. In my little self-made dungeon. Crashed right through all of my walls and told me he believed I had something… something special. He just unlocked the cage and threw open the door, just like that. Suddenly I had a destiny - I was free. It was the best day of my life."

"So what happened?"

He dawdled momentarily, writhing his wrist against hers and leaning imperceptibly away, perhaps to create some distance.

"He said the tests he ran were inconclusive."

"What tests? What does that even mean -"

"He thought he was wrong, Claire! Come on! He was wrong about me! And in hindsight, he probably was - look at what I am! How could I possibly have been what he was looking for - he was going to send me back to my little hellhole of a life and be rid of me!" His eyes darkened like the looming threat of a violent, electric thunderstorm. So that was Suresh's crime - he'd broken the heart of a desperate lunatic when he'd needed him most. "And I probably would've done the same thing, knowing what I'd become. But that's when I found him - the next guy on Suresh's list, the one that would replace me, some poor sap who had no idea what kind of gift was about to be given to him. Brian Davis."

A shiver straightened her spine at the poignant delivery of that final detail.

"You… you remember his name? Do you remember all of their names…?"

She swallowed as he carefully composed his response, tucking his knees in a little tighter, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

"It's probably best I don't answer that question, Claire."

"Yeah… probably…" She was more than happy to let her imagination ebb away.

"I wonder what you would say if I told you I grieved his death, even. As much as I grieved the loss of my own innocence. I felt more… disgusting than I ever have - I was horrified with myself. I couldn't even live within my own skin. I couldn't handle it, Claire - can you understand that? I couldn't cope. So… yeah. That's where Elle found me… choking at the end of my own pathetic noose."

"Elle… Bishop…?"

"You know another Elle?"

"Well, no, but -"

"I found out later, she was your dad's partner at the time." He barked a harsh laugh. "Ironically… he'd shown up to bait me with a 'pretty girl'."

"But… why? What did they hope to gain?"

"Claire, you need to have no illusions about this - your dad has ended a lot of lives. Possibly more than me - the devil himself. I think sometimes your grandmother, and the other nutjobs in charge of her completely fucked up organization needed affirmation or whatever to justify their crimes. Like it was a war or something. They needed a bad guy, and here they had their killer. Gonna show the world how dangerous we are. Claire - don't you see? Your dad blathers on and on about saving people, but he could've saved ME. They could've taken me in, given me a home and a family, could've gotten me help, could've taught me to control my ability so it didn't control me. I could've been useful to somebody. I could've been somebody. But instead… they tricked me."

"They made you feel something for her, didn't they? She made you do something you didn't want to do? Is that it? Just like today?"

"NO," he told her firmly, jerking her hand, "not like today. I… no. I was good today. I mean, I was, wasn't I? No one died…? I did okay, right?"

"Yeah, yeah you did. You did good."

"Right…"

"So what did they make you do?"

"What do you think they made me do, Claire? They wanted to see how my ability worked… so they got their wish. And I guess after that… something just… snapped."

"And you blame my dad."

"I blame a lot of things, Claire. But it doesn't change the fact that he saved YOU… and no one else."

"Well, that's because you weren't all cute and fuzzy and wrapped in pink."

He sniffed a soft chuckle that took her by surprise - a quick flash at the corner of his mouth of rare genuine humor. It faded just as fast, however, behind a waxy film of jealousy and remorse.

"It also sounds to me," she went on, "like you have some pretty serious daddy issues. Where was your dad through all this?"

And that was where she lost him. While the rage that had radiated from him with blistering force had subsided to a simmering smolder, his gaze slid from her to return to its previous source of frustration.

"Gone," was all he said.

She felt foolish for suspecting any less.