Sylar

He doesn't like this.

Sylar knows he needs help if he's going to take on Parkman and Petrelli -- he might be smarter than both of them, but they're better armed, and he's never been good at fighting on two fronts -- but people don't just offer people like him help without a catch. Arthur's going to want something from him in return, and as good as he usually is about repaying kindness where kindness is offered, he likes to do it on his own terms. He wants to be the one who decides what and when people get something out of him, not have a debt held over his head, and he knows that's how it's going to go with Arthur. The Petrelli patriarch's already tried it, feeding him some bullshit story about how he's his son to him over the phone to try and make him feel obligated, and he doesn't owe him a damn thing yet. It can only get worse from here on out, he figures, and it's not like he can't find Suresh on his own. He's done it before, biding his time until the heroes let their guard down and move on to more important things, and he's got all the time in the world to wait now. They don't.

Unfortunately, however, neither does Suresh and as angry as he is, he's not too keen on waiting to reclaim what's his and what should belong to him, and that probably explains why, against his better judgement, he gets out of the car and stalks up to the building. If this goes badly, he'll just kill Arthur and go his own way. He makes a show of making sure Arthur knows that's in the cards, too, blowing the door off the hinges as he reaches it in a disturbing display of power. Arthur told him not to kill anyone on his way up here, and he didn't, but he never said he couldn't wreck his little house of cards when he got here.

The spotlights, in their half-circle around the chair he'd bolted in the center of the room, sprung to life abruptly, as if on some kind of timer, and from his place in the shadows beyond the circle of light, Sylar grinned.

He'd chained Mohinder to that very same chair some weeks ago, drugged him, and left him there, watching. He'd lost a startling amount of weight, Sylar conveniently forgetting to feed him more often than not, and whatever infection he'd inflicted upon himself while crusading for a way to give abilities had only gotten worse. The scales that had spread to his face had all but consumed his eyebrows now and although he hadn't touched his blood -- something about him smelled too wrong, too sick-sweet to be appetizing -- he was disturbingly pale. And now, under the bright, hot white of the spotlights, he was writhing, pained, twisting against the chains Sylar had left him in the first time he'd come down here as if he could somehow escape.

Sylar let it go on for a moment, then spread his fingers wide, and the lights snapped off as quickly as they had come on. Mohinder stopped struggling almost immediately, his head dropping forward onto his chest. He wasn't dead, though, wasn't unconscious, the rattle of breath through his lungs far too unsteady for that, and Sylar was oddly pleased and disappointed all in one. It would have been a joy to kill him, but he had his reasons for keeping him alive.

Sighing, he moved across the room, fingers hooking around the back of another chair as he passed it, and dragged it over to the geneticist. He sat down, draping his arms over the back of it, and contented himself to watching him, waiting for Mohinder to realize that he was no longer alone. It didn't take long, though it was just a flicker of dread in his heartbeat, his head never raising from where he'd lowered it.

( "Please." )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1080
Note: The use of Mohinder is not directed at any specific journal.

Only an idiot would have missed the fact that the space between the mirrors made Mohinder uneasy, and after what he had experienced weeks ago under the effects of his blood, he couldn't say he blamed him. Darkness spread out in front of them, broken only by odd shafts of weak light that bled in from the mirrors on either side of them, forming a sort of makeshift corridor. While neither of them were particularly bothered by the dark, however, this was more than just a few measly shadows. This was absolute. Sound and scent dropped off after a few feet, swallowed up by unsettling silence and stale air. Darkness gave way to more inky black no matter how good your eyes were. And so on and so forth until it made even the monster that Mohinder had become flighty.

He supposed if he weren't master of this place, it would make him uneasy, too. Instead he simply flashed the geneticist a sly smile and started moving down the hallway nonchalantly. Mohinder followed after him, peeking into the fragments of other people's lives they could see through the mirrors as they passed.

He let him have his moment of idle interest before he spoke. "I have something I want to show you."

Mohinder allowed him a thin smile, his eyes dancing away from the bedroom he'd been looking into and over to him. "So I gathered. Should I ask what?"

"It's a surprise," he answered cryptically, leading them past a few more mirrors. He stopped in front of one in particular, stood in front of it, looking more than pleased with himself, then took a step out of the way. "And here we are."

( Pushing past him, Mohinder looked in on the room blasely, either not expecting anything of real interest or just wanting to get this over as quickly as possible so they could escape the twilight and go back to the real world. )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 655
Note: Mohinder is capableof_both and is used without permission but with love.

i.

"I have something for you."

Mohinder looks up, smiling. "What?"

His fingers curl around the box in his pocket. It's not a ring, that part of their relationship almost two weeks behind them, but it's just as good and he's just as nervous. So much so that he finds he can't find the words, no matter how much he wants this.

Somewhere in the distance, bells toll the start of the new year, giving him an out, and he darts around the table to crush his lips against Mohinder's, wordlessly. He has all the time in the world to ask later.



ii.

The new year comes with a raucous cry and an explosion of color, and despite the fact that he was damn sure he wouldn't be awake to see it, the sound is more than enough to rouse him from dozing. He shifts a bit, straying just far enough away from Claire to glance at the clock, and then he curls up around her again.

He waits, counting the minutes until the fireworks stop making the shadows shudder, and leans to brush a kiss over her lips. She smiles against his mouth, never really asleep either, and kisses him back, softly.



iii.

( "It's midnight on the East Coast." )



Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1000
Note: Each of these ficlets are 100 words exactly. May I never, ever decide I want to do something like this again.

They're back in New York now, Dale and her ability miles behind them, forgotten. The city feels cold, colder still than Montana as the autumn dies and winter moves to claim its crown, and the apartment only strengthens the chill. It shouldn't, not after Mohinder's turned the heat up high enough to sweat, but it does. He blames the ghosts that linger, this place more than familiar -- if he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it's Chandra and not Mohinder sitting at the desk across the room. He blames the lies and the betrayal, and he wraps his arms around himself to fight off the shivering shadows that haunt.

As if he can sense his discomfort, Mohinder looks up at him. He tips his head to one side, the frown that follows like poison on his face, and pushes away from the desk to move to him. He touches his fingers to his elbow lightly. "Zane?"

He decides in that instant that he hates that name. There's a weakness inherent in it, flaws that bring him further from being God every time Mohinder uses it. If he'd know that it would bring him down he never would have taken it, but he has no choice now, and he offers Mohinder a thin smile. "I'm fine. I'm just -- I'm freezing."

"I'll turn the heat up." Mohinder turns to move to the thermostat and he darts forward, fingers curling around his wrist to stop him. They both look down at their hands; the both look up and Mohinder frowns a bit more, curious now. He wishes he could tell him what the hell he was thinking. "Zane, what's wrong?"

"I don't know."

Mohinder shifts, tugging his wrist out of his hold, and laces their fingers together slowly. His eyes drift back down to their hands, to the light and the dark, and he closes his eyes with a sigh. He loves this. He hates it. He needs more than anything for this to be real, rather than another lie from another Suresh. He needs to throw Mohinder into the nearest wall and demand that he give him the list. He feels pulled in a hundred different directions, so broken and lost, and he wishes that he never thought of trying to seduce Mohinder. He wishes that Mohinder had gotten them two rooms that night in the hotel, rather than recognizing the connection -- the heat -- between them.

"I need you," falls out of his mouth instead, and inwardly he curses himself. Not that it stops him from opening his mouth again. "I feel like -- like I don't know who I am, anymore. I'm losing my sense of self and I don't know how to stop it. And you're the only thing that feels stable."

Confusion replaces curiosity on Mohinder's face. "Because we helped Dale? I thought you wanted ... "

"I did." Of course, his idea of help varied greatly from Mohinder's. She didn't deserve her abilities; he wanted to take them off her hands for her. Mohinder had stopped him, though; he hadn't let him 'help'. "I just ... "

"Just what?"

He drops his head to Mohinder's shoulder, burying his face in it, and lowers his voice just enough so that he's sure that he won't be heard. "You should be dead. I want you to be dead. This -- all of this -- it's not fair. It's not me. You're ruining the game. You're ruining me." Pausing, he raises his head, resting his head against his, mouth near his ear. "But I can't let you go."

Reaching up, Mohinder threads his fingers through his hair, still bewildered but trying to be soothing. "You won't have to. I promise."

"I know." And that's what bothers him.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 627
Note: Mohinder is witnessof_fate and is used with love and permission.

Still the night -- kill the lights
Feel it under your skin
Time is right, keep it tight
'Cause it's pulling you in


It starts with a lie.

It's something small and inconsequential -- something about his mother -- but the words shudder up your spine nevertheless and you just know he's not being straight with you. You don't call him on it, since it's not that big a deal and you're not sure you can explain even if you wanted to, but he still looks like a deer caught in headlights for a minute. He knows he's caught; you know that much, too, somehow. It doesn't occur to you that you heard his breathing hitch when you shivered, despite the distance between you.

You offer him a wan smile. "Sorry. I guess someone just -- just walked over my grave."

Despite the fact that he accepts the apology and crosses the distance to meet you, fingers immediately finding your hair, the expression he's wearing is almost sick, his eyes haunted. This hasn't been the first time he's looked at you like that and it probably won't be the last, but you can't bring yourself to ask about it. You both have your ghosts, both have things you don't want to discuss, and you're half certain that if you question him now, you'll be met with more cold dishonesty. So you don't bother, instead tipping your head into his hand with a sigh.

He combs his fingers through your hair for a few minutes, then tells you quietly he's going to bed. It's late and you should probably follow after him, but you're not tired. The dreams of places you've never been and things you've never done, so vivid you're sure they belong to someone, have stopped and with it has come boundless energy. Not that you actually do much with it -- you're on vacation, and your afraid of taxing yourself to the point of more lost time -- but it's kept you from sleeping the last few nights. You just lie awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to him breathe, and you're more than a little bored with it. You tell him you'll be in in a few minutes, that in mind.

( He nods, watching you with an uncertain expression, and then leans down to brush a kiss over your forehead. )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 806
Note: Mohinder is witnessof_fate and is used without permission but with love. ♥

He should be asleep; intellectually, he knows that. He hasn't managed more than a few hours over the course of the last few days, most of them the night before, and it's starting to wear on him. He might be immortal, his body ready, willing, and able to fight off the things that wear him down physically, and his mind always possessing of the ability to keep him from being mentally tired, but they can only do so much. He still needs sleep, however little, and yet in spite of how easy it would be to rest, curled up in bed now, his arms around Mohinder, he won't allow himself. He won't because sleep means dreaming and the dreams anymore are memories of things he shouldn't remember, and while most of them have been happy, they hurt. And the one upsetting one his subconscious decided to sic on him the other night as if to spite him is all the more painful in the midst of the good ones.

Where ever they were, whatever that was (he's still not sure yet), Mohinder left. Married to him and then gone. Disappeared without warning, just like everything else he's ever loved has. He doesn't know how long he was there without him, the dream thankfully not that cruel, but he woke up sobbing silently then, and his chest and eyes burn now, just thinking about it.

He's a killer. He hasn't grieved, hasn't really cried since he accidentally murdered his mother, too emotionally dead to bother. He didn't even cry for Elle, despite the fact that he should have--he could have ignored her lies and been happy again, even if he didn't remember ever truly enjoying life before hand--but he didn't. He just murdered her and walked away. So why now? It shouldn't hurt--it's not like he remembers all the pieces and before now, he and Mohinder haven't been on anything nearing good terms in an age--but it does, and he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

Without thinking about it, his arms tightening around Mohinder sleeping next to him a little more surely, and he lowers him head to his shoulder. He realizes belatedly that that's probably not his best move ever, as the geneticist is stirring in his arms. Suresh makes a sleepy noise, not really awake but not entirely asleep anymore either, and he turns his head into his ear, pressing a kiss there before murmuring something soothing. Mohinder hums, accepting, and he shifts a bit, snuggling closer before going still again, slipping back into sleep.

He takes a minute. Holds his breath. Counts out time to the ticking in his head. Then, once he's sure the Indian has had enough time to fall back asleep in earnest, he sighs, letting the pain of losing him once bubble up in his chest again, forever hovering near its breaking point. And eyes clenched shut, he whispers three words to him, not trusting his voice above that volume.

"Stay this time."

He knows now what he meant when he asked Claire how to make love stay.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 517

He hadn't slept since he'd escaped from the Company, half terrified that he'd wake up and find his freedom had been a dream or, worse yet, that he somehow wouldn't wake up at all, so he supposed it made sense that he'd fallen asleep now. His body had simply needed it more than he'd realized, and what Mohinder had done to him--what he'd done to the Indian--hadn't helped, he was sure. Not that he was complaining. If anything actually, quite to the contrary, a hint of a smirk tugged at his lips at the memory, as he rolled over to check the clock on the nightstand. His night thus far might have been amazing, yes, but he had things to do; people to kill.

And when he caught sight of the time--nearly three in the morning--he had to bite back a swear to keep from waking the geneticist.

It was much later than he thought it was, much later than he meant to go over and pay a second visit to Dale Smither, and at this point, who the hell knew if she was even still at her shop? He didn't, but that didn't stop him from trying to untangle himself from Suresh like an animal that had suddenly realized it'd been caught in a snare. He needed to get over there. Now. He had to at least check to see if she was still there or else his ruse would all be in vain, and he couldn't have that--wouldn't have it--regardless of where the other man's mouth had been earlier.

He managed to get as far as the edge of the bed before Mohinder reached for him, sleepily. "Zane?"

"Go back to sleep, Mohinder," he murmured, smoothing a hand over his hair in an attempt to coax him back towards dreaming, before trying to pull away again.

The geneticist didn't listen, and for not the first time, he found himself wishing he'd managed to acquire Eden's ability, rather than having to watch as she splattered her brain all over his cell. "Where are you going?"

Zane grimaced, resisting the urge to look towards the door, despite the fact that he was burning time even having this conversation. "To the bathroom," he lied, shifting on the bed again.

Mohinder let him go, this time, and so he got up from the bed slowly, heading for the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he stared at the tiled wall of the shower balefully, convinced that if he did so for long enough, a window he could escape out of would magically appear somehow, but he wasn't that lucky. No window materailized, and he could hear the other man shifting around in the other room, faintly, awake now and awaiting his return. He supposed that he could try waiting for him to give up and fall back asleep, but somehow he didn't think he'd get that lucky. He'd burned off whatever good luck he'd been carrying around since his escape from the Company in Mohinder getting them one room instead of two, apparently.

Sighing, irritable, he cast a glance at the toilet, then flushed it pointedly, so it looked as though he'd actually used the damn thing, and then he was headed back out to the room to rejoin Suresh in bed. There had been no argument, no epic battle, and yet Suresh had still somehow bested him. Changed his mind about killing Dale, if only temporarily--he'd have to see if he couldn't get her alone before they left. Stopped him. That was something even Chandra hadn't managed to do, and he wasn't sure if he hated the son more or less than the father for being able to manage it.

Either way, however, he wouldn't sleep again, that night. Maybe he still needed it, but there was something he needed more, right now. A way to stop Mohinder from keeping the things that were his from him ever again.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 658
Note: Mohinder is witnessof_fate and is used without permission (for once) but with love.

It had been too easy getting in.

They'd seen him coming a mile away--literally, or so he thought, certain that there had been cameras on the roads that had lead here, even if he hadn't seen them--and so they'd been ready. They'd started conventional, with guns and tasers, trying to subdue him before he'd managed to even get halfway out of the car. When that hadn't worked, each death only serving to annoy him more and more, each round they fired hitting home less and less as his ire rose, they'd retreated. They'd tried tranq darts next, dosed with enough drugs to kill an elephant. Then they'd tried playing upon the weakness they'd found in his abilities--he couldn't use his electricity if they hosed him down, which they had. Then they were dead, a mass of bodies at his feet, and he was inside Nathan's stronghold. Building 26.

It didn't sound easy, and he was already sore and exhausted from all the healing he'd had to do and power he had to display, but it was easier than getting out would be, he knew. He'd find what he came here looking for, but hell if Nathan or his Hunter would let him leave with it without another fight. A better fight. They thought they were building a better mousetrap in letting him get lost in the silent halls of the Building, and he wasn't sure that they weren't right. This was a gamble and he knew it, but it was something that had to be risk because his father was here--his real father--and he would see him dead, for what he'd done to him and his mother, in his childhood.

That in mind, Sylar moved down the halls of the building silently, looking for further clues to where, exactly, his father was, here. He found what he was looking for a few minutes later--a computer in a room that had clearly been recently and hastily abandoned--and he couldn't help but think set-up again. It didn't matter, though. Nothing mattered but his father now, and still mute, he sat down at the terminal, flashing a quick, sick grin at the camera that watched him from the wall opposite where he was sitting, before setting to work.

Nothing mattered but his father, until he saw the name of an old friend, listed among the captured. Mohinder Suresh. Now there was a can of worms if he ever saw one, his opinions on the geneticist mixed.

On one hand, he couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation. Had they drugged Suresh, like the Indian had done to him, an age ago? Was he duct taped to a chair somewhere, a gun pressed to his head as someone threatened revenge for all the evil he'd done, while he'd been sick in body and mind in his quest for power? Could he stop the bullet, if they decided to shoot? Would he? And if he happened to stumble upon Suresh's cell, while looking for his father, would he really care if he found a corpse rather than the other man himself? He wasn't so sure.

On the other hand, however, sitting there, staring at his name on that list, he felt compelled to go and spring him from his prison. Not that he held any illusions that Suresh would do the same for him--he'd probably be helping to put him away, if he thought it would save his own skin--but he hated to see the geneticist there. He hated seeing something that could be his--Mohinder's ability, not him, not anymore--sitting just out of reach, locked up here. And beyond that, he knew what it was to be locked up and tortured, the latter of which he was sure Nathan's little team was doing in an attempt to get rid of those with abilities, and he wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even his worst enemy. Not even Suresh.

Sylar scowled at the screen for a moment, before scrolling past Mohinder's name, viciously. A moment was spent looking up his father's cell--just down the hall from Suresh's--and then he was wheeling away from the computer, pulling himself to his feet in a fluid motion. Then, just like that, he was headed towards the cell block, throwing open the door when he reached it, his heart hammering in his chest.

This was it.

"Hello, Mohinder."

His father could wait just a little longer.

The first time he had been at JFK airport, it had been an experience. Getting checked in. Going through security, never once stopping to worry that his falsified papers would be a problem, because Sark was that damn good. Mohinder's murmured quips about how the airport staff addressed him as Brian or Mister Russo, as per his passport. It had been fun.

Now, however, standing in the baggage claim area of the airport, it felt like a cage, and he paced it as such, shoulders rolling with each step in such a way that made him seem more animal than man, and he didn't care who saw. He'd do what he damn well pleased, heedless of the small, disapproving looks he was getting from his partner, because this? This was the biggest waste of time he had ever encountered--he had to go find Sark and Bailiegh--and it, quite possibly, an act of God that he'd managed to stop himself from climbing up on the stationary belt, and up into the ceiling to find the damn bags himself.

Mohinder, who had dealt with his impatience well enough, caught that thought, and reached out to grab his wrist on the last pass, spinning him to face him. "That's not helping anyone, you realize."

"It's helping me, Suresh," he hissed, trying to tug his arm away; the geneticist only tightened his grip.

"No, it's not," he pointed out, frowning. "Baileigh and Sark aren't going anywhere, anytime soon, and your trying to pace a rut in the floor isn't going to make the bags come any faster. All it's serving is to draw unwanted attention to us."

Sylar was silent for a moment, tense, watching him from under his eyebrows. For as patient as he seemed on the surface, the killer could tell he was anything but, from his thoughts to the way he felt. Whether it was concern for Baileigh that was making the other man just as impatient as he was, want to get back to his family after being away for days, or simple bleed over from his racing thoughts, he didn't know, but under other circumstances, it would have been amazing. How controlled Mohinder was, despite evidence to the contrary.

It was also a small miracle that he, himself, wasn't having a telekinetic temper tantrum right here in the middle of the airport, but that was neither here nor there.

He sighed, relenting, and took his hand back from Mohinder--this time more gently--before lacing his fingers with his. He figured it was still safe territory, after all, since it wasn't as though they were going to see anyone they knew here, and well. Even if they were going to, it was just another thing to add to the ever-growing list of things he didn't care about, right now. Clearly, he thought he was a fairy from popular culture--he only had room for one care in his head at any given moment.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, closing his eyes, briefly, before reopening them to watch him. "This is why I don't have friends. I can't--" He didn't know what he couldn't, but it didn't matter, because first, Mohinder was shaking his head, and then the alarm signaling the release of their baggage was blaring.

Sylar sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, fairly sure that Mohinder had done the same for how loud it was, and then let his eyes jump to the belt as it sprang to life, with a sigh of relief. Soon, they would have their luggage, and they--or maybe just he, if Mohinder didn't particularly feel like playing tag-along--would be at Sark's apartment, on the East Side. Soon, this nightmare would be over for all of them.

Or so he hoped, in spite of Sark telling him they were all likely helpless.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 630
Note: Mohinder is witnessof_fate and is used with permission.