*Disclaimer* I own none of these characters. All characters belong to NBC (to my knowledge).

Sorry for the long hiatus. I'm back now though and am going to work on finishing this story. I edited chapters 1 - 11 so that they read a bit better, and I have added chapter 12. Chapter 13 is almost done and is on its way as well. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Claire couldn't get the thought of that kiss out of her head, and she despised herself for it.

Sure, in the weeks after the carnival incident Peter had tried to convince her... convince EVERYONE that Sylar had changed, but she wasn't buying it. You can't go from a mass murderer to a poor, misunderstood "hero" overnight. Not a chance.

He'd come to her college, asked for her help. Told her he wanted to change and that she was the one to help him – made proof by her face in ink on his arm.

Which was just kind of creepy. My face tattooed on a serial killers arm. Great.

But he had saved Peter's girlfriend at the carnival. And probably many others in the process. Still… one good deed cannot right a thousand wrongs.

It couldn't bring her birth parents back from the dead.

The carnival. Her father was not the only one to regret her impulsive actions that day. Her "coming out" had turned out to be a little more trouble than it had been worth after all. And now she couldn't show her face on campus without getting swarmed by reporters, students, stalkers, etc. She couldn't show her face anywhere, for that matter.

Which was why her few meager belongings were in boxes around her, waiting to be unpacked into the shiny new apartment that her father was generous enough to finance. Her shiny new prison cell where she would hide away from the world.

At least until the world stopped trying to dissect her. Claire shuddered at the thought. A thought which brought back memories of trauma, pain and fear…. Of being someone else's living science experiment… spayed on the table… the horrifying tickle of fingers delving into her brain…

Sylar.

And after all that he'd done to her. The torture, the fear. Killing those she loved. Her FATHER, for Gods-sakes! Why was she still thinking of that kiss? The memory had crawled into her brain and taken root, refusing to be ousted.

In the classroom and against her will, she struggled against him. But to her horror, she'd also struggled against her own excitement and arousal. How sick was that? And now she couldn't stop thinking about it.

God, she was twisted. Maybe she and Sylar had more in common than she'd wanted to believe after all.

Claire fell onto her bed. One of the few pieces of furniture she had in her sparse apartment, bought of course, by her father. Well, adopted father, Noah Bennett. Already dressed for bed in a pair of cotton shorts and her favorite pink cami, she crawled under the covers and closed her eyes. Perhaps things would make more sense in the morning.