Sylar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heroslayer) wrote2009-06-22 10:56 pm
heroslayer) wrote2009-06-22 10:56 pm
for sunday_reveries: picture prompt (i'll wait)
(Based on this picture. Spoilerific for the s3 finale, but I'm not cutting anymore, since it's been a couple months--this is your final warning on that front.)
He couldn't remember falling asleep at his desk.
Never mind the fact that the last few days had been nothing short of exhausting, the few hours of sleep he had managed to get plagued with nightmares he couldn't remember upon waking. Never mind the fact that he'd finally managed to ditch his mother after lunch and the subsequent hour and a half of her hovering over him or the fact that her mere presence was tiring these days. That was nothing compared to what he'd put up with during his run for Congress, and yet he'd still dozed off, somehow--he had to have. It was the only thing that explained why the lighting in the room had changed, shadows suddenly drawn long across the furniture, the places where the light did catch painted in shades of stale gold, the whole thing reminiscent of dusk rather than early afternoon.
It should have been a beautiful thing, between the color and the fact that he'd actually slept nightmare-free, but instead, sitting there at his desk, he felt nothing short of disturbed. Something was very wrong here, and he couldn't quite put his finger on what. The fact that he'd been feeling like that all too often lately only added to his unease.
Frowning, he drummed his fingers on the ink blotter thoughtfully, and then he was reaching for the phone. Maybe he'd call Pete and see what he was up to, these days. Bennet had been trying to keep everyone relatively busy in the wake of Sylar's death and Peter was no exception, but he was half-sure the man in the horn-rimmed glasses wouldn't mind if he stole his brother away for a few hours. It had been two months, after all, and he was sure that if anyone could understand trying to patch up near-ruined relationships in the wake of the mess he'd made, it would be Noah. He'd been trying to do the same with his wife, after all.
He never got that far, however, as the instant that his fingers closed around the plastic, the entire thing was being torn from his grasp by a unseen hands. He looked up sharply, wincing at the sound the phone made as it all but exploded against the wall, and immediately he knew why he hadn't been able to enjoy the fact that he'd simply fallen asleep at his desk. He wasn't alone, Sylar there and very much alive, poised in the shadows in the corner, watching him with a feral grin.
"Hello, Nathan."
Through sheer force of will, the politician managed to keep himself from bolting from his chair and to the nearest window. And when the fact that the killer was supposed to be dead occurred to him--he'd watched the body burn--he relaxed a little, taking a deep breath before going as far as to offer the other man a thin smile. This had to be some kind of trick, either of a mind that was still asleep or thanks to someone else with abilities, assuming he was still awake, and that alone emboldened him. "Looking pretty good for a dead man."
"I've survived worse," Sylar answered, popping one shoulder in a shrug as he pushed away from his corner to meander ever closer. "Just ask Claire--or your mother. Either of them could tell you what a bang up job they did in Hartsdale."
Pressing his palms flat against the desk, Nathan pushed himself into a stand, slowly. "You'll have to excuse me if I feel like passing. I just spent all day with my mother, and I'm not sure I feel like seeing her again on such short notice."
"My mistake."
Silence followed, tension strung between them like a tightrope, Sylar boring holes in him with his eyes, expression heated from under his eyebrows, and for a moment, Nathan wondered if he hadn't made some grave mistake. If this wasn't his subconscious or someone else--one of them, but not the killer himself--playing tricks on him. And he got confirmation of this fear a moment later as something behind him, unseen, smashed his head against his desk before shoving him back in his chair. He groaned, stunned for an instant, and when he regathered his wits, he wished he hadn't. Mostly because in the span of seconds it had taken him to banish the black at the edges of his vision, Sylar had moved, now looming over him, one hand leveled at him, holding him down.
"Familiar, isn't it?" he demanded, and all without ever raising his voice. "Do you remember, Nathan? Do you remember fighting me with Peter? You got separated from him."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Nathan hissed. Half of him wasn't so sure.
"Really." Another moment of oppressive silence and then his world was reeling again, this time with a hail of broken glass as the chair tipped, sending him sailing into the curio cabinet on the far end of the room.
He tried to sit up, shards of glass from the destroyed furniture biting into the palms of his hand, and failed. He was sure he could taste blood in his mouth, his head hurt,nd to put icing on the proverbial cake, he didn't even get a chance to turn his head, to see where the other man had gotten to. Mostly because, suddenly, there were fingers in twisting in his hair, hauling him up off the ground mere fractions of an inch.
Lips curved in a smirk of a smile pressed close to his ear. "Well, if you can't remember, I'll have to refresh your memory."
A shout rang out in the hallway beyond closed doors, the sound of hustling in the hallway following noisily, and whatever Sylar had planned evaporated as the killer snapped his eyes in the direction of the door. Nathan could hear him growl, the sound low in the back of his throat, and then he was tightening his hand in his hair. "Looks like you're about to have company," he quipped, no triumph in his tone, now, "but that's fine, Nathan. I'll wait. We have all the time in the world."
The grip on his hair released sharply, so much so that Nathan got a closer look at another handful of glass, and when he managed to pull himself out of it, bloodied and beaten, the first thing he noticed was that Sylar was gone. The second was that he still wasn't alone, his own security detail in the room now, hauling him to his feet carefully, before pushing him back down into the chair that had turned against him a moment before. And in still half-terrified reflex, he waved them away, breathing hard.
"I'm fine," he assured them, only half aware that they were combing the room for his attacker. A pause, and then more for his benefit than for theirs, he repeated, "I'm fine."
"What happened?"
Nathan stared at him, through him, for several seconds, until it sunk in that, firstly, he'd been addressed, and secondly, that it had been his chief of security who'd been doing the asking. He didn't dare tell the truth--not entirely. "Some wacko broke in here with a knife. I tried to get it away from him, and ... " He grimaced and immediately regretted it. "... guess I'm not in as good of shape as I thought I was."
"Did you see where he went?"
"No idea," he answered, shaking his head before leveling a firm look at the other man. "But I'd feel a lot safer if you guys were out there looking for him, rather than in here, hounding me."
"Yes, sir." The chief whistled sharply, the sound enough to send the rest of the security detail running to his heels like a pack of trained dogs, and then they were filing out. And once they had, Nathan's head of security cast him a worried look from the door. "If you need anything, or if he shows back up ... "
"You're the first person I call," he finished around a tight smile.
A nod from the other man, and then he was turning to head out, too, the door closing behind him near soundlessly.
Taking a deep breath, Nathan held it for a moment, and then he was letting it out a sigh, a swear on the heel of the sound. He touched his hand to the top of his head, fingers coming away red and sticky under closer inspection, and winced, before shaking his head. He couldn't remember falling asleep at his desk, but God knew he wouldn't be sleeping anywhere for awhile, now.
Sylar was back.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1441
He couldn't remember falling asleep at his desk.
Never mind the fact that the last few days had been nothing short of exhausting, the few hours of sleep he had managed to get plagued with nightmares he couldn't remember upon waking. Never mind the fact that he'd finally managed to ditch his mother after lunch and the subsequent hour and a half of her hovering over him or the fact that her mere presence was tiring these days. That was nothing compared to what he'd put up with during his run for Congress, and yet he'd still dozed off, somehow--he had to have. It was the only thing that explained why the lighting in the room had changed, shadows suddenly drawn long across the furniture, the places where the light did catch painted in shades of stale gold, the whole thing reminiscent of dusk rather than early afternoon.
It should have been a beautiful thing, between the color and the fact that he'd actually slept nightmare-free, but instead, sitting there at his desk, he felt nothing short of disturbed. Something was very wrong here, and he couldn't quite put his finger on what. The fact that he'd been feeling like that all too often lately only added to his unease.
Frowning, he drummed his fingers on the ink blotter thoughtfully, and then he was reaching for the phone. Maybe he'd call Pete and see what he was up to, these days. Bennet had been trying to keep everyone relatively busy in the wake of Sylar's death and Peter was no exception, but he was half-sure the man in the horn-rimmed glasses wouldn't mind if he stole his brother away for a few hours. It had been two months, after all, and he was sure that if anyone could understand trying to patch up near-ruined relationships in the wake of the mess he'd made, it would be Noah. He'd been trying to do the same with his wife, after all.
He never got that far, however, as the instant that his fingers closed around the plastic, the entire thing was being torn from his grasp by a unseen hands. He looked up sharply, wincing at the sound the phone made as it all but exploded against the wall, and immediately he knew why he hadn't been able to enjoy the fact that he'd simply fallen asleep at his desk. He wasn't alone, Sylar there and very much alive, poised in the shadows in the corner, watching him with a feral grin.
"Hello, Nathan."
Through sheer force of will, the politician managed to keep himself from bolting from his chair and to the nearest window. And when the fact that the killer was supposed to be dead occurred to him--he'd watched the body burn--he relaxed a little, taking a deep breath before going as far as to offer the other man a thin smile. This had to be some kind of trick, either of a mind that was still asleep or thanks to someone else with abilities, assuming he was still awake, and that alone emboldened him. "Looking pretty good for a dead man."
"I've survived worse," Sylar answered, popping one shoulder in a shrug as he pushed away from his corner to meander ever closer. "Just ask Claire--or your mother. Either of them could tell you what a bang up job they did in Hartsdale."
Pressing his palms flat against the desk, Nathan pushed himself into a stand, slowly. "You'll have to excuse me if I feel like passing. I just spent all day with my mother, and I'm not sure I feel like seeing her again on such short notice."
"My mistake."
Silence followed, tension strung between them like a tightrope, Sylar boring holes in him with his eyes, expression heated from under his eyebrows, and for a moment, Nathan wondered if he hadn't made some grave mistake. If this wasn't his subconscious or someone else--one of them, but not the killer himself--playing tricks on him. And he got confirmation of this fear a moment later as something behind him, unseen, smashed his head against his desk before shoving him back in his chair. He groaned, stunned for an instant, and when he regathered his wits, he wished he hadn't. Mostly because in the span of seconds it had taken him to banish the black at the edges of his vision, Sylar had moved, now looming over him, one hand leveled at him, holding him down.
"Familiar, isn't it?" he demanded, and all without ever raising his voice. "Do you remember, Nathan? Do you remember fighting me with Peter? You got separated from him."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Nathan hissed. Half of him wasn't so sure.
"Really." Another moment of oppressive silence and then his world was reeling again, this time with a hail of broken glass as the chair tipped, sending him sailing into the curio cabinet on the far end of the room.
He tried to sit up, shards of glass from the destroyed furniture biting into the palms of his hand, and failed. He was sure he could taste blood in his mouth, his head hurt,nd to put icing on the proverbial cake, he didn't even get a chance to turn his head, to see where the other man had gotten to. Mostly because, suddenly, there were fingers in twisting in his hair, hauling him up off the ground mere fractions of an inch.
Lips curved in a smirk of a smile pressed close to his ear. "Well, if you can't remember, I'll have to refresh your memory."
A shout rang out in the hallway beyond closed doors, the sound of hustling in the hallway following noisily, and whatever Sylar had planned evaporated as the killer snapped his eyes in the direction of the door. Nathan could hear him growl, the sound low in the back of his throat, and then he was tightening his hand in his hair. "Looks like you're about to have company," he quipped, no triumph in his tone, now, "but that's fine, Nathan. I'll wait. We have all the time in the world."
The grip on his hair released sharply, so much so that Nathan got a closer look at another handful of glass, and when he managed to pull himself out of it, bloodied and beaten, the first thing he noticed was that Sylar was gone. The second was that he still wasn't alone, his own security detail in the room now, hauling him to his feet carefully, before pushing him back down into the chair that had turned against him a moment before. And in still half-terrified reflex, he waved them away, breathing hard.
"I'm fine," he assured them, only half aware that they were combing the room for his attacker. A pause, and then more for his benefit than for theirs, he repeated, "I'm fine."
"What happened?"
Nathan stared at him, through him, for several seconds, until it sunk in that, firstly, he'd been addressed, and secondly, that it had been his chief of security who'd been doing the asking. He didn't dare tell the truth--not entirely. "Some wacko broke in here with a knife. I tried to get it away from him, and ... " He grimaced and immediately regretted it. "... guess I'm not in as good of shape as I thought I was."
"Did you see where he went?"
"No idea," he answered, shaking his head before leveling a firm look at the other man. "But I'd feel a lot safer if you guys were out there looking for him, rather than in here, hounding me."
"Yes, sir." The chief whistled sharply, the sound enough to send the rest of the security detail running to his heels like a pack of trained dogs, and then they were filing out. And once they had, Nathan's head of security cast him a worried look from the door. "If you need anything, or if he shows back up ... "
"You're the first person I call," he finished around a tight smile.
A nod from the other man, and then he was turning to head out, too, the door closing behind him near soundlessly.
Taking a deep breath, Nathan held it for a moment, and then he was letting it out a sigh, a swear on the heel of the sound. He touched his hand to the top of his head, fingers coming away red and sticky under closer inspection, and winced, before shaking his head. He couldn't remember falling asleep at his desk, but God knew he wouldn't be sleeping anywhere for awhile, now.
Sylar was back.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1441