for philosophy_20: infinity (with four_too_long)

[heroslayer]

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.

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[four-too-long.livejournal.com]

Nearing the building located on the corner of two streets, names he couldn’t be bothered to remember at the moment, the snow rapidly changed color from pure white, to distressed red, no shades in between. Then jaggered imprints back to the open door of the building, and Adam had realized that no, this was not just the world worst attempt at making a snow angel. The angel had already fallen. Several times, from the looks of it.

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.