for the_muses_stage: victory

[heroslayer]

He could hear them moving down the hallway. Not that the Haitian was ever particularly loud, not much of a talker and quite possibly better at the whole stealth game than he was, but Elle was making a show of things, babbling loudly to him, her voice echoing down the corridor as they moved towards him.

Any other time, he supposed it might have made a guy suspicious -- why talk so loud if you weren't trying to signal someone else you were on the way? -- but he thought it worked rather well here. Elle was the hysterical near-widow, after all, and fear or worry or whatever stew of emotions she was supposed to be marinating in had a tendency to change the quality of one's voice. He'd heard it enough times when one of his victims bothered trying to beg him for mercy.

Dimly amused, he turned his chair away from the door and sunk down in it, stretching out until he was sure his head couldn't be seen over the top of the leather. The door swung open just seconds later.

Elle cleared her throat. "Can you just wait here for a minute? I think I need something to drink."

The Haitian must have nodded, because the door clicked shut behind him again, and Sylar used the last of his power to lock the door behind her before the Haitian's own closed down around him. He took a moment to acclimate himself to his new-found weakness, something near panic threatening to descend upon him, and then spun the chair around slowly, straightening.

"Lovely weather we're having." The Haitian tensed, albeit near-imperceptibly, and he smiled, some of his own apprehension falling away. It was a relief to know he could still incite terror, even when they both knew his abilities were temporarily suppressed. "It's like this in Haiti most of the time, right?"

"You did not come here to discuss the weather."

"Guess not." He hummed, getting up from his seat casually, and rounded the desk. He perched on the edge of it, reaching back for one of Nathan's ridiculous little paperweights and turned it over in his hands idly, feigning interest in in rather than the other man. He kept the Haitian in sight from the corners of his eyes, however. "Though, if you want to get right down to it, I didn't really 'come here' in the first place -- or, well, not today, anyway. I've been here awhile, and you? You came to me."

"You were Nathan when we came here months ago." It wasn't a question; he should have figured at least someone was paranoid enough to think he hadn't just dropped off the face of the earth.

He shrugged it off. "Yep. But if it makes you feel any better, Nathan's fine." He paused, raising his eyes to him for an instant, and flashed him a crooked smile. "Well ... mostly. I heard he had a nasty run in with an angry contractor and a nail bomb. Poor guy."

The Haitian said nothing, and he set the paper weight down, pushing off the desk again. He reached out mentally, trying to get something on the bookshelves by the door to move, and nothing happened. He could have sworn he felt something shift, however, something small and immaterial, whatever leash the other man had on his abilities slipping. The smile he mustered a moment before only grew.

"You're flaking out, René. Just like you did with Arthur." He made a short, sharp hand gesture, and while again nothing happened, the Haitian winced. "I was there, you know. Watching from the doorway. I wanted to see if Peter had the guts to kill him or if the conversation would shift to little old me. I have to say it was kind of disappointing to watch -- like a bad soap opera -- but watching him beat you? That's a different story. That was so worth it."

Sylar pushed again, and the Haitian stumbled backwards into the door, groaning. He fumbled for doorknob, found it locked, and glanced up to Sylar, wide-eyed. "Did I forget to mention I locked the door before you got too close? I'm sorry. That was really very rude of me."

Another shove, and the Haitian sagged back against the door under his own power, the killer's telekinesis still not quite working. He was so close now, though, and he took a step forward, his confidence bolstered, kneeling down in front of the other man. They sat there for a moment in silence, staring at each other, Sylar still pushing, trying any and all of his powers now, the Haitian slowly coming apart, whimpering now, then finally, he raised a hand, finger leveling along the top of the Haitian's skull.

"I'm not as strong as Arthur. Not yet," he told him, his eyes twinkling with malice. "And here I was, thinking you'd be more of a challenge because of it." He flexed his fingers and something shattered leaving the other man gasping, his eyelids fluttering erratically. "My mistake."

He shifted to start cutting, the grin on his face shifting with him, positively deranged now, and the Haitian cried out. Happily, he ignored him. Not so happily, however, it seemed the other man still possessed at least some measure of self-preservation, and with another cry, this one a battle shout rather than a yell of pain, he threw himself at Sylar. He tumbled backwards, the Haitian on top of him, and they both hit the desk with a terrible thud, office supplies scattering around them.

He tried to get up, but the Haitian pushed him back down. He tried to push him away telekinetically, but the wall between him and his abilities had returned full force, blood dribbling from the Haitian's nose under the effort it was taking to keep him subdued. So much for easy.

Growling, he aimed an awkward punch at the side of his head, and while the Haitian ducked out of the way, it didn't earn him his escape. He tried again, and this time the Haitian caught his arm, pinning him to the carpet viciously. His other hand went around his throat, pressing down, making it hard to breath and Sylar choked, sudden horror reasserting itself. His free arm flailed uselessly, not trying to get him off again, but rather looking for something -- anything -- he could use as a weapon.

Papers. Pens (he'd never be able to drive the thing far enough into his skull to kill him without his telekinesis). A clock (it never kept the right time, always running a few seconds too slow no matter how much he fiddled with it). Nathan's paperweight.

Fingers closing around it, he swung it at the Haitian's head as hard as he could, and the man's grip on his throat and his abilities loosened abruptly. With a vicious swipe of his arm, strength once again bolstered by his abilities, he threw him back into the wall and got to his feet hurriedly. He wasted no time moving over to him, fingers still closed around the useless thing that had saved his life.

"Too bad I can't make you suffer for that."

Oh, but he could and he did, bringing the paperweight down on the crown of his head again and again and again.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1225
Note: Elle is not_myfirstday and is used with love. The use of the Haitian is not directed at any specific journal.