Death Becomes Her

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for monetary gain.

And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

Chapter One

Gabriel Gray - Costa Verde, California – 16 hours after the Costa Verde Explosion

As I wander through the scorched landscape of the once vibrant suburban community, I barely register the devastation that surrounds me. Devastation, mind you, that I was wholly responsible for.

But right now I don't give a flying fuck.

The fires, remnants of the nuclear fallout, still burn bright and hot, as acrid black smoke billows up to the sky, obliterating the sun.

Strangely, the heat from the flames leaves me cold. And the lethal fumes threatening to pollute my lungs have failed to overpower me.

I'm numb, oblivious and apathetic to the apocalypse that utter rage has rendered. My rage- brought on by the death my son, my Noah.

His loss, still stinging and fresh, has branded my mind and soul with terrible yawning gouges. The damage is as real as it gets although my newly regenerated body shows evidence to the contrary. Its affects are nonetheless unfathomable and agonizing.

Pain and grief had culminated into a detonation so massive, so deadly it annihilated sunny Costa Verde killing thousands in the process. Ironically, the nameless dead were the fortunate ones. It's over for them. No more suffering, no more trying to live day to day on borrowed time fighting the inevitability of their pitiful mortality. Costa Verde's good citizens were annihilated in seconds, wiped off the map thanks to a brilliant flash of light.

Had I meant to commit mass genocide? Probably not... but it doesn't matter now.

The way I see it, the dead are the lucky ones. How envy them.

Good fortune has never been a commodity I've reveled in for very long. Yes, I've had my moments of providence.

But today Lady Luck, it seems, is on PMS and she fucking hates my guts.

The fact that I'm still alive and somewhat whole, only serves as a reminder of another cruel bitch and the shared ability that has condemned us both to live forever in the aftermath of today's harrowing events.

Everything I've worked so hard to achieve- conquering my demons, gaining acceptance, getting married and eventually having Noah.

It's gone, all gone.

And as I blearily continue to survey the substantiation of my grief-stricken wrath I can't help the indifference I feel for the destruction.

What do the lives of hundreds, or thousands of people mean to me when the only person that mattered is dead?

Noah Gabriel Gray is dead. And I have his mother to thank for it.

The Cheerleader giveth and then taketh away, I think sardonically to myself.

My eyes weary and bloodshot fill with tears I refuse to shed. I can't, I won't mourn, not yet. Not until I've doled out a little payback to the one I hold most responsible for Noah's untimely demise. Only after my hands are stained in her blood will I allow myself to experience the full force of my grief and lament.

That green-eyed bitch will burn for what she did to Noah. I'll make sure of it. And as she screams to her death she'll only have herself to blame.

It wasn't enough that she broke my heart when she left me high and dry with an infant to raise. She just had to come back to finish the job by snuffing out any chance I had at a normal life.

Sure why not? Go ahead rip what was left of my humanity as well, you fucking cunt!

Thanks to her, Gabriel Gray, dutiful husband to Claire, doting father to Noah and law abiding citizen, is no more.

There's only Sylar now and the Hunger.

My old friend, the insatiable, voracious Hunger, gnaws away at my insides, like some wild raving thing. All at once my lips twist into the parody of a smile as I take heed of its call for blood. And for the first time in years I call forth one my dormant abilities. Brilliant blue streaks of electricity start to dance across my fingertips as a familiar hum fills my ears. I can feel the power surging through me, fueling my fixated desire to avenge my boy.

With a new sense of purpose, I square my shoulders, narrow my eyes and set my jaw. Determined to leave this place, there's only one destination I have in mind.

Weighing my options, I conclude that flying is the best mode of travel. But first things first, I have to find some sort of clothing. I can't just take to the sky, propelling my naked body through the air like some freak. So with that in mind I begin my quest, walking with the confident steps of predator setting forth to hunt down its prey.

As I slowly start to make my way out of ground zero I pay no heed to the acid rain that's begun to fall. I can actually feel the warm droplets of toxic liquid rhythmically pelt the pale skin of my bare form as I continue to move forward.

Soon I'm soaked and shivering but I don't look back, there's no need. Not anymore. The blackened acres of barren earth are now a desolate grave yard.

And if I have my way, Pinehearst will soon be too.