for mad_muses: family
Mar. 22nd, 2009 08:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
heroslayerBaileigh had told him to suck it up and get it over with. She'd been nicer than that, of course, but that had been the gist of things. That had been the hint everyone had been trying to give him over the course of the last few weeks--the one he'd been pointedly ignoring because, quite frankly, the answers he was likely to get scared the hell out of him. Not his mother, not the woman herself, but the answers. Funny, considering his life for the last two years had revolved around the need for answers and the want for power in equal part, but true nevertheless. Funny that he'd made up so many excuses as to why he hadn't gone to see his mother yet, not wanting to be called on it, when the people who had advised him to take care of it already knew that even he was capable of fear.
Regardless of reasons, fabricated or fact, however, he'd told Baileigh he'd get it over with and he meant to keep his word. He just needed as shower first, as he'd told her; if he was going to go see Angela Petrelli, he wanted to be presentable, at least. He needed to be clean and to shave, since he'd been sporting more than a five o'clock shadow for days now. Maybe, he thought as he opened the door to his apartment, he'd even give himself a haircut as he'd needed one for weeks, his hair having grown out long past the point where he could spike it.
Running his fingers through his hair thoughtfully, he sighed, closing the door behind him. When he turned back into the dark apartment, it was like hitting a brick wall.
Suddenly blind and deaf, somehow stripped of Mohinder's abilities and his own hearing, he flailed in the dark for a moment, gasping, before throwing out a hand to turn on one of the lights on the far side of his living room. It worked, though not because he willed it so--instead it was his mother that did the trick, flicking on the light from where she'd been seated in the chair beside it. He winced into the sudden light, briefly, and then he saw the source of his problems.
Angela hadn't come alone; the Haitian was standing behind her, casting her in strange shadow.
"You," he hissed, stumbling into the apartment, still not over the shock of being rendered powerless.
She flashed him a small, tight smile. "Hello, Gabriel."
Sylar took a moment to find his feet in the hole in sense and sound his mother had created, a hand falling to the back of the chair opposite her to help steady himself. Then, when he'd shaken the sense of helplessness and the stab of shock that had followed--there were still knives in the kitchen; he could get to them before her, if this went badly--he took a deep breath and steadied his gaze on her. "What do you want?"
"I think this is more about what you want," she answered, calmly. She was holding all the cards here and she wanted to make sure he knew it. "Both Nathan and Claire said you'd been asking after me."
He looked between his mother and the Haitian, briefly, before casting her a dirty look, the corners of his lips twitching into a sneer. "Make him leave. I already promised Nathan I wouldn't kill you, so you don't need him here." He had questions, yes, but he didn't need Angela's lap dog listening in, regardless of whether or not the killer was fairly certain he couldn't breathe a word of it to anyone, even if he wanted to.
Angela considered him for a moment, impassively, unimpressed, and then she was gesturing for the Haitian. He stepped around the chair in a single, solid movement, lowering his ear near her mouth, and she murmured something to him with a careless gesture. He hesitated briefly before nodding, then just like that he was straightening, moving past Sylar and further to exit the apartment. Sylar, to his credit, managed to keep the relief off of his face; he had nothing but unpleasant memories of the man, despite Claire's arguments to the contrary.
"Happy?" Angela asked, folding her hands in front of her, calmly.
Rather than answer, he took a deep breath, holding it as he waited for his abilities to return. And when they didn't, he couldn't help but look confused, jaw working wordlessly for a moment before realization dawned on him. "He's standing right outside the door," he concluded, letting the breath he'd taken out on a frustrated sigh.
"He's standing right outside the door," she agreed, gracing him with another one of those tight smiles. "I know you think you're a man of your word when you want to be, but I'd rather not take any chances. I hope you understand."
For a moment, the knives in the kitchen were looking like a fantastic option, but he thought better of it, gritting his teeth. She didn't trust that he could be true to the promises he'd made, and so he'd have to show her. Even if that involved resisting the urge to end her, brutally. "Fine. Whatever."
In the silence, she crossed her legs, stretching out in the chair languidly, as if this was her domain and not his. Then, finally, when it seemed Sylar had contented himself to staring at her heatedly from under his eyebrows, she ventured, "You have questions, don't you? I'm not stopping you from asking them."
He jumped on the heart of the matter. "Why did you abandon me?"
Angela pressed her lips together, briefly, before sighing. "I'm sure you know by now that I have an ability and what it is?" Sylar nodded. "When I was pregnant with you and Peter, I kept having nightmares about how you'd end up, if Arthur and I kept you. You killed your brothers. Arthur. Me."
"Two out of four isn't bad," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He had killed Peter once and Arthur permanently, after all.
His mother shot him a black look. "You can understand why I was frightened. So I talked Arthur into putting you up for adoption. We never told Nathan, and you were adopted by a nice, quiet couple in Queens. I stopped having the dreams, so I thought you'd grow up to be a better man than what I saw for you. Clearly, I was wrong."
"You ever think the nightmares were what was going to happen if you just gave me away?"
"I stopped having the dreams," she repeated, as if that resolved everything.
He sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose in a renewed effort to battle the urge to throttle her, and then slid down into the chair he'd been leaning on. Clearly, he wasn't going to get any further answers on that subject, and he didn't particularly feel like pressing it any further--in all honesty, all he wanted now was for her to leave. He remembered now why he'd put off trying to track her down for so long.
"So Peter and I are twins?" he asked finally, resigning himself to the fact that he was trapped in this conversation.
"You are."
"Peter and I figured--our abilities are too similar."
"And I hear you're an empath, these days."
Another humorless smile, and this time, he mirrored it. "Something like that."
"How's that working out for you?" Angela leaned forward as if she actually had some kind of interest in his answer; even without his abilities, Sylar somehow doubted this.
"You'd be surprised," he muttered, smile so pleasant it was near unnerving.
She sunk back into her chair, slowly. "Good to know." A pause, and then, "I don't suppose there's anything else you'd like to know?"
Apparently, he had unsettled her enough to make her want to leave, but suddenly he felt compelled to make her stay, just the same as she'd all but trapped him here with her. And so, shifting in his seat, he dug for anything he could ask to make her stay, anything he could use to make her more uncomfortable. He came up with something they'd only glossed over earlier, after a moment. "You know Arthur wasn't dead, right? I killed him for Adam."
"We had lunch, a few weeks back." Angela shrugged, picking at a loose thread in the upholstery of his armchair. "I took the hint then. And I suppose I should be thanking you."
Sylar understood Adam's grievances with Arthur--or at least what he thought was the majority of them--but his mother's reaction? That took him by surprise. He'd been half-expecting her to have a screaming fit on him, in spite of the fact that it had been Arthur's work, his company, that had opposed her and kidnapped Claire. "Why?"
"You weren't the only one in the family who planned on killing everyone. And that was before the fiasco with Pinehearst."
He tilted his head to one side, somewhere between curious and bewildered. Not that he would have put it past his father, what with, as Angela had put it, the Pinehearst fiasco, but there was something about that, something he couldn't put his finger on. More than the way she had said it, more than what she had said, but at the same time, connected to it. And without his abilities, he couldn't put his finger on what, exactly.
"What do you mean?"
Angela ignored the question--clearly that was another thing that had been passed down through the family--and got to her feet slowly, instead. "This family has more dark secrets than you could possibly imagine, Gabriel. More than just you," she said, finally, crossing the room to the door only to hesitate there for a moment. A backwards glance was cast in her son's direction, and then, "I'm sure it won't be that hard for you to find me, if you need anything else."
With that, she was gone, and just as he had before she'd showed up, Sylar couldn't help but wonder if wanting to meet her in the first place had been a mistake.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1695
Notes: Angela is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mapetrelli and is all mine to use and abuse.
Regardless of reasons, fabricated or fact, however, he'd told Baileigh he'd get it over with and he meant to keep his word. He just needed as shower first, as he'd told her; if he was going to go see Angela Petrelli, he wanted to be presentable, at least. He needed to be clean and to shave, since he'd been sporting more than a five o'clock shadow for days now. Maybe, he thought as he opened the door to his apartment, he'd even give himself a haircut as he'd needed one for weeks, his hair having grown out long past the point where he could spike it.
Running his fingers through his hair thoughtfully, he sighed, closing the door behind him. When he turned back into the dark apartment, it was like hitting a brick wall.
Suddenly blind and deaf, somehow stripped of Mohinder's abilities and his own hearing, he flailed in the dark for a moment, gasping, before throwing out a hand to turn on one of the lights on the far side of his living room. It worked, though not because he willed it so--instead it was his mother that did the trick, flicking on the light from where she'd been seated in the chair beside it. He winced into the sudden light, briefly, and then he saw the source of his problems.
Angela hadn't come alone; the Haitian was standing behind her, casting her in strange shadow.
"You," he hissed, stumbling into the apartment, still not over the shock of being rendered powerless.
She flashed him a small, tight smile. "Hello, Gabriel."
Sylar took a moment to find his feet in the hole in sense and sound his mother had created, a hand falling to the back of the chair opposite her to help steady himself. Then, when he'd shaken the sense of helplessness and the stab of shock that had followed--there were still knives in the kitchen; he could get to them before her, if this went badly--he took a deep breath and steadied his gaze on her. "What do you want?"
"I think this is more about what you want," she answered, calmly. She was holding all the cards here and she wanted to make sure he knew it. "Both Nathan and Claire said you'd been asking after me."
He looked between his mother and the Haitian, briefly, before casting her a dirty look, the corners of his lips twitching into a sneer. "Make him leave. I already promised Nathan I wouldn't kill you, so you don't need him here." He had questions, yes, but he didn't need Angela's lap dog listening in, regardless of whether or not the killer was fairly certain he couldn't breathe a word of it to anyone, even if he wanted to.
Angela considered him for a moment, impassively, unimpressed, and then she was gesturing for the Haitian. He stepped around the chair in a single, solid movement, lowering his ear near her mouth, and she murmured something to him with a careless gesture. He hesitated briefly before nodding, then just like that he was straightening, moving past Sylar and further to exit the apartment. Sylar, to his credit, managed to keep the relief off of his face; he had nothing but unpleasant memories of the man, despite Claire's arguments to the contrary.
"Happy?" Angela asked, folding her hands in front of her, calmly.
Rather than answer, he took a deep breath, holding it as he waited for his abilities to return. And when they didn't, he couldn't help but look confused, jaw working wordlessly for a moment before realization dawned on him. "He's standing right outside the door," he concluded, letting the breath he'd taken out on a frustrated sigh.
"He's standing right outside the door," she agreed, gracing him with another one of those tight smiles. "I know you think you're a man of your word when you want to be, but I'd rather not take any chances. I hope you understand."
For a moment, the knives in the kitchen were looking like a fantastic option, but he thought better of it, gritting his teeth. She didn't trust that he could be true to the promises he'd made, and so he'd have to show her. Even if that involved resisting the urge to end her, brutally. "Fine. Whatever."
In the silence, she crossed her legs, stretching out in the chair languidly, as if this was her domain and not his. Then, finally, when it seemed Sylar had contented himself to staring at her heatedly from under his eyebrows, she ventured, "You have questions, don't you? I'm not stopping you from asking them."
He jumped on the heart of the matter. "Why did you abandon me?"
Angela pressed her lips together, briefly, before sighing. "I'm sure you know by now that I have an ability and what it is?" Sylar nodded. "When I was pregnant with you and Peter, I kept having nightmares about how you'd end up, if Arthur and I kept you. You killed your brothers. Arthur. Me."
"Two out of four isn't bad," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He had killed Peter once and Arthur permanently, after all.
His mother shot him a black look. "You can understand why I was frightened. So I talked Arthur into putting you up for adoption. We never told Nathan, and you were adopted by a nice, quiet couple in Queens. I stopped having the dreams, so I thought you'd grow up to be a better man than what I saw for you. Clearly, I was wrong."
"You ever think the nightmares were what was going to happen if you just gave me away?"
"I stopped having the dreams," she repeated, as if that resolved everything.
He sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose in a renewed effort to battle the urge to throttle her, and then slid down into the chair he'd been leaning on. Clearly, he wasn't going to get any further answers on that subject, and he didn't particularly feel like pressing it any further--in all honesty, all he wanted now was for her to leave. He remembered now why he'd put off trying to track her down for so long.
"So Peter and I are twins?" he asked finally, resigning himself to the fact that he was trapped in this conversation.
"You are."
"Peter and I figured--our abilities are too similar."
"And I hear you're an empath, these days."
Another humorless smile, and this time, he mirrored it. "Something like that."
"How's that working out for you?" Angela leaned forward as if she actually had some kind of interest in his answer; even without his abilities, Sylar somehow doubted this.
"You'd be surprised," he muttered, smile so pleasant it was near unnerving.
She sunk back into her chair, slowly. "Good to know." A pause, and then, "I don't suppose there's anything else you'd like to know?"
Apparently, he had unsettled her enough to make her want to leave, but suddenly he felt compelled to make her stay, just the same as she'd all but trapped him here with her. And so, shifting in his seat, he dug for anything he could ask to make her stay, anything he could use to make her more uncomfortable. He came up with something they'd only glossed over earlier, after a moment. "You know Arthur wasn't dead, right? I killed him for Adam."
"We had lunch, a few weeks back." Angela shrugged, picking at a loose thread in the upholstery of his armchair. "I took the hint then. And I suppose I should be thanking you."
Sylar understood Adam's grievances with Arthur--or at least what he thought was the majority of them--but his mother's reaction? That took him by surprise. He'd been half-expecting her to have a screaming fit on him, in spite of the fact that it had been Arthur's work, his company, that had opposed her and kidnapped Claire. "Why?"
"You weren't the only one in the family who planned on killing everyone. And that was before the fiasco with Pinehearst."
He tilted his head to one side, somewhere between curious and bewildered. Not that he would have put it past his father, what with, as Angela had put it, the Pinehearst fiasco, but there was something about that, something he couldn't put his finger on. More than the way she had said it, more than what she had said, but at the same time, connected to it. And without his abilities, he couldn't put his finger on what, exactly.
"What do you mean?"
Angela ignored the question--clearly that was another thing that had been passed down through the family--and got to her feet slowly, instead. "This family has more dark secrets than you could possibly imagine, Gabriel. More than just you," she said, finally, crossing the room to the door only to hesitate there for a moment. A backwards glance was cast in her son's direction, and then, "I'm sure it won't be that hard for you to find me, if you need anything else."
With that, she was gone, and just as he had before she'd showed up, Sylar couldn't help but wonder if wanting to meet her in the first place had been a mistake.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1695
Notes: Angela is
mapetrelli and is all mine to use and abuse.
