Sylar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heroslayer) wrote2008-09-01 01:22 am
heroslayer) wrote2008-09-01 01:22 am
for philosophy_20: infinity (with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
four_too_long)
The wind from this height was nothing short of frigid, but he supposed that was nothing surprising. The weather in Colorado was oftentimes fickle, particularly where winters were concerned, and the air here had long since cleared of any smog that might have held warmth to the city. Couple that with the fact that lightning had struck here years back, burning down a fair part of it - this building seemed to be the only thing with any height, still standing - and well. What remained of Denver was all too willing to hold a chill.
Sylar, however, seemed nothing short of unconcerned.
It didn't matter. His skin would heal itself - was healing itself - from the wind burn, and there was no way he could die of hypothermia or anything along those lines. Not anymore. Not for years. Not since Adam had offered him his gift, decades ago.
At the time it had been everything he'd ever wanted, his fear of death forever banished. He wouldn't have to lust after the cheerleader and her power from afar, because he wasn't allowed to take it. He'd never have to worry about any injury, which was something that was a distinct possibility, from fixing the power in New York to the wild dogs that had come with that first spring. He'd never have to grow old and die. He was immortal. Eternal. Infinite. Forever younger than thirty and loving every second of it.
And he'd been so high on power at the time that he hadn't seen the one hitch in his plan. His attachment to Mohinder.
It had taken him years to notice, really. He'd been so blind that he'd ignored the fact that the geneticist had taken to wearing glasses when he read or the gray hairs that had started appearing in his hair. He hadn't noticed, still saw him as the man he'd met in Virginia Beach all those years ago, until Suresh had gotten sick. And by then it was far, far too late. Mohinder had fallen apart in his arms, succumbing to old age, and he'd come to the city in the wake of his love's death to try and find a way to end his own life.
So far, it hadn't been going very well. All he'd managed to do was throw himself off of a building, this building, three times. He'd broken every bone in his body, every time. And while he knew how to work his ability far better than Adam did, so much so that he could turn it on and off at will - usually when he wanted to keep the marks the Indian left on him after they slept together - his body revolted every time he hit pavement. It was like putting too much weight on wet rice paper. He sustained a mortal wound, even when the ability was off, and it snapped back on to ensure his continued survival. It was turning out to be more curse than gift.
He sighed at the thought, breath caught in frigid air for a moment, before shuffling towards the edge of the roof. Did he really want to throw himself off the building again? The pain wasn't doing much for him, not taking the edge off the ache in his chest in the least, and he clearly wasn't going to die, so why bother? Why bother.
Another sigh, and instead of throwing himself off the roof a fourth time, he settled down on the ledge, feet dangling down over the remains of the city. He'd stay here awhile and think. About what, he didn't know, but that was what he had done when upset, once upon a time.
Sylar, however, seemed nothing short of unconcerned.
It didn't matter. His skin would heal itself - was healing itself - from the wind burn, and there was no way he could die of hypothermia or anything along those lines. Not anymore. Not for years. Not since Adam had offered him his gift, decades ago.
At the time it had been everything he'd ever wanted, his fear of death forever banished. He wouldn't have to lust after the cheerleader and her power from afar, because he wasn't allowed to take it. He'd never have to worry about any injury, which was something that was a distinct possibility, from fixing the power in New York to the wild dogs that had come with that first spring. He'd never have to grow old and die. He was immortal. Eternal. Infinite. Forever younger than thirty and loving every second of it.
And he'd been so high on power at the time that he hadn't seen the one hitch in his plan. His attachment to Mohinder.
It had taken him years to notice, really. He'd been so blind that he'd ignored the fact that the geneticist had taken to wearing glasses when he read or the gray hairs that had started appearing in his hair. He hadn't noticed, still saw him as the man he'd met in Virginia Beach all those years ago, until Suresh had gotten sick. And by then it was far, far too late. Mohinder had fallen apart in his arms, succumbing to old age, and he'd come to the city in the wake of his love's death to try and find a way to end his own life.
So far, it hadn't been going very well. All he'd managed to do was throw himself off of a building, this building, three times. He'd broken every bone in his body, every time. And while he knew how to work his ability far better than Adam did, so much so that he could turn it on and off at will - usually when he wanted to keep the marks the Indian left on him after they slept together - his body revolted every time he hit pavement. It was like putting too much weight on wet rice paper. He sustained a mortal wound, even when the ability was off, and it snapped back on to ensure his continued survival. It was turning out to be more curse than gift.
He sighed at the thought, breath caught in frigid air for a moment, before shuffling towards the edge of the roof. Did he really want to throw himself off the building again? The pain wasn't doing much for him, not taking the edge off the ache in his chest in the least, and he clearly wasn't going to die, so why bother? Why bother.
Another sigh, and instead of throwing himself off the roof a fourth time, he settled down on the ledge, feet dangling down over the remains of the city. He'd stay here awhile and think. About what, he didn't know, but that was what he had done when upset, once upon a time.
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Dust had settled on the stairs, disturbed by a trail of footprints leading from the ground to the highest floor, some trails with, while others without, the addition of blood droplets. The vagabond trail led from the top floor to a stairwell labeled ‘Roof Access: Personnel only,’ and from there, a few more stairs into the very highest point of the building. Rusted mechanics of metal that had held the roof access door to it’s frame was already left open, the pieces still whole were frail enough keep it from being shut unless forced to.
Sylar had probably heard him coming ages ago, the other’s enhanced hearing could probably hear his steps that remained silent to even Adam himself. A few steps closer, crunching tentatively through the snow, as if the slightly loud sound would send the other off the structure once again, Adam finally gained the voice to speak softly.
“I’ve been looking for you.” In all truth, he probably wouldn’t have found him, had he not have had help from Molly. Her attitude was less than happy, but considering her adoptive father had died less than a week ago, that was understandable. Days previous to finally finding him were spent day and night searches through barns, and houses, even considering checking New York again, if Sylar had some how found a way to make it back there.
Still a distance away, but approaching, slowly and hushed, “What are you doing up here?” Why he had bothered to ask, he didn’t know. It was quite clear already what Sylar had been up to, and regretted asking to begin with. Sylar had lost a loved one for the very first time, and now was it clear that to him he could not take his own life as well. He never pointed it out before hand, before he had allowed Sylar to copy his ability, for the selfish reason that he wanted Sylar’s company. Even through the years of witnessing Mohinder aging, the other had seemed not to notice. It was that constant happiness from Sylar in Mohinder’s presence that had brought a smile to Adam’s own face, during times when he really normally couldn’t have. The immortal knew this was coming, from start to finish. He’d experienced it first hand, after all.
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And when he finally did manage the motivation to speak, it wasn't to answer the question. Or at least not directly. "I've thrown myself off this building three times."
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Standing just to the right of the other, he looked out at the deserted city, a ghostly reflection of what it once was. Buildings had deteriorated, some overwhelmed by vines and plants, it was actually surprising this one in particular was still mostly intact.
“I’m sorry.” For your loss. For your curse, now, Adam continued in his mind. Nothing he could say would really take away any sort of pain from the other, but it felt like an appropriate thing to say. So long as he didn’t mention any names… Sylar will mourn. And then, he will move on.
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If this had happened years ago, he might have blamed the other immortal. He would have dissolved into a pit of anger, hellbent on making sure Adam died as painfully as possible and stayed dead. Or, barring that, he would have at very least tortured the other man until he'd wished he could take his final rest. He would have had all eternity to do it, forever to come up with new and creative ways to make him suffer. He would have made what the Company had done to him near a century ago look like a walk in the park. But he couldn't.
Mohinder was gone. They all were. Only the children were still alive, now. Molly. Micah. Monica, who was getting old and feeble. Matt and Bridget's son, who he didn't have the heart to recall the name of, at the moment. But he'd never been comfortable around the children, even if they'd grown into responsible adults who accepted him perhaps far better than their elders had, and all because they had no idea what he was capable of. And the people who he'd truly hinged his life on were dead.
He wasn't sure he could cope. How Adam could, after years and years and years of loss. So, finally, he asked, "How do you do it?"
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He opened his eyes half way, before continuing, “I drank.” Sylar had long since known that he still does. “More than usual. That was as fleeting as it always was.” Good for the moments when he wanted to forget, until his mind would automatically correct that for him.
“Often times, I tried to find someone else to force the pain away.” Some times just a matter of a few years, in other cases decades until he remarried. “Even then, they never stayed long in life.” Due to some unfortunate accident, or just passing away in their sleep, he had long since realized that no matter how many times he would open his heart up, his love would always end up a past tense one day or another. Even if he would think to himself you’ll always have the memories, he learned the difficult way that the strongest ones that remained, were bad enough to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. As did much of his marriages, in their final moments.
Adam doesn’t know what type of answer Sylar might be looking for, if it’s something he’s looking to confirm or realize… “Time continues to heal wounds that our immortality cannot, if we allow it to.” The sort of fixing that requires the will power to stop dwelling on the past, on wounds that wouldn’t close up immediately.
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He wasn't sure what he'd been looking for, from Adam, but that wasn't it. Time didn't heal, it killed. It was a predatory. It had been his master, his teacher, with its chiming bells and ticking fingers, forever pointing him towards his next victim. Marking them for him in low, intimate whispers whenever he looked too long at someone special. It counted out time for him, helped him mark the passage of it in death, and then he'd forgotten it.
He gained immortality, forgotten it - her because time had to be a woman for how cruel it was - and she had exacted her revenge. She'd stripped everything he'd ever know away from him. Everything he'd loved or hated or lusted after. Everything but Adam. She couldn't touch that, because he was like him. Timeless. Turned away from her.
And as comforting as that was, he still couldn't help but snarl, "Time's a bitch."
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Looking back down to the city before them, muttered mostly to himself, “Time shall giveth, Time shall taketh away.” Taking life, giving life, nothing was permanent in it’s perspective. Except for the two of them. Their existence proved that wrong, taunting their actuality in the face of Time. And for that fact, saw fit to have them tortured by the very thing that kept them alive.
He had never been exceedingly good at comforting people, others who needed it. He wasn’t sure how to do it for even himself, let alone Sylar. Taking in a breath and sighing, he made another attempt, “…To pass away peacefully is the best you can ask for.”
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He looked entirely unimpressed by this answer, however. He should have noticed Suresh wasting away, he should have seen him getting sick - it well within the scope of his aptitudes, after all - but he hadn't. He'd been blind. He'd been stupid. And as Mohinder had slipped away, and where he'd been unseeing when the geneticist had lived, he'd been a coward when he'd died. He could have brought him back, it was within his power - within his blood - but he hadn't. He couldn't. He didn't know what it would do to Mohinder, to bring him back like that.
He felt compelled to point this out to Adam. "I could have brought him back, you know."
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“People were not intended to live too long.” He realized this statement must have sounded ironic. Saying how humans are meant to die when they age, and yet here he is, at the age four-hundred twenty-three, Sylar being in his eighties or nineties at least, but neither of them look a day over thirty.
Shifting slightly closer to Sylar, he continued. “…You cannot blame yourself for not bringing him back. These things happen.”
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"I told Mohinder that, once, when we ... " First entered their relationship? That sounded cheap. First recognized their connection? Not deep enough. And so on and so forth, until he ran out of ways to try and say it. He hoped Adam got the hint.
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He reached his hand out of his coat pocket, and gently placed it on top of Sylar’s own. The other man’s hand was just as cold as the snow, perhaps even colder if that was possible, but Adam did not hesitate to keep it there.
After having waited a few moments, he spoke softly, “Gabriel…” If that didn’t get the other to open his eyes, nothing would. “I won’t be dying any time soon.”
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But Adam was right. He wasn't as fragile as everyone else was turning out to be. "I'm cold," he mumbled, finally, eyes opening to cast a guardedly pleading look at Adam. Sixty years, and he still couldn't bring himself to show weakness like that in full.
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He wrapped his fingers around the darker haired immortal’s hand, taking the movement as encouragement rather than a sign to back away. The look he had sent Adam answered his question. Sylar wanted comfort, something sturdy to depend on. That was what Mohinder was to him, until death had parted the two. But he understood, more than Sylar might think. Understanding was something Adam felt expert in.
The blond was just as tired of losing people as Sylar was, and this might just be a moment of weakness on both ends, something that may end in regret later on like so many times before, but he couldn’t find himself caring about that entirely too much.
Adam raised his other hand from his pocket slowly, just barely brushing across …Gabriel’s face. Stopping just before touching his jaw, and then finally making contact with his palm, “Are you warmer now?”
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And so he turned his head into the other man hand, slowly. "A little."
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He had drawn closer to Gabriel, eyes half-closed, and his voice barely a whisper, “Just for a moment…” Don’t think about him. Focus on the here and now, for me. If you can. Adam kept those words unsaid, privately hoping his feelings were acknowledged at least. And if they weren’t… at least it would seem as if he was asking for permission to continue.
“Please.” He didn't mean for his voice to sound so open on that last word, but that barely could be helped now.
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He couldn't. Every time he felt connected to something bigger? Every time he felt accepted by someone, by his peers, by anyone? He would think of Mohinder. And all because the geneticist had been the first person to make him feel like that, from the moment he'd see him the first time, through the screen on Virgina Beach. It was why, beyond lying about who he really was, he'd tried to be candid with the other man. Tried to be who he really was, at his core, beyond the watchmaker and the murderer, beyond everything.
He made him feel.
But as much as he couldn't let go of the memory of Mohinder, he'd learned to deal with it long before now. He'd had to, to cope with the moments where he couldn't follow him through the dark. After Mohinder had found out who he really was and had run away. He'd contented himself then with thoughts that there was still something between them, a thread dragging them together, time and time again. That thread ensured he would darken the Indian's doorstep again, and it had been enough.
He didn't have that now, and something in his chest twisted, lungs suddenly too small to draw in the air he needed. That silver line of connection was gone. There would be no more days of breaking into his apartment while the cop wasn't there. No more nights of Mohinder sneaking down to his place in Queens, him opening the door for him before the geneticist even thought to pull out the key he had given him. No more feeling. Ever.
But Adam ... he was offering to give that to him, wasn't he? That's what the hand on his cheek was. That's what the feeling, whatever it was - something beyond the chill and the razor-sharp numb - settling in his chest was. Wasn't it?
He took a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed. "Alright."
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He had loved others in the past, looked back on them, trying to hold on to the fond memories rather than the sour ones. But they weren’t forever, they held no promise of being around the next day, or the day after that. Peter was as forever as they were, but he never could understand. Peter could never relate, even in painful times, there was an air of naivete surrounding him that he could not shake off. Sylar already knew what it was like, to lose and find and lose again, to be lost so utterly without someone’s guidance. Adam no longer needed to follow. Now he leads.
How much time had passed, the blond had lost track, preoccupied in giving Sylar the heat he possessed. It was awkward footing, leaning over to kiss Sylar, one that he realized he would lose, if they did not move soon. Not entirely too concerned with that, but rather more with Sylar’s reaction, Adam finally pulled away, just barely, breath puffing out faintly across the other’s face.
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The surprise was quick to pass, however, and then he was kissing back.
He was more delicate than he had ever been with Mohinder, almost hesitant. Not that he didn't want this - the connection, the warmth - more he had gotten used to having his things fall apart in his hands. Breaking like china dolls, no matter how careful he was. He knew that Adam wouldn't crumble to dust as surely as everything else in his life would, could still hear him ticking to confirm this, but he couldn't help it.
It didn't stop him from looking almost disappointed when Adam pulled away, though.
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“I won’t break.” Adam murmured against Gabriel’s lips, his hand that had wrapped itself around his friend’s squeezed just slightly to emphasize his words. “You don’t have to be alone.”
He moved his hand from the other immortal’s jaw to behind his neck, and began playing with the very tips of hair that lay there. Using that small gesture to drag him gently downward for another kiss, Adam tilted his head and parted his own lips to encourage Gabriel further.
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Why hadn't he told him it was going to be like this? Why hadn't he warned him that everything he loved, he'd have to leave behind? Could he fix it? Make the cold that had fenced in his heart go away? Was this plan all along? He didn't know. And as he traced his teeth roughly over Adam's lower lip, he decided that right now, he didn't care.
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If the teeth on his lip was an indication of anything, through a quick decision, Adam opened up to them. He figured Sylar would want dominance in this. As did he, but if this would guarantee Sylar’s stay, then this would be but a small sacrifice in return for what he would gain in return. Someone to spend eternity with.
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Adam wouldn't break, true, but he still felt. He'd feel Sylar throwing the two of them off the building more than just physically, and then what? Would the other immortal consider that a betrayal of trust? Would he decide that he just simply wasn't worth his time, if he did something like that, and leave him behind? He didn't know, and he really didn't want to find out.
So, instead of trying to murder them both, he pushed his tongue into Adam's mouth, surprisingly gentle when compared to the fury of his lips. And, curiously, he set to work tracing the ridges along the roof of his mouth.
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Even with eyes closed, Adam managed to pick up Gabriel’s hand that still lay in the snow, and positioned it on his hip, then taking his own hand, and mirroring the gesture on Gabriel’s hip.
From there, he pulled the other immortal man closer to him, and in the slowest of movements, began drifting away from the ledge, hoping to bring the other along with him. The further away from the edge, the better for the both of them. That small bit of concrete now meant something symbolic, it was the beginning of an endless cycle of dying, reviving, and repeating. Distance would put a stop to the cycle, but Adam would put an end to it.
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Eventually, however, as they swayed away from the ledge, nearly dancing, he either came to his senses or curoisity got the better of him, and as such, he pulled away. He didn't stray too far, though, fingers not on his hip still curled in his shirt, lips still ghosting his, as if he was trying to catch his breath and make his own, and the vague distance would help.
"Where are we going," he mumbled against his mouth.
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He continued dragging the other along with him, until his back was finally against the outer wall of the small room built solely for the purpose of sheltering the roof access stairwell. Far enough away for now, and although they should go inside, out of the cold, and somewhat more solid than what they were dealing with now - a frozen, likely deteriorating wall – but Adam wanted this without any further distractions. The longer you leave someone alone in their thoughts, the more doubt can cloud their minds. He didn’t want there to be any doubt or regret in this.
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"We should go inside," the killer offered, when he finally pulled away. And then, as if this was news to him, "It's snowing."
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He turned out his pockets, snow falling to meet its fellows on the ground in sick, wet thumps, and tried not to think of how he was fairly sure he'd made the same sound when he'd jumped. Tried and managed, mostly, as he followed Adam into the building without so much as a word.
And, where realization of just how freezing he was had been a dull one, when they'd stood on the roof, he was so very aware of it now. Mostly, he figured, because it was warmer, down here. Not warm by in any sense of the word, since the heating had died decades ago, but warmer, away from the wind and the snow. He couldn't help but shiver.
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But the room didn’t matter right now, only the individuals inside of it, Gabriel shaking enough Adam thought the other might collapse. “You probably aren’t doing yourself any favors by wearing a wet coat,” He commented, holding his eyes on Gabriel and watching him to see if he even had enough warmth for his breath to be visible in the surrounding frozen office.
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Probably because of all the trauma from killing himself again and again and again. Or, maybe, as Adam had pointed out, because he was still wearing his coat, wet and cold and not helping.
He made a face, reaching up to peel it off sluggishly, only to drop it on a long abandoned chair a moment later. His clothing was still wet, but no where near as saturated as the coat had been, and even if that was making things worse? It wasn't as though he could simply strip--then the cold would bite at him, just as surely as the wet had been, a moment before.
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If Sylar was to go unconscious on their way back home, without any form of transportation, it would quickly become a lengthy journey Adam would rather not make. Not if he could keep the other awake long enough before his body shut down into a temporary sleep.
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Shrugging into it, he was amazingly grateful for an instant that he and Adam were relatively the same build. Mostly. The coat wouldn't quite close over his chest, when he pulled it close, trying to draw the lingering body heat it held into himself, but it was good enough. It was dry and warm, where he wasn't, and it was--hopefully--giving his body break enough from the cold to save him from death and rebirth from hypothermia.
He hadn't stopped shivering, though. Not just yet.
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Even if Gabriel didn’t know that already, it gave Adam the excuse of there being reasoning behind pulling himself closer to the other. Along with the second time he pushed his lips against Gabriel’s, not forceful, but certainly sudden.
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He raised his hands to Gabriel’s arms to grasp the fabric lightly, and began to move them in a slightly rhythmic pattern along the other. An appropriate cure for hypothermia was friction, which is exactly what Adam planned on.
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He sighed, eyes fluttering closed slowly, and wrapped his arms around the other immortal. Again, whether it was for warmth or attention, it was hard to tell, but considering he was holding him like a child with a favored stuffed animal? A guess or two could be ventured.
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One arm remaining on Gabriel’s arm, the other dragged it’s way to take place on Sylar’s hip once again, fiddling with the fabrics that separated skin from skin. Adam’s own fingertips felt burning when he touched the comparison, if only his angel wasn’t so cold…
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"I've got a car. Downstairs." That would be warmer still with the heat on, even if he didn't particularly feel like moving. As was evidenced by the fact that, well, he didn't seem to be budging an inch.