Sylar

He had no idea where the thought had come from or why he was even entertaining the notion after all the close calls he had had over the last few years, but now, standing out on the balcony that overlooked the slow thaw of the Rockies, Nathan couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to die. Not that he would stay dead, not with Sylar's power working for him, and he supposed maybe that was part of the appeal.

He could satisfy the morbid curiosity that had taken the place of horror when he'd finally come to terms with the death of his physical body and be no worse for the wear. He could just throw himself out the window, hope to break something vital, and get up a few minutes later. He held no illusions that it wouldn't hurt like a bitch -- it had every time before, though he couldn't remember what it had felt like to truly die -- but the pain would be temporary. It wouldn't be like after the explosion with Peter after Kirby Plaza. It wouldn't be like being shot.

He shuffled closer to the edge of the balcony, pressed against the railing, and looked down into the courtyard below. A dozen stories wouldn't be so bad, would it?

Sylar, who had been sitting motionless behind him for the better part of an hour, seemed to disagree. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

He'd almost forgotten the killer had been there for how quiet he had been, and he was sure for half a second that he wouldn't have to worry about flinging himself over the railing, how high he was sure he jumped more than enough to pitch him over and to his death. Somehow, however, he managed to keep from accidentally taking a swan dive into the courtyard, and he took a deep breath to steady himself before turning to face Sylar. "Do you have to do that?"

( "Yep." He flashed him a small, manic grin. "But like I said, I wouldn't do that if I were you." )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1519
Note: Based on this picture.

The foreman just wouldn't shut up. He supposed, on some level, that it was understandable -- the man was proud of what he and his construction team had managed to accomplish in the few short months they'd been given to build the office complex and their benefactor was nothing if not demanding -- but it was still irritating.

So much so that he's spent the last twenty minutes wondering what would happen if he dropped Nathan Petrelli's face and just destroyed the place. He planned on doing it later anyway, after all -- his own little contribution to the economy when he blamed terrorists and commissioned a new crew to build bigger and better -- and the cameras weren't hooked up just yet. No one would see him for who he truly was but the foreman, and he would die tragically as the building came down on his head, its supports mysteriously collapsing.

It was a tempting idea truly, and the only thing that was stopping him was the fact that people knew that he would be here. They knew that Nathan would be here. It had been all over the news that the good senator had planned on visiting his shiny, new business complex, and if he escaped the devastation, it would appear suspicious. Nathan just dropping dead wasn't on the agenda either, unfortunately; he needed his position as much as he hated his face.

( He also apparently needed another way out of this ridiculously one-sided dialogue. )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 752
Note: Elle is not_myfirstday and is used without permission but with love. ♥

Throughout the course of the day, Nathan had felt as though someone was watching him. On one hand and knowing what he did now, he supposed it made sense -- Mohinder had mentioned the fact that Sylar was all too aware of what they'd gotten up to since they'd played Trading Spaces on a more dangerous level. On the other hand, it didn't make him feel much better. He didn't particularly like the idea of the killer spying on him, and if he'd been restless before, counting the days until they left India for Colorado, he was all but climbing the walls, now.

At least he was lucky enough that Mohinder wasn't around to see him like this. Another thing he didn't really care for was the odd looks the geneticist kept giving him whenever he thought he wasn't looking, and he didn't doubt this would make it worse. Possibly for both of them, given how short his temper felt on top of his inability to sit still. He'd hurt Mohinder once, even if he'd fixed it, if Mohinder swore up and down that had been Sylar and not him; he didn't want to be back there, looming over him, the geneticist bloodied and beaten again.

Sighing at the thought, he stopped pacing abruptly and ran a hand over his hair in an effort to steady himself. It didn't help much -- nothing had, since the great reveal -- but maybe a shower would. It was the only thing he hadn't tried yet today, and he had to have something, some great hope to cling to. Of course, that would probably get torn to shreds the second the water started running cold and he still didn't feel any better, but he could try. He could keep fooling himself. It was what he was good at.

Another sigh, and he turned on his heels and marched towards the bathroom. He'd managed to get as far as noting how hellish he looked in the mirror when he caught a shudder of black in the glass above his shoulder. And as he turned to see what it was, he immediately wished he hadn't.

( There, sitting on the edge of the bed, was Sylar. )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1007

“You don’t think we’re a bit old to be going to a carnival?” It was a simple question, maybe a touch hypothetical, tossed at her biological father in a rather flippant manner as she walked along beside him. Tilting her head, Claire studied Nathan Petrelli with an assessing gaze as the sounds of bells, laughter and other cheerful noises continued to dance around them.

She would have never guessed he’d come to these things willingly but it had actually been him who suggested checking out the carnival near her university. She had thought about telling him no but it was rare that he would actually offer to spend time with her and so she took it because she didn’t know when the offer would come again.

Taking another bite of her corn dog, she waited for his answer.

"Ma seemed to think the same thing," he replied, casting a glance over his shoulder to watch as not the first group of teenagers they'd seen that night meandered by, talking and laughing loudly. He couldn't say he didn't feel old, given the fact that this place seemed to be overrun by people younger than his daughter, but well. "I don't know -- I thought it would be fun."

( That and when he'd seen the poster, he'd almost felt compelled to come. )

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 2818
Note: The use of Lydia is not aimed at any specific journal. This is also a companion piece to this fic, going through what happened to Nathan!Sylar while he and Claire were separated -- that's why the beginnings are the same. Based on this picture.

There were plenty of things Sylar could say had happened in his life that just weren't fair. Chandra and Elle molding the innocent watchmaker into a super-powered psychopath, for one -- he'd never wanted that life, he'd just wanted to be someone special. The Shanti Virus, or the stabbing that had preceded it also ranked high on the list. Having to sleep with Maya, so she wouldn't find her brother's body. The Petrelli mindscrew and Mohinder beating his head in at Pinehearst. The list went on and on, really.

He thought he'd found the one thing that had taken the cake, ranked at the top of the list, in being forced to wear Nathan Petrelli's skin, however. In spite of all of his crimes and his own need for an eye for an eye, that was cruel and unusual punishment. He would have chosen dying -- really dying -- over being a prisoner to someone else's thoughts, but here he was. Trapped. Unable to even rely on himself, on the one person who had never left or betrayed him, and all because he wasn't around half the time, thanks to Ma Petrelli.

He thought that had been the worst possible injustice he would ever know, but he had been wrong. So wrong. And all because despite Mohinder's ultimate rejection of him in favor of the stranger in his head, despite telling Mohinder he quit -- that Nathan won, and he'd lock himself away forever, as had been the idea -- he was still aware. He couldn't hide in the senator's shadow or slip away to nothingness as he had hoped, letting Nathan become far more than just the dominant personality. He got to watch every waking moment, and with his latest decision to give in, it was more torture now than it had ever been.

( If he could have sighed, he would have, but instead he was stuck with what seemed to him to be a porn gone wrong. )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 862
Note: Mohinder is witnessof_fate and is used with permission. Nathan is, um, mine I guess, since he's a figment of Sylar's imagination?

(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." )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1441

(Continued from here since Nathan!mun and I broke my comments. Oops.)


"I'm sorry," he offered again, this time louder, before taking another sip of his wine. And after a moment of silence, he said," I killed my mother. Or the woman I thought was my mother, anyway."

He knew that was relatively out of the blue, but he felt he owed Nathan something, even if he'd been trying to give him an out to talking about what had happened to Linderman. An eye for an eye. And since he'd been so keen on sharing his deep, dark past, Sylar felt he could at least tell him about one of his bad and entirely painful choices.

"It was an accident."

Sylar could hear them, beyond the closed door, out in the living room. Parkman. Both Petrellis. The dark-skinned woman who's name he'd never caught, who had stared at him like she'd seen a ghost when he'd come in. All of them talking, voices low, either unwilling to disturb them or not wanting to be overheard. It didn't matter, either way, as he was only half-listening anyway, catching snatches of conversation here and there.

"-- to be something we can do. What about -- " Petrelli the elder. Nathan.

Then Peter, firmly, almost angry: "No. We're not taking him to -- "

"Why not?" he could hear the woman he'd never named ask.

She sounded desperate. Just as desperate as he had, moments before, when Suresh had pointed out he was dying. But they were past desperation now, past hope. Mohinder was gone, sweat-soaked skin cooling rapidly against his exposed arms, and there was nothing that any of them could do that would make it better. Nothing that he could do, to bring him back.

He couldn't even muster the rage to blame them.

It should have been so easy to summon the anger, to give into the hunger, and go out and murder each and every one of them before they'd even had time to think. He'd never promised the geneticist, after all, despite the fact that it had been the last and possibly only thing Mohinder had ever asked of him. And they'd never see it coming. They'd seen the truth, that he was a caged animal, willingly leashed to Suresh, and they'd never guess that chained beasts could still bite.

It should have been so easy, but the only thing he could manage to stir in his heart was pain. And the only thing he could do was pull Mohinder's body closer to him, and bury his face in his hair, a scream frozen on his lips, tears hot as they rolled from his eyes, silently. It hurt. It burned and he was sure he'd never feel anything beyond it again.

Somehow, vaguely, he was aware that the living room had gone silent. Then, after a moment and very quietly, he could make out Parkman's voice. "He's gone. Suresh."

"Do you think we should -- "

"No." Peter again, but his voice was as resigned now as it had been firm a moment before. "No. Just leave them alone. Just for tonight."

Tonight. He'd have tonight to mourn. Tomorrow, he'd walk out into the snow and lose himself to the cold and the city forever, just as swiftly as he'd lost Mohinder to the virus. Suresh, after all, had never asked that of him.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Verse: After Shanti
Word Count: 440
Notes: Written as a companion piece to this. Not nearly half as good.