It seemed to her, that in many ways, whatever they had used to knock her out was specifically designed to keep the nightmares in her mind alive.
After all, she'd been here for so long. Weeks, months, years… they all sort of blurred eventually, as the horrors in her dreams became more pronounced, worse and worse as the days went on.
But then again, it could just be her. After all, she'd seen a lot in her life; nightmares should mean nothing.
"I think she's waking up."
She almost groaned. She'd seen so many of these dreams; the ones where she had a chance to break free, that she was awake and being moved to a separate cell, that she could possibly escape this place and find somewhere 'safe', if there really such a word. But then the men would change, transforming into monsters or creatures of shadow.
Or worse; they would turn into a little girl, with black hair and sparkling amber eyes. A little girl, barely eleven years old, who would giggle and laugh, dancing out of view as she was forced to follow, begging for her to come back, promising that things would be ok when even she knew they were lies. And she would cry for the loss of the little girl as she saw her, trapped by a forest that would come alive, shivering behind bars made of a tree's branches, or by a circle of flames that would surround and capture her.
And she would be unable to help her, forced to turn and save herself, leaving the little girl behind…
"Of course she's not waking up." Another voice growled. She didn't even begin to try and imagine this was real; she'd been disappointed too many times. "They put enough in her to knock out an elephant."
"If they did that, she'd be dead." The first voice pointed out.
By the tone in the second's voice, it was obvious he'd just rolled his eyes. "Figure of speech."
There was a long pause, then the first piped up again.
"So, um… what's with the gloves, anyway?"
She perked up. Well, that was new. None of her dreams asked about her gloves before; they were always ignored or pointed out with extreme intensity, until she could no longer handle it. Then they would disappear, revealing the weakness beneath…
"Don't touch them!" The second snapped.
There was a long pause, in which it was obvious the second man hadn't gotten over the fear behind his words. Finally, he seemed to calm down slightly, because he replied, in a calm, collected voice. "It's nothing, really. Her personal preference. She used to get very angry if anyone tried to touch them."
"But… she's asleep." The first persisted. "Why didn't they take them off? I mean, they wouldn't do that for anyone else."
There was an even longer pause, until it became apparent that the second man was not going to answer.
Go on. She thought bitterly, unable to help becoming interested in the dream. Tell him the truth.
But the truth was a complicated and almost painful thing, and it could not be admitted. Not by these people, anyway. And in all honesty, they all knew, her included, why they couldn't remove the gloves. Because without them, it was too easy to imagine her as nothing but a helpless girl, scarred and crippled by a horrible past. No, it was easier to leave them, and to hide the truth from the world, to hide the pain from everyone, especially themselves.
Her eyes snapped open. "Go on."
She flinched. For a dream, the pain seemed surprisingly real. Her throat was burning, dry and cracked from disuse. There was a numb sensation in her arm, though there was a slight pressure just in the crease of her elbow, where she knew a needle pierced her skin, keeping her asleep.
"Tell him why." She went on.
The first man, who was much younger than the second, and obviously new to the business, swallowed. "I told you she was awake." He hissed.
"It's not a problem." The second replied, adjusting something next to her bed. "She'll be out like a light in just a second…"
For a moment, she considered allowing this opportunity to pass, for this dream to disappear. But every instinct in her went against it.
Her fingers flicked feebly, but it was enough to send a jet of orange flame towards the second man. He cried out in pain as his clothes caught fire, and he rapidly worked to extinguish the flames.
She quickly threw another blast towards the IV, severing her connection to it. Thankfully, this cleared her head somewhat, allowing her to send another flame towards the first man, who screamed even louder than his partner did, until ice began to crackle around him, freezing him completely.
She mentally swore, pulling herself off the bed and tearing the needle out of her arm, placing a finger on the area to keep it from bleeding as she ran.
The man followed her, still covered in sparkling, glittering ice. She raced ahead, knowing she was going to need help to get out of this place, especially if she was fighting a freezer.
She pushed her legs as hard as she could until she reached another prison. The person inside wasn't unconscious, and she quickly fried the keypad before forcing the door open.
"Help me!" She cried desperately.
She didn't wait for his reply; she simply kept moving, opening every cage she could, releasing the prisoners inside, screaming for help. Some stayed to fight, others simply ran. She knew that they would be captured first, with no one to help them when they encountered someone with an ability that exceeded their own.
Her thoughts were still foggy as she tore out the IV of a tall man, whose eyes cleared almost instantaneously.
"Move!" She shoved him out of the bed before turning to face her pursuer, who was currently trying to fight off at least a dozen former inmates.
The ice controller didn't last long. Eventually, someone managed a lucky shot and he was down; unconscious or worse. No one tried to determine which. No one really cared.
And then everyone started running.
As she ran with them, she could not help but notice the collection of raw power that was backing her, escaping to the world outside. Certainly, some of the abilities were useless. But there were others, strong enough to survive, strong enough to fight. A water-controller. A man who controlled sonic waves. A woman who caused the earth to shake. Even a young boy, who managed to take out half of the building with one concentrated thought, calling a tornado to the surface of the planet, ordering it to rip the place from the ground.
Anyone who could fly took to the skies immediately. Some ran, others stole cars, getting away as quickly as they could, while men with guns began to pour out of the building.
"Come on!" A man yelled in her ear, lifting her off the ground. He was in the air in a split-second, into the clouds above so fast that her stomach dropped.
It was too much. She collapsed, falling limp in the man's arms, unconscious in the blink of an eye.
Sylar slowly set the girl down on the couch, before straightening and looking around at the few who managed to find this place. This included himself, along with two other men, a young boy, and two women, including the one on the couch.
He quickly summed up the others, and saw that they were doing the same. The woman who was on her feet had already found a kitchen knife that she clutched in her hand as though it was her lifeline. She had short black hair and the softest grey eyes he'd ever seen; the perfect color of a mist rising above a calm sea. Those eyes were constantly flickering, looking back and forth at everyone. He already knew she was a speedster; she'd been running around the house, securing everything and making sure that there was no one around for miles.
One of the men looked as though he spent every moment of his life in a gym, his muscles bulging to the point where it became somewhat ridiculous. Along his face was a jagged scar, which traveled down to his neck and disappeared when it reached his shoulder. He was eyeing the woman with the knife warily, and the feeling seemed somewhat mutual, as she continued to shoot glares in his direction.
The other man was almost a complete opposite. He was skinny, almost gaunt, and his features looked pale and haunted. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his face was almost grey. His face was the sort you could easily forget if you saw it in the street, but any closer and it would be etched into the darkest parts of your memory forever, as you wondered what he could have seen to make him look so pathetic.
It was around this time that he realized he probably wouldn't know their names for a long time, and decided to amuse himself by giving them each nicknames, ones that could be forgotten and discarded when their real names were discovered. He named the speedster Dagger, as along with the knife in her hands she had a sharp glint behind the soft grey in her eyes. The man who clearly had no life outside the gym was called, quite simply, Scarface. The other man was called The Ghost, for all of the obvious reasons.
And then there was the boy, who he called 'The Kid' in a rare moment of imagination. He was pale, but there was a determined light in his dark brown eyes. His hair was light brown, tossed about around his head as though he'd never seen a brush a day in his life. He couldn't have been older than ten, possibly eleven.
And then he turned to the woman on the couch. She was probably seventeen, maybe eighteen. Her face was entirely unremarkable, surrounded by short red hair. She wasn't overly pretty; her face could easily be forgotten if she simply walked out the door right now.
In fact, the only thing that was in any way different about her was the gloves on her hands. Unlike everyone else, who simply had the grey shirt and pants given to everyone who was held prisoner, her hands held a single splash of red.
The gloves were solid crimson, cut off at the knuckle of each finger, leaving the top exposed. It was obvious by the way they were fraying at these areas that she had cut them herself. They quickly earned her the nickname 'Gloves'.
There was a long pause, in which no one dared to say a word as they all surveyed everyone else. Finally, Dagger sighed heavily.
"Quick question. Is anyone here going to try and kill me?"
Sylar had to admire her bluntness. He shook his head to indicate that he wasn't, and found the others doing the same.
"Oh, good. Is anyone here going to try and kill anyone else?"
Sylar shook his head again; he had no intention of killing anyone. Yet.
"Good." This voice didn't belong to Dagger; it was coming from the couch behind him. Sylar turned around as Gloves slowly sat up.
He stared. While she'd been asleep, he hadn't been able to see her eyes. They were a brilliant amber, shining in the light in a perfect shade of orange-gold, sparkling in the sunlight streaming in from the window.
Gloves looked around. "All right. I don't want to know names. I just want to know who wants to leave."
No one spoke up.
She nodded slowly. "Show of hands. Who has a criminal record?"
Every hand but The Kid's went up, Gloves' and Sylar's included.
Gloves went on and Sylar listened, fascinated by the ease in which she took control of the situation without giving true orders.
She turned to Dagger. "What is it, and is it real or the result of an ability?"
Dagger grinned. "Theft and murder. Real."
Gloves nodded, then pointed to Scarface. He scowled in a way that he must have thought looked impressive, then answered, "Theft and murder. Real."
She pointed to the Ghost, who answered, "Murder. Result of the ability."
Sylar cleared his throat as she pointed to him and made no attempt to deny his record. "Murder, real and result of ability."
She nodded, then spoke herself. "Arson and murder. Real and result of ability." She paused, looking at everyone, then asked. "Anyone want to leave yet?"
No one did, so she went on.
"Ability." She pointed to Dagger.
"Speedster."
Scarface scowled again as she pointed at him, then replied, "Teleportation."
Sylar stiffened, trying to ignore the thoughts of who his next victim would be.
Gloves pointed at The Ghost, who smiled dryly and touched a plant. It shriveled up and died in a second.
She pointed to The Kid, who replied, "I know the abilities of others," in a small voice.
Her finger landed on Sylar all too quickly, but, again, he replied truthfully. "I know how things work."
For a moment, Gloves' eyes narrowed on him, then she gestured to herself. "Pyrokinetic."
She glanced at them all a final time, then asked, "Last chance. Anyone who wants to leave now can go ahead and do so. But if you stay, you're here until this is all over." Her eyes seemed to lock on The Ghost for a second longer than the others. "Once names are known, there's no going back."
Sylar nodded slowly; her withholding the question of names made more sense now that he understood her reasoning. And it was best that she'd done so; if a traitor knew too much…
Scarface cleared his throat. "I don't really do the whole 'team effort' thing."
Gloves nodded, and he disappeared in the blink of an eye.
No one else seemed keen to go; not even Sylar. He couldn't help it; these people had just broken out of an unbreakable prison with him. There was something behind that, something he couldn't ignore.
"I'm a bit of a loner myself." Dagger commented. "But I'll stay. For the kid's sake." She gestured towards the boy.
The child swallowed, then whispered. "I'm staying. I don't have anywhere else to go."
Gloves nodded. "Anyone else?"
No one spoke any further, so she gestured to The Ghost. "Name."
"Christopher." He replied softly. Sylar raised an eyebrow; it wasn't exactly a name he would place on him. It sounded too… normal.
Dagger glowered at Gloves, then replied, "Dawn."
Gloves gestured to The Kid, who replied in his shaky voice, "Jason."
She smiled at him, then gestured to Sylar.
He looked at her, his eyes locked perfectly on hers. She returned his gaze levelly, her own eyes sparkling.
"Sylar." He replied at last.
Gloves nodded slowly, then gestured to herself, not taking her eyes off his. "Ava."
There was a long pause. Finally, Gloves, or rather, Ava, looked around.
"Well, now that we know enough about each other that we're not going to kill one another, let's figure out where we are, shall we?"
She walked to the window and lifted the blind up.
"We're in Texas, I think." Sylar told her. "Not sure exactly where, but in Texas."
Ava blinked, then lowered the blind. "Texas. Should be far enough."
"It was as far as some of us could get." Dawn replied, gesturing vaguely to Jason.
Ava raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you walked the whole way?" To save Jason the embarrassment of answering, the question was directed at Christopher.
He shook his head. "We flew, ran, teleported… anything we could."
The other eyebrow joined the first. "Mm-Hmm. And the house?"
"Abandoned." Dawn filled in. "Long time ago, by the look of it. But it's safe."
"I think it was more than abandoned." Christopher said slowly. "The closets still had clothes inside. And even the fridge. It was off, but there was a lot of spoiled food in there."
Sylar bit his lip, swearing inwardly. He recognized this house, naturally. He'd come here a long time ago. And left with a new ability. The body was gone; he'd already checked when he realized where he was.
Dawn disappeared up the stairs for a moment, then came back, her clothes changed.
"Huh." She said, examining them. "Whoever lived here didn't have too bad taste."
They were a little large on Dawn's small frame, but from her first choice it was obvious that she wasn't the type to make herself noticed easily. The pants were solidly black, and the shirt was a mixture of colors, ranging from light grey to black in a patchwork, along with a dark grey jacket.
Sylar raised an eyebrow and looked down at his own clothes; the simple light grey shirt and pants given to everyone, that never fit no matter what size you were. For a brief moment, he hoped that the woman had a husband who was relatively his size. A quick look at Christopher confirmed that this thought was present in his mind as well.
Dawn seemed to notice the look exchanged between them, because she chuckled softly.
"No such luck, boys." She told them. "There's only the one closet. No worries; there's a couple stores not too far from here. I can snag a few things for you."
Ava nodded. "All right, so we have clothes. Food?" She turned to Dawn, who smiled and nodded. "Water?"
"We have the essentials." Dawn replied. "Though the sinks don't really work; I'll just have to get the bottled stuff."
"And where are you going to get the money?" Jason asked.
Dawn and Sylar found themselves chuckling, but Ava shot them a glare. She knelt down next to him so that she was at eye level with him.
"No worries, kid. I know someone in the next town; he'll give us a bit of a loan until we can get some more, all right?" The lie seemed to come easily to her, but Jason didn't seem convinced.
"Aw, why lie to the kid?" Dawn asked, then told him, "We don't have money. We're just gonna steal the stuff. All right with you?"
Jason swallowed and nodded. Sylar was surprised he'd even asked; after all, he'd found out that everyone in the room had a criminal record, excluding Jason himself.
"Right. I'm out." Dawn disappeared as she raced off.
Ava sighed heavily, looking sadly at Jason before heading up the stairs.
After about half an hour, Dawn returned. Ava, along with Sylar, Christopher, and Jonathon, were sitting in the room, waiting for her.
"Here you go, boys." Dawn smiled, then dashed off, leaving a pile of clothes behind as she raced to put whatever food she'd stolen in the fridge.
Ava, on the other hand, had already changed. A plain red shirt and black pants, complete with her red gloves.
She went to the kitchen to help Dawn, but the speedster was moving too quickly for her to do anything, so she simply waited nearby.
Dawn finished quickly, then came to Ava's side, leaning against the counter casually.
"Got you these." She said, handing her a pair of black gloves. These still had the fingertips, but that could easily be remedied.
Ava shot her a grateful smile. "Thanks."
"No problem." She paused, looking as though she was going to say something more, then closed her mouth as though assuming it would be best not to, running out of the room without word.
Ava met the others in the same room, clearing her throat. "All right. I've checked the place out. It has enough rooms for everyone, so privacy won't be an issue."
Dawn smiled. "I call the first room on the right."
Ava nodded, and Dawn disappeared.
"The rest of you can check the others out for yourselves. As for me, well…" She smiled. "I just want the basement."
Sylar, Christopher, and Jason went up the stairs. It was quickly settled; Christopher had the room on the left, Sylar the one next to it. Jason settled in the second room to the right, seeing as it was the smallest.
Sylar looked around, trying to grasp the idea that the room was now 'his'. It was nice enough; though the wallpaper would have to go. He wasn't exactly one for pink and white flowers.
He quickly ripped it down, leaving him with the plain white wall. It was definitely an improvement, though it would need some paint soon to keep it from looking like his cell back at The Company.
He changed quickly, wearing solid black and feeling better for it. The Company-issued clothes were thrown into the first trash can he found, and then incinerated by a blast of radioactive energy.
There was really nothing else to do, so he looked around the hallway. Dawn's room already had a sign that read: PRIVATE. ENTER AND DIE.
Somehow, he didn't think she was kidding.
He walked out of the room, moving slowly, without any real purpose. He went down the stairs to find that he was the only one; not even Ava was outside of the basement.
He sat down on the couch for a while, before zapping the TV with a short electric burst. There was nothing on the news about any type of jailbreak. He snorted. Typical. The Company shut everything up, just like they always did. Many things had changed over the years about that place, but a lot had stayed the same.
He stood again, meandering to the basement door. He knocked twice, wondering exactly why he was doing so.
"Who is it?" Ava's voice answered.
He didn't reply for a while. In fact, only when Ava opened the door did he find his ability to speak returned to him.
"Oh. It's you." She sighed. "I suppose you'd better come in. I've been meaning to talk to you anyway."
He raised an eyebrow, but followed her inside. The room was dusty, but was unexpectedly bright. He found the source of the light as he entered; a thousand small fires flickering on the ground, each a different color, ranging from yellow to blue to a dark purple. The colors sent magnificent shadows, which flickered across the room in brilliant displays of light.
She gestured to a chair, and he sat down. She pulled one up in front of him, crossing her arms and leaning back on two legs casually.
"All right, here's the deal. Chris and Jason are off limits, understood? You hurt them, and I'll kill you so fast you won't have time to scream for mommy. As for Dawn, I'm not worried. She can take care of herself."
Sylar, to put it bluntly, was baffled. "I'm sorry… what?"
Ava rolled her eyes. "You know how things work. Ergo, you kill us and take our abilities. I'm not stupid; I've seen your kind before. Killed one of them personally; he's the main reason for the 'murder' on my record. I'm not exactly sorry about it either."
He paused for a moment, trying to understand. Slowly, understanding lit his eyes, which promptly darkened to match her threat. "Ah."
A brilliant, beautiful white flame leapt into life on her hand, weaving in and out of her fingers. "I know what you're thinking, Sylar. When you see all this around you. The fire, the different colors, the ability within my mind; you want it. You want it badly. Just like you want to be a speedster. Just like you want to be able to kill someone with a single touch." She chuckled without humor. "And there's only one thing to stop you; me."
He folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair in much the same way she was. "All right, Ava. Relax. I won't touch them."
She raised a skeptical eyebrow, but replied, "Good."
She stood and turned away, walking to a different area of the room and lighting a large, lavender flame, which died down to become one of the little lights that surrounded the room.
"On one condition." Sylar continued as though she hadn't moved.
His sharp ears caught her barely audible swear. "Of course." She muttered, turning to him. "What 'condition'?"
He smiled disarmingly. "Oh, it's nothing huge. Nothing at all, really. Just a matter of simple curiosity."
She rolled her eyes. "The gloves, right?'
His smile widened. "The gloves." He agreed.
Her amber eyes, brilliant as they were, sparkled with a hideous hate. "What about them?"
He stood slowly, walking over to her with precise and careful steps. She stood her ground, her eyes still locked on his, burning through his mind and piercing into his thoughts until he was right next to her, so close that she could feel his breath on her face.
"Why did they let you keep them?" He asked, his voice as soft as velvet, and yet somehow poisonous.
Ava arched an eyebrow. "I can't tell you."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both."
He chuckled dryly. "Then I'm afraid I can't make any promises."
She sighed heavily. "I can't tell you, Sylar. It's just that simple."
"Not even a hint?" A smile played across his lips, cold and malicious. His eyes glinted, reflecting her own colorful flames, which flickered and danced in the black.
She looked pointedly at him. "If a hint is all it takes to keep you away from the others…"
"It is." He replied smoothly. "For a while."
She snorted irritably. "That's the problem with your kind; you're so stubborn."
"I'm waiting for an answer, Ava. I won't wait forever."
She sighed again, deeper and heavier than any of the others. She suddenly looked much older; no longer the teenager he'd first seen, but an old woman, with many wars hiding in the years of her long life. "They let me keep the gloves because it was easier to think of me as a threat, an older woman instead of a frightened young girl."
"And why would the gloves do that?" He inquired, obviously interested.
"I said a hint, Sylar. I'm not giving you my whole life's story." Her features arranged into a perfect expression of smug triumph; a look that Sylar greatly wanted to wipe off of her face for good.
But if she wanted to play her little games, fine. He'd play along; and he'd win.
"Well, I'm afraid your little 'hint' isn't going to guarantee that kid's safety for long." He replied, keeping his voice soft.
"And Christopher's." She snapped, whirling around so that her short red hair whipped the side of his cheek. "It'll keep them safe for now; and that's all I need."
She threw up another flame, a neon yellow this time, and let it dim down into a tiny light on the floor before adding, "It doesn't matter anyway. Whatever deal we may have, I'm not letting you hurt them. Touch them, and I'll barbeque you."
He chuckled, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her indignation at the response. Instead, she threw up yet another flame. But this one was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen; it was pitch-black, blazing for just a fraction of a second before dying in front of him, to join the other small, flickering lights on the floor. He studied it closely, expecting to see a thousand different shades of grey; but no, it was perfectly black.
Amazed, he pulled his eyes away and back to Ava. "You'll find it's not quite that simple to kill me, Gloves. You see, I can't die. Not anymore."
She turned, and the satisfied smirk was back, twisting her features. "Unless, of course, I stab you in the back of the head."
He swallowed; this girl knew a lot about abilities. It made her a very dangerous enemy, and possibly a very valuable ally.
Her amber eyes glittered as a white flame danced across her wrist, circling it entirely in a perfect chain, which trailed into her hand and onto the floor. "Oh, but you're a shape shifter too, aren't you? So that means the spot can move." She laughed dryly. "Well, it seems I'll have a bit of a challenge ahead of me."
In a single, practiced motion, she flicked her hand, and the chain went flying towards him. He winced, but it disappeared before it could touch him.
He blinked spots out of his eyes; the white flame had been much brighter than he'd expected. When his vision cleared, he could no longer see Ava.
But he could hear her.
"Don't make me your enemy, Sylar." She called mockingly, hiding within the shadows. The colorful flames which had once dazzled him now threatened to end his existence as they threw out long shadows of different hues, from green to purple to orange to black.
"It's never a good idea."
Sylar took this as an excuse to leave, but could not resist having the final word. "This isn't over, Ava."
He left quickly before any of the bright shadows could turn against him.
In the shadows, Ava rolled her eyes and crept back out of the darkness. A deep, navy blue flame exploded before her as she continued to light the room.
Dawn raced down the stairs, finding Sylar waiting in the living room. She quickly snatched the remote from his hand and sat down on the couch.
Sylar jumped, then relaxed as she asked, "How in the world did you manage to get the TV working?"
She flicked through about twenty-nine channels while she asked this, her finger pressing the button so quickly that it didn't have time to catch up.
In reply to her question, Sylar's hand sparkled with electricity. She nodded in understanding, tapping the button a few more times before settling for a local news program.
"And they put up nothing." She shook her head in wonder. "Not a single mention of our amazing escape." She stood and struck a dramatic pose on the words 'amazing escape', moving quickly enough so that her actions wouldn't be guessed before they were completed.
Sylar rolled his eyes as she sat down again, flickering through channels once more.
Sylar looked at her. "So, what's the story with you?"
She didn't even look at him. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you have a criminal record for a reason. What did you do? Why?"
She raised her eyebrows. "You know, some people would consider asking that kind of question to be… what's the word? Rude?"
He chuckled. "Are you one of those people?"
"Not as such, no." She replied, turning to face him at last. "What do you want to know?"
He smiled, seemingly genuinely, but Dawn had seen too many liars with honest faces to believe that anything or anyone was truly genuine, and he was certainly no exception to this rule.
"Your criminal record; it includes murder, doesn't it?"
She laughed, a strangely hollow sound, dry and completely without humor. "If you can really call it murder; and I personally choose not to. The men I killed were the worst sort of people. I did what had to be done to save myself and others from a fate worse than death."
"Ah." He nodded in understanding. "Let me guess; Company agents?"
The hollow laugh filled the air once more as she nodded. "I did what had to be done." There was a pause, then she added, "They weren't all company agents. There were some that I wished… wished I didn't have to… but there was no choice, there was no other way…" Her grey eyes grew distant, before suddenly snapping back to his face. "I've heard that the people you kill never really leave you; they come back for you in your nightmares. But those are the only ones who I've ever seen. The only ones I regret killing, because they were the only ones who weren't trying to kill me first."
Her eyes flickered away from him and back to the television. Sylar didn't speak again, somehow knowing that there was nothing more that Dawn had to say, and thus there was nothing more he could learn.
A few minutes later, Ava came out of the basement. She shot a pointed glare towards Sylar that Dawn did not question before sitting down on the couch next to her.
"What's on?"
"Not much." Dawn replied cheerfully, all signs of her earlier sadness vanishing. "And we're certainly not."
"Naturally." Ava rolled her eyes.
They sat in silence until Christopher and Jason joined them. Neither of them said a word; they just took a seat on the couch. Or, in Jason's case, on the floor.
Dawn kept an eye on Jason. If she was perfectly honest with herself, she was somewhat worried about him. He was just a kid, after all. And the way he kept wincing, turning to Sylar and shooting glares in his direction… it was unnerving. What happened to him? Why did The Company think that it was so important to lock up a ten-year-old boy?
Without really thinking about it, she sped to his side, sitting down next to him. He didn't jump; a sign that he'd been around others like her before.
She whispered in his ear, "You ok, kid?"
He looked at her, his features set in a weary sort of indignation. But he replied civilly enough. "Fine."
She looked at him, worried, then turned back to the TV screen. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flinch again, and a second time only a few seconds later. His face was slowly becoming pale, until it was almost white.
Dawn swallowed, resisting the urge to hug him, as was natural when one saw a child who was that afraid. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath, then winced again.
Finally, he stood up slowly, turning to face Sylar. Everyone stared at him, surprised by his sudden movement as he started walking towards the man. His steps were purposeful and calculated as he moved, though he was pale and shaking, his forehead glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.
When he reached Sylar, he whispered something in his ear. Sylar's eyes widened, and he stared at the child. But Jason was already walking away, moving towards the stairs this time.
By the time he disappeared into his own room, all eyes were turned to Sylar, a quizzical expression on everyone's faces.
But none looked more baffled than Sylar himself. His eyes were still locked on the stairs, as though waiting for Jason to return and explain his actions.
Jason all but fell onto his bed, forcing his face into his pillow in case he screamed. Of course, he'd just revealed everything to a serial killer and practically signed his own death sentence, but at the moment it was all he could do to keep himself from smirking at the man. He thought that he'd been so smart, so clever, trying to gain everyone's trust. But he'd failed to take everything else into account; especially the simple, little detail that everyone here had proved themselves more than capable of lying.
He sat up, trying to calm down and finding it almost impossible. He waited for a moment, then the sound he'd been expecting reached his ears as someone knocked on his door.
"Come in." He said softly. He wasn't surprised when Sylar entered the room, though he pretended to be. It was an act that would be easy enough to see through; especially to a man who had lived around lies most of his life.
Sylar raised an eyebrow, pulling up a chair and sitting down without asking for permission. His features were set in an emotionless mask, but Jason wasn't fooled; the man was as pale as a sheet.
He cleared his throat before whispering, as though worried his voice might break and show his true fear, "You're telepathic."
Jason nodded once. "Yes." His own voice was steady, simply replying to the facts in front of him and affirming their accuracy. He kept his face emotionless as well, but he knew from Sylar's thoughts that his eyes did not betray him as easily as they betrayed the killer.
He saw the glint reappear in Sylar's eyes as he looked at him from a different perspective. Instead of appearing unnerved, as seemed natural, Jason laughed coldly.
"Oh, enough." He waved a flippant hand, as though the thoughts infiltrating his mind were a minor nuisance. "You are not the first killer I've met, Sylar, and you will certainly not be the last."
Sylar swallowed, and Jason felt a flash of smug triumph threaten to break through his mask. He suppressed it, instead fixing his face into the perfect picture of cold hatred.
For a moment, there was silence as Jason allowed Sylar to collect his thoughts. He allowed Sylar to speak, though he knew what he was going to ask before he did.
"You told me to stop thinking about it. That if I was going to kill everyone, I should just do it." Sylar's eyes glittered again, as though this question would show Jason as the powerless ten-year-old that Sylar wanted him to be, instead of the child who knew his every thought. Jason hid his smirk, allowing Sylar to believe he had the upper hand for the moment.
"Now why would you say that? You of all people should know the complications…?" He allowed the sentence to form into a question, looking irritatingly smug.
"Yes… Ava." Jason replied coolly, his tone like ice, his dark brown eyes hard and unforgiving.
It was the perfect answer. Sylar's face turned pale, the light dying in his eyes as he it became clear that his final hope had been destroyed in a second.
Jason waited again as Sylar scrambled to consider his options. Eventually, it was not his conscious mind that came up with the question, but the first thought that managed to release itself from the prison of his mind and escape into the world around them.
"What is her problem?"
Jason laughed again, the same cold and airy laugh he'd used before. "Ah, yes. Ava is… an interesting case."
Sylar's thoughts were practically screaming, and had it been anyone else, Jason would have cringed. They were all focused on one thing; the gloves.
"What are they?" The serial killer asked, his black eyes almost desperate. "Why does she… why?"
Jason paused. "I'm afraid I can't tell you."
Something flew across the room and shattered against a wall as Sylar stood, his eyes sparkling. "Why?" He all but snarled.
Jason slowly pressed the tips of his fingers together, weighing his options, then replied carefully, "The secrets in her mind are not mine to give, Sylar. She has her own life, and I can't interfere with it."
Sylar swore viciously, throwing something else across the room. Jason didn't even blink at the destruction going on around him; he simply waited, keeping his expression calm.
Finally, Sylar sat down again, his breathing heavy.
"So we're done with our little tantrum, are we?" Jason asked.
If looks could kill, Jason wouldn't have lasted a second under the glare Sylar threw in his direction. But Jason couldn't help but add a last remark under his breath: "And they say I'm the child."
Sylar's hand clenched into a fist, but he controlled his temper for a moment longer. "Why does she wear the gloves?" He asked, the question muffled as he spoke through clenched teeth.
Jason raised an eyebrow. "I'm not certain we should talk about Ava; the subject rather seems to raise your blood pressure."
Electricity ran around Sylar for a second, but he took a deep breath, trying to force himself to keep his composure. "Tell me, Jason, or I swear I'll…"
Jason raised a hand, cutting him off. "You'll do nothing. There is no threat you can make."
There was another pause as Sylar tried to compose himself. Eventually, his breathing steadied and he nodded slowly.
His voice was much softer as he spoke again. "Just tell me one thing."
Jason knew what he would ask and decided to permit it. "Of course."
"How did she know about me? She knew I was a shape-shifter; something I've never told her."
Jason smiled knowingly. "Well, that's simple, really. She knew because she's met you before."
Sylar looked at him, puzzled, but Jason turned away, indicating that the conversation was over. Sylar clenched his fists in frustration, but didn't protest. Instead, he simply walked out of the room.