Molly Walker has a battle going on inside her. The invaders manifest themselves as pinpricks pushing out from her skin; they twist her gut and make her move forward, move onwards, do whatever it takes to understand things. She feels sick, but not like with the Shanti virus because her power hasn't gone away. If anything, it's gotten stronger. Better.

Her dreams are twisted; Mohinder watches her under the microscope, Matt's head tilts as he looks deep inside her. Sometime she wishes they were there, trying to figure out what's wrong with her. She wishes that they knew.

She feels jittery, nervous, unsettled. Sometimes it gets too much, and she goes and sits with Micah. They get along well; two powered, orphaned children trying to fight the man can't do anything else. She finishes his sentences when he plans, watches as he dismantles the TV, and computer, and whatever else he can get his hands on, his movements all the explanation she needs to understand.

Most of the time.

He's happy that she can follow him, and mostly she's happy she can too. But then he does something with his power, soothing she can only guess at, and it frustrates her. She wants to know, want to be able to do what he does. It hurts, not being able to, and her gut twists and turns and writhes and she can't stay with him anymore.

When it first started happening, she tried talking to Monica about it. But Monica had plenty to say about puberty and relationships and that's not it. It's not. She likes Micah, likes his sense of humor and his sense of honor and sometimes when he smiles at her stomach doesn't twist but rolls; it's different. It's separate. It's special.

She wants to hold his hand. She wonders want it'd be like to kiss him. Sometimes, though, she just wants to see what makes him work, lay him out and break him out into his base components, motherboards and neurons, circuitry and grey matter.

She knows what she's acting like; she was in New York for a while, and everyone knows why you avoid the people with bloodshot eyes and tapping feet sitting in the corner of the subway. But she can't be a junkie, because she hasn't taken anything. She hasn't done anything.

Yet.

She wants her heroes. She wants them to save her from whatever it is that trying to posses her, to vanquish it like they did the Nightmare Man, make her her own person again, destroy the Boogeyman ticking away beneath her skin.

Together, the three of them make up Rebel. She feels like she has a bigger piece of that name, though, because she's fighting for control of her own body as hard as she's fighting for her freedom. She's stubborn. She resists.

She doesn't want to know what happens if she ever stops.

~*~

Author's Notes: This is an idea I had after watching Sylar watching his mother's head get cut off. Because what if that was it: what if that's what was needed to pass on the serial killing/power stealing hunger? Or, if you like, you can blame it on too much Dexter.