FIC: Reprieve (1/3)
Apr. 22nd, 2009 05:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seraphtrevsTitle: Reprieve (1/3)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seraphtrevs
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: NC-17 overall, PG this part
Word count: This part: ~1200
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Spoiler alert:Through Volume 4 (slightly AU)
Summary:After being separated from the other prisoners in the crash of Flight 195, Mohinder makes his way to Texas in an attempt to flee to Mexico. While trying to find a way to cross the border, he runs into Sylar. Is it destiny, or just a run of extraordinarily bad luck?
A/N: Written for the extremely patientnowhack for the Mylar Fic Exchange. The next two parts will be posted over the next couple of days; it started to run away from me a little during the editing process (but in a good way, I promise). Once again, so, so sorry for the delay.
Thanks tomarenpaisley for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Mohinder was hungry.
He didn’t think he’d really understood the full meaning of the word before this point. He would sometimes joke with friends (back when he had friends) that he would “forget” to eat when wrapped up in some particularly interesting research project, but he now realized that no one forgets to eat, not really. You can delay your appetite, especially when you knew where your next meal was coming from, but you could never truly forget it. He understood that now.
He couldn’t remember exactly the last time he’d eaten. It couldn’t have been that long ago, but the days and nights had started to blur together and he couldn’t pinpoint how many hours it had been since his last meal. But although he couldn’t remember the exact time, he did remember, in vivid detail, what it had been – he’d bought a large bean and rice burrito from some hole-in-the-wall taco shop. The tortilla had been burned, but it had been the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.
He scratched absently at his chin. He hadn’t had the opportunity to shave since the plane crash and was consequently sporting a week’s worth of beard. Shaving was another thing he had taken for granted. Before, he wasn’t always the best at keeping up with his grooming, but he always knew that a razor, shaving cream and a sink full of hot water were available, ready for whenever the stubble got to be too much. The knowledge that those things were no longer easily accessible made the itch nearly unbearable.
He was sitting on the main street of some town in Texas – he couldn’t recall the name. It was a depressing area – several of the buildings along the road were abandoned, and there were no less than three liquor stores. He was loitering in front of a rundown drug store, hoping for a few minutes respite before the manager shooed him away. It was evening, but the heat of the day still lingered, and he was exhausted.
It had taken him three days, but he was now relatively certain that he’d lost the agents that had been on his trail. He found that his increasingly scruffy appearance afforded him a certain level of invisibility – no one looked twice at bums. Mohinder found himself wondering about all the men and women he’d given change to over the years; he’d always thought he’d known their stories – mental illness, drug addiction, poverty - but now he wasn’t so sure. He certainly never thought he’d be one of them.
Mohinder wasn’t even paying particularly close attention when he saw, almost out of the corner of his eye, a familiar-looking man walking down the other side of the street. He rubbed his eyes and stared. True, he was probably near delirious from lack of food and proper rest, but he could have sworn the man now rapidly retreating down the road was…Sylar.
But that was impossible. Sylar was dead; Peter had told him that he had been killed in the fire that had destroyed the Primatech facility. Of course there hadn’t been a body, but the place had been burned to a cinder, and Claire had stabbed him in the head immediately before.
But if he had survived, and assuming Mohinder wasn’t hallucinating the entire thing, what was he doing here? Had the government tried to apprehend him, too? Was he also attempting an escape to Mexico? Or was he here for some other reason? Mohinder had to find out.
As nonchalantly as he could, Mohinder got up and began to follow the other man, trying to remain an inconspicuous distance behind him. The man reached the liquor store on the far end of the street and abruptly turned and disappeared behind it. Mohinder paused, unsure if he should follow, but a moment later his decision was made for him as an invisible force yanked him forward. He was thrown up against the wall of the store and an arm was pressed across his neck. And sure enough, he found himself face to face with Sylar.
“Mohinder?” Sylar said with what seemed like genuine surprise. His arm dropped slightly. “What are you doing here?”
Mohinder gave him a forceful push, sending him sprawling several feet until he crashed into the wall of the building next door. He bounced off the concrete and fell to the ground; it was immensely gratifying to watch.
Sylar slowly raised himself to his hands and knees – and then laughed. “Kept the super-strength, I see,” he said. “But you lost the scales – good thinking. That was a terrible look for you.”
Mohinder quickly crossed over to him before he could get to his feet and grabbed him by the shirt. “Shut up!” He pulled his fist back to punch him, but Sylar raised a hand and shot a bolt of electricity at him. Mohinder gasped at the shock and fell to the ground, grasping his chest. It hadn’t been a high enough voltage to knock him unconscious, but it had still hurt.
While Mohinder writhed on the ground, Sylar got up and brushed himself off. He stood over Mohinder and looked down at him. “That wasn’t anywhere near as powerful as I could have made it,” he said, as if he'd just done him an enormous favor.
“You’re supposed to be dead!" Mohinder said accusingly.
“Yes, well, rumors of my demise, et cetera.” Sylar held out his hand. Mohinder winced, expecting another bolt, but when nothing happened, Mohinder realized that, for some bizarre reason, he was actually trying to help him up. “Now why don’t you take a few deep breaths and calm down so we can talk?"
In response, Mohinder kicked his shin. The angle wasn’t right for doing any real damage, even with his super strength, but it did distract him enough for Mohinder to scramble to his feet. He ran out from behind the building and retreated across the road.
A few moments later, Sylar emerged from behind the building. “It’s no use fighting me – you can’t kill me,” Sylar shouted after him.
“Maybe not,” Mohinder shouted back. “But I’m guessing that smashing your head in still won’t be particularly good for your health.” He grabbed a car that was parked on the street and hurled it as hard as he could towards him. Sylar made a sweeping motion with his hand and the car flew harmlessly around him, crashing into the abandoned building to his left.
Before Sylar could retaliate, they were both startled by the sound of a shotgun being fired. A man had emerged from the liquor store, and he now had his gun trained squarely at Mohinder's chest.
“I won’t miss again,” the man said, surprisingly calm given the circumstances. “Now put your hands up and get down on the ground, nice and slow.”
Mohinder raised his hands. He realized that he must look like a maniac. “You don’t understand – I’m not the dangerous one here.”
“Well, I just saw you hurl a two thousand pound car like it weren’t nothing, so I’m sure you’ll understand if I find that a little hard to believe,” the man said, his aim never wavering. Mohinder couldn’t really fault his logic.
Mohinder looked over the man’s shoulder at Sylar, who was rolling his eyes. He saw Sylar begin to lift his hand again.
“Wait – no!” Mohinder said, instinctively making a move towards Sylar to stop him. The man with the gun fired, hitting Mohinder in the chest.
Mohinder reeled backwards. Everything slowed down, as if he’d been plunged under water. He could feel himself falling, and he heard an anguished shout but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He finally hit the ground, and everything went black.
***
Onto Part Two!
Author:
seraphtrevsPairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: NC-17 overall, PG this part
Word count: This part: ~1200
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Spoiler alert:Through Volume 4 (slightly AU)
Summary:After being separated from the other prisoners in the crash of Flight 195, Mohinder makes his way to Texas in an attempt to flee to Mexico. While trying to find a way to cross the border, he runs into Sylar. Is it destiny, or just a run of extraordinarily bad luck?
A/N: Written for the extremely patient
nowhack for the Mylar Fic Exchange. The next two parts will be posted over the next couple of days; it started to run away from me a little during the editing process (but in a good way, I promise). Once again, so, so sorry for the delay.Thanks to
marenpaisley for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine. Mohinder was hungry.
He didn’t think he’d really understood the full meaning of the word before this point. He would sometimes joke with friends (back when he had friends) that he would “forget” to eat when wrapped up in some particularly interesting research project, but he now realized that no one forgets to eat, not really. You can delay your appetite, especially when you knew where your next meal was coming from, but you could never truly forget it. He understood that now.
He couldn’t remember exactly the last time he’d eaten. It couldn’t have been that long ago, but the days and nights had started to blur together and he couldn’t pinpoint how many hours it had been since his last meal. But although he couldn’t remember the exact time, he did remember, in vivid detail, what it had been – he’d bought a large bean and rice burrito from some hole-in-the-wall taco shop. The tortilla had been burned, but it had been the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.
He scratched absently at his chin. He hadn’t had the opportunity to shave since the plane crash and was consequently sporting a week’s worth of beard. Shaving was another thing he had taken for granted. Before, he wasn’t always the best at keeping up with his grooming, but he always knew that a razor, shaving cream and a sink full of hot water were available, ready for whenever the stubble got to be too much. The knowledge that those things were no longer easily accessible made the itch nearly unbearable.
He was sitting on the main street of some town in Texas – he couldn’t recall the name. It was a depressing area – several of the buildings along the road were abandoned, and there were no less than three liquor stores. He was loitering in front of a rundown drug store, hoping for a few minutes respite before the manager shooed him away. It was evening, but the heat of the day still lingered, and he was exhausted.
It had taken him three days, but he was now relatively certain that he’d lost the agents that had been on his trail. He found that his increasingly scruffy appearance afforded him a certain level of invisibility – no one looked twice at bums. Mohinder found himself wondering about all the men and women he’d given change to over the years; he’d always thought he’d known their stories – mental illness, drug addiction, poverty - but now he wasn’t so sure. He certainly never thought he’d be one of them.
Mohinder wasn’t even paying particularly close attention when he saw, almost out of the corner of his eye, a familiar-looking man walking down the other side of the street. He rubbed his eyes and stared. True, he was probably near delirious from lack of food and proper rest, but he could have sworn the man now rapidly retreating down the road was…Sylar.
But that was impossible. Sylar was dead; Peter had told him that he had been killed in the fire that had destroyed the Primatech facility. Of course there hadn’t been a body, but the place had been burned to a cinder, and Claire had stabbed him in the head immediately before.
But if he had survived, and assuming Mohinder wasn’t hallucinating the entire thing, what was he doing here? Had the government tried to apprehend him, too? Was he also attempting an escape to Mexico? Or was he here for some other reason? Mohinder had to find out.
As nonchalantly as he could, Mohinder got up and began to follow the other man, trying to remain an inconspicuous distance behind him. The man reached the liquor store on the far end of the street and abruptly turned and disappeared behind it. Mohinder paused, unsure if he should follow, but a moment later his decision was made for him as an invisible force yanked him forward. He was thrown up against the wall of the store and an arm was pressed across his neck. And sure enough, he found himself face to face with Sylar.
“Mohinder?” Sylar said with what seemed like genuine surprise. His arm dropped slightly. “What are you doing here?”
Mohinder gave him a forceful push, sending him sprawling several feet until he crashed into the wall of the building next door. He bounced off the concrete and fell to the ground; it was immensely gratifying to watch.
Sylar slowly raised himself to his hands and knees – and then laughed. “Kept the super-strength, I see,” he said. “But you lost the scales – good thinking. That was a terrible look for you.”
Mohinder quickly crossed over to him before he could get to his feet and grabbed him by the shirt. “Shut up!” He pulled his fist back to punch him, but Sylar raised a hand and shot a bolt of electricity at him. Mohinder gasped at the shock and fell to the ground, grasping his chest. It hadn’t been a high enough voltage to knock him unconscious, but it had still hurt.
While Mohinder writhed on the ground, Sylar got up and brushed himself off. He stood over Mohinder and looked down at him. “That wasn’t anywhere near as powerful as I could have made it,” he said, as if he'd just done him an enormous favor.
“You’re supposed to be dead!" Mohinder said accusingly.
“Yes, well, rumors of my demise, et cetera.” Sylar held out his hand. Mohinder winced, expecting another bolt, but when nothing happened, Mohinder realized that, for some bizarre reason, he was actually trying to help him up. “Now why don’t you take a few deep breaths and calm down so we can talk?"
In response, Mohinder kicked his shin. The angle wasn’t right for doing any real damage, even with his super strength, but it did distract him enough for Mohinder to scramble to his feet. He ran out from behind the building and retreated across the road.
A few moments later, Sylar emerged from behind the building. “It’s no use fighting me – you can’t kill me,” Sylar shouted after him.
“Maybe not,” Mohinder shouted back. “But I’m guessing that smashing your head in still won’t be particularly good for your health.” He grabbed a car that was parked on the street and hurled it as hard as he could towards him. Sylar made a sweeping motion with his hand and the car flew harmlessly around him, crashing into the abandoned building to his left.
Before Sylar could retaliate, they were both startled by the sound of a shotgun being fired. A man had emerged from the liquor store, and he now had his gun trained squarely at Mohinder's chest.
“I won’t miss again,” the man said, surprisingly calm given the circumstances. “Now put your hands up and get down on the ground, nice and slow.”
Mohinder raised his hands. He realized that he must look like a maniac. “You don’t understand – I’m not the dangerous one here.”
“Well, I just saw you hurl a two thousand pound car like it weren’t nothing, so I’m sure you’ll understand if I find that a little hard to believe,” the man said, his aim never wavering. Mohinder couldn’t really fault his logic.
Mohinder looked over the man’s shoulder at Sylar, who was rolling his eyes. He saw Sylar begin to lift his hand again.
“Wait – no!” Mohinder said, instinctively making a move towards Sylar to stop him. The man with the gun fired, hitting Mohinder in the chest.
Mohinder reeled backwards. Everything slowed down, as if he’d been plunged under water. He could feel himself falling, and he heard an anguished shout but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He finally hit the ground, and everything went black.
***
Onto Part Two!
