Title: The Waiting Game
Author: DruggedChai
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Gabriel Gray/Sylar x Mohinder Suresh
Warnings: Slash
Spoilers: Heroes, 1.18
Word Count: 3,032
Summary: How 1.18 Parasite SHOULD have gone. Sylar has to make a hard decision to keep Mohinder safe. [MYLAR] [slash]
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes or these characters, although I wish I did.
Author's Note: This is my very first Heroes fanfic ever. It turned out better than I thought it would. I hope you like it!
The Waiting Game
Mohinder Suresh had Sylar right where he wanted him -- strapped to a chair and pumped full of curare. He had been waiting so long for this day to come, for his time to come.
Mohinder had nearly killed Sylar, but something had stopped him. He was about to pull the trigger but suddenly a feeling of guilt and remorse had come over him and he put the gun down. Instead of killing him, he took a sample of Sylar's spinal fluid and used it to create a new list with the hopes of helping other people with abilities.
He hated to think about it, but there was another reason he hesitated to pull the trigger when he had such an easy chance to kill the murderer. When he was in the same room as Sylar, Mohinder felt completed in some way, somehow whole. He never got that feeling when he was alone, and he had never felt it so strongly before. Not with Maya, not with anyone but this man he felt such hatred toward.
x x x
Mohinder closed his laptop, stood up, and walked around to the front of his desk. He sighed contentedly. It felt good to finally stretch his legs after sitting for the past three hours. He looked out the window to find that it was nearly dark. He rubbed his eyes and looked at Sylar, trying to decide what to do.
The killer's head was hung slightly, and he appeared almost relaxed. His eyes were closed, and Mohinder presumed he was probably asleep or something close to it. Just looking at him gave the geneticist chills. Even when he seemed so helpless Sylar still had an air of power, of control. He was a wild being, not meant to be kept. It seemed as if any moment now he would rise from the chair quietly and gracefully as a ghost and glide out of the apartment.
Mohinder looked back toward the laptop and his unfinished work, still trying to decide what to do with himself.
"So… can I lay down somewhere or are you going to make me sleep like this?" Mohinder jumped and spun around to face the killer, startled by the sudden break in the silence. Sylar chuckled. He stretched as much as he could with his wrists and ankles bound to the chair, and yawned slightly. Mohinder stared at him in thoughtful silence.
After a few moments he opened his mouth to say something hurtful, but something stopped him. A frantic conversation was going on inside his head.
How could you even think about letting him out of that chair? How could you even hesitate? How could you feel sympathy for him? The man who killed your father!
But he didn't mean to kill my father. Things just… got a little out of hand is all. And he's a person too. Doesn't he deserve to have sympathy? To have someone care about him even in the slightest of ways?
But he's a murderer! He--
The argument was cut short as the killer cleared his throat and startled Mohinder out of his trance. "In another world, were we Mohinder?" Sylar chuckled again.
God, that man could be annoying.
Mohinder shook his head slightly as if to clear away the voices in his head. Finally he spoke, his words coming out jerkily. "I sup-suppose you c-could rest in the bed…" He still appeared to be warring with himself, but his good side seemed to have gained the upper hand.
Sylar smiled. "Good choice."
x x x
Why are you doing this? The second he's free from that chair he's going to tear out of here and then come back to get you when you aren't expecting him. You don't want a murderer on your tail, do you?!
As Mohinder crouched near Sylar, the voices in his head rose to a near unbearable volume. It was as if he was coming apart; his head trying to separate the two halves of his being.
He reached up and gently began to undo the strap holding the man's left wrist. As he worked at getting it free, Sylar's scent washed over him. He smelled like nobody Mohinder had ever met before; a wonderful mix of aromas. When it began to fade from the geneticist's nostrils, he found himself craving more. He felt heat rise in his cheeks and Sylar chuckled again. Only this time Mohinder found it strangely endearing. He forced himself into the middle of the shouts in his head.
Shut up.
x x x
Once the bindings were off, Mohinder expected Sylar to jump out of the chair. Or at least stand up. But instead the killer didn't move a muscle.
"Aren't you going to get up? I don't have all night you know." Mohinder thought he must be teetering on the edge of insanity. Talking that way to a murderer? He forced himself to stay calm as Sylar began to stir in the chair. The killer began to shift his weight out of the chair to stand up, but when he tried to pull himself up his knees gave out and he collapsed.
A mocha colored arm was under him in an instant, holding him up. He gazed up into the geneticist's swirling brown eyes, wondering what was going on inside the other man's head.
Sylar had already announced that the curare made him feel weak, but until now the geneticist had no idea how weak the killer really was. A part of him felt bad. This wasn't the way things should be.
Mohinder hadn't thought about catching Sylar; it was merely instinct. But he now supported the taller man with his forearm. He felt his face grow hot again as he lifted the killer up and out of the chair the rest of the way and gently helped him support himself.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I think so." Sylar's voice was shaky.
The two men looked at each other for a long moment, sharing the same odd feeling of fear and longing.
Then Mohinder adjusted his grip around Sylar's shoulders and began walking toward the bedroom, helping the taller man along. He pulled the IV stand along behind him with his other hand. Sylar smirked slightly at the thought of being in the bedroom with the geneticist, but it faded from his face as another wave of exhaustion hit him.
x x x
The geneticist eased Sylar down into the bed and helped him get comfortable. It didn't take much; the killer was out cold before Mohinder could ask if he needed anything. He pulled the patterned quilt up around the other man's shoulders.
How can you let that… that thing sleep in your bed? Have you—
Mohinder gritted his teeth. He was already in over his head; why not go a little further?
I said shut up.
x x x
Comforted by the heavy snoring coming from the bedroom, Mohinder felt safe enough to go into the kitchen and make himself some tea. As he put water in the kettle and turned on the stove, he thought about his day. What a day.
He could hardly believe himself. There was a deranged psychopath sleeping just a wall's thickness away, yet he felt strangely at ease. It was nice to have someone in the house, he mused. He had always disliked being alone but he had grown used to it over the years of solitude. Now it was like he could finally breathe again after an eternity without air.
Just as he began to sink into a chair, the kettle whistled. Grumbling, he stood back up, rubbed his eyes, and walked back over to the stove. He was exhausted, but there was no way he could sleep yet. His mind was racing and he needed to relax. He poured himself a cup of the hot tea and wandered into the living room. He picked up a book and settled onto the couch with his steaming mug, ready to forget his troubles for a while.
x x x
Mohinder opened his bleary eyes slowly, giving them time to adjust to the light. He must have fallen asleep reading. How long had he been out?
He glanced over at the clock on the table next to the couch. It was twelve fifty four. He had left the killer alone for hours, oblivious to what was going on around him. He might have escaped – or worse.
Instantly his heart started racing and his mind reeled with horrid images of what Sylar might do to him if he had the chance. As he tried to work up the courage to go into the other room and check to make sure everything was alright, he realized his worries were for nothing. He could still hear the gentle, rhythmic snoring of the other man coming from the bedroom.
Smiling slightly at the now normal sound, he decided he should be getting to sleep too. He stood for a moment, gazing up at the ceiling and trying to decide what to do. Should he sleep on the couch? Obviously there was a serial killer in his bed so…
He decided to make up his mind after he was done with his night time tasks. It would still take him at least twenty minutes to clean up the kitchen and get ready for bed anyway. He let out a long sigh and went to get the kettle off the stove.
x x x
Mohinder crept silently into the bedroom, being careful to open the door only as far as absolutely necessary. He didn't want a stray beam of light or a creaky floor board to wake the other man.
He had gradually gone from being exhausted when he first got up off the couch to being wide awake now. The entire time he was cleaning, he was so deep in thought that his actions were simply habit. He had been anticipating this moment; concentrating on it to the point of being oblivious to everything else. He knew there wasn't really anything to be afraid of; Sylar hadn't tried anything earlier. And besides, he was in such a deep sleep Mohinder doubted a marching band could have woken him up. But there was still a part of him that worried. He was so keyed up that he felt like the snap of a twig would give him a heart attack.
The geneticist peered down at Sylar, watching him sleep for a few moments. He looked so peaceful, almost like an angel. Mohinder chuckled slightly, amused at the comparison.
After he was sure Sylar was soundly asleep, Mohinder went into the closet and changed into his pajamas. He was still debating on where he would sleep. Before he had thought the bed was out of the question, but…
He walked back over and looked at Sylar for a long moment. Then, having made up his mind, he walked around to the other side of the bed. As he crawled under the covers next to the other man, the voice in his head was screaming at him to run. To get out of the bed and run as fast as he could as far as he could. To put as much distance between himself and the killer as possible. But he ignored it.
x x x
Mohinder slept fitfully. At some point during the night he remembered hearing Sylar's breathing speed up and become uneven as he woke up and realized that Mohinder was in bed with him. Then the other man scooted over in the bed so he was closer to Mohinder and seemed to curl into himself. Within minutes, his breathing had fallen back into a steady rhythm. Some time after that, the geneticist fell back to sleep and slept soundly the rest of the night.
x x x
As Mohinder woke up, he looked around the room. It was still dark outside. He rolled over to check the time; it was only five in the morning. As he turned onto his other side to go back to sleep, he saw the man next to him in the bed and nearly jumped out of his skin.
As the events of the previous day began to come back to him, he relaxed a bit. There was no chance of him getting back to sleep after a scare like that though, so he slowly clambered out of bed, his tired feet dragging quietly along the floor. He changed into some more presentable clothing and slipped out of the bedroom.
He figured another cup of tea would help him wake up. As he made his way to the kitchen and rummaged for the kettle, he thought about how much his life had changed in the past day. He still found it impossible to believe he had slept in the same bad as a serial killer. He had slept with the man who killed his father.
As he let his mind wander, he suddenly realized that he never really checked on Sylar since before he went to sleep the night before. He was surprised he hadn't thought of this; all he knew was that the killer was still in his apartment for whatever reason. He was surprised he even cared.
Once again Mohinder crept through the bedroom door to avoid disturbing the other man.
He tiptoed over to Sylar and stood looking down at him. He still wore the same peaceful expression on his face as he had the night before.
Mohinder remembered that the curare should still be suppressing the killer's powers. He checked the IV stand and found that the drip had been turned off at some point during the night. Theoretically, that would mean that Sylar should have his powers back by now.
He could have escaped. He could have used his powers to kill me and rip me up into a thousand tiny pieces. But he didn't. What does that mean? Does he… care about me? Should I care about him?
As Mohinder contemplated this, he reached down and stroked the back of Sylar's hand absently. He decided he might as well take out the IV if the killer was going to turn it off anyway. He reached down and began to untape the tube from the other man's skin as gently as possible. A low moan escaped Sylar's lips as the geneticist slid the needle out of his arm and replaced it with a small bandage, but he never woke up.
He started for the door, then hesitated. He felt as if he somehow owed the killer something, still. He crouched next to Sylar and placed a hand on his back. He began slowly rubbing small circles up and down the other man's back on either side of his spine, carefully avoiding his neck and the small bruise from the spinal tap. He felt bad about that now.
As Mohinder watched, Sylar relaxed and moved into his touch in his sleep. He continued rubbing the other man's back for a few more minutes. Then he rose and quietly slipped out the door. He realized he was smiling.
x x x
As Sylar began to wake up, he was aware of many strange scents. He could smell a slight musty odor and crisp fall air from the half open window across the room, but above all he could smell fresh chai tea. It was a dominating scent, covering up everything else.
He remembered the past day's events. He looked down to see that the IV was gone from his arm and there was a small round band-aid in its place. The stand had no doubt been wheeled out by the geneticist in the early hours of the morning. As he stretched, he looked down toward the foot of the bed. There was a small pile of clean clothes there. He smiled sleepily and rolled out of bed.
x x x
As Mohinder worked on his laptop, he suddenly felt a presence behind him and eyes focused on the back of his head. He turned around to find Sylar standing in the bedroom doorway looking at him.
They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment and then Mohinder spoke. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For everything. I just... I'm sorry."
"I understand. We all have the right to act like bastards sometimes, right?"
Mohinder thought on this. "You have to go. Now. I called Bennet last night… he'll be here any minute. I'm so sorry. I didn't know what I was thinking."
Sylar narrowed his eyes slightly. "I forgive you. I probably would have done the same thing if there was a deranged and curare-drunk serial killer in my house." They shared a nervous laugh.
Before he knew what was happening, Mohinder had been whipped around and out of his chair and pulled up onto his feet. He gazed up and met Sylar's deep brown eyes. He could get lost in those eyes. But now wasn't the time.
"You're right; I have to leave. The sooner the better. I won't let the Company come after you too…"
Mohinder just stared up at Sylar. He felt such an odd mix of emotions. He wanted with all his heart for Sylar to go and escape the Company; but he also wanted with all his heart for Sylar to be with him. To stay with him.
Once again he had a war going on inside himself.
"I'll be back for you." Mohinder had unconsciously raised his hands to let them rest on Sylar's shoulders; now he felt a gentle pressure around his wrists. He looked down to see the taller man pull his arms down to his sides, and then looked back up again for one final glimpse of his perfect face. In a flash, Sylar was gone. Down the hall, down the steps, down the sidewalk and out of his life.
Mohinder knew he'd be back eventually. How could he doubt such a promise? But he didn't know when. He needed it to be soon. He needed Sylar now, more than ever.
He would just have to wait.
A single tear rolled down Mohinder's cheek.