heroslayer | for muses_gonewild: is that ... ?

"I meant to give you this at your party," Angela called over her shoulder, casting him a quick glance before turning back to the safe she'd revealed behind one of the walls, "but I wasn't quite sure how you'd take it. Or if it would have been in bad taste to give it to you in front of all those people, family or otherwise."

For not the first time that day, Sylar arched an eyebrow in silence, only half-paying attention to the code as his mother keyed it into the safe. He had more important things to think about, after all--namely trying to decide what this was all about--seeing as how Angela hadn't been entirely forthcoming as to what was going on. She'd simply pulled him away from Mohinder, claiming she needed to borrow him for a few hours, lead him out to where he'd had his motorcycle parked on the lawn, and told him to take her home. When he'd asked why, she'd pointedly ignore the question, putting on the helmet he very rarely used before wrapping her arms around his waist. And when he'd commented on the fact that it seemed she knew what she was doing, his mother had failed to grace that with a response, too, instead nodding towards the path that lead towards the road.

He hadn't been able to keep the frown from his face, but he'd done as she asked, riding them back to her mansion in silence. Her refusal to explain persisted even once he'd killed the engine and she was leading them up the stairs, and for a moment, he'd considered demanding to know what the hell was going on, again. He seemed to realize that that would get him no where, however, judging by what little he could pull out of her thoughts, and so he'd stayed silent grudgingly, following her through the house without pause, only stopping once they'd reached Arthur's old office. Her office.

And here they were, now.

He sighed, pushing away from the wall where he'd taken up leaning, and moved over to her. "What is it?"

"Something I asked Arthur to get rid of a long time ago," she replied, turning away from the safe, a small, battered shoebox in her hands. "I wanted him to throw this away--I thought he had, honestly--but, well. It turns out your father was a bit more sentimental than I gave him credit for."

She pulled off the top of the box, offering it to him, and he leaned forward to look into it. He could see why Angela hadn't wanted to unearth this in front of the others; he was nothing short of stunned. "Is that ... ?"

"Either that, or he thought he could use this to win you to his side. Prove that you were who he said you were, when he got back on his feet and started trying to move against the rest of the family. How he planned on getting in here while I was still around, I don't know, but ... " Angela made a face, equal parts sour and apologetic. "It's what I would have done, if our roles had been reversed."

It wasn't an answer, his mother clearly just rambling at this point as she waited for his reaction, but he wasn't listening, either. Instead, he continued to stare into the box for a moment, before reaching into it, pushing aside a collection of photographs that had been taken in the hospital, the day he and Peter had been born. His fingers curling around a small, plastic hospital bracelet that had been buried under the pictures, he pulled it out carefully, holding it up so that he could study it.

Gabriel Robert Petrelli, it read, in neat type, December 23rd, 1979; 7:16pm. 5 lbs. 11 oz.; 18 1/4 in.

He traced his thumb over the words lightly, resisting the sudden, near-consuming urge to pull memory from the plastic, and then he was looking up at her. "If you wanted him to get rid of it, why did you keep it?"

Angela shrugged, her eyes dropping down to the box, something near shame running off her in like sheets of rain off a rock. "I couldn't tell you," she answered, honestly, "but regardless, this is yours, now. I gave Peter and Nathan theirs ages ago--less for me to use against them, as a mother. It's only fair you were allowed yours."

He hummed acceptingly, setting the bracelet back in the box as gingerly as he'd taken it out. Then, slowly, he was taking the box and its lid from her, closing his history back away. "I want to stop at my apartment, before we go back to the Hamptons."

Looking back up at him, she studied him for a moment before nodding. "Of course."

A deep breath, and Sylar flashed her a small, tight-lipped smile--something he'd clearly learned from his mother even without her presence in his life, growing up--before heading for the door. He wasn't sure how he felt about his mother's gift, and he could only hope she'd remain just as silent on the way back as she had been coming out here so that he could think about it.

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 862
Note: Angela is