A/N: My second Sylaire story! Hope you like this one...it is SYLAR and not a crazy schizo Gabriel. Haha just kidding. It's not totally dark and creepy like Sylar, but it's definitely not warm fuzzy Gabriel of my other story. It's called Gray, by the way, please read it...it's pretty good, I think? Although this one's definitely less confusing. And I seem to always picture them in bad weather. Last time it was pouring rain. This time it's snowing and ten degrees out. The weather was horrible here when I was writing these stories, so you can blame that. Anyways...on to the story*madness*! Ya know, which ever works.

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There he was, on the windowsill, like I knew he would be. Didn't knock, didn't make a sound, and I didn't look over at him, but I knew he was there. He'd kept coming back for the past few nights, sitting on the ledge or the branch outside. I hadn't really expected he'd be back tonight. For one thing, it was snowing. He had no reason to think I'd let him in, but he allowed himself to suffer anyway. In addition to that fact, today was the day Peter had died, twenty years ago. He hadn't been killed, just died of old age (I was, after all, one hundred and twelve now) but he couldn't really think I'd ever want to spend tonight with him.

But still, he was there, out in the cold. I'd made a fire in my little fireplace (yeah, it was an apartment, but a really high-end apartment—being immortal and a Petrelli by blood had major perks) and was sitting on the carpet, wrapped in a blanket, with a cup of hot chocolate. He still didn't make his presence known, or try to force the window open, and he didn't even look at me—instead staring off into the New York skyline—for which I was immeasurably grateful.

I got up, still ignoring him, and got my favorite book off my shelf in the living room. It was A Midsummer Night's Dream. I guess it seemed so familiar—all the spells and enchantments—that I always came back to it.

I'd been reading for a while (although I couldn't get past the first few pages, I was too distracted) when I sensed movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look at him. Despite his heavy coat, he was shivering and rubbing his arms.

I thought back to when he would've come in by himself without even asking. I guess I was a little wistful, but I had good reason to be. Back ten, yeah, I'd been chased by psychopaths, lied to by my own family (biological and adopted!), hunted by the feds, but at least I hadn't been alone. I felt bad for him. He'd always been alone. His father sold him and killed his mother, and his adoptive mom had always pushed him to do something he didn't want to do.

I crossed to the window and, still without looking at him, unlocked the window and cracked it open a little. He glanced at me in surprise, but I went back to where I'd been. The cold air had slipped in to bite my skin, and now I was cold too.

He pulled the window open and slipped inside, closing the glass behind him. I was kind of annoyed with myself for letting him in, because now I had nothing to hide behind.

So I set my face to uncaring mode and went back to my book.

He stood awkwardly in my kitchen, unsure of what to do or say.

Finally he sat down against the couch, opposite me. He faced me, watched me, but with little interest on his face. I remembered a time when he'd have looked at me with the Hunger evident in his expression. That time had passed. Now he just looked.

But I continued ignoring him.

I noticed his gaze shift to the fire and off of me. The suspense was pretty much killing me. He had to tell me why he was here, now, or I'd get really mad. But I would never ask. I guess I'm too stubborn that way.

As I tried to read, I ground me teeth in irritation. He must've heard with his enhanced hearing, because he flinched. But his gaze never left the flames.

I couldn't take it any longer. I slammed my book shut.

"What are you doing here?"

He gave me an amused look that irked me further, still not looking at me. "Maybe I was just bored."

"I'm bored everyday. I don't stalk people by sitting on their windowsills all night in freezing cold weather. It is ten degrees out. You are either crazy or stupid. And I know you're not stupid, you taught college level quantum physics for eight years."

"I wasn't stalking you, it's just, I'm so lonely! You've got to know what I'm talking about. No one but us is still alive. No one but us knows!"

"Not completely. My half brothers' kids are still alive."

"But you can't talk to them! They don't know about our abilities, they don't know you! And you can't exactly show up at their front door and announce that you're their aunt! You look like you're twenty-five!"

"Why did you choose this? Why did you want to be immortal? It sucks, I wish I'd gotten some other power, anything but this endless boredom because the only non-mundane thing in my otherwise completely mundane life is that it's going to last forever!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Suicidal much?"

"So I'm going to live for eternity with only some messed-up psychotic murderer like you to talk to-"

"Ouch."

"And I might as well just die!"

"You are the strangest person I know—although, since you are the only person I know, I suppose this isn't entirely fair."

"Since when have you ever been fair?"

He shook his head. "Never, I suppose."

"Well, that settles it." I sighed. "Are you going to spend the night here or something?"

"What, I've been here five minutes and you're already kicking me out?"

"No."

"Then what is your problem, Claire?"

"You! I dunno, something about you just being here irritates the-"

"Oh, really? Then why'd you let me in?"

"It's ten degrees! I couldn't exactly let you freeze!"

"Sure. But you were perfectly willing to kill me a few times."

"I only killed you twice!"

"Really?"

"Um...well, I know I killed you that one time. But only because you tried to kill half of my family!"

"You killed me once?"

"Yep, that's it."

He raised his eyebrow again. Infuriating, yes, I know. "Are you sure?"

"Completely."

He shrugged and we both went back to silence. I opened my book and kept reading. It was very, very awkward. I wanted to break the silence, but I had no idea what to say to someone who'd done as much as he had yet still felt like stalking me. I didn't get it. At all. There! That's what I could ask. I opened my mouth to say it, but he beat me to it.

"Remember when we first met?"

I flipped the page, cliché-image of not caring. "Unfortunately. I seem to remember you cutting my scalp off."

"No, no. The first time we interacted."

"Again, unfortunately. I also seem to remember you cutting Jackie's scalp off that time."

"Yeah. And I fell off that roof with—oh, sorry."

I glared at him. "So you do know what day it is?" I snapped.

"I didn't mean to bring it up."

"You never mean to do anything do you?" I retorted angrily. Okay, so I was being kind of mean, but when it came to Peter, at least when Sylar was involved, I was a little touchy.

He didn't reply for a moment, trying to formulate an answer. Finally he gave up. "I don't know what to say to that."

"Oh, really? Because you always seem to know exactly what to say."

"I understand everything, everyone-" He glanced at me. "Except you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't get you, Claire. You're all full of hope one day, and the next...you wanna be dead."

"I haven't had much hope for the past twenty years to this day." My glare intensified. "You should know that."

"You say your life is mundane, boring, ordinary—but somehow you always make mine interesting."

"I can't say I disagree entirely. I mean, you always leave death and carnage in your wake."

"Yet I always seem to come back."

Now it was my turn to raise the eyebrows. "Because you like death and carnage?"

"No—well, yes, but no. Partially."

"So what else keeps you coming back?"

Sylar smirked. "Why would I tell you?"

I rolled my eyes and went back to my book. "Fine. I guess I'll keep my secrets too then."

"What secrets?" he laughed. "What do you have to keep from me?"

I kept reading.

"You'd better be very careful what you say, then, because I know exactly when you're lying," he informed me, "and I know exactly when you're telling the truth."

"Then I guess I just won't talk."

"You're telling the truth," he smirked, "for now."

True to my word, I said nothing. He shrugged and resumed his previous activity as well—staring. Sometimes at me, sometimes at my apartment, sometimes at the fire. But always moving.

It was so distracting.

I looked up when he was looking into a mirror on the wall, only my eyes moving, not my head, and watched him for a minute.

Until his gaze shifted back to mine.

I dropped my eyes back to my knees where the book was resting, but not before he grinned lazily and said, "I saw that."

I breathed heavily in irritation but still said nothing. I am an extremely stubborn person.

Finally the book caught me again, and I didn't pay attention to him at all, at least until I happened to glance up a bit as I turned a page and noticed he was gone.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and yelped, jumping about a foot in the air. My book tumbled from my lap and closed.

"Fine," I hissed through gritted teeth. He was sitting right next to me, and his hand was on my shoulder. I longed so much to brush it off, but part of me wouldn't let me. I could just hear my entire family—Peter up in heaven, Nathan and Dad...wherever they were—yelling at me to kick him out. "I give up. I won't read anymore. Happy?"

I turned to him, and, like I said, he was right there. Right in my face, right beside me, shoulder to shoulder. He was turned my way as well, and out noses were inches apart. I couldn't help but flash back to that hotel, when he'd impersonated Nathan and then held me hostage. It all seemed too familiar. My mind fast-forwarded to the next time I'd seen him after that, when I was in college, and he'd held me hostage again, and that time he'd kissed me. I guess just to use that power he'd gotten from Lydia. Still, I'd hated it (and him) then, but now I was pretty over it. And I was done being the hostage. He could control me all he wanted, but I wasn't going to beg. I wasn't going to struggle against the (figurative) chains. I was going to find a way around them. But I guess he'd grown out of the whole telekinesis control thing, because he hadn't tried to command me all night.

"Do you believe that people can change? That everyone deserves a second chance?" he breathed.

"I guess," I replied startled.

"Do you think anyone can make up for what they've done? No matter how bad?"

"I don't know, Sylar," I admitted.

"Can I make it up to you?" he asked desperately.

I looked into his eyes, and noticed that they weren't as dark, that there was a new light in them. I liked his eyes.

"Maybe," I smiled.

"Good. How?"

"For starters, I guess you can apologize. They're usually very helpful."

"Okay. Well, then, Claire, I'm sorry for everyone I've ever killed. I'm sorry I cut your scalp off. And I'm so sorry I ever let myself or anyone else hurt you."

"Apology accepted."

"What else can I do? How can I make it up to you? What else do you want me to do?"

"Be straightforward with me. Don't lie. Tell me the truth," I suggested.

"Okay, I'll start by saying that I never wanted to hurt you. Ever. But I wanted power more than I wanted so desperately to protect you."

I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach and all the air had been knocked out of me. "You wanted to protect me?"

"Yes," he said sheepishly. "It probably seems stupid, wanting to protect someone who can't die, can't even feel pain. But I wanted to keep you safe."

I surprised him by reaching up to hug him. "I think you made up for t." I let go and beamed.

"Good."

Silence again. But not as awkward. Comfortable, this time.

The flames crackled and danced, and I watched his fingers, realizing he was controlling it. Without meaning to I leaned my head on his shoulder. We both watched the fire.

Finally he lifted my chin back towards him with his fingers—but not his powers. "I guess while I'm letting you know everything, I might as well tell you this."

I waited patiently for what he was about to say when he leaned in and, like that day, years and years ago, pressed his lips against mine. But this time I wasn't mad.

He pulled back to finish his statement, even though he didn't need to. I guess he wanted to make sure there was no doubt about it. "Claire, I love you."

"I think—I think I do too." He kissed me again, and when he stopped, I nodded. "Yes, I definitely love you too."

My family was going to be so mad. Fortunately (and this was the only time I ever figured I was lucky that my whole family was gone, I swear) I'd never have to face them.

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A/N: Hope you liked! Please review! What you liked, what you didn't like...whatever you want! But NO FLAMES. Okay, go!