This is my first Fanfiction story. I was inspired by the fantastic writing of Kiara Gray, SomberSerenity, and HaleKent, among others. This story takes place in two volumes, the first from Claire's perspective, and the second from Sylar's. This was just for fun, so please let me know what you think. Your feedback makes my day. I hope you enjoy it!

VOLUME ONE: BREAKFAST AT THE BENNETS'

Her eyes slowly fluttered open and the rough outline of his jaw came into focus. How long had he been watching her, in anticipation of her waking? His ebony eyes were alert, not clouded by recent stirrings. Two minutes? Ten? Claire blinked away the sleep and exhaled deeply. She felt fingers trace all the way down from her shoulder blade until they came to a rest on her waist. She couldn't believe it had only been four months since she had experienced his touch. Yesterday, before his sudden appearance at her window, it had felt like so much longer.

"What time is it?" she managed to groan, turning her face and mess of blond hair into the grey pillow.

"Early enough to stay just where we are."

Claire nodded in agreement and pulling up the sheet to keep from shivering. Even though the blinding white saturating her window frame promised a sweltering day, mornings in Costa Verde could be quite chilly.

"Aw, don't be like that." Sylar smirked, pulling back the sheet to expose her bare form.

"Stop!" she giggled, only to be rolled over onto him until her chin came to a rest on his warm chest. She lifted her head enough to catch his mouth in hers, closing her eyes as his fingers danced across her frame.

~o~

It had been this dance for a while now. Next week would mark the two year anniversary of her fateful face plant from the ferris wheel. That high stake, impulsive decision that threatened to shatter everything that her father and the others had worked for. What gear had shifted in her brain, what synapse had formed, to compel her to make this rash decision? It may have simply been on a whim caused by the adrenaline that coursed through her as Samuel's dangerous reign ended before her eyes. However, something told her it was more than that. She witnessed her people, her friends, skulking in the crowd after they accomplished the difficult task of both saving many lives and remaining inconspicuous. They achieved what they had initially thought impossible, yet Claire's heart ached at this anti-climatic denouement. There would be no parade or medals for her people, and the oblivious public would carry on in their humanly ways, almost as if they had never stared down death that night. This realization stung, and perhaps that was why she jumped. She never sought recognition herself, but to think that her own heroes should forever remain nameless was inconceivable.

Claire glanced around a room that appeared as if Hiro had trapped it in time on the day she moved out three years ago. She had been living in an apartment off campus near her college in West Virginia and had come back to Costa Verde to spend time with her family over the summer. It meant she was away from Sylar over that time, who was busy helping Peter in New York with providing support to outed specials. Claire eyes fluttered open, and her gaze fell upon Samuel's forgotten compass resting on a nearby shelf. She recalled how she had felt a split second of doubt while the carnival ground rushed towards her. It was clear that there would be consequences, but until that millisecond before collision, it was clear that nothing would ever be the same. That volume had ended that night. In the early dawn of the new volume, her people all drew a collective breath in anticipation of the impending hysteria. However, the early aftermath was to her and to everyone else's surprise, rather dull. There were no soldiers breaking into houses or mass arrests. She heard offhand of a few killings carried out by both sides, but for the most part it seemed that the public response had been encouraging. The media leaped onto the stories, science institutions performed their regulated tests, and a few more specials outed themselves in turn. She was slightly disappointed that, for the first time in years, she didn't have the excuse of fleeing a company or fighting enemies to get out of school. Aside from some religious groups decrying the end of days, public interest shifted from fervor, to curiosity, and finally to general apathy. Claire would overhear conversations at school, like:

'Hey, did you hear about that special who doesn't need to breathe air? They could probably go to Mars, then. I heard there is a rover there already.'

'That's cool. Hey, did you see that video of the cat riding the roomba?'

Claire guessed that this discovery was simply re-shifting what it means to be human, and like landing on the moon or Mars, the novelty wore off as soon as it became a routine fact. Normalcy, like any other human value, was all relative. This was a surprising but not an unforeseeable outcome. However, what Claire could never have anticipated was this dance that developed with Sylar not long after the jump.

She glanced up at his determined gaze and sighed softly. Their transformation happened so fast. Ever since he had forcibly confided in her at college and awoken her to their commonalities, things associated with him became a different shade of color. I won't say gray, she cringed. Hate is a heavy load to carry on top of her courses, and Claire tried as she might to keep on hating him in their brave New World. Whenever Peter would recount his and Sylar's confusing five psychological years spent together in the dead city and she felt pangs of sympathy, she would intentionally replay the hurtful events in her mind to grasp at familiar sensations of contempt. Nathan's death. Her head spilling open over the coffee table magazines. At first it had been easy for her; in the time where Claire's minor celebrity status grew in the wake of her jump, his interactions were cordial, at a physical distance, and most importantly, few. Fortunately, the media frenzy died down after six months, in which her role took a backstage and her people's fears subsided. In response, their priorities shifted to political and social rights of specials. It was during this shift when tension between Claire and Sylar noticeably dropped. Moments shared with Sylar increased due to the public relations efforts, and her habit of recalling bad memories grew more tiresome. Sometimes it was just easier to talk with him than to find a way to challenge his new-found hero status. Her jaw always ached in his presence, until one day, while sitting across from him and glaring at a specials benefit dinner, she just let it go. Claire had heard once that it takes more muscles to frown than smile, and the previous six months had been exhausting enough without energy spent on vitriol.

Now, two years on, she never would have fathomed what Sylar would become to her.

~o~

Sylar yawned and stretched before pulling Claire further on top of him to kiss her neck. She was familiar with his pattern of foreplay, and as tempting as it was, she could hear the distinct sound of pots clanging and low murmurs in the kitchen below. However quiet they might think they could be, it was too great a risk. Claire tilted her head and brushed a stray lock of black hair from his temple. "Sorry Sy, but-"

Suddenly, a loud knock cut through the air. Claire's eyes darted to the lock on her door. Had she remembered to turn the key after he showed up last night? Icicles formed up the back of her neck as the door handle turned.