heroslayer | Entries tagged with featuring: adam monroe

Even with all the trees to catch the light as it came, the sunrise was nothing so grand as what he'd seen hundreds of times before on television. It was more subtle, blacks giving way to deep purples, grays of predawn shifting to calm blues as the sun crept up over the horizon. Not once did the leaves above him set to burn as the day broke; not once did the dew on the grass force the light into flares of color in final testament to the fact that it had ever been there at all. It was all rather anti-climatic actually, a lazy end to a lazy season, but still, somehow, he couldn't say it wasn't beautiful. Nor could he say he wouldn't miss it when they had to leave it behind just hours from now.

Sighing, he took one last look around the backyard, then he was getting up from the grass to head back into the house. And while he'd planned on moving further into it, slinking from room to room to watch everyone as they slept one last time, he stopped short in the kitchen when he spotted Adam, leaned over one of the counters, nursing a cup of tea. He didn't move right away, eyes fixed distantly on the outside world and the coming of the day, and then finally he shifted, flashing him a wan smile as he pulled his attentions away from the glass.

"You're going to miss it," Sylar ventured.

( "So are you." )

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 859
Note: Adam is

changehistory and is used without permission but with love. This piece may or may not be binding on the verse as, well, I can't write Adam for beans, and the mun is on hiatus so she can't yell at me for doin it rong. So, uh, take this with a grain of salt.

"Captain?"

Sylar, or Gabriel Sylar as he was calling himself these days, looked up from the cargo manifest from their most recent job, frowning. Whether the expression was directed at his crewman or had simply been lingering distaste for the simplicity and subsequent tedium of their work, however, was anyone's guess, but regardless, he didn't look happy. And despite the fact that over the course of five hundred and some years, he'd managed to get a handle on his sanity, no longer one to fly off the handle over the smallest of things, there was still an unspoken rule on the ship. When the captain ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. So, naturally, his crewman retreated a few steps to linger in the doorway, not wanting to be caught simply standing in the middle of the common room.

"There's a wave waitin' for you," the boy started finally, considering the floor intently. A pause, and then hesitantly, he added, "It's that man from Londinium."

Not Mohinder--if it had been him, his crewman would have called him by name, or at very least referred to him as the doctor, as had become the norm. Not Sark either, as usually he let Baileigh put out the transmission, and then came on screen only once he was sure Sylar was alone--he was Alliance and they both knew that that wouldn't sit well with his crew, considering most of them were Browncoats. So that left only one person and that explained the mild stab of fear he could sense from the boy.

"Adam." The jury was still out on Adam, though most of his boys were convinced he was bad news in one way or another. It was almost funny, considering the fact that their ship had been a gift from the man himself, and he couldn't help but crack a small smile at the irony. "I'll take it in my cabin."

The kid nodded, retreating back out of the common room in full now, and an instant later, Sylar was on his feet, moving to follow him out, then heading towards his room. Settling down in a chair, he sighed, pressing his fingers to his nose briefly as he hoped this wasn't some sort of bad news, and then he was flicking on the screen on the table. Adam's face appeared on it a moment later, and all hopes for good news evaporated.

"Hello, Gabriel."

"Adam." He nodded a bit, frowning. "What happened?"

The other immortal flashed him a small, wry smile. "You need to come home."

"What happened?" he repeated, teeth clenching, his jaw steeled.

For a moment, Adam looked thoughtful, the sound of his fingers drumming on the desk caught on the recording, then he shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I'm afraid it's more than a little complicated, really, but ... details." He shrugged. "All you really need to know is this: Suresh needs you."

"We're on Persephone. I can be there by tomorrow morning." He barely paused long enough for Adam to register the fact that he had changed the subject, however minutely. "If he's dead or hurt--"

"He's fine," he assured him. "Physically fine, just upset."

"About what?"

"Get here, first. I'll fill you in, after you've seen to him." Assuming Mohinder didn't tell him first, and that much hung in the air, unspoken by either of them.

And Sylar let that linger for a moment, frowning, before he nodded. "I'll be there tomorrow morning," he said again, as if Adam had missed it the first time. Another pause, and then, "I'll see you then."

Then he was killing the screen, on his feet in a flash a second time that day, though this time his destination was the cockpit. He loomed in the doorway when he reached it, his shadow stretching out of his pilot, his niece, that and his expression more than a touch dangerous--something he hadn't been since the war. And forever covering fear with anger, unmoving, he hissed five simple words to Claire.

"Get us to Londinium. Now."

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 671
Note: Adam is

changehistory and is used with permission.

It's silly, really.

He knows that Mohinder knows that he loves him, having told him enough times and leaving it very clear in his mind at all times, so that the geneticist can pick up on it through their link. And even if it weren't for that, he's brought the Indian flowers twice now, once on his birthday and once right before Adam's, on a whim. Flowers, a traditional show of love and appreciation, of romance when he doesn't peg himself a romantic. He watches the brat daily. He's offered to pay Suresh's rent, with Bishop's ability. Taken him to dinner and, most recently, out to Rockefeller Center to learn to ice skate so that he could bring Molly and not look like a fool. Hell, he's let him live, when it would be so easy just to kill him to stop the damn ticking.

All this for Mohinder--anything for him--and yet, he has moments where he feels inadequate, like he's not doing enough. Like his geneticist doesn't understand how deep the obsession or the affection runs. And for a man who prides himself on being able to understand things and, when he feels like it, making others understand, it gnaws at him, teeth cutting and sharp like the hunger in his heart.

He knows it's ridiculous, that Mohinder knows, but it doesn't stop him from having moments of weakness. Nor does it stop him from trying to push the envelope--be a better lover, somehow--when he has those moments. And that in itself probably explains why, when he and Adam go shopping for lights for the Christmas tree that afternoon, he makes them take a detour to FAO Schwartz.

He'll only be a minute, he tells his fellow immortal, and then he leaves him in the lobby among the overflow of toys and their admirers, his mind on one thing. An art set.

He picks out the most expensive one he can find, pays for it with money he more often than not forgets he has, and lets the woman at the counter gift wrap it for him. The wrapping paper is too bright and festive, nothing like he would have picked out if left to his own devices, but he gets the feeling Suresh will know where it came from, regardless, and that the brat won't, and that's all that matters.

Smiling to himself, convinced that he's clever, he signs tag that the woman hands him to go on the package From Santa, and sticks it on before tucking it under his arm. Later, when Suresh has his Christmas Tree--or whatever they're doing, since he's fairly sure that Parkman's Jewish--up, he'll break into the apartment when no one's home and put his present under it. But for now, as he rejoins Adam, who's fiddling with a train set, he can be content in the fact that he's done yet another thing to show Mohinder he loves him.

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 488

( Cut for spoilers for Heroes 3x06 - Dying of the Light. Even if it is spun for an AU. )

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1547
Note: Adam is

changehistory and used with permission.

The wind from this height was nothing short of frigid, but he supposed that was nothing surprising. The weather in Colorado was oftentimes fickle, particularly where winters were concerned, and the air here had long since cleared of any smog that might have held warmth to the city. Couple that with the fact that lightning had struck here years back, burning down a fair part of it - this building seemed to be the only thing with any height, still standing - and well. What remained of Denver was all too willing to hold a chill.

Sylar, however, seemed nothing short of unconcerned.

It didn't matter. His skin would heal itself - was healing itself - from the wind burn, and there was no way he could die of hypothermia or anything along those lines. Not anymore. Not for years. Not since Adam had offered him his gift, decades ago.

At the time it had been everything he'd ever wanted, his fear of death forever banished. He wouldn't have to lust after the cheerleader and her power from afar, because he wasn't allowed to take it. He'd never have to worry about any injury, which was something that was a distinct possibility, from fixing the power in New York to the wild dogs that had come with that first spring. He'd never have to grow old and die. He was immortal. Eternal. Infinite. Forever younger than thirty and loving every second of it.

And he'd been so high on power at the time that he hadn't seen the one hitch in his plan. His attachment to Mohinder.

It had taken him years to notice, really. He'd been so blind that he'd ignored the fact that the geneticist had taken to wearing glasses when he read or the gray hairs that had started appearing in his hair. He hadn't noticed, still saw him as the man he'd met in Virginia Beach all those years ago, until Suresh had gotten sick. And by then it was far, far too late. Mohinder had fallen apart in his arms, succumbing to old age, and he'd come to the city in the wake of his love's death to try and find a way to end his own life.

So far, it hadn't been going very well. All he'd managed to do was throw himself off of a building, this building, three times. He'd broken every bone in his body, every time. And while he knew how to work his ability far better than Adam did, so much so that he could turn it on and off at will - usually when he wanted to keep the marks the Indian left on him after they slept together - his body revolted every time he hit pavement. It was like putting too much weight on wet rice paper. He sustained a mortal wound, even when the ability was off, and it snapped back on to ensure his continued survival. It was turning out to be more curse than gift.

He sighed at the thought, breath caught in frigid air for a moment, before shuffling towards the edge of the roof. Did he really want to throw himself off the building again? The pain wasn't doing much for him, not taking the edge off the ache in his chest in the least, and he clearly wasn't going to die, so why bother? Why bother.

Another sigh, and instead of throwing himself off the roof a fourth time, he settled down on the ledge, feet dangling down over the remains of the city. He'd stay here awhile and think. About what, he didn't know, but that was what he had done when upset, once upon a time.