This is my first Heroes fic ever, so some criticism is definitely appreciated. It was really cut down a lot but I'm pretty happy with it.
A simple shard of glass had brought the memory back, just a hidden relic of what they had at one time. He discovered it under the large cabinet against the wall whilst attempting to clean his somehow always dingy apartment. The Doctor's brown eyes had softened as he touched it, gently grazing his fingers across the smooth surface. Nostalgia fled into his brain like a bullet. It had been a long time.
It snowed the day he met Zane. Only for a few minutes, but that was the first time it had since Mohinder had arrived in America, and it somehow made things seem a lot easier. He could effortlessly recall the feeling in his insides as the dark eyed man opened the door to him, looking so uneasy, so tense and vulnerable.
He was the first one to answer Mohinder's phone calls, the only one who didn't think he was some kind of lunatic. The Doctor wondered what was different about this man compared to all the others, compared to those who had simply deleted the message. Perhaps Zane had nobody else; maybe he had nobody to talk this through with. Perhaps this man was just like Mohinder in a way.
The fact that they got on so well made it that bit more difficult when the Doctor realised Zane was not Zane at all. Even as he told the man he was travelling with about his father's death, about how he was brutally murdered, followed, taunted by a man named Sylar, there was no doubt in his mind that he looked concerned, be it truthfully or for the purpose of the character. Despite this, Mohinder remembered hearing the man leave his motel room in the night and returning a few hours later but the connexion was never made until he saw Dale's body for himself. He knew immediately it was Sylar, the killer, and the murderer and yet when he looked back at Zane something inside him didn't want to believe it. He assumed avenging his father was what a good son would've done.
Mohinder thought he'd feel better once he was standing in front of his father's killer, taped to a chair and pumped with curare but he didn't. He thought he'd find solace in causing him even a fraction of the pain he'd caused others, and yet the only thing clouding his judgement as he held the gun to Zane- Sylar's forehead was the time they'd spent together on the road. It was clear from this that Sylar himself had felt some kind of growing connection between them, two men drowning in solitude, gasping for air in such a normal existence. He just wanted to be able to breathe again.
He couldn't control this feeling. Something inside was him was burning, and it wasn't the Chai or the curare or the after affects of the injection. It was something hidden, something that made him wish he could work out how his own brain worked, his own heart like one of the watches he poured so much time into. This feeling, unlike any other, was the only thing his intuitive aptitude couldn't help him with.
He had told Mohinder that he was simply a victim too and in some respects the Doctor believed it. After all, his father was the one who showed him what he was capable of. Without Chandra he probably wouldn't be like this, he wouldn't have such an affliction. Maybe Mohinder would look at him the same way he used to if Sylar had stayed as Zane for a little longer. Maybe discovering his companion was a murderer was what drew them together in the first place.
"You and I are similar you know, Mohinder." It was the first thing he'd said since the Doctor had sat at his desk with Sylar's spinal fluid sample. "We both craved the attention of our fathers, both followed in their footsteps by taking their professions." His voice was warm with a slight flicker of criticism.
"That's not why I became a geneticist." His eyes darted as he spoke harshly. Sylar pulled an accusing smile, lifting his head up straight to face the now uncomfortable Doctor. "Of course. Of course, and I became a watchmaker out of choice."
"You were a watchmaker?" Mohinder asked, the black strands obstructing his vision moving as he looked up towards him. "That's how you fixed the clock in the kitchen." By this time he was almost talking to himself, all of the information calculating rapidly until Sylar spoke again and forced him to stop. "You don't have to search for approval all the time, Mohinder."
"I'm not going to listen to a serial killer for guidance." He meant to sound as hurtful as he did. He wanted to draw himself away from this sensation before he lost his control completely. The watchmaker's reply was quiet and filled with aching. "It wasn't so long ago you did listen to me. We listened to each other."
"I didn't know what you were."
"That doesn't matter." It was several minutes before the now rapidly exhausted killer spoke again. His eyes were heavy and his limbs hung limply in the restraints. "I meant what I said before, about you giving me hope. You really did come to my rescue, I was so-."
"Zane, please…"
It was silent for a few sickly seconds before any of them realised what Mohinder had just done. He'd just proven to himself that his judgement really was obscured by the thought of Zane, the memory of what he used to be. Regardless of what name he was going by, Sylar had impacted him. "…I was so alone, Mohinder." He finished his sentence. "I thought being in a company cell for a few weeks would help with the hunger but it made it worse."
"The hunger isn't your fault." The Doctor's answer was almost subconscious. He looked down at his hands resting on the keypad. His aching bones and neck reminded him how tired he was; how he'd driven all the way home contemplating what to do with the serial killer sitting beside him.
"Am I still Zane to you?" Sylar's question came with such anticipation his voice cracked part way.
"I wish it was that easy, Gabriel."
"Please don't call me that." Mohinder hardly realised he had. In fact, that's the first time he'd even thought of referring to his first name. He'd only noticed it on his father's notes about Patient Zero and it had somehow imprinted into his brain. When the Doctor looked up, Gabriel had drifted into an uncomfortable, fighting sleep. Maybe he didn't want to hear Mohinder's real answer, be it too harsh to bear.
There was something fascinating about the way he slept, as if he was so deep in concentration, contemplating some kind of strategy for who knows what. He looked as if even within dreams he struggled to find the right words. Mohinder remembered Zane sleeping in the car on the way to Dale's and it made him smile a little. They'd talked for a long time about his ability, about how he could change the world.
"You're the first person to return my calls, Zane. Everyone thinks I'm a lunatic."
"They're just scared. A strange man telling them they have the ability to do extraordinary things could be frightening for some when you consider all humans really want is to be normal. Nobody wants to be different, or special."
"But you are special, all of you. I never thought I'd find someone who understands this, Zane. You're the only one who really gets what I'm trying to do for these people. I just want to help them."
"You helped me, Dr. Suresh. You don't know how much."
Mohinder thought about taking the IV out of Sylar's arm but couldn't. He was unsure what damage he could do, how many abilities he had and how dangerous they were. In truth, he didn't want Sylar to leave, not yet. He had more questions, but this time they weren't about his work.
Sylar didn't struggle when he felt the Doctor kneel in front of him to undo the restraints around his wrists. He woke slowly, his eyes attempting to adjust. Mohinder passed him a glass of water and Sylar took it with a shaky hand. He looked down at the tube feeding into his arm and then met Mohinder's gaze. "I…I can't." He couldn't bring himself to take it out, to let Sylar just walk away. Then the Doctor's eyes widened as he noticed the water in Sylar's glass slowly and gracefully freeze from the bottom upward, softly crackling as it grew to the rim of the glass.
"How…how did you-."
"So, so determined you didn't even notice I stopped the IV." Mohinder had no idea he could freeze water like that, with such refinement and hardly any effort. Suddenly Sylar didn't feel like threat anymore. "You need rest." He told him, changing the subject swiftly. "You've hardly slept since we left Virginia."
"Neither have you."
"We're not talking about me, are we?" He took the glass from Sylar's fingers before removing the tape from his ankles slowly, gently. Then the killer spoke with simple knowing, the fatigue too prominent in his tone. "I am, aren't I?"
"You're what?" Mohinder asked, leaning back on his legs. Sylar looked him straight in the eyes. "I am still Zane to you. Otherwise you wouldn't have done this for me. If I was just Sylar you'd have killed me but I'm not just Sylar am I?" Mohinder looked down, not ready to face the answer. His brown eyes glistened with the fear of having to confront this.
"You actually care about me don't you, Mohinder?" His question felt like a knife across the Doctor's throat. "You're supposed to hate me for all the things I've done but you can't. It's okay to forgive, Mohinder. I feel like after meeting you I can forgive your father for making me this way. I feel like meeting you has made me forget who I am." Mohinder didn't answer, but stood and sighed deeply. When he went to remove the tube from Sylar's arm, the killer grabbed his wrist and pulled him down towards him with some force, but not too much.
"You don't have to be scared." Sylar whispered, his moving lips inches away from Mohinder's face. "I can hear it in your heart. It's okay." Then he pressed his lips to the Doctor's so softly they hardly touched at all but to Mohinder it felt like burning, like fire. "It's okay." Zane whispered again. He released his wrist but his fingertips continued to brush Mohinder's skin lightly. When they kissed again the heat transferred from the lips into the bloodstream until it was flowing through every vein in their bodies. He could hear the need in Mohinder's heartbeat, the desperate submission. Mohinder was released, finally released from the imaginary restraints binding his entire body. At long last he breathe again.
Dr. Suresh understood why, a few hours later, Peter Petrelli lay pale and lifeless on his floor with a shard of glass embedded into skull. He understood that Sylar couldn't help it once he saw what Peter could do, what he had. To Sylar it was like a fix he'd been craving since before Dale's body was even cold. Mohinder understood but he couldn't knowingly let Peter be slaughtered.
When he returned from the Petrelli's home, Sylar, Gabriel…Zane was gone.
The only remnant of him ever being there was the IV stand toppled carelessly on the floor. Maybe that's all he needed. When he looked at the clock in the bedroom a few hours later it had stopped on 11:53. That's how he knew Sylar would be back, back to fix the clock again.