FIC: Reprieve (2/3)
Apr. 24th, 2009 06:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seraphtrevsTitle: Reprieve (2/3)
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: ~3100
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 fornowhack for the Mylar Ficathon for the prompts "Fighting with powers" and "destined." Part 3 is in progress and might take a bit longer than I'd expected. Please don't kill me.
BIG, GIGANTIC, HUMONGOUS thanks and hugs tomarenpaisley, who beta'd this scene twice and at the last minute, because I'm a spaz. She seriously deserves a medal.
Part One
Mohinder bolted upright, coughing and sputtering. Blood spewed from his lips; he tried to take in a breath but only ended up sucking the blood back into his throat. He was choking – dying.
“Shhh – you’re okay,” someone said. He felt a hand on his back, patting him. “Come on – cough it up. You’ve almost got it.”
Mohinder gagged and hacked and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he felt several metallic lumps pass up through his throat and into his mouth. He spat the mass out onto his lap.
The hand on his back continued to move in soothing circles. “Good. I think that was the last of it.”
Mohinder finally looked up. He was in a bed in what looked like a motel room; Sylar was sitting beside him. “What…happened?” he managed to croak out.
Sylar took the metal pellets from Mohinder’s lap. He placed them in a small pile of similar pellets that was lying on the nightstand.
“You died.” Sylar held up a bloody syringe and smirked. “And I brought you back.”
Mohinder stared at the syringe, then at the bloody pellets. “I was shot,” he said, slowly remembering. “By that man.”
“Yes. And I brought you back here and injected you with my blood.”
“Why?”
“Did you really think I’d let some back-town hick gun you down in the street like an animal?” He picked up a damp towel and began to wipe the blood off of Mohinder’s face. “I like the beard, by the way.”
Mohinder grabbed the towel from him. “I can do that myself, thank you.” He finished wiping off his face; when he was finished, the white towel was almost entirely covered in blood and not a small amount of dirt.
“I bet you’re hungry – I always am after I’m killed,” Sylar said. His tone was maddeningly conversational. “Why don’t you go take a shower, and I’ll go get us a pizza or something, all right?”
Mohinder had absolutely no idea how to respond to that, but fortunately, Sylar didn’t seem to care. He stood up and walked towards the door. “I’ll be back in a little bit. Be sure to wash behind your ears.” Then he was gone.
Mohinder stared stupidly after him for several long moments. What exactly was going on here?
After several minutes of deliberation, he shrugged and decided to do as Sylar suggested. Apart from being covered in blood, he was also filthy. Regardless of his immediate instinct to do exactly the opposite of whatever Sylar said, he still needed to bathe.
The room Sylar had rented was more than just a bedroom – it had a small kitchen and something of a living room area. He made his way to the bathroom; the bathtub was of a decent size and he briefly considered the luxury of a bath, but decided against it. He had to literally peel his clothes off; the blood had caked them to his body. He felt strangely stiff, but he wasn’t in any pain. As he showered, he examined his body. There were no scars on his abdomen. In fact, he didn’t have any scars anymore; the small scar he had on his knee from a childhood injury had disappeared. He found that unsettling.
He got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He noticed a shaving kit sitting on the bathroom counter. He paused. Keeping his beard may give him an advantage as far as hiding from the authorities went, but his face was incredibly itchy. The fact that Sylar had said he liked the beard was the deciding factor; he picked up the shaving cream and began to lather his face.
After he had finished shaving, he went to get dressed, but his old clothes were way too bloody, tattered and filthy to put back on. He searched the apartment for Sylar’s bag; surely if he had brought a shaving kit, he must have brought extra clothes as well? He spent several fruitless minutes looking and then realized that Sylar might have deliberately made sure that there was nothing for him to wear as a way of preventing him from leaving.
He sat down on the sofa in the living room area and held his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe he was in a motel room with Sylar – again. How had this happened? The whole thing was like some awful Greek tragedy.
He still wasn’t entirely clear on how it had happened the first time, either. He’d slept with his father’s killer. That wasn’t something that people generally did. Part of it probably had to do with the seemingly endless streams of rejections he’d endured before dialing Zane’s number – people calling him crazy, or worse, simply hanging up on him, as if he were some lunatic. He started to believe he was – that the only abnormal genetics involved in the whole bloody mess was some sort of congenital insanity his father had passed on to him.
So when he had heard Zane’s message on his answering machine, the relief he’d felt that someone had actually taken him seriously was enormous. It had been sort of crazy to jump in the car and drive out to meet him based on one frantic phone call, but he had been so desperate to find someone who would be willing to listen to him that he chanced it. And when he finally met the man he thought was Zane, he was halfway in love before they’d finished their first conversation, simply because he seemed to really believe in Mohinder. It had been laughably easy for Sylar to take advantage of that.
And now here he was at Sylar’s mercy again, although at least this time he was aware of the dangers. What did Sylar want from him? Was it something to do with his own new ability? That didn’t seem to make a lot of sense, but he couldn’t think of what else it would be.
It was ten more minutes before Sylar returned. He was carrying a pizza and a bottle of soda, and the smell was nearly intoxicating.
Sylar set them down on the table. “You got rid of the beard, I see,” he said.
There was something in the way he said it that set Mohinder off – like he knew that Mohinder would respond to his compliment by getting rid of it at the first available opportunity. It was also completely possible that he was being overly paranoid, but Mohinder’s emotions were already unstable, and before he knew what he was doing, he leaped across the room and grabbed Sylar by the shirt, hoisted him into the air and slammed him against the wall, knocking the breath out of him.
“You son of a bitch,” he snarled while holding Sylar pinned in place. “Is it even possible for you to interact with another human being without trying to manipulate them?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Mohinder tightened his grip on Sylar’s shirt and gave him another shake. “Why did you save me? Was it so you could take my ability?”
“Is this everything you’d imagined it be?”
Mohinder’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”
“Confronting me. It’s what you dreamed about, isn’t it – why you gave yourself powers in the first place?” He was panting slightly. “Tell me – were you thinking of me when you slammed that needle home? When you pushed the plunger and flooded yourself with whatever chemical concoction you brewed up?”
Mohinder’s grip faltered. Sylar used the opportunity to bring his hands up and knock Mohinder backwards with telekinetic force. Mohinder crashed to the ground; when he tried to get up, he felt his wrists pinned by invisible hands. Mohinder cursed himself – how had he ever thought, even for a moment, that his strength would be a match for Sylar’s abilities?
Sylar stood over Mohinder, watching him struggle helplessly. “Mohinder, Mohinder, Mohinder,” he tutted. “Use that magnificent brain of yours. Why would I go to the trouble of bringing you back to life if all I was going to do was kill you again?” He crouched down and hovered his face inches above Mohinder’s. “I don’t want your ability – you’re small game.” Mohinder shut his eyes and cringed, not sure what to expect.
Suddenly, Sylar stood up and sighed. The pressure on Mohinder’s wrists vanished. “I’m sorry. This isn’t – ” He sighed again. “I didn’t bring you here to fight. Can we call a truce at least long enough to have dinner?”
Mohinder eyed Sylar cautiously. Sylar seemed sincere, and he really was famished. “Fine,” he said.
Sylar offered Mohinder his hand. “Please don’t kick me in the shin this time.” After a moment’s hesitation, Mohinder accepted it, and Sylar pulled him to his feet.
The two of them sat down at the table. Mohinder devoured three slices by the time Sylar finished his first, pausing only to chug from the soda bottle.
Sylar watched in fascination. “When was the last time you ate?” he asked finally.
“Can’t recall,” Mohinder said around a mouthful.
“So what exactly happened to you, and what are you doing here? I assume you’re on the run from the government?”
Mohinder hesitated, but then decided that there probably wasn’t any reason not to tell him. “I was captured in New York. They put me on a plane with a bunch of other people with abilities. I don’t know where they were taking us, but the plane crashed in Arkansas. I was separated from the others, and – I ran.” He felt an intense wave of self-hatred at his cowardice. He should have stayed, tried to help, but he had panicked, and by the time he got a hold of himself, it was too late. The site was crawling with soldiers – there was no way he could have saved anyone. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “I stole some clothes and some cash from a trailer by the site. I’m too afraid to try to access my bank account, and I imagine they’ve frozen my assets anyway. I figured I’d try to get to Mexico and call my mother from there – have her wire me some money. I snuck aboard a freight train and got to the border, but then I nearly got caught trying to sneak across. I’ve been trying not to stay in any one town for too long, but now I’ve run out of money, and I’m stuck.” He didn’t like talking about all of his failures and vulnerability, so he tried to change the subject. “What about you? Are you trying to get to Mexico, too?”
“No,” Sylar said. “I’m actually looking for a present for a new friend, and sources tell me I should be able to find what I'm looking for here.”
Mohinder snorted derisively. “You. With a friend.”
Sylar gave him a shark-like smile. “Well, a potential friend.”
“I suppose there isn’t any point in asking you to be more clear about that.”
“You suppose correctly.”
Mohinder finished his fourth piece of pizza. He felt queasy; he’d eaten too fast. “I’d like to get dressed now,” he said. “And as I’m sure you’re well aware, there’s nothing for me to change into here.”
Sylar smirked. “I have some clothes in the car that you can wear,” he said, but didn’t make any indication of moving to the door.
“Well?” Mohinder asked after a minute. “Aren’t you going to go get them?”
“What’s the rush? It’s a warm night.”
Mohinder sighed in frustration. “What do you want from me?”
“A thank you would be nice. I did just save your life.”
“And I wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place if you hadn’t attacked me.”
“What?” Sylar sputtered. “You were the one who followed me! And you threw a car at me!”
“I was preemptively defending myself,” Mohinder sniffed. “One of us here is a serial killer, and it isn’t me.”
“I am not a – ” Sylar cut himself off and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay, fine. But I still saved you. I dragged your bleeding corpse back to this motel room and gave you my life’s blood. Surely that counts for something?”
“I never asked you to.”
“Oh, so you would have rather had me leave you to die in the street?”
Mohinder looked away. “Of course not.”
Sylar looked at Mohinder intently. “You’re lying.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s a new ability I picked up – I can tell when people aren’t being honest. You really would have rather died than be saved by me.”
“Not everything is about you,” Mohinder snapped.
“So you’re just suicidal in general, then.”
“And why should that matter to you?”
“It matters because I care about what happens to you!”
Now it was Mohinder’s turn to stare. “You have got to be kidding me. Do you really think I’m that stupid – that I’d fall for that again? Whatever it is you want from me, you aren’t going to get it by playing sweet with me.”
“I’m not trying to manipulate you. I really do care about you.”
“You certainly have a funny way of showing it, what with the torturing and the kidnapping and oh yes, the way you murdered my father.”
“I’ll admit that I’ve made some – mistakes.”
“Mistakes,” Mohinder said. “Mistakes.” He stood up. “I can’t listen to this. Naked or not, I’m leaving.”
Sylar stood up and took Mohinder’s hand. “Wait – will you at least hear me out? I want to make amends.”
“And what, you thought that by saving my life, I’d forgive you for everything you’ve done?”
“Well – yes, actually.”
“Then you thought wrong.”
Sylar sighed in exasperation. “You are unbelievable. I saved your life – what else do you want me to do?”
“I want you to leave me alone. There are some things you can’t make up for, no matter how much you regret them,” Mohinder said bitterly.
“So nothing else between us is worth saving?”
Mohinder was struck speechless for a moment. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said.
“When we were together in Montana – we had a connection.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“You’re lying again.”
“All right, fine – we had a ‘connection.’ Which you manufactured as a way to manipulate me.”
“Maybe it started out that way, but it became more than that. I didn’t have to sleep with you.”
Mohinder didn’t know whether he felt better or worse that the sex had apparently meant more to Sylar than just a way to get to his father’s list. “We slept together once. That doesn’t make us soul mates.”
“Twice,” Sylar said. “We did it twice.”
“It was one night – it only counts as once,” Mohinder snapped. “And anything I might have felt for you was based on my desire to have someone believe in me and my father’s research. You, personally, were incidental. If I had met the real Zane Taylor, I probably would have fucked him, too.”
Sylar grinned. “Keep lying to me, Mohinder – I like it. It makes me feel all tingly.”
“Fuck you.”
“Deny it all you want – we have a destiny.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure our fate is written in the stars,” Mohinder said.
Sylar appeared to completely miss the sarcasm because he nodded. “So you feel it, too.”
“No. This is ridiculous. It wasn’t ‘destiny’ – we were both looking for people on my father’s list, so it’s hardly surprising we ran into each other. Especially since you killed off nearly everyone else.”
“Then how do you explain us meeting here?”
“Extraordinarily bad luck. I’ve been having a terrible year of that.”
“You and I have both seen too much to believe in mere coincidence.”
Mohinder realized that he wasn’t going to win this conversation. “Fine – believe what you want, I don’t care. So are you going to kill me?”
“What? No! Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?”
“Then if you’re not going to kill me, get me some clothes and let me leave.”
“And where are you going to go? Back to the street? And your little car-throwing stunt has probably attracted some attention – I imagine the government cavalry has arrived by now.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“If you leave right now, they will catch you.”
“Yes, well – maybe it would be better that way,” Mohinder muttered.
“Why would you say that?” Sylar said.
“I’m dangerous.” Mohinder thought about Maya, and how she called him a monster. And he was. He kept Molly away because he was so terrified he might lose control of either his ability or his sanity again and hurt her, too. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
“So you made some mistakes, and now you’re just going to lie down and die. I never took you for a quitter.”
Mohinder glared at him, but said nothing.
Sylar took a step closer to him. “I understand why you did what you did. You felt overwhelmed – lost in a world that dealt you blow after blow and you felt powerless to prevent it. You wanted to fight back. You wanted to be special.” He stepped closer to him, until they were only inches apart. “I understand you, Mohinder – better than anyone else can. You don’t have to be alone –”
Mohinder turned his head away and shut his eyes tightly. “Don’t – just, don’t.”
Sylar ignored him. “When I saw you today, I felt like I’d been given a second chance to make at least one thing in my life right. Please?”
Mohinder opened his eyes again. “And how do you plan to do that?”
“You mean besides saving your life?” Sylar said. “I sort of thought that would do it.”
Mohinder let out a sound that was almost a laugh before he could stop himself. “Yes, well. You have an awful lot to make up for.”
Sylar smiled, taking that for encouragement. “How about this – there’s a Wal-Mart down the road. I’ll run down and get you some clothes that will actually fit. We’ll stay here for tonight, and tomorrow, I’ll get you over the border.”
Mohinder hesitated. Part of him still wanted to refuse, but what other choice did he have? In spite of his protestations otherwise, he really didn’t want to spend the rest of his life locked up in some government facility. “All right.”
Sylar’s smile widened. “All right. Sit tight, I’ll be back soon.”
After Sylar left, Mohinder dragged the bloody bedspread off the bed, took off his towel, and slid between the sheets. He wasn’t planning on falling asleep before Sylar got back – he just hadn’t wanted to sit around uncovered. But as soon as he lay down, the exhaustion of the entire week hit him, and he soon drifted off into unconsciousness.
And finally, Part Three!
Author:
seraphtrevsPairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: NC-17 overall, PG this part
Word count: This part: ~3100
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
nowhack for the Mylar Ficathon for the prompts "Fighting with powers" and "destined." Part 3 is in progress and might take a bit longer than I'd expected. Please don't kill me. BIG, GIGANTIC, HUMONGOUS thanks and hugs to
marenpaisley, who beta'd this scene twice and at the last minute, because I'm a spaz. She seriously deserves a medal. Part One
Mohinder bolted upright, coughing and sputtering. Blood spewed from his lips; he tried to take in a breath but only ended up sucking the blood back into his throat. He was choking – dying.
“Shhh – you’re okay,” someone said. He felt a hand on his back, patting him. “Come on – cough it up. You’ve almost got it.”
Mohinder gagged and hacked and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he felt several metallic lumps pass up through his throat and into his mouth. He spat the mass out onto his lap.
The hand on his back continued to move in soothing circles. “Good. I think that was the last of it.”
Mohinder finally looked up. He was in a bed in what looked like a motel room; Sylar was sitting beside him. “What…happened?” he managed to croak out.
Sylar took the metal pellets from Mohinder’s lap. He placed them in a small pile of similar pellets that was lying on the nightstand.
“You died.” Sylar held up a bloody syringe and smirked. “And I brought you back.”
Mohinder stared at the syringe, then at the bloody pellets. “I was shot,” he said, slowly remembering. “By that man.”
“Yes. And I brought you back here and injected you with my blood.”
“Why?”
“Did you really think I’d let some back-town hick gun you down in the street like an animal?” He picked up a damp towel and began to wipe the blood off of Mohinder’s face. “I like the beard, by the way.”
Mohinder grabbed the towel from him. “I can do that myself, thank you.” He finished wiping off his face; when he was finished, the white towel was almost entirely covered in blood and not a small amount of dirt.
“I bet you’re hungry – I always am after I’m killed,” Sylar said. His tone was maddeningly conversational. “Why don’t you go take a shower, and I’ll go get us a pizza or something, all right?”
Mohinder had absolutely no idea how to respond to that, but fortunately, Sylar didn’t seem to care. He stood up and walked towards the door. “I’ll be back in a little bit. Be sure to wash behind your ears.” Then he was gone.
Mohinder stared stupidly after him for several long moments. What exactly was going on here?
After several minutes of deliberation, he shrugged and decided to do as Sylar suggested. Apart from being covered in blood, he was also filthy. Regardless of his immediate instinct to do exactly the opposite of whatever Sylar said, he still needed to bathe.
The room Sylar had rented was more than just a bedroom – it had a small kitchen and something of a living room area. He made his way to the bathroom; the bathtub was of a decent size and he briefly considered the luxury of a bath, but decided against it. He had to literally peel his clothes off; the blood had caked them to his body. He felt strangely stiff, but he wasn’t in any pain. As he showered, he examined his body. There were no scars on his abdomen. In fact, he didn’t have any scars anymore; the small scar he had on his knee from a childhood injury had disappeared. He found that unsettling.
He got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He noticed a shaving kit sitting on the bathroom counter. He paused. Keeping his beard may give him an advantage as far as hiding from the authorities went, but his face was incredibly itchy. The fact that Sylar had said he liked the beard was the deciding factor; he picked up the shaving cream and began to lather his face.
After he had finished shaving, he went to get dressed, but his old clothes were way too bloody, tattered and filthy to put back on. He searched the apartment for Sylar’s bag; surely if he had brought a shaving kit, he must have brought extra clothes as well? He spent several fruitless minutes looking and then realized that Sylar might have deliberately made sure that there was nothing for him to wear as a way of preventing him from leaving.
He sat down on the sofa in the living room area and held his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe he was in a motel room with Sylar – again. How had this happened? The whole thing was like some awful Greek tragedy.
He still wasn’t entirely clear on how it had happened the first time, either. He’d slept with his father’s killer. That wasn’t something that people generally did. Part of it probably had to do with the seemingly endless streams of rejections he’d endured before dialing Zane’s number – people calling him crazy, or worse, simply hanging up on him, as if he were some lunatic. He started to believe he was – that the only abnormal genetics involved in the whole bloody mess was some sort of congenital insanity his father had passed on to him.
So when he had heard Zane’s message on his answering machine, the relief he’d felt that someone had actually taken him seriously was enormous. It had been sort of crazy to jump in the car and drive out to meet him based on one frantic phone call, but he had been so desperate to find someone who would be willing to listen to him that he chanced it. And when he finally met the man he thought was Zane, he was halfway in love before they’d finished their first conversation, simply because he seemed to really believe in Mohinder. It had been laughably easy for Sylar to take advantage of that.
And now here he was at Sylar’s mercy again, although at least this time he was aware of the dangers. What did Sylar want from him? Was it something to do with his own new ability? That didn’t seem to make a lot of sense, but he couldn’t think of what else it would be.
It was ten more minutes before Sylar returned. He was carrying a pizza and a bottle of soda, and the smell was nearly intoxicating.
Sylar set them down on the table. “You got rid of the beard, I see,” he said.
There was something in the way he said it that set Mohinder off – like he knew that Mohinder would respond to his compliment by getting rid of it at the first available opportunity. It was also completely possible that he was being overly paranoid, but Mohinder’s emotions were already unstable, and before he knew what he was doing, he leaped across the room and grabbed Sylar by the shirt, hoisted him into the air and slammed him against the wall, knocking the breath out of him.
“You son of a bitch,” he snarled while holding Sylar pinned in place. “Is it even possible for you to interact with another human being without trying to manipulate them?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Mohinder tightened his grip on Sylar’s shirt and gave him another shake. “Why did you save me? Was it so you could take my ability?”
“Is this everything you’d imagined it be?”
Mohinder’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”
“Confronting me. It’s what you dreamed about, isn’t it – why you gave yourself powers in the first place?” He was panting slightly. “Tell me – were you thinking of me when you slammed that needle home? When you pushed the plunger and flooded yourself with whatever chemical concoction you brewed up?”
Mohinder’s grip faltered. Sylar used the opportunity to bring his hands up and knock Mohinder backwards with telekinetic force. Mohinder crashed to the ground; when he tried to get up, he felt his wrists pinned by invisible hands. Mohinder cursed himself – how had he ever thought, even for a moment, that his strength would be a match for Sylar’s abilities?
Sylar stood over Mohinder, watching him struggle helplessly. “Mohinder, Mohinder, Mohinder,” he tutted. “Use that magnificent brain of yours. Why would I go to the trouble of bringing you back to life if all I was going to do was kill you again?” He crouched down and hovered his face inches above Mohinder’s. “I don’t want your ability – you’re small game.” Mohinder shut his eyes and cringed, not sure what to expect.
Suddenly, Sylar stood up and sighed. The pressure on Mohinder’s wrists vanished. “I’m sorry. This isn’t – ” He sighed again. “I didn’t bring you here to fight. Can we call a truce at least long enough to have dinner?”
Mohinder eyed Sylar cautiously. Sylar seemed sincere, and he really was famished. “Fine,” he said.
Sylar offered Mohinder his hand. “Please don’t kick me in the shin this time.” After a moment’s hesitation, Mohinder accepted it, and Sylar pulled him to his feet.
The two of them sat down at the table. Mohinder devoured three slices by the time Sylar finished his first, pausing only to chug from the soda bottle.
Sylar watched in fascination. “When was the last time you ate?” he asked finally.
“Can’t recall,” Mohinder said around a mouthful.
“So what exactly happened to you, and what are you doing here? I assume you’re on the run from the government?”
Mohinder hesitated, but then decided that there probably wasn’t any reason not to tell him. “I was captured in New York. They put me on a plane with a bunch of other people with abilities. I don’t know where they were taking us, but the plane crashed in Arkansas. I was separated from the others, and – I ran.” He felt an intense wave of self-hatred at his cowardice. He should have stayed, tried to help, but he had panicked, and by the time he got a hold of himself, it was too late. The site was crawling with soldiers – there was no way he could have saved anyone. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “I stole some clothes and some cash from a trailer by the site. I’m too afraid to try to access my bank account, and I imagine they’ve frozen my assets anyway. I figured I’d try to get to Mexico and call my mother from there – have her wire me some money. I snuck aboard a freight train and got to the border, but then I nearly got caught trying to sneak across. I’ve been trying not to stay in any one town for too long, but now I’ve run out of money, and I’m stuck.” He didn’t like talking about all of his failures and vulnerability, so he tried to change the subject. “What about you? Are you trying to get to Mexico, too?”
“No,” Sylar said. “I’m actually looking for a present for a new friend, and sources tell me I should be able to find what I'm looking for here.”
Mohinder snorted derisively. “You. With a friend.”
Sylar gave him a shark-like smile. “Well, a potential friend.”
“I suppose there isn’t any point in asking you to be more clear about that.”
“You suppose correctly.”
Mohinder finished his fourth piece of pizza. He felt queasy; he’d eaten too fast. “I’d like to get dressed now,” he said. “And as I’m sure you’re well aware, there’s nothing for me to change into here.”
Sylar smirked. “I have some clothes in the car that you can wear,” he said, but didn’t make any indication of moving to the door.
“Well?” Mohinder asked after a minute. “Aren’t you going to go get them?”
“What’s the rush? It’s a warm night.”
Mohinder sighed in frustration. “What do you want from me?”
“A thank you would be nice. I did just save your life.”
“And I wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place if you hadn’t attacked me.”
“What?” Sylar sputtered. “You were the one who followed me! And you threw a car at me!”
“I was preemptively defending myself,” Mohinder sniffed. “One of us here is a serial killer, and it isn’t me.”
“I am not a – ” Sylar cut himself off and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay, fine. But I still saved you. I dragged your bleeding corpse back to this motel room and gave you my life’s blood. Surely that counts for something?”
“I never asked you to.”
“Oh, so you would have rather had me leave you to die in the street?”
Mohinder looked away. “Of course not.”
Sylar looked at Mohinder intently. “You’re lying.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s a new ability I picked up – I can tell when people aren’t being honest. You really would have rather died than be saved by me.”
“Not everything is about you,” Mohinder snapped.
“So you’re just suicidal in general, then.”
“And why should that matter to you?”
“It matters because I care about what happens to you!”
Now it was Mohinder’s turn to stare. “You have got to be kidding me. Do you really think I’m that stupid – that I’d fall for that again? Whatever it is you want from me, you aren’t going to get it by playing sweet with me.”
“I’m not trying to manipulate you. I really do care about you.”
“You certainly have a funny way of showing it, what with the torturing and the kidnapping and oh yes, the way you murdered my father.”
“I’ll admit that I’ve made some – mistakes.”
“Mistakes,” Mohinder said. “Mistakes.” He stood up. “I can’t listen to this. Naked or not, I’m leaving.”
Sylar stood up and took Mohinder’s hand. “Wait – will you at least hear me out? I want to make amends.”
“And what, you thought that by saving my life, I’d forgive you for everything you’ve done?”
“Well – yes, actually.”
“Then you thought wrong.”
Sylar sighed in exasperation. “You are unbelievable. I saved your life – what else do you want me to do?”
“I want you to leave me alone. There are some things you can’t make up for, no matter how much you regret them,” Mohinder said bitterly.
“So nothing else between us is worth saving?”
Mohinder was struck speechless for a moment. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said.
“When we were together in Montana – we had a connection.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“You’re lying again.”
“All right, fine – we had a ‘connection.’ Which you manufactured as a way to manipulate me.”
“Maybe it started out that way, but it became more than that. I didn’t have to sleep with you.”
Mohinder didn’t know whether he felt better or worse that the sex had apparently meant more to Sylar than just a way to get to his father’s list. “We slept together once. That doesn’t make us soul mates.”
“Twice,” Sylar said. “We did it twice.”
“It was one night – it only counts as once,” Mohinder snapped. “And anything I might have felt for you was based on my desire to have someone believe in me and my father’s research. You, personally, were incidental. If I had met the real Zane Taylor, I probably would have fucked him, too.”
Sylar grinned. “Keep lying to me, Mohinder – I like it. It makes me feel all tingly.”
“Fuck you.”
“Deny it all you want – we have a destiny.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure our fate is written in the stars,” Mohinder said.
Sylar appeared to completely miss the sarcasm because he nodded. “So you feel it, too.”
“No. This is ridiculous. It wasn’t ‘destiny’ – we were both looking for people on my father’s list, so it’s hardly surprising we ran into each other. Especially since you killed off nearly everyone else.”
“Then how do you explain us meeting here?”
“Extraordinarily bad luck. I’ve been having a terrible year of that.”
“You and I have both seen too much to believe in mere coincidence.”
Mohinder realized that he wasn’t going to win this conversation. “Fine – believe what you want, I don’t care. So are you going to kill me?”
“What? No! Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?”
“Then if you’re not going to kill me, get me some clothes and let me leave.”
“And where are you going to go? Back to the street? And your little car-throwing stunt has probably attracted some attention – I imagine the government cavalry has arrived by now.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“If you leave right now, they will catch you.”
“Yes, well – maybe it would be better that way,” Mohinder muttered.
“Why would you say that?” Sylar said.
“I’m dangerous.” Mohinder thought about Maya, and how she called him a monster. And he was. He kept Molly away because he was so terrified he might lose control of either his ability or his sanity again and hurt her, too. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
“So you made some mistakes, and now you’re just going to lie down and die. I never took you for a quitter.”
Mohinder glared at him, but said nothing.
Sylar took a step closer to him. “I understand why you did what you did. You felt overwhelmed – lost in a world that dealt you blow after blow and you felt powerless to prevent it. You wanted to fight back. You wanted to be special.” He stepped closer to him, until they were only inches apart. “I understand you, Mohinder – better than anyone else can. You don’t have to be alone –”
Mohinder turned his head away and shut his eyes tightly. “Don’t – just, don’t.”
Sylar ignored him. “When I saw you today, I felt like I’d been given a second chance to make at least one thing in my life right. Please?”
Mohinder opened his eyes again. “And how do you plan to do that?”
“You mean besides saving your life?” Sylar said. “I sort of thought that would do it.”
Mohinder let out a sound that was almost a laugh before he could stop himself. “Yes, well. You have an awful lot to make up for.”
Sylar smiled, taking that for encouragement. “How about this – there’s a Wal-Mart down the road. I’ll run down and get you some clothes that will actually fit. We’ll stay here for tonight, and tomorrow, I’ll get you over the border.”
Mohinder hesitated. Part of him still wanted to refuse, but what other choice did he have? In spite of his protestations otherwise, he really didn’t want to spend the rest of his life locked up in some government facility. “All right.”
Sylar’s smile widened. “All right. Sit tight, I’ll be back soon.”
After Sylar left, Mohinder dragged the bloody bedspread off the bed, took off his towel, and slid between the sheets. He wasn’t planning on falling asleep before Sylar got back – he just hadn’t wanted to sit around uncovered. But as soon as he lay down, the exhaustion of the entire week hit him, and he soon drifted off into unconsciousness.
And finally, Part Three!
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Date: 2009-04-26 08:58 pm (UTC)I especially love your Mohinder's sass XD And the bizarre, darkly earnest and genuine way you write Sylar. Right down to the way he's like, "We did it twice!" Not to be smug about having boned, but because he seems to want it to mean something indicative of them (Them, even) that they slept together not once, but twice. (Sorry Sylar, but I think Mohinder's right--getting off twice in the same night doesn't carry the same significance as meeting twice to do it. *patpat*) Even when he's being sort of (not really) coy and manipulative, there's still a sense of, "DUH, I'm doing this for YOU!"
Oh my lord. Sylar's going to come back to a naked, sleeping Mohinder. I can't even- oh lord XD
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Date: 2009-04-27 04:48 am (UTC)And the bizarre, darkly earnest and genuine way you write Sylar.
I'm glad he works for you - it's always a fine line when I'm writing him. Like, I don't want him to seem TOO earnest, because he's scary and psycho but - underneath it all, he really is a giant dork. XD
Even when he's being sort of (not really) coy and manipulative, there's still a sense of, "DUH, I'm doing this for YOU!"
Ahaha, yeah, exactly. Oh Sylar.
Oh my lord. Sylar's going to come back to a naked, sleeping Mohinder. I can't even- oh lord XD
>:D