AN: This was written during season 2, so it's assuming that Sylar never got Claire's abilities.

6/30/10: Updated for editing out a few mistakes and indulging on a few points. I'm not entirely happy with how I ended this one, but I'll let it stay as it is for the most part.

Sylar's body cried out in agony as he approached the door to his salvation. He willed his feet to take just a few more steps despite the searing pain burning every nerve ending.

He would kill them all for whatever they'd done to him. He relished the thought of seeing their blood making lovely little crimson pools at his feet, of hearing them cry out for mercy when they realized their fate. Thoughts of his revenge were one of the few things that kept him moving despite the liquid fire that seemed to be running through his veins.

Finally, he arrived at his destination and allowed his body to slump against the large oak door, momentarily trying to regain his composure. He couldn't let her or anyone else see him in this condition. He took a few unsteady deep breaths before he turned the metal knob and pushed his way into the quiet little house.

He was shocked to see the door was, in fact, unlocked, but then again she was always a bit naive. Or maybe she knew that a locked door wouldn't keep out those who would come for her. Either way, he was thankful he didn't have to exert any unnecessary energy.

Sylar half walked, half dragged himself over to the oversized chocolate sofa sitting in the middle of the room and collapsed. Coming here had taken more strength than he'd anticipated and he wasn't sure what he'd do if she was unwillingly to help him. She might even kill him. But he had already decided it was a risk worth taking. He'd die either way, she was his only chance of salvation and he just hoped that when the time came either she'd do as he asked or he'd have enough strength left to take what he needed.

He checked his watch and knew that she wouldn't return for another hour or so. Usually, this is when he'd hide amongst the shadows, waiting for his prey in the darkness until he could pounce. But this time, he knew it was pointless. Either she'd help him or she wouldn't, there was no reason to beat around the push.

Sylar realized he must've fallen asleep at some point because the next thing he knew, he felt the unmistakable touch of cold metal against his head. His eyes fluttered open and focused on his captor. Waves of honey-colored hair framed a face that hadn't changed at all during the past eight years, blue orbs danced dangerously against her flawless, porcelain skin.

"Hello Claire," he said calmly, not showing the slightest bit of alarm at being held at gunpoint.

"Sylar," she breathed, venom dripping from his name as though it was poison, "What are you doing here? Finally come back to try again?"

"No Claire, I'm not here to kill you," he replied. The look on her face told him that she didn't believe a word he'd said. Rolling his eyes, he added, "Do you think I'd be napping if I were here to kill you?"

Her eyebrows narrowed in confusion as she took in his words. He had a point, she couldn't deny that fact, but Sylar had always had an ego the size of a small country. He was probably just trying to throw her off balance.

"Then why are you here?"

"I need your help."

She nearly laughed. "The almighty Sylar needs my help? The help of a little weak cheerleader who always needed someone else to save her. Yeah, right. What do you really want?"

He smirked a little despite himself and then moved to sit up. She tensed at his movement, so he held his hands up to imply he wasn't going to try anything. When he was eye level with her, he began, "Claire, you're not as weak as everyone thinks you are. You're special, maybe even the most special one of us all and yes, I need your help."

"With what?" she asked after taking a moment to absorb what he was saying.

This is where he faltered a bit. Should he tell her the truth or lie completely? He decided on the former. "I'm dying."

She laughed. She couldn't help herself. Here was the boogeyman himself, the man she had been terrified of for most of her teenage years, the man she had wished would simply drop dead and he was telling her that her wish was about to come true.

"And I'm supposed to care?" she asked sarcastically. "You tried to kill me, remember?"

He had expected this, so he was prepared. "Claire, I know you must hate me and I'm sure you want me dead, but I'm not who you think I am. It's been a long time since we last met, since the night at Kirby Plaza and I've changed since then."

"A monster like you could never change," she insisted, not buying his little act for a second. "I'm not the naïve little child I was before."

"I know that. You've changed. Why is it so hard to believe that I have too?" he asked softly with a slight smile.

"Because you wanted to cut my head off and eat my brain," she reminded him pointedly. "People like you don't change. A killer is always a killer."

"I know you don't want to believe me. Maybe you can't, so I'm just going to tell you the truth. I spent four years in a cage at Primatech. Four years being treated like an animal, a lab rat. I was beaten, starved, dissected, electrocuted, nearly drowned, and tortured in any way possible every day for four years. Somewhere along the way I lost my killer instinct."

Claire knew he was telling the truth, at least about being held prisoner. Her father had told her when the Company finally managed to capture Sylar and she was familiar with the activities on Level 5. It wasn't a fate she'd wish on anyone, not even her would-be murderer. But that didn't change the fact that he was still a cold-blooded killer.

He knew he was getting through to her, but she still needed just a little more encouragement. "While I was there, they infected with me some sort of poison. I guess they figured if I ever escaped it would ensure I was dead. And as you can see, I did escape, but they're little injection is killing me and you are the only person that can save me."

"And what if I do? You'll just kill me, take my ability, and go back to killing everyone you come across," she accused, completely unmoved by his story.

He let out a long sigh as he weighed his options. If he left, he would die. If he tried to attack her, she'd shoot him and he would die. He could only see one way out, one sure fire way to prove to her that he was telling the truth. A certain ability that could come in quite handy at times but was rarely used. "I need some paper and a pen."

She eyed him quizzically, trying to figure out his intentions and finally decided that if he intended to kill her, he'd do it with or without a pen. She relented and took a few steps back to a small desk that was against the far wall, she slid open one of the drawers and retrieved the requested items. Without a word, she handed them to him, and waited to see what game he was playing at.

Sylar took a deep breath and prayed it would work. He focused all his concentration into the part of his brain that held the skill he was looking for and was rewarded when he slipped into a trance-like state. His eyes glowed white, making Claire let out a small gasp of surprise and his hand immediately began to scribble on the piece of paper.

With a bit of a start, she realized what he was doing. She'd heard of the painter, Isaac, and his abilities. She also knew Sylar had killed him for it.

Claire leaned in to see what he was drawing and could only make out the figures of two people. As he continued filling in his sketch, the details were added and it became apparent that the two people he was drawing were the two in that very room, but something was wrong.

The moment his hand stopped moving, she snatched the paper, eager to discover what the drawing revealed. She was definitely one of the figures, Sylar was obviously the other person, he was turned towards her, arms outstretched like he was reaching for her. However, what was most puzzling about the picture in front of her was the small bundle she was carrying. The only indication of its identity being one small fist raised in the air towards her.

"A baby?" she questioned. "I'm going to have a baby?"

"Yes Claire, that's your future. And as you can see, you're alive and well and so I am. Which means you are supposed to help me," he reasoned, praying she would see it his way.

She let out a heavy sigh of defeat. The only way to get him out of here was to either heal him or kill him and as much as she would love to do the latter, she knew she wanted the future he just showed her. She wanted a child. She wanted to have a family again. And if she had to help him to do it, God help her, she would.

"Fine, I'll do it, but when it's done, I don't want to ever see you again," she finally said, each word accentuated with purpose.

"I'll never bother you again," he agreed.

She nodded and placed the gun on the coffee table to her left before retreating to the kitchen several feet behind her. Sylar removed himself from her sofa and followed her into the kitchen, taking a place off to the side, leaning casually against the counter. She went over to a drawer and removed a syringe before coming to stand directly in front of him. Without so much as a pause, she shoved the needle into her arm and pulled back the plunger until she was satisfied with the amount of blood that had been withdrawn. Without even a glance at his face, she removed the needle from her arm and stabbed it into Sylar's neck. When it was empty, she pulled it from his skin and smiled at the small amount of pain she was able to cause him.

"It's done. Now get out," she commanded, pointing to the door for good measure.

But Sylar didn't respond, he simply stood there motionless, waiting for the blood to take effect. And almost immediately he could feel it, he could feel the white hot pain he had lived with for two years give way to a feeling of strength and invincibility. It was intoxicating.

As her blood coursed through his veins, he vaguely became aware of another feeling. But this one wasn't physical, it was purely emotional and one of the most gut-wrenching feelings he'd even endured. It was loneliness, pure and all-consuming loneliness. The knowledge that one would have to face an endless eternity completely and utterly alone. He truly began to realize what having her power meant.

"Why do you feel so alone, Claire? You have a family, people you care about."

"Because I'm going to have to watch them all die. Every single one of them while I live on. Forever. Who the hell would ever want that?" A darkness crept into those ocean blue eyes, a darkness filled with despair, hopelessness and longing. She looked at him as though she were pleading for something, begging him to make it stop.

"That's why you're not afraid of me, isn't it Claire? You want to die. You'd rather die now than live forever alone."

His words rang true and she turned her head, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, seeing her weak. "Just do it."

She closed her eyes and waited to feel her forehead being sliced open, but it never came. Instead, she felt a softness full of warmth against her lips and realized, with some disgust, that it was his lips. Sylar was actually kissing her. And worst yet, without even being aware of her actions, she was returning the gesture.

Surprisingly, Sylar was the first to pull away. Black met blue as they searched each other's eyes for answers only to find none. They couldn't explain their actions and they weren't sure they wanted to. For once, Sylar let go of logic and reason and just allowed himself to be in the moment. In that moment with her. And Claire finally chucked her innocence out the window in favor of just feeling something. Anything. Even if it was a lie.

Their mouths met again, slow and soft at first but then her tongue traced the seam of his lips in a silent plea for entry and the kiss deepened. The dance of their tongues stroking against each other instantly eradicated any doubt they felt as desire washed over them, fueled hotter with every passionate clash of their lips. Claire's small hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to him as he plundered her mouth. She drew his tongue into her mouth and sucked it softly, earning a deep rumble from his throat that made her tingle deliciously.

His free hand cupped her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her jaw as they broke apart just long enough to suck breath into their lungs before melding together once more. His way of kissing was domineering but not overpowering, and she held her own against him, urged on by how the white-hot desire coursing through her inexperienced body.

Never breaking their lips apart, he wordlessly grabbed her hips and lifted her into the air before realizing he didn't know where to go. Seeing his hesitation she motioned towards a doorway behind them and that was all the encouragement he needed. He clumsily felt for the doorknob and when he finally felt the touch of cool metal against his skin, he pushed through the door and unceremoniously dumped her on her bed.

Taking but a second to look over her small frame, watching the glorious mounds on her chest rise and fall with every panted breath, he was on her again, lips working over her neck as his hands began to inch her shirt up to let his fingers play over her stomach.

The lust burning within her was building momentum with a frightening speed but she didn't care. She had made her choice and planned to follow through, but she hadn't planned on feeling so out of control, so swept away by emotions for a man who mere minutes ago had been her mortal enemy.

She let out a soft moan when he nipped at her collarbone through the dark material she wore, a small hand wrapping around the base of his neck to tug him up for another kiss. He complied and covered her mouth with his once more as she slid her fingers into his hair.

The length of his body was pressed against hers, making it easy for her to feel the sculpted muscles of his chest flex against her smaller form, but very soon she was aware of something rubbing against her that was definitely not muscle, something hard and long, dragging over her thigh. She tried to slip a hand between them to grasp it, to pump it and force more of those wonderful growls and groans from his throat but his hand caught her wrist and pinned it easily to the bed next to her head.

"Claire…wait," he gasped, trying to regain his bearings. "You need to understand what you're doing. There's no going back from this. Once it's done, it's done and can you live with yourself knowing you fucked the monster who tried to kill you?"

She looked at him and studied his face for the first time that night. His expression was one of pure seriousness, dark eyes hooded with desire, lips swollen from their kisses. She realized that he was gorgeous. His face was perfectly sculpted, his dark features giving him a dangerous, but desirable look.

"You're not a monster, Gabriel," she whispered as she attempted to pull him down to her lips, but he resisted and pulled back to look at her again, his gaze penetrating.

"What did you just call me?" he questioned, his voice low and dangerous.

"Gabriel," she answered immediately. "It is your name isn't it?"

"Say it again," he demanded, as his lips found the sweet, soft skin of neck. His hand traveled up her side, fingers barely brushing against her, across her rib cage realizing with shuddering pleasure that she had neglected to wear a bra that night.

"Gabriel," she rasped, breath caught in her throat from the delicious way he was making her feel.

His mind was reeling as he continued his deliberate movements, edging down her body so he could continue to nuzzle her shirt higher where his hands had left off, planting heated kisses over the newly exposed flesh of her stomach and ribs. She let out a shuddering sigh as he traveled higher until the bottom curve of her breasts were exposed. There was nothing shielding her skin from his eyes as he took the hem of her shirt, tugging it up to her armpits and revealing the twin globes of pale flesh.

He let his eyes rove over her a moment, taking in her flushed appearance in the dim light of her bedroom. Her nipples were already distending thanks to the cool air and his smoldering gaze, and he let his hands come up to run along her sides and graze the soft outer curves, enjoying the feel of her against his fingertips.

He was staring at her with such intense desire she thought his gaze alone might burn her. He looked at her as if she were the most exquisite thing he had ever seen, and when he dipped his head to draw one hardened nipple into his mouth, she thought surely she had finally found something that could kill her.

He took his time with her, thoroughly licking and sucking at the hard bud before switching to swirl his tongue over its neglected twin. He seemed to enjoy the noises she made as she arched beneath him and tried to press more of her into his mouth.

His ministrations were making her hotter than she had ever felt before, the apex of her thighs practically burning with the need to be touched. She wanted to tell him so but every flick of his tongue drove the words from her mind.

Just when she thought she might go mad, he pulled away, fixing her once again with glimmering eyes and a lustful glance, before he tugged her shirt over her head and cast it away. His hand crept to the waistband of her pants, nimble fingers undoing the buttons and tugging them down over her hips. She lifted her pelvis to assist him and suddenly her pants were sliding down her legs and gone all together, leaving her completely naked in his eyes.

His dark eyes studied her body top to bottom and back again, and though he didn't say a word, his hungry expression told her he liked what he saw. Realizing that she was completely bare while he was still full clothed, she clutched his shirt and pulled him closer. Her fingers nimbly worked the buttons while their lips collided once more. In moments, she was pushing his shirt down his shoulders to reveal a body so perfect not even a god's could compare.

His body was long and lean, every muscle of his chest and arms clearly defined and lined with scars. A dusting of black hair spread across his chest and abdomen, but hiding none of the sinewy lines beneath.

She didn't get long to admire him before he was on her again, this time his lips moving more desperately across her chest, every action heavy with a sense of urgency. He knew he'd never get near something so close to perfect again and he needed to touch and taste every inch of her that he could.

Her hands immediately went to the button of his jeans and began to swiftly unfasten them and within moments, he was kicking them off until they lay abandoned on the floor. When her fingers ran along the line of the waistband of his boxers, he took that moment to take one of her achingly hard nipples between his teeth and give it just the slightest nip. She gasped in response as her back arched into him, pushing her bare chest against his and relishing the contact.

"I can't give you a future, Claire," he murmured huskily against her skin.

"I'm not asking you to," she replied as she pulled his boxers down and with a single tug, his member sprung free, long and lithe like the rest of him and equally imposing.

She reached out for him, wanting to feel his hot shaft in her hand but he pressed her back with a hand to her stomach as he moved atop her once more. His dark hair was longer than the last time she saw him, strands of it falling across his forehead and into his eyes and Claire couldn't help but marvel at how sexy he was, and suddenly, it didn't matter if their ambitions were different or that they were enemies. He was a man, and she a woman and that was all that mattered here in her bed with the moonlight peeking through her window to witness their coupling.

He moved with grace and power, like a natural predator as he moved atop her, slanting his mouth over hers for another kiss. She moaned against his lips, unaware that he was aligning himself with her entrance until his tip spread slick lips apart and he began to push inside.

He pulled away so he could watch her face as he entered her, more enticed by her expression of ecstasy and wonderment than how she felt around him, although he couldn't help a low groan himself. Her hands locked around his biceps as she felt her body part for him and something hot and thick and incredibly wonderful filled her up and stole the last of her innocence away.

She gazed into onyx eyes clouded with lust as her own glazed over with pure desire. She hooked her ankles together behind his back and arched up against him, pushing him just a little deeper inside, groaning at the sensation.

And then, he began to move, planting hands on either side of her head as he moved his entire body to draw back and thrust into her, slow and powerful. She cried his name at the amazing feeling of him moving within her, blonde hair splayed across her pillow as she moved her head restlessly, her eyes sliding shut as she immersed herself fully in the raw, pure pleasure.

His torso dragged over her soft breasts with every pass, teasing rosy nipples into stiff points as he dipped his head to scatter soft kisses over her neck, cheeks, shoulders, lips, anywhere he could reach. His own breath was coming in harsh pants now but Claire drowned him out with a continuous stream of heady moans, her hands sweeping over his back and down to grab at the toned expanse of his ass. She could feel the hard muscle working under her fingers and pressed him to her, urging him to drive in deeper.

Skin slapped against skin wetly and a sheen of sweat had broken out on their bodies, every droplet of moisture glowing with the reflected light of the moon.

Claire was at the brink, her muscles contracted inside of her with every one of his powerful thrusts, the pleasure flowing continuously, making speech and thought all but impossible, but through the haze, she managed to pant out his name, pleading for more in broken sobs and he complied, increasing the speed and intensity of his pumping hips until her whole body jolted every time he surged forward.

There was nothing in the world but him, all other things were inconsequential. With him inside her like this, there was no way to be any closer to him. They were joined as closely as two humans could ever be and this amazing experience would never leave her. Even when he died, he would be with her forever and suddenly immortality didn't seem so bad.

His lips found hers and claimed them passionately, exploring her mouth without compromising his rhythm. The sight of those exotic eyes filled with desire and lust when they broke their kiss was the breaking point for the young woman. At last her body succumbed, driven to the pinnacle by his relentless thrusts and she cried out his name, fingernails scraping along his back as her body clamped down on him, sending rippling waves of pure hot ecstasy through her and robbing her of her vision as everything turned to white.

Sylar watched her all the while, not saying a word but drinking in the gorgeous sight of her caught up in her orgasm, the very first one given to her by a man he realized. She grew painfully tight around him.

She was so damn tight, so hot and wet and fucking beautiful that he couldn't hold out anymore. Just as she was coming down from her high, her groaned her name long and low as his own body shook and he emptied himself into her with a few last shuddering thrusts.

Claire watched him climax, reactions slowed and numbed from her own release, but the sight of his normally serious face contorting in pleasure was one she would not forget, nor the feeling of hot seed flooding her, as he collapsed on top of her.

Once his breathing returned to normal, he leaned off her, supporting his weight with his muscled arms on either side of her head. "Why didn't you tell me it was your first time?"

"Why did it matter?" she responded through lips still swollen from their activities.

Sylar didn't reply, he simply left his place on top of and inside her and began collecting his clothing. An awkward silence filled the room as the full implications of what they had just done filled their minds.

He had absolutely no intentions to do anything more than get some of her blood and return to his previous life before the company interfered. He wasn't sure why this should change anything, but he still felt certain that it did.

He threw his shirt over his shoulders, not bothering to button it and stole a glance at his partner. She was sitting upright in the bed, sheet pulled to her chest and a look of deep thought etched on her pretty little face.

Sylar realized he was right when he told her he couldn't give her a future. Even though he had just taken the last of her innocence, she still couldn't survive in his world. His life would break her, he was sure of it and more to the point, just because he robbed of her of her virginity didn't necessarily mean he wanted her around.

"Well, Claire this was fun, but since I got what I came for, I think I'll be going," he said calmly, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. As an afterthought, he added, "Thank you."

"I'm an idiot," Claire muttered under her breath, not expecting him to hear, but he did. She had just slept with a serial killer. A serial killer would had tried to kill her in the past and her father and what's worse, she found that she had foolishly let herself think that maybe he could help her. Help her get over this all-consuming loneliness that was so thick sometimes she couldn't breathe.

"You're not an idiot, Claire," he whispered from the doorway. "I'm just not what you're looking for."

With one last glance in her direction, he was gone. She heard the door close behind him and then the tears started falling. When had she become so desperate for acceptance, that she'd take it from a person she hated.

Three months had passed since their torrid encounter, and Sylar could still hear her moans reverberating in his head, he could see her blonde hair splayed across the pillow, feel her skin under his fingertips.

He hated what he'd become. It was absolutely disgusting. He knew he was better than this and yet, he saw her every time he closed his eyes.

There was only one way to end this and even though he didn't particularly love the idea, he knew it was the only way and he reminded himself of that very fact and his sat patiently in her house waiting for her return.

He didn't have to wait long, though, minutes after he arrived he heard the door open. She entered seemingly without a care in the world as she deposited her purse and keys on the small table beside the door before she turned and saw her visitor.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," she said in a voice low and emotionless. "Come back for seconds?"

He briefly considered her proposal, it wouldn't hurt to have one last roll in the hay, but he decided that even he couldn't be that cruel. "Not exactly."

And with a flick of the wrist, she found herself thrown into the nearest wall, invisible hands pinning her own above her head. Her eyes betrayed her surprise, but only for a moment and then her face was once again emotionless.

"I knew you wouldn't keep your word," she muttered. "Stupid."

"You're not stupid, Claire. I'm just a very bad man," he replied, taking long strides across the room until he was positioned so close to her he could smell her scent. He allowed himself the luxury of inhaling deeply, savoring her sweet, innocent smell. Attuning his other senses, some with the luxury of being a bit overdeveloped thanks to a few tricks he'd stolen, he could see every pore of her skin, feel her breath against his skin, and hear her heartbeat reverberating in her chest. That's when he realized something was terribly wrong.

"Sylar, there's something you should know first," she started, meeting his eyes with her own, but when she looked into his crystal black orbs, she knew he knew.

Despite himself, he couldn't help but let the pure shock of situation show plainly on his face. "You're pregnant."

A single tear slid from Claire's eyes and he knew what he heard was correct. A slight heartbeat, so faint it was almost imperceptible, even with his super hearing, but it was there, strong and steady.

In his shock, he lost concentration and Claire found herself free. She moved to the desk and retrieved two pieces of paper from one of its drawers and presented the first one to him. He took it and examined the image, realizing it was the very drawing he'd used on her months ago. An image of the two of them and Claire holding a baby.

He suddenly felt ridiculously stupid, a feeling he wasn't accustomed to. There it was right in front of them from the start and they both ignored the signs. His mind was reeling and he found it difficult to focus on one single thought until one gripped his brain, refusing to let go until he had an answer.

"Is it mine?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper and his tone soft and unreadable. He knew he was the first, but it didn't necessarily mean he was the last.

"Yes," she answered, her tone a near mimicry of his and she handed him the other piece of paper.

He took this one and studied it carefully, almost unbelieving what he saw. The image was clearly from an ultrasound and all that could easily be made out was a peanut-shaped thing in the center. "A baby," he muttered in disbelief.

"They said everything looks great, nice and healthy and developing normally," she explained, wondering if he even cared.

"Did you expect horns and a tail because he's mine?" he asked mockingly, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

Claire laughed despite herself, "You came here to kill me and now you're interested in my baby? You really are insane."

"I didn't really want to kill you, Claire," he started, but that is where he faltered. He couldn't tell her the truth, so he decided on a minor version of it. "I didn't have a choice."

"You didn't have a choice?" she screamed, she was positively livid. "You chose to come here and beg for my help, you chose to fuck me senseless and you chose to come back here tonight. So please, don't tell me you didn't have a choice. You just made the wrong ones."

Sylar was taken aback by the ferocity of her words and also by their truth. He realized for the first time that he was being a coward. He did choose to sleep with and whatever the consequences of that decision were, he'd live with them, not take her life to make it better for himself. He was a survivalist, not a coward.

"What about your choices? Was fucking me a bad choice, Claire?" he asked accusingly. When she didn't answer, he continued, "I tried to warn you, Claire and I tried to make it enjoyable for you. I know you hate, probably even more now, just don't blame the child."

"You think I would hurt my own baby? Even if it is yours, its mine too and I want it," she replied, her annoyance evident in her tone. "And I don't hate you. Even though I should."

He smiled at her answer and took a step closer until they were toe to toe. He carefully reached out a hand and brushed his finger across her skin, wiping away the tear that was rolling down her cheek. "I don't hate you either."

"Sylar, this can never work, we both know that. We're from two different worlds and even joint custody wouldn't be an option. My family wouldn't allow you within 100 miles of me or the baby," she explained with a sigh and a look of exhaustion on her delicate features.

"Like they could stop me," he replied with no trace of humor.

"Yeah, that's great. Let's just explain to our kid that Daddy killed Grandpa and Uncle Peter. I'm sure that'd go over real well and make for a wonderful upbringing," she challenged. Her shoulders slumped and she pinched the bridge of her nose as she weighed her words carefully. "Sylar, if you agree to never harm any of my family or friends, I won't stop you from seeing your child, but it can't go further than that."

"Claire, when word gets out that you're pregnant, don't you think the Company would do anything to get their hands on the baby? I can protect you better than anyone," he reasoned. "I want to be a good father."

"In a different life, with a different past, I could have loved you," she whispered, her words sounding as broken as she felt. Another tear slid down her cheek, light reflecting on the path of moisture left in its wake.

"Why can't that be this life?" Sylar asked softly before crushing his lips to hers.

If she was honest with herself, she wanted nothing more than to return his attentions and let him whisk her off to the bedroom, but she knew this wasn't the time. "You tried to kill me. How can I forgive that and let you be a father to my child?"

"You can let me try to love you both."

"Are you even capable of love?" she asked. She knew it was a cruel question, but she'd never seen any evidence that he was.

"I don't know. I've never loved anyone or had anyone love me. Honestly, what you and I had so many nights ago was the closest thing I've ever felt to real love and I didn't know how to deal with it," he admitted. "But I want to try. What do you want Claire?"

"I want a real family again," she answered honestly.

"Then let me try to give you that. If it doesn't work, we'll figure something else out. But I need the chance."

"Okay," she relented just moments before he caught her in another fiery kiss. If nothing else, this would surely be interesting, Claire decided, as he pulled her down to the sofa.