for theatrical_muse: talk about something you used to love

"You know, I used to love this part."

The man he had pinned to the wall said nothing, grunting instead, and continued to struggle in a futile effort to get his hands free so he could renew his attack. Sylar looked somewhere between dimly amused and slightly irritated, and chanced a glance down at his shirt, his own blood drying on there from where he'd been caught off guard earlier. Really, he should have known better than to try the I don't want to hurt you angle -- that never worked with the already hostile -- but hindsight was twenty-twenty and he had a lot to learn about this whole hero business.

Shrugging off the thought, he raised his eyes back to his mark and pressed him harder into the cheap paneling at his back before repeating himself. "I used to love this part. Catching people like us, I mean."

He took a half-step forward, watching the other man from under his eyebrows and allowed him a wicked smirk. A part of him wanted to cut into him and see what made him tick, Claire only half right, the hunger that had made him a monster still baying at the back door of his mind in spite of his redemption, but he would restrain himself. Five years in his own personal hell had taught him how to and given him a reason to want to.

All the restraint in the world wouldn't stop him from putting the fear of God into this guy, though, not when he'd taken hostages and cast all of them in a terrible light, and his grin widened, taking on a manic edge. "Last time I bothered, I wasn't playing for Team Hero, though. I was like you." A pause, and then he amended, "I was better than you. I wouldn't have needed to involve other people."

Another skipped beat and he reached up, fingers ghosting over the other man's temple. He shuddered faintly; Sylar hummed approval. "I'd just get you alone, cut you open, and take what I wanted. Your ability. No one would miss you, not even a little bit. The world would be that much better off without you. I'd be that much better off without you. And the high that comes afterwards?"

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He let it out a wistful sigh, eyes opening again sharply, darting to the edges of his hairline. "That's the best part. That's the part I miss the most."

Allowing a moment for that to sink in, he wet his lips with his tongue and took a step back. A thoughtful look that took far less acting on his part than he would have expected crossed his face, and he raised a hand, a single finger level with the other man's hairline. "Maybe it's time I fell off the wagon."

The other man whimpered, renewing his struggle against the wall, clenching his eyes closed, tightly. It took all of his will power to put his hand down and remind himself that he didn't need more abilities.

"Lucky for you I'm not that guy anymore." He took another step away, turning towards the door only to find himself face to face with Peter, instead. He couldn't help but smile fondly, genuinely, and murmured, "I've got other things I care about now. Better things."

Thanfully, Peter didn't see to catch any of that -- or care much if he had -- and glanced past Sylar to the man pinned to the wall. "You ready?"

"You get his family out?" Sylar countered.

"Yeah."

"Then I guess we're done here."

Peter flashed him an instant's worth of a smile then moved around him, shoulders brushing his intentionally as he circled, and Sylar felt the roll of the hunger ebb away slowly. He had loved killing, had loved it and his powers more than anything for the longest time, but it was as he had said just a minute before. There were things he simply loved more, now. Things -- people -- like Peter.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 678
Note: Peter is hadtobeahero and is used with love and permission. The relationship between Peter and Sylar is meant to be platonic, but uh, feel free to read between the lines.