Sylar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heroslayer) wrote2009-01-21 05:53 pm
heroslayer) wrote2009-01-21 05:53 pm
for muses_gonewild: baggage claim
The first time he had been at JFK airport, it had been an experience. Getting checked in. Going through security, never once stopping to worry that his falsified papers would be a problem, because Sark was that damn good. Mohinder's murmured quips about how the airport staff addressed him as Brian or Mister Russo, as per his passport. It had been fun.
Now, however, standing in the baggage claim area of the airport, it felt like a cage, and he paced it as such, shoulders rolling with each step in such a way that made him seem more animal than man, and he didn't care who saw. He'd do what he damn well pleased, heedless of the small, disapproving looks he was getting from his partner, because this? This was the biggest waste of time he had ever encountered--he had to go find Sark and Bailiegh--and it, quite possibly, an act of God that he'd managed to stop himself from climbing up on the stationary belt, and up into the ceiling to find the damn bags himself.
Mohinder, who had dealt with his impatience well enough, caught that thought, and reached out to grab his wrist on the last pass, spinning him to face him. "That's not helping anyone, you realize."
"It's helping me, Suresh," he hissed, trying to tug his arm away; the geneticist only tightened his grip.
"No, it's not," he pointed out, frowning. "Baileigh and Sark aren't going anywhere, anytime soon, and your trying to pace a rut in the floor isn't going to make the bags come any faster. All it's serving is to draw unwanted attention to us."
Sylar was silent for a moment, tense, watching him from under his eyebrows. For as patient as he seemed on the surface, the killer could tell he was anything but, from his thoughts to the way he felt. Whether it was concern for Baileigh that was making the other man just as impatient as he was, want to get back to his family after being away for days, or simple bleed over from his racing thoughts, he didn't know, but under other circumstances, it would have been amazing. How controlled Mohinder was, despite evidence to the contrary.
It was also a small miracle that he, himself, wasn't having a telekinetic temper tantrum right here in the middle of the airport, but that was neither here nor there.
He sighed, relenting, and took his hand back from Mohinder--this time more gently--before lacing his fingers with his. He figured it was still safe territory, after all, since it wasn't as though they were going to see anyone they knew here, and well. Even if they were going to, it was just another thing to add to the ever-growing list of things he didn't care about, right now. Clearly, he thought he was a fairy from popular culture--he only had room for one care in his head at any given moment.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, closing his eyes, briefly, before reopening them to watch him. "This is why I don't have friends. I can't--" He didn't know what he couldn't, but it didn't matter, because first, Mohinder was shaking his head, and then the alarm signaling the release of their baggage was blaring.
Sylar sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, fairly sure that Mohinder had done the same for how loud it was, and then let his eyes jump to the belt as it sprang to life, with a sigh of relief. Soon, they would have their luggage, and they--or maybe just he, if Mohinder didn't particularly feel like playing tag-along--would be at Sark's apartment, on the East Side. Soon, this nightmare would be over for all of them.
Or so he hoped, in spite of Sark telling him they were all likely helpless.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 630
Note: Mohinder is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
witnessof_fate and is used with permission.
Now, however, standing in the baggage claim area of the airport, it felt like a cage, and he paced it as such, shoulders rolling with each step in such a way that made him seem more animal than man, and he didn't care who saw. He'd do what he damn well pleased, heedless of the small, disapproving looks he was getting from his partner, because this? This was the biggest waste of time he had ever encountered--he had to go find Sark and Bailiegh--and it, quite possibly, an act of God that he'd managed to stop himself from climbing up on the stationary belt, and up into the ceiling to find the damn bags himself.
Mohinder, who had dealt with his impatience well enough, caught that thought, and reached out to grab his wrist on the last pass, spinning him to face him. "That's not helping anyone, you realize."
"It's helping me, Suresh," he hissed, trying to tug his arm away; the geneticist only tightened his grip.
"No, it's not," he pointed out, frowning. "Baileigh and Sark aren't going anywhere, anytime soon, and your trying to pace a rut in the floor isn't going to make the bags come any faster. All it's serving is to draw unwanted attention to us."
Sylar was silent for a moment, tense, watching him from under his eyebrows. For as patient as he seemed on the surface, the killer could tell he was anything but, from his thoughts to the way he felt. Whether it was concern for Baileigh that was making the other man just as impatient as he was, want to get back to his family after being away for days, or simple bleed over from his racing thoughts, he didn't know, but under other circumstances, it would have been amazing. How controlled Mohinder was, despite evidence to the contrary.
It was also a small miracle that he, himself, wasn't having a telekinetic temper tantrum right here in the middle of the airport, but that was neither here nor there.
He sighed, relenting, and took his hand back from Mohinder--this time more gently--before lacing his fingers with his. He figured it was still safe territory, after all, since it wasn't as though they were going to see anyone they knew here, and well. Even if they were going to, it was just another thing to add to the ever-growing list of things he didn't care about, right now. Clearly, he thought he was a fairy from popular culture--he only had room for one care in his head at any given moment.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, closing his eyes, briefly, before reopening them to watch him. "This is why I don't have friends. I can't--" He didn't know what he couldn't, but it didn't matter, because first, Mohinder was shaking his head, and then the alarm signaling the release of their baggage was blaring.
Sylar sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, fairly sure that Mohinder had done the same for how loud it was, and then let his eyes jump to the belt as it sprang to life, with a sigh of relief. Soon, they would have their luggage, and they--or maybe just he, if Mohinder didn't particularly feel like playing tag-along--would be at Sark's apartment, on the East Side. Soon, this nightmare would be over for all of them.
Or so he hoped, in spite of Sark telling him they were all likely helpless.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 630
Note: Mohinder is
witnessof_fate and is used with permission.