if someone betrays me, i won't be a victim (rp for witnessof_fate

[heroslayer]

He couldn't quite say what had caused the shift this time, his awareness of what Nathan did becoming less and less absolute as the lines between them blurred, but he could say that it had been both fast and sudden. One minute, Nathan had been on hold with Yagamoto Industries, trying to get in touch with Hiro as Mohinder had suggested, and the next, he was on the floor, the shift of skin and bone already slowing by the time his face connected with the carpet. He'd noted dimly that the change had to be some kind of record -- faster even than when he was in control of whose face he was wearing at any given moment -- and then the thought was gone as he tried to catch his breath.

He'd barely managed to get a handle on himself and the twitchiness that came in the wake of awareness when a voice, distant but still familiar, started yammering from -- somewhere.

Pushing himself up out of the carpet, careful to stifle a groan, his eyes fell to the ground as he searched for the source of the disturbance. It didn't take too long before he noted Nathan's cell phone, slightly worse for the wear from where he'd crumpled on top of it. It took even less time to connect things enough that he could place who, exactly, was shouting at him from the other end of the line and why.

Rage as sharp as the change back had been rose in his chest, choking the breath he'd just gotten back out of him again, and he reached out, fingers curling around the phone viciously. For a brief instant, he considered telling Nakamura that he was back -- hell, maybe he'd go for the whole truth just to put some kind of black mark on Bennet and Parkman's records -- and then he thought better of it. Instead, he simply tightened his grip on the phone, allowing himself a brief moment of satisfaction as it came apart in pieces in his hand.

Uncurling his fingers, he let the remains of the device clatter to the floor unceremoniously, and got to his feet, moving towards the door immediately. He needed to find Mohinder. Someone needed to suffer both for letting Nathan somehow manifest his abilities and for talking the politician into trying to make himself into an weapon of justice. Someone needed to pay for using him again, just as the Petrellis had, and leaving him with no voice to argue the choice. And considering Mohinder had been responsible for at least two of those slights -- a fact which he was keenly aware of now, when he hadn't quite been when he'd first come to -- it was only fair.

That in mind, he let himself into the garden where he could vaguely recall Mohinder telling Nathan he'd be when he got off the phone, and sunk into the shadows along its edges, not wanting to be seen before he could make the other man out in the dying daylight.

Comments

[capableof-both.livejournal.com]

It was a gamble, Mohinder knew, encouraging Nathan to use Sylar's emerging powers, but short of telling him the truth, he didn't know what else to do. And he couldn't tell him the truth. What was he supposed to say? "I'm sorry to tell you this, Nathan, but you're not really you. See, Sylar killed you, and apparently Matt, on the orders of your mother, had your consciousness transferred into Sylar's body, forcing his consciousness into the background and his body to shapeshift into you."

That would go over well.

He wasn't even sure if it was a consciousness in there, or some Sylar-as-Nathan, or what the hell Matt had even done. Was Nathan's soul alive inside Sylar's body, trapped there, or was it free, and this merely an identity crisis on Sylar's part, where too many memories were crowding in, and Matt's midfucking had messed things up. Could two souls share one body? Was there even a soul? Did it follow memory and consciousness--so long as Nathan believed he was Nathan, was Nathan still alive, or were they all fooling themselves?

The questions plagued him, keeping him up when he should be sleeping. He faked it well enough to know Nathan wasn't, to know he often wasn't in bed, leaving Mohinder to stare at the ceiling in peace, his mind whirling around and around with ethical, moral and personal dilemmas. Was what happened with Sylar...what? Had he cheated on a person who didn't even exist? Why had he let it happen? Why had he wanted it to? Why had there even been a smidgen of comfort in his arms at the end? Was it the absence of lies, the fact that they could drop all the pretense, finally, and he didn't have to watch every word for fear of triggering something--or, well, of triggering a change, because gods knew he could trigger Sylar on a hair.

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He was glad Nathan was calling Hiro, glad there was something forward that could be done. Maybe it wasn't right, maybe it was all wrong. Maybe all of this was wrong, and he should call Angela Petrelli, or at least Matt and tell them what was going on--or, well, at least parts of it--and put an end to it somehow, once and for all.

But he couldn't be the one to sign either of their death warrants. He couldn't do that again. So he swallowed back the urge to call and kept his peace and hovered in gardens and corners and kept his watch and vigil and prayed it would be enough.

He was very afraid it wouldn't be, for any of them.

Pushing up off the bench, he paced around the garden, wrapping his arms around himself. It wasn't cold, it was never cold here, but he was chilled nonetheless, and restless, and movement seemed the only hope of curing either condition.