"It's very old."

Autumn smirked, watching as Sylar trailed around the living room, fingers tracing the books that lined the shelves, his eyes taking in every picture that hung on the wall or sat on the mantle above the fire place, "Melony and I...we're the fourth generation to own this place."

"Hmm." Sylar pursed his lips, his gaze locking onto one particular photo on the mantle, "Your family's wealthy?"

"Was." Autumn strolled over to stand beside him, "Granddad was a self proclaimed mad scientist--dwindled most of his money away in crazy plans and ideas. Dad followed in his foot steps only he was alot smarted, and he built most of it back up. He left us with a small fortune, but the majority of it goes to the upkeep of this place, as his will asked. Mel and I have mostly lived on our own money."

"This is him?" Sylar touched the silver frame lightly, "Your dad?"

"Yep. A friend took this picture the day I was born."

Sylar looked down at her, his eyebrow twitched, "You look like him." He stated simply, before turning around and heading towards the hall. Autumn frowned, following him, "Hey, when are you going to stop acting all mysterious and answer my questions?"

"Whenever you ask some."

She arched an eyebrow. Now he was beginning to irritate her--or maybe it was just the lack of sleep, or the fact that she was basically on the lam at the moment. "You look pale, Sylar. Go lie down and get some rest."

He looked back at her, "What do you think I'm doing?" And then he disappeared into one of the bedrooms that lined the hall. Autumn shook her head and walked back across the room, kneeling in front of the fireplace.

As she got the fire started, she thought back on the previous two days with both amusement and disbelief. She'd broken several laws, betrayed her only family, went on the lam, and was now hiding out in rural Connecticut--all for and with a man she barely knew. And for what? All for her own selfish reasons. Her fear of her own power, her lack of identity, the fact that her repetitive life bored her to tears, quite literally most of the time.

Was that all this was? She wondered as she pulled her knees up to her chest and gazed into the crackling flames. Had she followed her curiousity, put herself in danger, all to find herself? Or just for a little excitement? No, she wasn't that pathetic. She had questions that needed answering. Somehow, she thought she could find them with this man. Sylar.

She shook her head, lying her head back on the couch she leaned against. It didn't really matter now, did it? She laughed softly. She was beyond hot water. She was undeniably at the boiling point--and there wasn't any jumping out now.

---

It was one-twenty-three in the morning when she heard the noise. It startled her out of her deep sleep full of rampant dreams and she was on her feet almost immediately. She rushed past the fireplace, now with nothing in it but burning ashes, and ran to the hall, "Sylar!"

The door at the end of the hall was open--the door that lead out to the garage. Had he ventured outside for some unknown reason? She ran as fast as she could and once she made it, she was hit in the face with the overwhelming smell of paint. She flipped the light switch on and there was Sylar, knelt in a sea of yellows, reds, greens, and blues--the paints belonging to her mother, who had been an amateur artist.

"Sylar?" Autumn took several cautious steps towards him and let out a gasp when he turned his head sharply to look at her. His eyes, once so deeply brown, were now misted over, limpid pools of milky blueish-white. His hands danced in the paint, swirling it across the concrete floor. She watched in awe as the mess soon began to take shape. Shadows formed, images...and then it was complete.

"Sylar, how did you...?"

Sylar threw back his head and groaned loudly, his eyes returning to their normal color. He was limp, exhausted, and would've simply fallen backwards had Autumn not rushed to him, kneeling and locking her arms under his and around his chest to steady him, "Sylar--what it is?"

"It's the future." His head fell back against her shoulder, his breathing erratic, "It used to not...be this hard..."

"You're still healing. It'll pass." She was staring at the painting, trying to make it all out. Where was it? Who were the people supposed to be? What were they doing? A man and a woman, facing one another. Their faces were in shadow, hidden in darkness. His hand was raised, as if stroking the womans face. Or.

No. It hit her, and she inhaled sharply, "Is what I think happening, happening?"

"Yes."

"So...you're...?"

"I'm killing you." He turned his head, straining to look into her eyes, "I don't know where or when, but...I'm killing you."

---

For someone who had just seen a picture of her death, Autumn was surely taking it well. Was it because she wasn't afraid, or because she simply didn't believe it? Did she not think he would kill her?

No, she knew. She wasn't stupid and she wasn't naive. But why wasn't she at all afraid? In fact she was acting as though she were happy. She'd withdrawn every cent she had before they left New York, and that morning had walked to a nearby market to grab them some supplies--groceries and medical supplies for his wound. When she returned, she'd dug up some old clothes of her parents from the basement and washed them, tossing Sylar a pair of jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. "Since you insist on ruining your clothes every chance you get." She'd said with a playful smile as she motioned towards the paint that covered his current outfit.

Now she was in the kitchen, and the smell of bacon, eggs, and toast filled the entire house. His stomach growling, Sylar realized just how hungry he was as he rose from the couch and gravitated towards the kitchen, silently watching her.

She'd showered earlier and now wore a yellow-and-white sundress that had belonged to her mother, her long dark hair still slightly damp, hung loose over her shoulders as she stood, piling bacon onto a large plate.

A small smile tugged at Sylar's lips, and he took a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe. Like no one could find him. Like he wasn't in danger. He felt like he was...home.

"Breakfast!" Autumn called, whirling around and letting out a startled gasp when she saw him, "Oh! Damn it, you scared me!"

"Sorry." He chuckled softly as he strolled in and took the plate of bacon from her, setting it on the table before taking a seat, "I was just watching you cook." He eyed her up and down, raising an eyebrow, "I never pictured you in a dress before."

She blushed, frowning deeply as she sat down across from him, "Shut up! It's all I could find that wasn't completely destroyed."

"Calm down. I meant it in a good way." He smirked.

"Oh. Well then...thanks." She smiled awkwardly, still frowning slightly.

They ate in silence, which Sylar found comforting and not awkward in the least. He found himself feeling comfort, like he could stay there forever with her--a normal life for two very abnormal people. That would've made him happy. Wouldn't it?

He couldn't deny the hunger growing inside him--one that bacon and eggs wouldn't fulfill. Hunger for a new power--for something new to play with.

Her power to play with.

A sudden pain struck his head and he closed his eyes, a thousand emotions, a million thoughts stampeding through his mind and pulsating through his veins. There were so many paths he could take. A thousand different lives he could lead. Which way would he turn?

"Sylar?"

His eyes flew open, his gaze landing on the pretty face that was etched with worry. "I'm fine." He whispered gently, before his body went limp and he simply slid out of the chair and collapsed onto the ground.

"Sylar!"