Sylar

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.

The sex he could at least say he understood. There had always been something between the two of them, something beyond the hate, as Mohinder's body had affirmed the first time he had come to him. That in place, that connection intact, it hadn't been that hard to get the Indian to be the one to initiate contact this time -- all he'd had to do was push the right combination of buttons and Mohinder's mouth had been ghosting his. He'd take that as a free pass to do what he'd wanted to for years, and they'd gone from there.

The fact that after, both of them spent and sated, Mohinder had curled up around him, however? That he couldn't quite say he followed. Nor did he understand why he'd mirrored the motion, wrapping his arms around the other man to hold him to his chest, or why Mohinder had fallen asleep like that. There might have been enough chemistry between them to warrant his fucking Suresh hard into the mattress, but the aftermath wasn't them. He couldn't help but wonder if Nathan was having a greater effect on him than he originally, though -- if this wasn't just one-sided, his influence bleeding into the senator without his meaning it to. He couldn't help but wonder if Mohinder had caught that, somehow, and latched onto it and the ghost of two men he'd become.

Frowning at the thought, he extricated himself from the sleeping geneticist carefully, and scooted to the edge of the bed. Whatever their reasons for what had happened after their stolen minutes of heat, and no matter how much he inexplicably may have wanted to, he knew he couldn't stay. He didn't get a morning after; he never really had. Not with Maya -- not that he'd wanted one. Not with Elle, thanks to Bennet. Not now. At least this time, it was his choice. Better to go out on his own terms than to shift involuntarily later, unable to hold his thoughts together, and have Mohinder watch and pity him.

He wanted so many things, but never that.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, watching the rise and fall of Mohinder's bare chest, and then sighed, looking away. He sat there for a moment, in the silence, and then soundlessly he was standing up, moving for the vanity case on the dresser. He opened it, palming Nathan's cufflinks -- the ones the senator had packed without real reason and carried so many of his memories -- and closed the box, heading back over to the bed. He settled back down on it lightly, stretched out next to the Indian, and draped an arm over his waist, slowly and carefully.

Mohinder stirred but didn't wake, and he waited a moment before putting his mouth near the other man's ear. He hesitated, poised to say something but unable to pin down the words, all the things he could say warring for a piece of the spotlight in his head. And he dismissed them all in the end, instead rehashing something he'd said earlier that night, the words barely a breath against Mohinder's ear. "Something beautiful before I die."

He leaned back, dropping his head to the pillow, and closed his eyes. Expertly, he shifted the cufflinks in his hand, pressing his thumb to the face of one, and slowly he pulled memory that wasn't his own from the jewelry. His breathing stuck in the back of his throat, he felt the change washing over him, hair suddenly short at the nape of his neck, bones and skin falling into riot. And sooner rather than later, the shifts quicker now for all the times he'd practiced them willingly or otherwise, black beyond what he could see on the insides of his eyelids swept down on him, stripping him of his consciousness.

Unaware, Nathan Petrelli slept through the night, fingers curled tightly around the cufflinks in his hand.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 656

Nathan's call to Angela is a death sentence and he knows it; Sylar's still aware of himself enough to recognize that.

He tells her he thinks he's sick, and she asks if he's told Mohinder. He laughs, tells her it's a little hard for the Indian not to know something's wrong, when he's been missing time twice and has passed out more times than he can remember now. She tells him to come home. Just for a few days, just so that he can see someone -- a specialist who won't ask questions -- to get some answers as to what's going on. He tells her he'll think about it, that he needs to talk it over with Mohinder, and while she doesn't sound happy, she accepts that and they hang up.

Nathan doesn't get it. He doesn't understand that there's no specialist because he's not sick. Angela does, though, and if it weren't four in the morning in California, he's sure she'd be calling Matt that very second to make sure he'll be laying in wait for his better half when he gets home. She promised her son salvation from what ails him, and that's the only way to do it. Get inside his head -- their head -- again and chase away the demon that haunts him for certain this time.

It's a death sentence and he knows it, but after his encounter with Mohinder the night before, what he's managed to hold onto of his own heart and thoughts crushed and powdered, he's not sure he cares much. He too tired to, and this may be his only chance to rest.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 274

(Based on this picture. Set immediately before this.)

He wakes up shivering, and he doesn't understand. He should be warm -- Mohinder doesn't exactly run the air conditioning often, and despite the fact that he's not wearing much beyond his boxers, the geneticist's body heat is almost an ability unto itself -- but he's not. He's not and in an attempt to fight the cold that's somehow inched its way into his bones, he pulls away from the other man, all but scrambling into a half-sit so that he can wrap his arms around his knees. He shoots Mohinder a glance, just to make sure he hasn't woken him in his sudden albeit short-lived movement, and then once he's sure he hasn't he takes a deep breath.

He holds it for a moment, his heart picking up its cadence to match the violence of his shuddering, and then he lets it out slowly, fingers spidering up and down his legs in an attempt to either instill a sense of warmth or calm himself down. He can't quite manage either, however, and fueled by something nearing panic, he slips out of bed, bolting for the bathroom. He doesn't bother to check to see if he's woken Mohinder, this time. He just opens the door hurriedly and then closes it behind him, fingers fumbling with the lock before he turns to lean on the counter, short of breath now, the world all but spinning around him.

Taking a moment, he tries to steady himself -- another item for his ever-growing list of futile actions -- and then he reaches with shaking hands for the light switch. He finds it after what feels like an eternity of groping the wall, winces as the light reaches eyes that aren't quite ready for it, and turns to face the mirror.

( For the briefest of instants, he's almost sure that his skin is rebelling against him somehow. )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1315

(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