heroslayer | the enemy of my enemy is my friend (rp for factnotbelief)

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the enemy of my enemy is my friend (rp for factnotbelief)

He doesn't like this.

Sylar knows he needs help if he's going to take on Parkman and Petrelli -- he might be smarter than both of them, but they're better armed, and he's never been good at fighting on two fronts -- but people don't just offer people like him help without a catch. Arthur's going to want something from him in return, and as good as he usually is about repaying kindness where kindness is offered, he likes to do it on his own terms. He wants to be the one who decides what and when people get something out of him, not have a debt held over his head, and he knows that's how it's going to go with Arthur. The Petrelli patriarch's already tried it, feeding him some bullshit story about how he's his son to him over the phone to try and make him feel obligated, and he doesn't owe him a damn thing yet. It can only get worse from here on out, he figures, and it's not like he can't find Suresh on his own. He's done it before, biding his time until the heroes let their guard down and move on to more important things, and he's got all the time in the world to wait now. They don't.

Unfortunately, however, neither does Suresh and as angry as he is, he's not too keen on waiting to reclaim what's his and what should belong to him, and that probably explains why, against his better judgement, he gets out of the car and stalks up to the building. If this goes badly, he'll just kill Arthur and go his own way. He makes a show of making sure Arthur knows that's in the cards, too, blowing the door off the hinges as he reaches it in a disturbing display of power. Arthur told him not to kill anyone on his way up here, and he didn't, but he never said he couldn't wreck his little house of cards when he got here.

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For a moment, that doesn't seem to register, or perhaps it just doesn't bother Mohinder. That lasts one entire minute before his thoughts, loud and in Hindi, burst out angrily. Tuma aisā karanē kā kō'ī adhikāra hai!

It's true. They had no right to do that to him. And it hurts. It hurts and he has no outlet for that hurt. He breaks away from from Sylar towards Matt's body, shouting at it.

"Tuma kō'ī adhikāra nahīṁ thā! You were my best friend! Maiṁ āpa mēṁ viśvāsa thā! How could you have kiyā hai ki mērē li'ē?!" It's the ultimate breach of trust. Mohinder feels tattered. He leaves the room immediately, still seething.

He follows him, grabbing his shirt on the way out. Daddy can take care of the body; he has more important things to worry about. Like making sure Mohinder doesn't do anything stupid. Not that he's sure what to say or do at this point -- though, he supposes, if Mohinder wanted he could let him kill him, however temporarily -- but he feels compelled to follow him all the same.

He nearly rips his shirt out of Sylar's grasp, rounding on the other man. "Where's Peter?" The soft 'r' at the end of the other man's name drops away with the melodious accent. "I need to speak with him." A violation is one thing from men who see him as an enemy now, but to have he memories turned over and ransacked as if in a police raid? No. That's unacceptable.

"I don't know," he answers honestly, frowning. "He wasn't on the menu, so Arthur didn't tell me where he was."

There are ways of finding him, though, just as he planned on finding Parkman if Arthur had gone back on his promise. They could ask the Petrelli patriarch, for one, or he could try taking it from his mind. He could reach out for Peter's thoughts and track him that way. Or they could just start going through rooms and hope to find him in this maze. Either way, he shrugs.

"Find him." Mohinder asks for so little. Generally, it's to spare his life, leave him be, or not to hurt those he cares about along with a desire to be useful in his chosen field. And though he's demanding rather than asking for help for this, there's really no reason why he shouldn't be able to get it.

Arthur sighs and glances at Maury as he heads back to his office to meet the two. "Your boy is still causing problems for us and he's dead!" he quipped, arriving just before Mohinder had his small tantrum, growling out his desire to see Peter. Arthur folds his hands over his desk. "He's no longer a problem," he assures the pair. "And he'll never hurt you again, doctor. I've seen to it."

"You killed him?"

It's not the way Arthur words that that makes him immediately jump on that possibility -- it's that being in his presence is like being in a room full of broken clocks. He can sense his power, stronger now than it was the last time he was in a room with him, and it's his only guess. He said his original ability was similar to his and Peter's, after all, and he made a casual threat about having the opportunity to take his own abilities away from him, so he doesn't just borrow. Not like Peter.

Arthur laughs and gestures for the two men to sit. "Kill him? Good God, no. He's my son. I'd no sooner kill him than I would you."

Any attempt at reading Arthur's mind is met with an extreme feed back loop and both the older Petrelli and his supposed son suffer from it. Mohinder's quick to see to Sylar, frowning as he does so. "All right, if you've not killed him--"

"I've removed his powers. His body's in shock but recovering. We're not monsters here, doctor," Arthur says, wiping his mouth. "Not even Gabriel. I've something to show you both."

Sylar puts his hands to his temples, trying to massage away the lingering pain from trying to read Arthur's mind. It helps, albeit marginally, and he makes a mental note not to try that again before moving to take a seat in one of the chairs Arthur had offered them. Between his inability to read Arthur's mind and the idea that he might lose everything he's worked so hard for over the last few years in an instant, he suddenly doesn't like this much.

"What?"

"Doctor?" He watches Mohinder get up so very slowly before he leads the pair down the halls to the elevator and then the basement once more. "You've seen the medical technology we have here. Now look what else we can offer."

Arthur's amused at the way that Mohinder's eyes widen and he heads to one of the computer terminals. There aren't just incubators here, electron microscopes, or centrifuges. Arthur has offered Mohinder a geneticist's wet dream. And it shows on the doctor's face as he turns towards Sylar and his supposed father. "What's the catch?"

Arthur smiles. "No catch. Though we had been hoping you'd restart work on your research for a serum to provide artificial abilities to humans."

He likes this even less now.

"He can't," Sylar tells him adamantly. "He tried that once before, and I stopped him, because it's wrong on so many levels. How long before someone worse than me gets their hands on it?" He's comfortable with being the thing in the dark, a monster, despite Arthur trying to reassure everyone present otherwise. "And that's assuming it even works at all. The last time he tried it, it didn't turn out right. It would have killed anyone who tried it."

Or at least ruined their DNA to a point beyond repair.

Mohinder frowns. This is the chance he's been waiting for. Not only will Arthur provide him the most impressive of all laboratories to work in, but will fuel his desire to figure out how DNA mutations have let to abilities.

"Don't you see," he asks, hope in his eyes replacing the anger at Matt and Peter for the state they left his mind in, "this research is good for more than just providing people with abilities. It can be the basis for neutralizing those with self destructive ones, or providing limitations for the dangerous. I could do some good here, Sylar. Some actual good!"

Actual and so very misguided.

He frowns at him for a long moment, then looks away. "Fine. Do your thing, Mohinder."

If this starts looking bad, though -- or if it starts looking like Arthur has Mohinder working on a way to mute his abilities -- he'll put an end to it. He knows where the lab is; he knows where Flint is. If worse comes to worst, he'll murder the latter to destroy the former or just force Flint into doing it for him. It'll depend on his mood, if and when it comes to that.

At least he seems happy and for one brief span of time, without any trauma. He'll be left to tend to his lab, though first:

"Sylar needs to rest. His new abilities are causing too much activity in his brain for him to heal. We'll need somewhere secluded, somewhere that others don't wander close to." Mohinder won't leave Sylar until he can hold his own again. It would be suicidal.

Barring the occasional stray thought he picks up on when he's not focusing himself entirely on Mohinder's mind or his own, he's pretty sure he's fine. The ability seems settled finally and he doesn't think much of the trauma apparent in the MRI pictures. It's par for the course when he patchworks a new ability into his body and mind, and the damage does heal eventually, even if it does so more slowly than the rest of his body and leaves its scars on his sanity.

He doesn't argue that, though -- he's never been the most social person, and he needs time away from all the ridiculous little meetings Arthur's been leading them in and out of -- and they're shown to a room just down the hall from Mohinder's shiny new lab. It's Spartan, not unlike his apartment, save for his collection of books, but it'll do, and that in mind, he settles down on the edge of the bed once they're alone.

Edited 2011-07-17 20:56 (UTC)

Mohinder might just be glowing, curly hair splayed back on the door as he leans against it. It's the last thing he's been needing. Sylar gives him adventure and affection and protection, but this project gives him purpose. He's already forgotten his need to see Peter and while he has not forgotten Matt, his loss is bearable.

He's got a great ability to switch on and off his morality as if on cue or with a simple click of his finely boned fingers.

"How's your head?"

"Barring the feedback or whatever the hell that was when I tried to read Arthur's mind?" He shrugs and leans back on the bed, taking up more space on it than is strictly necessary. "I'm fine. I keep getting little things from other people in the building, but ... "

But for the most part, he's good. The tricks to dealing with a new ability come to him quicker now, either from using his own so often or from having had so many different abilities over the years.

"Good." Mohinder follows, as he always does, taking up whatever space is left on the small bed. He sets his hand on Sylar's shoulder, nose against his ear.

Are we being watched?

He turns his head, presumably to give Mohinder better access to his jaw and throat -- in reality, though, he's looking for cameras without trying to seem obvious. He can't see any, but he doubts that Arthur wouldn't be keeping an eye on his investments, and he reaches out to brush his thoughts against Mohinder's lightly to tell as much.

I don't see any cameras, but I wouldn't be surprised.

Mohinder is now thoroughly convinced that Sylar's telepathy is a gift, despite how gun shy it makes him personally. He trusts Sylar by now, not only to come for him so long as they are together (he'll likely kill him when they're through anyhow), but not to harm him in such a way. Being thrown around is one thing.

And honestly, having the ability to talk to the man in private is comforting.

Mohinder plays his part well, nuzzling under Sylar's chin, dropping kisses down his throat. Peter must still be here. He's the perfect candidate for any serum experiments. His body is primed to accept abilities. I should be quite able to discover your relation to them.

Sylar hums and slips his fingers up into his hair, enjoying the attention even if it's a pretext for having a silent conversation.

Or you could end up killing him if you don't get it right this time. He has faith in Mohinder's abilities, but he also doesn't want to see Peter dead. Hurt, maybe, for being the constant thorn in his side, for kidnapping Mohinder and breaking into his memories, but not dead. There's no point to it now. Peter is prey without adequate natural defenses -- a lion reduced to a rabbit. But you could tell if we're related or not based on a blood sample?

For all he knows about people and the way the human body works, he has no idea what a person can or can't tell from blood save for a few things that might be artistic liberty from the occasional rerun of criminal dramas on TV.

So much for faith in him. Mohinder does have a desire to hurt Peter, but kill him? No, Mohinder is not a killer. He has no intention of actually hurting anyone, no matter what he wants. Slipping his hand under Sylar's shirt, scratching teasingly at his ribs, Mohinder sighs.

He really hopes that they aren't being watched. He's not much of an exhibitionist.

It's called PCR testing. I should, very easily, be able to determine the likelihood that you are siblings in a few days.

He can't help but moan at that brush of fingers against his ribs. He arches his back into his hands, biting down on his lower lip, his thoughts against Mohinder's erratic and dark, like the flutter of wings against glass. He tightens his fingers in the Indian's hair, trying to catch his breath. If they were being watched, they're not now -- the others may like to pry, but they have no interest in where this looks as though it's going.

Do it, he manages, once he can pin down his thoughts again. I need to know.

It isn't as if they're hiding their relationship. Arthur knows, more than likely. And despite his happiness at being given this project, he's on guard. Arthur says he isn't monster and yet, he'd fed Sylar. Stray thoughts about how little Mohinder actually trusts that man pulling the strings makes it into the space housing their mental conversation.

It's not like Mohinder is in any way capable of blocking his thoughts, not without the sort of training that someone like Bennet mastered. Even if that might be a good idea if Arthur's a telepath now too.

Thanks Peter.

Leave me some of your blood tomorrow, he thinks purposefully, taking down the fly he only half an hour ago zipper up.

He makes a soft, affirmative noise, and lifts his hips into Mohinder's hands in an effort to help him with his fly, then reaches for Mohinder's to return the favor. Sex after a kill is always somehow better, he's learned -- he's excited to see how much more amazing still it'll be now that he can be in his head at the same time. Parkman had no idea what he was missing.

It's like being the centre of someone's universe. There's no other way to describe it. Mohinder's not a quiet man, vocally murmuring about his pleasure as he grips onto the headboard, toes finding purchase in the sheets. The same is true for his thoughts, all of which guide Sylar from becoming a talented lover to the best lover Mohinder could ever imagine.

He's left an almost sobbing mess, the strength and degree of his orgasm rocking him long after Sylar's found his own. He's still trembling, laughing from time to time, his joy in the other man almost surreal.

Sylar is a murderer that no one had ever wanted for who he truly is until now. He'll never have to doubt Mohinder's affection again.

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