Patterns of Force

Chapter 1: Sleepless Nights and Lonely Days ~

Inspiration Song-Soon As I Get Home-Faith Evans (random right)

I get inspired to write based on music that drifts from my iPod on random. To answer an unasked question: No, chapters do not follow the song or soundtrack; they just give me a circular idea. Please be kind my first ever attempt at a Heroes fic. Named for one of my favorite episodes from Star Trek: TOS. ~Even Historians fail to learn from History. And if you live forever how often will you commit the same mistake?

Post Brave New World. This may be a long fic, bear with me. Vespar just in case you didn't know it already you inspired me for this one.

Rated M for language, adult situations and depending on the flow of this story as it unfolds some sexual situations.

Don't own Heroes, Star Trek or Sylar (tis sad but true).

*For those reading on mobile devices I've added 00's for breaks.*

*0000000000000000000*

Claire sighed, as she stared sullenly outside to the rapidly passing landscape. The car jostled as it hit a pothole pulling her out of her dismal inner musings.

The world was so different now, and it wasn't the world she expected it would be.

Daily her thoughts would circulate about her actions the day she jumped off the Ferris wheel. After the initial media circus died down, her life was then relegated to a reality TV sideshow. It was the only viable suggestion that would effectively to end the reporters that followed her every move. After about three weeks of that freak show performance, she put an end to all media related ventures and became a recluse for the better part of the last six months.

That was- up until this morning, when a frantic call had her on the move.

0000

She really didn't expect the calm to last as long as it did but she was grateful for her "vacation" of sorts from the chaos that had become her existence. She never wanted this to be her life. She wasn't normal and most of the people she knew weren't normal either, but this life…well, it wasn't a life. If she had Hiro's power she would have undone this whole mess in a second, but you know…butterfly wings.

That sentiment rolled through her body tumultuously as she grabbed her cell.

Unfortunately this was an issue she couldn't handle on her own, she would need reinforcements. She frowned as the name of her intended recipient flashed across the screen; her conscience screamed at her violently detesting the implication of having to make this call, but she had no other options.

The phone rang three times before the eerily chipper voice of her former nemesis picked up.

There was no trading of 'hello's' just a knowingly arrogant greeting. "Claire, how's my favorite cheerleader?"

It was way too early and Claire couldn't fight her exasperated retort. "Sylar, please not today. I…"

"Michael," he interrupted. "You know I don't go by that anymore." He chastised her in that mock parental tone. She hated that.

"Whatever, I need your help." Her teeth were gritted in disinclination. She could already imagine that smug look on his face.

"And what can I help you with?"

Yep, smug and way too damn chipper! She hated him even more if it was possible, but she continued.

"Parkman called Angela this morning…"she paused already overwhelmed. "Matty was kidnapped and Janice is in the hospital on life support."

Sylar felt a strange pang in his heart. In the short time he took on Parkman's persona he bonded with little Matt, and in some twisted way experienced the peril of this incident like a father would. He must have been silent too long because Claire cut into his thoughts.

"Sylar did you hear me?"

"Yes." He responded curtly.

"I need you come with me."

"Where?" he sounded slightly annoyed. But Claire could care less.

"Molly tracked him to Utah...she paused." She sounded tired, even to her own ears, nothing like her former self. "That means he's still alive."

"Syla-Michael, this…" she hesitated "…this might be a really fucked up mission."

"How so?" His interest sounded piqued and dampened at the same time.

"Angela said…" she was holding back, he didnt need all the details yet. "She said I needed you on this one."

"What about Peter?" he sounded annoyed, but honestly there was never any gain to be had when you got involved in Angela's schemes.

"NO! -He can't be there." Claire responded a little more forcefully than she intended.

"Why? What happens?" she could almost see the inquiring quirk of his thick brow.

"He just can't, okay." She tried to clam her breathing as the thoughts of what her grandmother said rolled in her head. "Look, are you in or not?"

Sylar sighed heavily with the full knowledge he could never deny her, he owed her too much. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

000000

Claire glanced over at her 'partner'; it was strange looking at him now. His countenance had changed, he smiled more but it was still creepy. Today instead of his usual black attire he opted for a pale blue button-down and khaki cargo pants, his hair was a bit mussed with a light tan, giving the impression of being a normal guy. She wondered how he was faring now that he was attempting to return to a somewhat ordinary existence.

One thing Sylar promised Peter would be his repression of certain powers. Unfortunately that meant No telekinesis, No electric manipulation and NO flying; all the powers that made Peter either cringe in trepidation or repulsion on how he acquired them. Not that she minded this promise, but right now flying would have been preferable to the day in a half trip they were making now.

But his non-flying also had much to do with staying off the radar. The subtle powers he maintained were just enough to keep him out of trouble. Sylar already had to change his name to end the nonstop manhunts and press that were searching for Gabriel Gray aka Sylar who was wanted for questioning in no less than fifty-eight unsolved homicides. He instead decided to go by Michael (ironically another angel) Tourneau (another watch maker).

Sylar was a psychiatrist's dream project; full of contradictions and disturbing patterns.

Looking at him now, she had to admit he was an attractive man, and if it wasn't for the whole serial killer, that murdered-everyone-I-know history, he might have been her type. But he was still Sylar, murderer, bloodthirsty maniac; no matter how differently he wrapped himself in cloth or personality.

He must have noticed her staring because he answered her unasked question.

"I know you don't really believe that I've changed." She gave him a wary look not answering his slightly smirking face. He continued undaunted. "Claire, Peter trusts me, Angela trusts me, for chrisakes even Noah-fucking-Bennet trusts me, otherwise we would not be in this car right now, but you… you won't even give me a chance."

She didn't even comment on the character witnesses he presented, they weren't exactly the epitome of morality. Instead her noncommittal response conveyed her position on this little endeavor. "I'm here aren't I?"

He shook his head in disgust with a muttered, "Unbelievable," and turned his attention to the road ahead.

This was going to be one long-ass trip.

00000

It was around 9:30pm when the little red Volkswagen Jetta pulled into a dilapidated gas station a few miles outside Shelton, Nebraska. Under Claire's advisement they avoided stops in large cities and stuck to small towns to avoid recognition. They were both hungry and tired and in desperate need of sleep.

Sylar stretched his back and legs walking around the car as Claire strode off to obtain the restroom key. Walking behind the car he glanced critically at the tag. New York plates would stand to be highly noticeable in the region of the country, so he decided to change it to something that would be less memorable. He passed his hand over the plate, creatively using his ability of imprinting, and it transformed to a dusty replica of a Nebraska plate he saw a few miles back. He knew he would have to change it again once they got to another state, but if they were going to spend the night here, they needed to blend.

After filling the tank he noticed Claire had still not emerged from the station.

A general unease shuttered through him at the thought of something happening to her, she was after all, a celebrity of sorts and those who wished to harm her were everywhere. If anyone so much as laid a finger on single strand of her hair, Noah and Peter would have him strung up by his toenails from top of the Empire State building; not to mention the hell any perpetrator would have to pay, from his own vengeance, for daring to mess with his Claire.

Scanning all surrounding sounds with his superior hearing, for any suspicious activity or vehicles he strolled cautiously into the station.

His eyes landed skeptically on the pudgy female clerk standing behind the counter. Her curly reddish purple hair was coifed into a messy ponytail, and a stained blue smock was the only indication of her 'attendant' status. Sylar tipped his head politely in greeting and headed towards the area he assumed the restrooms were located; he got no further than three steps when he heard the attendant's loud bellow. "Ya, need the key, honey."

He turned deliberately and placed a sugary sweet smile on his handsome face before strolling back to the counter. The woman smiled appreciatively at the striking from of masculinity that was now gracing her with his presence. Taking on the southern accent he adopted when trying to persuade Claire's adoptive mother years ago, he laid it on thick.

"I'm looking for my wife. She came in here a few minutes ago. "Short," he gestured her small stature to prove the point. "blo-brunette," he pointed to his own hair, faltering on her new bottle job, but persisted in his description imperviously. "Most angelic face on this earth."

The woman smiled, "Oh her, she's been in there for a while. Hope she didn't fall in." the attendant giggled at her own joke and Sylar grinned, his tension not alleviated by the teasing words.

So that's your wife?" the woman remarked curiously.

Sylar smirked knowingly, lifting one thick dark eyebrow that indicated he caught on to the attendant's vein of interest. That notwithstanding, Claire as his wife still had a nice ring to it.

000000

Claire fluffed her hair in the tiny truck stop restroom and sighed irritatingly. She barely recognized herself these days. Her former sun-kissed, blonde curls were replaced with dark auburn waves, dark brown contacts obscured her jade green eyes and she was dressed leaps and bounds away from the Texas cheerleader of her former life. The oversized t-shirt was baggy and hid her petite frame completely, coupled with baggy sweats she looked like she was headed to sleep under a bridge.

She leaned into the mirror poking at her face, hoping her features showed the turmoil her life had become. Disappointingly, it didn't. Her face was just as perfect as it had been the day of her first attempt.

Her existence was shit right now. She had no real friends, half of family was gone and the other half didn't understand her. All the friends she did have were "special" and they only seemed to hang about, for the camaraderie that came from being faced the common cause of survival. It was a sad day when your closest ally was a deranged ex-serial killer.

Shaking her head ruefully at her reflection, she smirked evilly…friends reminded her of Gretchen.

Bitch.

Gretchen had sold her out as soon as money and fame became a real possibility. Her story sold for big bucks and the bestselling tell-all was headed towards becoming number one on Amazon. Sometimes Claire wished she allowed her dad the freedom to use René to erase Gretchen's memory. Morally gray my ass-! That idea was black, pitch even.

Pushing away from the sink she smoothed her hair with one last glance at her reflection and placed a plastic smile on her face. Claire walked through the stacks of high calorie snacks towards the cashier who was already engaged in conversation with a tall dark haired man. She groaned inwardly as she noticed how attractive he looked when he was relaxed and non psycho. It was strange how charismatically engaging he could be considering his homicidal and antisocial nature. She chuckled softly on her own private joke as she considered Sylar and his parallels to Charles Manson.

He looked up when he heard her, which would be a widely considered, silent amusement, "Ah there she is." Sylar voice was sickly sweet and Claire knew she had to play along, reworking her best fake smile she approached his outstretched arm.

"You're one lucky girl." The clerk remarked enviously gazing at Sylar, and quite obviously a little love-struck.

"I like to think he's the lucky one." Claire forced trough her phony smile.

Sylar turned from the clerk's smitten face to look at Claire meaningfully, "I'm pretty sure you're right. I'm damn lucky to have you."

Claire startled slightly as she stared into his glistening eyes. There was a truth behind his words and she didn't know if it should have made her uncomfortable or reassured.

Plastering an even wider smile on her face, in the hopes of not giving away the hasty cover Claire looked lovingly at him. "Couldn't part with my presence for a few minutes?"

"I had to find out how much further to our hotel." He wiggled his eyebrows to suggest that their destination had some sort of sexual conclusion.

Claire remained plastic, inwardly fuming at the implication. He'd done the same thing at the Stanton, but now she wondered if she was just a tiny bit more receptive. His embrace was warm and strong and it felt good to be held. He smelled like some musky cologne and aftershave, not that shaving did him any good he usually had a 5 o'clock shadow by noon. Coming back to reality she noticed he was speaking.

"It's about 10 miles up the interstate." He said to her hair bestowing a loving kiss to the top of her head. Claire looked up at the woman behind the counter. The look on the woman's face confirmed that the charade was working, as the clerk blushed red at their affectionate state. Then out of nowhere Sylar leaned down to place a chaste kiss on her lips, brushing her dark hair behind her ears.

Claire was too surprised to react and by the time her wits returned Sylar had already laced his fingers into hers to lead her out of the store, grabbing a small plastic bag off the counter. "We'd better get goin' sweetheart." He drawled sensuously.

Claire could only nod dumbly noticing his phony southern twang. It weirdly suited him; much better than his brusque Queens accent and strangely enough it reminded her of home.

And home reminded her of…Texas.

She desperately missed Texas. Missed the slow pace of life living in Odessa afforded her. Had she been normal she be attending some state University right now, planning various sorority parties and going out with her like minded cheerleader friends. She'd be blissfully ignorant, and dating some handsome jock…Normal.

After a while of living this "charmed" life she had begun to wonder 'What was so great about normal, anyway?' She was extraordinary, special and the often protected prize of most of the people she knew. But then like lightning at dawn the reality came crashing in…oh that's right, the complete lack of unusually powered acquaintances, inhuman experiences, and daily threats on her life!

Yeah she missed…Normal.

They slipped back into the car with a marked pause as he turned on the ignition and pulled out. After about a minute of the discomfited silence Claire couldn't take it.

"Did you tell that woman we were married?"

"Yeah, newlyweds. She got suspicious when I went to look for you. Had to lay on the charm." He retorted nonchalantly.

"Well aren't you resourceful." she murmured snidely.

"I try." He smirked with an equal amount of coldness. The ardor feigned at the gas station forgotten as they reverted into their implicit adversarial roles.

They slipped into a more tolerable calm for the short time it took to get to a shabby motel off Interstate-80, in an even smaller town a few more miles west. Claire considered the shabby budget hotel, definitely not the Waldorf Astoria, hell, even a Motel 6 would have been better. Sylar gave her what appeared to be a sympathetic look. "Stay put. I'll go get us a room."

Claire rolled her eyes but remained seated in the car as Sylar strolled into the front lobby.

Had she had her way they would have gotten two rooms on opposite sides of the motel, but Sylar's common sense prevailed. They had to stick together and not attract attention or this rescue attempt wasn't going to work.

He returned a few moments later with a self satisfied smirk. "Come-on cheerleader."

Claire rolled her eyes at his annoying moniker for her. "Stop calling me that."

He quirked his thick left eyebrow in teasing "Stop calling me Sylar."

Touché!-Damn-it.

They knew their roles too well. Damsel and Psycho, it served them fine to this point, no need to muck the waters. Her tiny reprieve from the present was short lived when she stepped into the room and let out a foul curse.

"One Fucking Bed! Really, Sylar!" her toned dripped with disbelief.

He held up his hands in defense. "It was all they had. If you prefer I can sleep on the floor, princess. It's probably cleaner than that bed."

Claire huffed in frustration.

She hated the thought of having to sleep in the same room with him but the idea of them sharing a bed was repulsive… and….and… appealing at the same time. What the hell was happening to her?

Sylar slung his long body on the bed despite his earlier statement. His hand rested behind his head and he stretched to his full length. Claire chanced glance at the bed and was overcome, her heart stopped in pure shock, as the beginning twinges of a forbidden desire only seemed amplify the 'appealing' part of her previous sentiment. She recognized the feeling that was invoked when a bed and Sylar came to collusion in her morally gray mind, and naturally that sentiment was…

Lust.

What the hell!

The memory of a forced kiss in a vacant classroom entered her mind and only fueled the budding lust. At the time she refused to admit that it caused an ache in her loins that only made her angry at herself for allowing it and at him for causing it. It was strange how that day began her reluctant softening towards him. After that whole incident of reluctant assistance, she tried to make it work with Gretchen, but nothing about the drab brunette elicited an iota of the passion Sylar achieved in mere seconds that afternoon.

She hated human biological response sometimes, and its drive to satisfy sexual desires despite rational thought. And given that she was still on the virgin side of life, the urges presented themselves at the most inopportune times. Catching herself daydreaming again she glanced over to where Sylar had lounged moments before, but he had already slipped into the grungy hotel bathroom. She heard a muffled noise of disgust and smiled despite herself.

Deciding to purge all sexual thoughts she began rummaging around the room she searched for the wayward remote control. The 'idiot box' was always a good distracter, as long as they weren't playing episodes of her short lived show or the daily report on the new abilities manifested today like they used to do the crime rundown.

On second thought maybe television wasn't such a good idea. Coming up empty in the obvious places Claire let out a huff of displeasure before the TV flickered to life. Her eyes went sharply to the bathroom door, expecting to see Sylar demonstrating his trademark ability of telekinesis, but instead he held the remote and stood gloriously shirtless, in obvious preparation for a shower.

Claire suppressed a gasp and instead aimed an evil glare at his dark chocolate eyes. "Do you have to be naked?"

He cocked his head a sneered wickedly. "Yes! Why? Is it bothering you?"

"Yes!" She spun around quickly, hoping to avoid that knowing look in his eyes, while searching desperately for her own duffle bag.

"Prude." He muttered, scoffing at her naiveté.

"Asshole." was her equally mumbled retort. Claire flopped down on the bed and began to fumble around in her bag for nothing in particular, she just needed a distraction.

He stepped around the bed to face her. "What hell is wrong with you?"

"This…"her arms stretched to indicate the entirety of the room. "You, this whole damn mission. I'm stuck here with a serial killer…"

"Reformed serial killer."

"Just because you have Peter fooled doesn't mean I believe you."

He closed the small gap between them and towered over her dangerously. "Hey you roped me into this; I could just leave right now." His voice was back to the sneering quality she was used to; the animosity strangely comforting.

"Fine! Go, I can do this myself." Claire put on a brave front, her clenched teeth bared in anger. Anger was good it dampened the lust. Good anger. She'd go with it.

Sylar suppressed a growl. She was infuriating.

He recovered quickly and replaced his exasperated expression with a rueful smile. "And how do you plan on rescuing little Matty? Your amazing bulletproof body doesn't exactly have an offensive ability."

Claire scowled at him. "I could manage."

"Then why bother calling me at all."

"Angela said you had to come." She almost spat that last statement. Angela Petrelli was not on her list of favorite people right now.

"And what is it exactly that I'm supposed to do?" His stance took on a murderous quality and she shifted backwards on the bed a bit. "You haven't told me everything and I think it's time I heard what going on."

Claire swallowed thickly. "Angela…she said- "it has begun. The tapestry must be revealed."

The frown on his face deepened in confusion. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know! She so goddam cryptic when she unveils her dreams."

He shook his head in agreement and pulled back a little.

"Why isn't Peter here?"

Claire shifted towards the pillows trying look comfortable despite the rising unease in her stomach. "She said if he came he would die, and being that you and I are the only immortals in this equation, we're the only ones that could survive this assignment."

Sylar's immense insight and immeasurable knowledge aside, this whole plot made no sense. She wasn't lying and surprisingly, not holding anything back. He ticked his head speculatively, focusing his one of his many talents on her thoughts. He hated to use his abilities more than once a day but right now he needed the whole story. She resisted his presence in her head repeating the line. 'You know all you need to know.' While he admired he resolve he had to figure this out.

Sylar pushed harder and saw a vision that wasn't hers: Peter screaming in agony as bolt of energy hit him.

Sylar sat up straighter unsure of how Claire knew that particular detail of what he believed to be Angela's dream. He reached for her elbow but when he grazed her shirt in the effort to clutch her, the flashes began…

He and Claire stood in an abandoned warehouse surrounded by unknown specials and an unfamiliar woman holding Matty flanked by Nathan's boys Simon and Monty.

A tall young man stepped forward and commanded the crowd to stand down with a thick Australian accent. He looked at Claire speculatively before a bolt of energy shot from his hands that quickly disintegrated her body to ash. Sylar didn't have time to react when he felt the life leave his body with the same fate.

Sylar faltered backwards in shock as the impressions stopped bombarding his psyche.

"I thought you were going to stop reading minds!"Claire shouted evilly.

"It wasn't your mind, it was this." Sylar spat disgusted yet awed at the same time. He gripped the sleeve of Claire's t-shirt and she cocked her head hesitantly.

"This is Peter's shirt." She clarified. Sylar wasn't even going to touch the weird incestal connotations that particular bit of information provided, and instead focused on the reason Claire would be wearing said shirt right now.

Sylar narrowed his eyes. "Did Angela insist you wear this?"

Claire's eyes coursed his widened dark ones tentatively and her uncertainty only grew as she shook her head in the affirmative.

"What kind of fucked up game is she playing?"

"Why, what did you see?"

"You DIE, I DIE, and if Peter was here he'd die too." He scrambled off the bed in search of his shirt.

Claire shivered at the certainty of his words. He looked scared and if it scared Sylar, something was wrong. "We can't die," was her only weak protest.

"Jesus, Claire don't you see? This is fucking suicide!" He slipped his shirt back on leaving it unbuttoned as he stuffed items back into his bag.

"Not for us." Claire tried to interject with a sliver of hopefulness.

"Even for us!" he shot back evilly, his eyes were now black with determined intent.

"We'll have to see, now won't we?" her chin jutted up in defiance, hoping her brave front calmed his resolve.

Sylar caught the boldness in her eyes and his own softened slightly. "What do the boys have to do with this?"He looked just as exasperated as she felt all day and he sounded like Nathan again, all paternal. She knew he was referring to what Angela said about her half-brothers. Claire shivered unconsciously thinking of the fact that for a short while Sylar had been her 'father.'

"They are NOT your boys! Stop being him! You are NOT him!"

Sylar narrowed his eyes. "Either you tell me what's going on, or this little road trip from hell is over."

Claire sighed heavily sensing she was losing his cooperation fast. She never had to constantly reassure Peter when they went on their two person crusade to save the world. Damn. She missed Peter.

"Angela said we're the only ones that can stop him." It was hard to explain the obscure details of a situation she didn't understand herself.

"Him?"

"She only spoke of him as the Angel of Darkness."

"Sounds like my old title." He retorted unimpressed. Claire rolled her eyes and continued.

"From what I understand we have three weeks before all humans are destroyed."

"And by humans…do you mean those without abilities."

She nodded her head sadly "It would be a human genocide."

Sylar sat back shocked into silence, looking at the cheerleader and hoping what she was implying was not the finale to the nightmare he saw through his clairsentience.

"We've been through this before you know the whole save the cheerleader spiel...It's getting old."

"This isn't about us," she hissed. "It's about 98% of the world's population being annihilated."

"Look I know I've turned over a new leaf and all, but I'm not that kind of hero."

"Then what kind of hero are you?"

"Not the world saving kind." His face contorted into that knowing sneer that she hated.

"Sylar..." his eyebrow rose in warning at the use of his former moniker. "Whatever, I'm never going to call you Michael, so get over it."

"They are all going to die if we don't stop this now. Matty is only the beginning." She rose indomitably from the bed and stalked towards him threateningly, delivering the lynchpin of her petition through clenched teeth. "And you owe me!"

He stood silent for a while mulling over all the variables. He always knew Claire would be the death of him, of that he was sure, but this wasn't how he imagined going out.