Disclaimer: The characters that you recognize belong to Tim Kring and NBC.

Author notes: This story can be considered a semi-continuation of An Act of Finality, though you can treat it as a separate story if you'd like. Actually, in my mind, I am myself. Just a few things you should know. Claire has memory loss. Sylar interfered with her abduction by some Company members; at the time, she was injected with the 'Haitian formula' which stunted her healing abilities. So when an accident did occur, she did have trouble remembering anything. This is why she calls Sylar 'Gabriel' in this fiction, since that was the name he used when he reintroduced himself.

With the title of the fic, it's inspired by Tolkien. However, it means something pretty specific to come in the next chapter. I was trying to think up the name for it, and when this occurred to me, well, nothing could fit the scenario better than that phrase. This will be a dark story, and a line will be crossed.

This has not been beta-ed, so if you see anything terribly off, you are free (and encouraged ;-) to tell me.

Warning: Some adult themes and language (yep, on this warning).

Here and Back Again

Chapter 1

Over time, Claire realized something about her traveling companion.

He had to be an only child. Raised as one at least. Sure, she didn't remember whether or not she herself had any siblings to she had to endure, but if there ever was a stereotypical only child, Gabriel had his picture next to the definition.

During the drive, there were two-or three-activities he was interested in. One was his quiet time where he did not want to make a sound and wouldn't listen to the radio. Deep in, or deep end, time where she didn't trust herself not to find a way to test him. Often, she would study him during that time the most; it said volumes more than the rapid-fire phase of talking. The similarity between the two times was that she was quiet during both.

The third time was during the night (or day-morning and afternoon) when he would take her.

Claire couldn't say she disliked that time. Not honestly. But it seemed all too easy to dislike herself.

&&&

"Do you want anything?" Gabriel asked. Small change was littered all over the console. It had been a team effort to gather that much on their way to New York City. She had been the one to look under the seats and pick through the lint and dust for every pretty penny.

"I'll know when I get inside," she replied. He looked up at her, his eyes darkening. "You might choose the wrong stuff. You don't know what I like."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," he said, in that voice, but it was clear. She wasn't going to be able to get out of the freaking car at a gas station. "You're a wanted woman, Claire. You need to keep your head down."

She felt herself go all twisted cold inside. "Oh, please. I know. I'll get a dye kit while I'm in there."

"That's cute. No."

"Uh, wanted woman? If I'm going to play the part, I might as well have fun."

He tilted his head, and she felt him shift through all his dirty mental pictures of her. She shuddered. "You're a blond at your best. It's your essence. So, until I make you a redhead, you're a blond."

Red…what? He smiled and prepared to lock her in the car again. "Please. I'm asking nicely. I'll be totally quiet the rest of the way to New York."

He considered it, tapping the steering wheel. "With that kind of temptation, how can I say no?"

Yes. Claire hurried out of the car, feeling very much like she had sea-legs. The air was warm and nice and full of vibrant wholeness, and she couldn't help but beam. He walked around the car as if he wasn't bothered at all from being in a hot car for days. But he certainly wasn't together. His hair had a life of its own, so much so that it required its own word. It was…foofy.

"What?" Gabriel asked, sharply.

"Nothing," she said, looking away. As charming as ever. Another thing about him was he was always looked for the hidden knife to every…well, everything. Inside the convenience store, the air was cool, and it made her feel rather normal. There were baskets by the wall. …Baskets.

"My, aren't you easy to please," he sneered, looking down his nose at the whole place.

Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, she thought but didn't say. She found herself less willing to shoot him down. There was something intrinsically ignoble about it. Instead, she focused on the good, exciting process of being normal. Of picking up totally unhealthy foods and looking through horrible magazines to laugh at them.

He sauntered in, following closely behind her (with the grace of a natural-born skulker turned dare-devil and knowing it).

"Oh my god, I have to have that," she said, opening the freezer door and taking several litters of diet coke—nevermind, just coke. What was there to lose?

"Wait, I'm not going to rob this place for you," he protested, hands shoved in the pockets on his coat.

An employee glared at him from the next isle over, wherein Gabriel returned the look with a weird, weird curling smile that even creeped her out, and she'd been with the man for weeks.

"Kidding! He's just kidding around," she said, all sunshine with thunderheads underneath. "Just a big prankster, this guy."

She dumped the basket into his un-waiting arms, and yes, he had to actually act normal to be able to juggle it.

"What's your favorite food?" she asked, determined to distract him from the poor man. It was hard with her heart pounding out of her chest.

"I don't have one."

"That's impossible." Hopefully the cheerful, happy-days thing wasn't too overboard. "Everybody has a favorite food. Something they splurge on. I think I have a clue, too."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I've seen you eat French fries. They have salt. Hence, you like salty foods. With grease on the side. Hah."

"So you've been paying attention to what I do with my mouth."

The employee now gaped and looked her up and down, and she hated Gabriel just a little. Or more. It wasn't much as it should be since she had grown accustomed to him. She had adapted.

But she was getting pretty tired of the whole object thing. The I'm-not-a-real-girl feeling that hung on her shoulders. It seemed like he had to remind her exactly what she was to him, and to others, all illusions cast aside.

"Come on. Let's just get some stuff and get out of here."

"Your wish…"

She started to grab some snacks of some sort, and he did prove himself helpful in picking a few things himself.

"You're very good at playing domestic."

She was silent and continued her purge of the shelves.

"Peanuts? So I won't forget? You know I have an eidetic memory."

At her look, he sighed. "Elephants never forget? Logic, Claire. Use it and make some connections some time."

"I'm not going to joke around with you. Let's just go."

"Oh, the way he looked at you, eating you up with his eyes," Gabriel muttered, tilting his head. She must be transparent. "That's why I'm staying so close to you. No reason for another incident, right."

"What?" she asked, exasperated. When she didn't want to talk, interact, or recognize the fact that he was alive, all he wanted to do was talk to her.

"It's just I notice that you are afraid of men to a degree. Just a little bit. It's in the way you stiffen when a man, like that one, looks at you. You shrink within yourself, sometimes. It's off, and I can't help but notice. And trust me, they notice, too."

"Now, who on earth would make me afraid of strange men? Hmm…"

"What happened in that area was before me. Whatever it was," he said. "Though I suppose I didn't help the matter."

He stared around, and focused on something near the cashier's desk. She wasn't even paying attention to the things she threw in the basket. Hopefully they would give him a heart-attack or something.

"Claire, I know you're sulking, but during the next few minutes, I need you to remain calm and quiet."

She looked up at him, surprised.

"EVERYONE, DOWN ON THE FLOOR!"

She froze, and then turned around to see that the little store they had stopped at was being robbed by three men in ski masks. Seriously.

"IF EVERYONE STAYS COOL, NO ONE HAS TO DIE. NICE AND SLOW AND COOL, COOL?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. She almost laughed. The she realized that everyone else was on the floor, shaking, and felt guilty. She couldn't get hurt, and he—well, he wasn't about to be in any danger. She tried to figure out what to do. One man already had a gun to the cashier's head. If she moved, at all, he could shoot. Accidentally or not, the end result would be the same.

It was terrible. The older man kept trying to open the register but failed on several tries, fumbling and apologizing brokenly.

"Now these I like," Gabriel commented and picked up a box of Milk Duds. They were spotted.

"HEY, YOU AND BARBIE GET THE FUCK ON THE FLOOR."

Claire flinched. She was invincible but not inhuman. She hadn't unlearned the ground-falling-out-from-underneath-her-feet sensation in reaction to a gun pointed in her general direction. Though to be fair, the gun was more accurately pointed at Gabriel's head.

"Oh, I don't think so," he replied, then paused. "For that to work, you'll want the safety off."

"WHAT THE HELL DID HE SAY?" the other guy said from the next aisle.

"Nothing, nothing." Robber number three muttered, hurriedly fixing his mistake. "DOWN ON THE FLOOR BEFORE I PUT YOU SIX FEET UNDER IT!"

"You first."

She had thought it was terrible before. Of course she should have known better. People were watching, holding on to their sanity as it were life itself. So he performed a little. She could tell he was using his powers but to others, they were clueless. All they saw was that Gabriel knocked the gun aside a little too easily, that the man lost his grip a little too easily, and that Gabriel pushed him back a little too lightly. It was more of a shove than a push. Only the guy went sailing through the air and hit the countertop, slumping, crumpling to the floor like a broken doll. He had hit the cold metal too hard.

"Oh my god!" she screamed out, knowing, just knowing the man had be dead. He had to be; she heard the crack from all the way over-

Then there was a gun barrel pressed to the back of her head and an arm looped around her neck, choking off her air.

"Back off if you don't want her brains all over your shirt."

Gabriel smiled. "You're not going to do anything. You haven't killed before. I can tell…You really should have practiced beforehand. Do you want to know how I can tell?"

From the way his hands were shaking, Claire didn't think the guy was kidding around. He would shoot her by accident, most likely. She didn't think she would survive it, either. Something inside of her knew it.

"I can't…If he fires, I will die," she informed him, as she definitely felt that info was on a need-to-know basis.

"Why, who wouldn't?" her great protector asked, feigning wide-eyed shock.

"Gabriel, I'm serious."

"So am I. Listen to her, man," the robber urged.

"Go ahead," he offered. "Fire away." To her horror, he took a step closer. And another. She was drug backwards, and she tried to dig her heels on the linoleum but it was like ice. Everything seemed like ice, cold and remote, and she was going to be killed.

"Actually, please do. I was getting tired of her. Did you know I was going to kill her myself in the long run? This makes everything so much easier. And I have been wondering what the inside of her head would look like."

"Just shoot her," his only other conscious friend advised at the register. "Then shoot him in the face. He's asking for it."

"Oh no. I'm begging for it." She closed her eyes not to see him like this, when everything that was so wrong in him was illuminated to the point of the grotesque.

"Shit, he's crazy." Definite understatement, there.

"Kill them, now!"

She felt him pull the trigger and she screamed. The gun went off, and she fell forward, clutching at the back of her head. It was red; there was so much blood. But not as much from her end as the robber's. The gun had backfired in his hand, and what was left of his hand left him screaming.

Looking up at him from the floor, seeing him so much pain, Claire did not feel triumph. Just irreplaceable guilt. The front door slammed, and she saw the last one who was intact running across the parking lot.

"You might want to get his license plate number," Gabriel called casually to the cashier.

"R-right!"

He offered her his hand. Of all things, in the following calm, that broke her nerves. She pushed it away. He looked at her strangely, as if he were confused by her reaction. As if!

"I'm going to die," the man whispered to no one in particular, withering on the floor and sobbing.

"No, you're not," she said, kneeling by him. "Help will be here any minute."

She was jerked up by the collar of her shirt.

"You've got to be kidding." He seemed beyond rage, his face lit up as if he was consumed. "I—this…"

Then he smiled.

"We'll talk about this in the car."

&&&

"You know, we technically just robbed that place," Claire said, after some silence, looking down at the plastic bag of food in her lap.

"I know. I'd say they owed us. That is precisely about the worth of their lives."

"I didn't think you were a thief, as well."

"The irony was too tempting," he said, sullen and brooding. It was as if she had just broken his new toy. If she thought about it, it was his first time playing anything remotely heroic. Maybe he had enjoyed the act and was upset that someone ruined the magic. Who knew?

"…If you hadn't killed one of those guys, I would be apologizing. Just so you know."

"Wrong. Both were alive. One more so than the other but alive."

"Oh. But still, I figure you probably paralyzed him for life. You did, didn't you?"

His grip tightened on the steering-wheel. Claire watched his hands, the tick of muscles and ligaments running underneath. She had learned that kind of observation from him, since she had seen her own hand in detail several times.

"I don't see how that matters. He won't be going on a trip around the world any time soon."

"Was it an accident? Did you mean to do it, or did it just happen?"

"Think about what you just said," he growled out. "And try to understand it."

"Did you have that intent?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Then why don't you answer my question?"

"I wasn't thinking on it, alright."

She paused, and nodded. "I see. Well, he may be fine."

"I'm so glad," he said with a smirk. "The other one had a choice. If he hadn't fired, he wouldn't have lost his hand. And no one had a gun to his head, right."

Well, right. Still wrong, but for him, almost nearly right. Her own hands seemed so small and completely useless. She picked at the loose threads gathering at the bottom of her shirt nervously. "You know, what you did back there…despite how you did it, it was…it was a good thing to do."

"It was the only thing to do, Claire, and don't play that game with me."

"What?"

"That's so predictable that I'm almost disappointed in you. Before you try, other people have played it far better than you ever will."

She laughed. "Don't worry; I know you're still horrible. It was a comment, that's all."

"You promised to be quiet after you got your food. There's your food."

"Can I ask you something?" she inquires, almost shyly. This was going to be such a loaded question, and a part of her screamed at the rest to cease, stop, desist. However, her interest in him was similar to a moth's interest in light; there was no helping it. Only the truth of it, perhaps, is in her blood. Her healing blood. Maybe she had to try and figure out why he was so...sick. Horrible as it is, that he gives of an aura of nearly chemical sickness, of offness, she finds herself wanting to help and knowing it is futile to try. She could try and spin his actions into something good, only to end up at the same dead-end.

"I'm really enjoying this example of complete silence."

"After this, I'll be practically invisible."

"So you'll be loud and transparent at the same time. Great. Puts a whole new spin on the word 'airhead'".

"It's a hypothetical question," she continues, ignoring him. "Let's say you have a kid and they have an ability. Would you still…take their ability?"

"Depends," he answered, without even missing a beat. "On both their ability and how they use it. If it's something I don't have already, there's no choice. On the other hand, if I have it but they still use it against me, I'll have to adapt, which will most likely involve stopping them permanently."

"And if they have your ability but don't do a thing to you?"

"No choice there, either. I know better than to allow that," Gabriel said, half-smiling at the wisdom of his reply. "On the other hand, they may also be unremarkable, boring. So I'm not planning on the pitter-patter of little feet anytime in any future. After all, within a few months, I'll be my own legacy. With your help."

She took a moment to digest that, wringing her hands in her lap.

"Let me guess. You were planning on being in the family way, so I won't take your ability. I'd naturally think of the little children, especially my own…was that your plan, right, to hide behind the unborn pound of flesh?"

"No!" she stated, crossing her arms and glaring. "I'd never have anything of yours!"

"Oh really?"

"Look, I was just freaking concerned because you're the one who's been coming on to me. So I don't know, I thought you were trying to..."

"You're not pregnant. I would know."

God, she was nervous. He was making her just sick. She pulled out the Twizzlers from the plastic bag, and threw it on the car seat, littering to annoy him, put a little bent in his precious, ordered world.

There was nothing really lining the roads, no signs of life. Open space, tons of it. If only she didn't feel like she was under a microscope, like something interesting, life-like-yet- not floating in a drop of water.

"Was that a dream of yours? To become a mother and have a nice little house with the picket fence, the apron, the whole works?"

"I'm trying to be quiet now. Starting right now. Besides I wouldn't remember."

"Well, you questioned my paternal instinct. That's all it is, instinct. You don't have to remember to know."

"I think I would have made an okay mom," she said, realizing for the first time since she'd been with Gabriel that she was going to lose so much that she could have had. Children, maybe not, but she hadn't graduated. Hell, she suspected that she hadn't even got the choice to drop out voluntarily.

"Sure, I can see that," he agreed. She was surprised, and to her shame, it showed. "Though you do realize that when the kid's sixteen, you'll still physically be her age. That can warp a kid."

She grinned sweetly. "And I know how that concerns you so much."

"Not as much as it will warp you," he pointed out, continuing on as mercilessly as the sun on beached bones. "You'll have to bury her, then her kid, and then the next. See them hurt; blown up by nuclear bombs, torn apart by sickness and pain and the world. Something you can't relate to, and even blood isn't thick enough to drown the resentment of your loved ones. Who knows, maybe I'll even kill a few if they are up to my particular taste. On the bright side, you will own the market on cemeteries."

"You're an asshole," she spat out.

"But at least I'm a practical asshole. That little idyllic fairytale was never going to happen. Even if you survive, it's better for you to know now than learn the hard way. Do you think your body would give an inch for a child? That's one of your many flaws. I can tell you now that you're broken in that way. No happy grandchildren for grandparents, no-"

"Stop it." Her voice caught to her horror. No wonder he hadn't been worried when he… "You've completely, completely ruined…that for me, congratulations. Mission accomplished."

"Turnabout is fair play, Claire."

"Oh, that was necessary just because I asked a question about your precious world view? That is hardly the same thing. At all."

"You know, when I have your ability, that little handicap won't be a problem for me. Maybe I will try the father thing. For fun."

"Biologically, sure, you're the father of the year. In all those other ways, like emotionally, mentally, you're not even equipped. You wouldn't know what to do."

Her throat was crushed. Rather like a soda can of some sort, she thought, as she gasped and tried to breathe, and suffocated perhaps two times. She caught herself, put a hand up to her mouth to hold everything in, hold it all in, and it took awhile for her to recover from that. The whole time, she looked at the keyhole on the dashboard, not at his face, or his eyes. His eyes, especially, dark and barren and electric.

She lowered her head once she could breathe again. She looked down, her neck showing through her parted, golden hair.

Underneath all the words, the only true language that existed between them was building blocks of everything primal, and she yielded.

&&&

It made sense that they stopped in the middle of nowhere after that chaotic day.

It was dark, cold, with trees surrounding them like an audience. He seemed to like performing, after all. She wasn't speaking to him, and he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he didn't seem to want to touch her at all.

Claire watched as he reclined in the front seat, ignoring her with practiced ease. Ghost-girl, that was her. She lay down across the backseat and stretched out, sighing. It would be forever before they reached New York. There, maybe someone would help her, would remember who she was.

"For what it's worth, I did think what you did was cool."

Nothing. She closed her eyes. It wasn't until two hours later when she halfway woke up and saw a shadow pass in front of the window of the car.

"…um," she whispered, blinking.

"I know. I've been watching them."

Claire sat up slowly, looking out at the trees which were now full of lights. Figures were traveling among the trees in pairs, in what seemed like…cloaks. This was some kind of gathering.

"What are they doing?" she asked.

"Something's going on," he responded, carefully. "Something…I could really wrap my mind around."

He looked ecstatic and on the edge all at once. She had never seen him more open, more vulnerably into something outside of himself. She followed his gaze and noticed the moonlit sky, and the breaks in-between. The sky was changing. Clouds were forming at unnatural pace, as if someone had left the VCR on fast-forward. It was like watching an unearthly dance, and it was beautiful.

"Yes, I think this is worth looking into."

She got out of the car and Gabriel followed, looking at her curiously. "I don't want to be left alone with all these weirdoes out here. You know we won't be welcomed to their clubhouse with open arms."

"That's all right. There's a universal password that I know."

She could guess what it was. She was horrified, but that only meant she had to go with him. To try to keep him under control.

"After you," he said, and they walked slowly behind the group towards the center of the clearing. She imagined all the freaky things that could be happening, bracing herself for something unbelievable.

However, nothing could have prepared her for what was in the middle of the clearing. Out of everything she had been through recently, it was only all too believable.

&&&

Credits: All the 'cool' sayings of the robber in a tense situation was a semi-shout out to Pulp Fiction.

The safety on/off comment is paraphrased from something the main villain said in 'Storm of the Century'.

Concrit is perfectly fine and welcomed.