Title: Redemption
Rating: R to be safe
Spoilers: Aaaall the way up to 18, and draws from some speculation at 19 onward.
Pairings: Sylar/Claire, Sylar/Mohinder, M/S/C triangle stuff.
Genre: Drama Romance
Warnings: Future!fic, Some slashish undertones in it. As made obvious by the pairings.
Summary: 10 years after the cheerleader was saved, Mohinder has a 'cure' for the superhuman abilities, and Sylar in his clutches. This time a certain ex-cheerleader is going to make sure he gets the second chance he once begged for.

Disclaimer: Naw. Not Me. Tim's not a good name for me.

AN: Whoa zorz. This falls into slash-cat by the newsletter?

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Redemption

Chapter 2
"I don't even know you!"

He frowned warily down at the man that seemed so deceptively harmless. He had learned the hard way (and nearly for the last time) that the man was never as securely tied down as he appeared. Similarly, he knew all too well how often the man thought he could pull off an act.

Which was what motivated him to decide the IV would be too slow, which left only direct injection. The restrained man was watching him in silence with wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights, and subsequently confused by the blaring horn.

"This is going to hurt."

--

Sylar

The word had hounded her, haunted her, chased her as surely as its owner had for the past ten years. And yet it had been so long since it had been truly 'real' to her. For so long her uncle and her father had always swooped in to rescue her at the merest hint of the name... it was a cold shock to think that she would be once again drawn in by it.

"Claire?"

"How?" She said finally, voice soft in an unconscious attempt to keep it steady.

"Your Grandmother gave him to me a few months ago." His voice held a hint of amusement beneath its graveness. Was graveness even a word? She would have to ask him later. "He was in a comatose state for three months."

"Was?"

There was a pause. "Was, yes. He awoke five hours ago."

She shook off the chill that raced through her at the thought of how he must have broken out and what he must have destroyed escaping. "Are you alright? Is Peter alright?"

"Yes, yes... everyone is fine." He said dismissively. "He hasn't done anything violent yet-- he doesn't even have access to his abilities at the moment."

She frowned, squeezing her temples with her free hand, and grateful that she was already sitting. "You mean... you still have him?"

"Yes." There was a pregnant pause, before he added. "I have an... inhibitor. It keeps him mostly subdued, and his abilities ineffectual."

She nodded in a silent attempt to understand his statement, before finally voicing the question that he had to have been waiting for since the start. "So... why are you calling me about it?"

--

He sighed softly, watching his sleeping captive, wondering idylly what serial killers dreamt if not of their victims. The man certainly looked nothing like the imposing monster that had beaten him to an inch of his life so many years before. So it seemed even psycho maniacs were... almost 'cute' when they slept.

He wasn't sure which was more disturbing, the fact that such a word had crept into his volcabulary, or that he had to stomp down the passing urge to touch the sleeping man's hair. He probably needed to move back to the computer, and stop dwelling on the man or the memories he stirred up with his awakening.

And if the man hadn't chosen that exact moment to wake up rather groggily (and un-serial-killer-y), he just might have without another thought.

"Where am I?" He still hadn't given up that damn act.

"Where you were when you fell unconscious." He replied flatly.

A frown as innocent as his memories formed on the man's face. "Have I... done something against you, or something? Because... I honestly can't remember..."

He snorted, whether in disbelief, amusement, or something else entirely, he was unsure. "Oh, you could definitely say that."

A sigh escaped the prisoner. "I'm..." He paused, lips twitching indecisively a moment. "...Sorry. I wish I could say I didn't mean it. But..."

"You don't remember. I know." He waved the man off, frowning in concentration. Was he telling the truth? (For the first time in his life?) Could...could his encounter with the Haitian somehow not only caused incapacitation, but amnesia as well?

His abilities did deal almost exclusively with the mind and memories... and if he were cornered, it was possible he could attempt to use it on him as a last effort of defense.

If he did...

"Hello?" He was straining against the straps to crane his neck for a better look. "Were you listening to anything I said?"

"Oh... no. Sorry." But he wasn't really sorry, was he?

"I said, its not just you. I can't remember anything" The man's voice wavered at the end of the sentance, and he swallowed anxiously. "Not... not even my own name."

He gave a soft chuckle, about what he could not guess, before deciding there was nothing to lose in answering. "Zane. Zane Taylor."

Ch end

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AN: I wanted to put more in this chapter, but it just didn't fit. -.-