Chapter One
Stillness
Mohinder sat with his cup of coffee warming his hands. His thoughts wandered for the umpteenth time from the worn papers and dusty lab equipment on his desk, so he looked out the window. It was a chilly, rainy night.
He thought of the one person he knew he couldn't have. He thought of the one person he knew he wasn't allowed to think about, wonder about… be drawn to.
Sylar.
The rain washed the city clean, and yet the powerful darkness invaded Mohinder's sharp and subtle mind every night… it was two, maybe three in the morning, and he thought again of Sylar posing as Zane Taylor, that sweet alluring man he'd met three years ago. He remembered that quiet thrill as Sylar brushed passed him, close enough to smell his warm, genuine scent covered thinly by anonymous cologne.
Mohinder's eyes closed slowly as he tried to remember that moment, in visceral detail, for the thousandth time, never drawing close enough to touch Sylar's hand, or feel the sweet roughness of the man's stubble against his own, his lips looked soft as well, welcoming, slightly parted…
But the fantasy was brutally interrupted by a harsh, commanding voice – What do you think you are doing? He's a boy, Mohinder, what's the matter with you?! And the man's a killer, for God's sake! He was faking, playing with you, you and every other human being mean nothing to him! That voice, stern, distant, was of Chandra Suresh, Mohinder's father, an echo of reason which overrode the hedonistic play in Mohinder's imagination…. The vision, Sylar's slightly parted lips, achingly close to his own… evaporated like the steam rising from the coffee mug into the chill night air.
That Sylar was never real, Mohinder told himself again, as he did every night, It was just a mask, a maniac pretending…
But can you fake chemistry?
"Psh, I should know that, being a doctor." Mohinder said to the coffee mug. His voice sounded strangely loud and rounded in the stillness of the lab. He was so tired of being alone. Maya had come and gone, a poor substitute for the hot, aching longing that had suddenly come to the surface as his physical strength increased a hundred fold. He remembered the incredible pain, and incredible thrill, of becoming physically powerful for the first time in his life. It had connected him to his body in a new, unprecedented way.
And his body, once awakened, yearned for one thing…
Sylar.
Sylar, it would sound out softly in the rushed thoughts of days in the lab. Sylar, it would chant in the slimy womb of Mohinder's scaly cocoon before the second eclipse set him free. Sylar, it would flamboyantly picture in dreams and flash in the middle of making love to Maya.
And after Maya moved on, and The Company captured Mohinder and took his abilities away by force… after months of not seeing the others, of comparative peace, in his sad New York apartment, Mohinder's mind would wander over a cup of coffee, and the rising steam would whisper, Sylar…
***
Little did Mohinder know that he wasn't the only one craving someone completely wrong.
***
The Company had taken everything over, taken away so many powers, and their threat was ever present. Staying hidden was the only thing keeping Sylar alive…. But there was something pulling him into the open, the bare naked sunlight, spotlight, slavery. He only wanted a taste…
But control of his urges was something he had to master to survive. He hadn't caused any trouble, not so much as stolen a pack of cigarettes, in months. He was living in the basement of an abandoned house in a shitty neighbourhood, a place with rushing faces and careless eyes where he wouldn't get noticed. He didn't speak to anyone unless absolutely necessary. He knew he was being hunted, but felt a weary safety since he knew they were expecting him to show himself sooner or later.
They were doubting his ability to keep from killing, underestimating his self-control. He would stay put, stay dead quiet, for decades just to prove to them he could.
But one little scientist, one quiet Indian man of no further use to The Company….
No, Sylar told himself again, they'd be watching him, he's connected, he knows, they'd expect it –
But maybe
Just
One
Taste?