heroslayer | for philosophy_20: the killers lyrics (rp for hornrimmed)

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for philosophy_20: the killers lyrics (rp for hornrimmed)

In all honesty, Sylar had no idea why he'd been so adamant on meeting with Bennet in the first place.

He had no reason to love the man, after all, no reason to care, when he fell in the same category as Nakamura, both of them people to be hated rather than to try and make amends with. Perhaps Bennet was worse, in a way, even. The man had tortured him, deliberately and to death, despite the fact that it was revenge, which he understood, and he'd survived, his brain having forced his heart to start beating again. He'd also threatened Mohinder, from what his geneticist had told him, hurt the Indian when he had very clear rules about what happened to people who touched the things that were his.

Bennet was worse than Nakamura because the damn Japanese kid hadn't done what he'd done with malicious intent where the man in the hornrimmed glasses had, and yet here he was, getting off a plane from Manhattan to meet the sonovabitch at a coffee shop in Costa Verde. He'd even offered to let him walk away with his life, just this once, and for what? Because he was important to Claire? Because he wanted to rub it in that it had been him that had saved Baileigh, when he'd sat around and been powerless? Because he wanted certain assurances, threatened out of Bennet or given freely, that he'd leave Suresh alone?

He didn't know. And as he had when he'd gone to visit Molly in her dreams, he was immediately regretting his decisions, all too willing to blame it on outside factors.

At least it was a coffee shop they were meeting at. It wasn't his usual, nor was it the one that Claire worked at that he'd taken up frequenting to bother his niece, but he could still make it work in his favor. Coffee shops always did, regardless of whether or not they were on his home turf.

Sighing, unhappy, he thumbed idly at his carry-on--he hadn't bothered with an overnight bag as he was catching the first flight back, once this was over--he moved to the row of pay phones outside, and looked up the number for a cab company. Then, once he'd called for a pick up, he moved to the curb outside, shifting from one foot to the other, restlessly, as he waited for the car to come.

And sooner rather than later, he in the cab and then out, heading into the coffee shop Bennet had specified, every inch of him on edge, ready for a fight, just in case Bennet couldn't keep his word.

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He parked outside the coffeeshop and got slowly out of his SUV. He had no idea why he was doing this. Just stepping out for a coffee with Sylar? He must be crazy. It was a risk. A risk with no foreseeable gain.

The weight of his gun in its holster was reassuring as he made his way into the building.

The killer had picked out a table in a corner and ordered a coffee, hoping that would calm his nerves. It hadn't, which was strange if only for him, since while caffiene was a stimulant, there was something soothing about coffee, but he refused to dwell to much on it. He wasn't on edge. He was just prepared, in case Bennet wasn't as keen on keeping his word as he was, when he deemed it necessary to give. And as if to affirm this thought, he summoned up a tight smile for Bennet as he entered, even if the expression never reached his eyes.

He failed to wave him over, however, nor did he call his name. Bennet would notice him, he was sure, and he didn't want the other man thinking this was an entirely amicable meeting.

As with every time he entered a room, his eyes made a quick accounting, assessing risks and finding exits. Only then did he acknowledge Sylar with a slight nod, though he'd seen him immediately. He went to the counter and got a coffee before joining the man at his table. "Well?" he said, his tone even and cool.

He raised his eyebrows slowly, the smile falling from his face. "Well what?"

"I'm here. You're here. What now?" He was just a little nervy--he knew what Sylar was capable of, and he had no backup. He was... curious, though.

And people said he was bad at small talk.

"When was the last time you talked to Claire?" he asked. A pause, and then he was quick to assure him, "There's nothing wrong with her. I haven't done anything. I'm just curious."

He studied Sylar for a long moment. "A few days ago," he said eventually. "Why?"

"Has she said anything about me?"

He doubted his niece would try vouching for his character, considering how set in his ways Bennet was and how touchy a subject it would be for her to tell him that they were becoming friends, but he could really care less about that. What he was more interested in was whether or not Claire--or Peter, for that matter--had mentioned to Bennet that he was, apparently, Claire's uncle. And if it had come up in conversation, what Bennet's thoughts were on that. Maybe he was twisting the proverbial knife a little, making sure Bennet was aware that he was blood where the other man wasn't, but well. He'd promised him he'd get to walk away with his life, not that he wouldn't be as cruel as possible, under the guise of casual conversation.

He raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. "Should she have?" he asked. He allowed himself to relax just slightly, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his drink.

Sylar popped his shoulders in a languid shrug. "I'm her uncle." And he'd pay good money to see Bennet spit his coffee at that little fact.

(ooc: And he really is, in this verse! :O!)

He set his cup down carefully. "So Angela told you that, did she?" He'd broken into his reccords, looking for more than the official file he'd compiled himself--looking for weaknesses. He hadn't had luck in that.

Sylar couldn't say he wasn't disappointed that Bennet hadn't reacted with more surprise, but then again, he was a Company man. He'd probably known for some time. "Angela didn't tell me. Arthur did."

He wasn't looking for shock value in saying that, however. It was true, yes, but he was suddenly concerned with other things. Namely whether or not the other man had known he was a Petrelli when he'd had him tortured, and if he had, why had he done it? Why had any of his employers let him do it, when he was the son of one of them? Had Angela bothered telling any of them, when they'd gone at him, after Homecoming? And if not, why the hell hadn't she said anything? Why had she given him away, in the first place?

Suddenly, this meeting had become less about off-handedly harassing Bennet and more about getting answers from someone other than Angela.

"Oh? That's interesting." Neither of them were on his list for the Parent of the Year Award, but he'd have put money on Angela being the more likely to care. She might be a cold, ruthless bitch, but she did have feelings. Arthur--he'd always been wary around Petrelli. The man had been almost frightening at times. "What did he want from you?"

"His life."

Though, truth be told, he had days where he doubted how wise it had been, killing him for Adam. True, the immortal had been having nightmares about his father, but with Arthur's death, Pinehearst and their damn teleporter had waged war on him and his. If he hadn't killed Arthur, would they still have kidnapped Claire? Would things be better or worse? He didn't know, and so he shrugged, both to banish the thought and to dismiss any protests Bennet might have had before they started.

"I had a friend who was having nightmares about him. About Pinehearst. I thought killing him would take care of it."

"Something he would value, having already lost it once." Not that he blamed Arthur--he had nightmares about waking up on that lab table sometimes.

"And did it? Help your friend, I mean." And no snide comments about Sylar and the likelihood of friends. He was being good. He was interested in seeing where this conversation went.

Again Sylar shrugged before answering. "He stopped having nightmares, so."

And that simple statement had been meant to provide an answer while dodging talking about his doubts on the issue. Bennet didn't need to know he wasn't sure killing Arthur had been the best move, and even if he had certain proof that doing so hadn't been the smartest thing he'd ever done, he still would have. Anything for Adam--the man was his best friend--and despite the fact that Claire had been tortured as a result, and that he'd never wanted that, she was still alive. She could still be fixed and not in a way that involved taking the top of her head off. Adam, he wasn't so sure about, if Arthur Petrelli had been allowed to live.

Making a small, sour face, he shot a glance down at his coffee, before taking a sip. Then, so that Bennet wouldn't somehow pick up on the reasons why he'd looked so displeased, he came up with a quick cover. "I didn't take his ability."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why not? It would have had a good place in your... collection." His eyes were cool as he studied the man.

"I know." He hadn't known at the time, of course, but when he'd asked Adam about it later, the immortal had been all too happy to tell him what ability Arthur had possessed. He still didn't regret not taking it, however. "What he was having nightmares about was his ability, though. It would have killed him. I wanted to get rid of the threat and lessen the chance anyone else would ever get their hands on that power."

There was, of course, the chance that someone somewhere else already had that ability or would be born with it, but he had ensured that neither he nor Peter would never take that ability.

"That was... noble of you." He wasn't perfectly successful in masking the skepticism in his tone. He sipped his coffee. "I hope your friend was greatful."

"He was." Sylar paused for a moment, considering him, then pressing his mouth into an unhappy line, he said, "I am capable of having friends, you know. Of being a decent human being. I did help save your daughter. I helped save Baileigh."

"You also tried to kill my daughter. I'm sorry if you can't understand why it's a bit hard for me to get past that." He leaned forward, his cold eyes drilling into Sylar's. "I gave you this meeting. I'm being cival--relatively. This is me giving you a chance. If you expected more, that's your problem."

"I didn't." He shook his head, leaning across the table to get closer to Bennet so that he can return the stare, eyes heated from under his eyebrows. "What I did to your daughter was a mistake. I realize that now. I thought ... "

Again he shook his head, brow knitting thoughtfully for a moment as he tried to hunt down that train of thought and make it stay. He couldn't manage, however, and so he let it go. "I know it doesn't matter to you what I say. Neither of us capable of accepting apologies. It's a character flaw."

It was also why he'd locked Bennet in that cell at the Company, after he escaped them torturing him--apologies didn't work, but an eye for an eye did.

"But the way I see it, we're even, right now." He did his best not to sneer. "So you can shelve your disbelief."

A bit of confusion crept into his expression before he locked it down. Was he actually trying to apologize? Not that it would change things, as he'd said--but it was a mind-boggling concept. "What's this about, Sylar?" he asked wearily.

Sylar sighed, leaning back, his temper fading as quickly as it had come. "I don't know."

Maybe he wanted to apologize, but he didn't want Bennet's forgiveness--if he said he was sorry, it would be for Claire, not for the other man. And now that that had occurred to him, he was quick to point it out. "I'm not here for you. I don't need your forgiveness. But you're important to Claire. And she's important to me. So I thought maybe we could learn to be civil, so we could spend ten minutes in the same room together, on days when it's important for her for both of us to be there."

He shook his head slightly. "Why is she important to you? I just..." He sighed. "Well. How long has it been, now?" he asked, checking his watch. "I think we can manage it."

for philosophy_20: the killers lyrics (rp for hornrimmed)

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