Sylar

He's not sure how long he lays there, listening to the rain come down outside and the sound of Matt snoring, before he realizes he's laying there. Matt's asleep, and as tied to the other man's consciousness as he is, he shouldn't be here -- not physically, at least. He should be trapped in Matt's dreams, forging them into nightmares, but here he is, in his and Janice's room in Los Angeles. He can feel the bedspread under his fingers and the lingering warmth from where the little woman was laying until just a few minutes ago, rather than the numb disconnect he's suffered as of late, cut off from his sense of touch when he lost his body. He's here, and Matt's --

He sits up, reaching out to poke the cop in the shoulder, the gesture both a test and a way to get him to stop snoring if he's wrong and Matt's still the physical presence here, and his fingers slide right through him. Like trying to touch a ghost conjured by a projector. Like trying to touch someone on the wrong side of their divide of physical and mental. Like Matt's, all the times he's tried to touch -- punch, throttle, whatever -- him. He's here, honestly, truly here, and it sends a shudder of exhilaration rocketing up his spine and a smile to his lips. It's not what he wants in full, not his body, but it's a start.

Rocking back on the bed, he lets the headboard dig into his shoulders and soaks in the discomfort. "You've just taken over Matt Parkman's body -- " He doesn't need a mirror to tell that much; missing height and the shadows of his hands in the near dark are enough to clue him in. " -- what are you going to do next?"

( Matt keeps right on snoring, not that he's surprised, and his grin grows just a bit. )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1297
Note: Contains spoilers for Heroes 4x07 (Strange Attractors) but left uncut since it's been about a month since it aired. I figured I'd warn anyway, though, just in case people were behind.

(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

( Spoilers for 3x13 - Our Father )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 302
Notes: Written for witnessof_fate, who has had a craptastic week and deserves something shiny. Even if it came out much shorter than I originally intended.