heroslayer | for philosophy_20: caught in the form of limitation

You don't know why you're going to see him.

In the past, you only went when you needed something, but you haven't needed anything from him in years. You haven't truly needed anything from anyone in years, and it's good to be able to know that kind of peace, even if it is a struggle sometimes. But still, you're taking the time and effort--and it does take time and effort, considering you have a four-year-old you can't take your eyes off for ten seconds--to track him down.

Maybe it's something of the old you, still hanging around, but you doubt it. It's more likely you're leaving your son with his grandmother because you've heard the rumors and you don't like them.

They say he's still in New York, still at his lab, although it's in shambles, now. They say he did it--trashed his own workspace, so very out of character for him--but with good reason. And the good reason happens to be that they're also saying he's a monster, now. Like something out of a nightmare, he haunts the dark of that loft--so many bad memories there--but they don't know his ends. Some say he's still working on a cure for himself. Others, that he's little more than a beast now, and animals never stray far from their dens, when they can help it.

Either way, though, you need to see him. It's right, by your vastly improved moral standards, when he helped you time and time again. It's necessary, even if he has become some kind of monster, because he never turned you away, when you were, even if you gave him no choice. You need to see him.

You miss him; it's been four years. So, you go.

For the first time in a long time--since everything changed, since Noah--you allow yourself the use of your stolen abilities. It makes the fire that's long since gone dead in your heart spring to life, threatening a blaze that burns you up from the inside out, but you need what you've taken. It makes it easier to go unnoticed, because you're sure that, if he hears you, he'll run, and you don't want that.

You slip into the loft silently, close your eyes, and listen. You don't need to kill your vision to hear him--you'd still be able to pick his heartbeat out anywhere--but you can't bear to look around the room. The rumors are looking like they might be true, especially considering the shape of the lab. Especially when you're fairly sure that rattling wheeze of breath coming from the corner is him.

"Mohinder?"

You don't dare open your eyes just yet, and you feel like you're playing some sick version of Marco-Polo. The fact that he rasps your name in response doesn't help. "Sylar."

"What," you both start at the same time; you stop, he doesn't, "do you want?"

"I wanted to see you."

"See me," he echoes, like it takes him a second to grasp what the words' meaning. "Why? Come to kill me for my ability? Come to take this curse?"

"No." You open your eyes, scanning the gloom to find him hunched in the corner, hood of his sweatshirt hanging over his face like a shroud. You take a step forward, and he skitters away like a cockroach suddenly exposed, not wanting to be trapped. It would be so easy to pin him to the spot so he doesn't keep running from you, but you can't. Not when that way leads back to destruction. Not when he's breaking your heart. "I thought maybe--"

"You thought wrong," he hisses, ducking behind some shelving as if it will hide him from view. "Go away."

You hesitate, consider it, but something makes you stay. Something makes the most inane things start coming out of your mouth. Maybe it's the fact that you're looking for common ground; you want to dust off that connection the two of you used to have and make it real, again. "I'm living in Costa Verde, now. In Bennet's old house, actually. With my son, Noah."

He doesn't answer, and so you try and get around the shelf he's put between you, still talking. It seems like every time you take a step forwards, however, he shuffles a handful back. "I wanted to name him Mohinder, but I don't think Elle would have like that much."

His breathing shifts; clearly he doesn't believe what he's being told. "You ... have a son? Why haven't you killed him yet? Isn't he like you? Like her?"

"I don't know," you answer, shrugging your eyebrows. "But it doesn't matter. I haven't killed anyone in so long, Mohinder. It's been years."

"I don't believe you."

Outwardly, you pointedly ignore him, still trying to get close. Inwardly, though? Well, you're a master of dancing around subjects, so you have a response--an explanation--even if it's the most roundabout one you can find. Some things never change; your game with the geneticist is, apparently, one of them.

"I figured it out, you know. The hunger." Your expression darkens, as you can feel that personal demon trying to claw its way out of your heart. "It's ... a part of my power. My aptitude. If I'd only figured that out sooner, maybe no one would have had to die for me."

You manage to catch his eyes here, your stare hypnotic when you want it to be, and you pretend not to notice the way the light from the boarded windows behind you makes him flinch. Or the scales around his eyes where dark circles used to be ever-present. Or any number of things; you could make a list.

You can also remember a time where you'd just take him, right here and now. Just go over to him, grab his arm before he could react and pull him close, claiming what's yours--what's always been yours--but you were both too slow to realize it, and it's too late. Mohinder's clearly not going to let you near him and your life is written in limitation now. So, instead, you find a piece of paper and scribble your address and phone number on it, just in case, and then you head for the door.

You hesitate, hand an inch from the knob, and listen to him skitter around in the dark. You think of telling him you love him--will always love him, no matter what he looks like. That there's a piece of your heart that will always belong to him. You think better of it--what's that Eliot quote? Caught in the form of limitation? Shame you have them now, but you actually have people back home who are counting on you, expecting you, so you can't give yourself up for him.

Not anymore.

"Good bye, Mohinder."

Even if you know it breaks you both.

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1136