Author: Scarlet Girl
Beta: Rose Ganymede, an angel!
Rating: NC-17 for security
Genre: Drama/Romance/Songfic
Music: Uno – Muse
Pairing: Gabriel Gray/Sylar X Mohinder Suresh (Mylar)
Spoilers: Up to 1X23, How to Stop an Exploding Man
Summary: "Mohinder means nothing to me."
Disclaimer: No, I do not own Heroes. If Heroes was mine, we would see all the interaction between Sylar and Mohinder in Parasite.
Warning: SLASH and mentions of rape and murder.
A/N: This is my first Mylar fic, so be gentle with me!
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Uno
The first time Gabriel Gray heard about Mohinder Suresh, it came from Chandra.
He already was Sylar, and has already been controlling perfectly Brian Davis's powers (and the poor idiot geneticist didn't even suspect!) and he and Chandra used to live a… pleasant life.
Chandra has been finding special people; they have been looking after special people; they have been talking with special people; and, depending of Sylar's mood, he has been killing special people, and laughing inside at Chandra's scared face the next day. Sometimes, the McCain girl showed, and he played the seductive guy in order to see her shuddering, and it was stupidly funny.
The most picturesque of all was the fact that he and Chandra were becoming close friends. Sylar used to talk about Virginia, the clock's shop, and about how things work, and Chandra, in reply, used to talk about unimportant things, like India, genetics, his wife.
He almost didn't speak about his older daughter, Shanti. He just talked about her when he thought he could forget her.
But he never talked about his son
Sylar knew he had a son, it was obvious. Once, he heard Chandra talking with him on the phone. A few photos, which Chandra used to keep in his bedside table (and which Sylar examined when he knew it was safe to do it) showed a pretty child, with typical Indian skin and curly dark hair. There wasn't any photo of him in adulthood.
Sylar put Mohinder's age (his name was Mohinder, the same name of the lizard, he heard that) at thirty-five years old, by the way Chandra talked with him on the phone, and by the diplomas and courses signed Mohinder Suresh which the geneticist kept along with the photos (too many courses for a young person).
Mohinder was his favorite fun, neither a necessary nor important fun, but a pastime when the evolution didn't call him with its blood smell. He wouldn't even have asked Chandra about his son if he was the passive guy.
But, of course, he wasn't.
"And what about your son, Chandra? I know you have a son. He has the lizard's name, doesn't he? How old is he? Is he a geneticist, too?"
Sylar understood how Chandra worked, and he knew the man couldn't resist a question which he knew the answer to.
"Yes, his name is Mohinder. Thirty-three years old. He is a geneticist too. He tries to be like me, but he is too fragile. He doesn't have the necessary coldness. Too emotional, less rational. I wish he would give up."
Sylar knew how Chandra worked.
Chandra didn't admit Mohinder was the most important person in his life. Chandra was the weak one. Chandra didn't have courage enough to tell Mohinder how he loved him. And God knew how Mohinder suffered because of that.
Briefly, no more than a second, Sylar wanted to go and tell Mohinder he was special.
No more than a second
Mohinder didn't matter more than a second.
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This means nothing to me
'Cause you are nothing to me
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"You're crazy!"
"Chandra—"
"Murderer!"
"Chandra, listen. I can explain—"
"Explain? What?! Do you want to explain how you killed all those people? How you used my research… Removing brains… collecting powers… like a…", he breathed in deeply, eyes full of horror, "parasite…"
Sylar tried to come up to Chandra, but the old man moved back like he was mad, running into the sofa midway and falling over it.
"Don't come near me!"
"You made the people I am." There was no pity in Sylar's voice.
"Never!"
"You said I wasn't special—"
"You're crazy!"
"—then, I had to find another way to prove I was special. Poor Brian Davis."
The way Chandra opened his mouth was so funny that, if Sylar didn't know the life he used to live was about to end, he would have started laughing.
"Davis? That man whose address I lost?"
"Poor guy. He didn't deserve what he had. Coward. A power like telekinesis, and he was afraid of it. I had to help him."
"You're crazy!"
"It's all part of the evolution, Chandra. It works in bloody ways, and it doesn't have pity for those who are left behind. You explained everything in the book. Stronger species live, weaker species die. It's nature. It kills."
"You distorted everything, Gabriel! What you have done is not evolution – it's murder!"
"You know I'm right."
"Stay away! I'll call the police!"
Sylar sighed sadly.
"Always the same man, Chandra… How stupid I was, hoping you had changed. You still aren't able to recognize special people, special opportunities. You didn't know I was special… You didn't even admit Mohinder is special for you."
Mohinder?
Why was exactly he was thinking about Mohinder?
"Don't you dare talk about my son!"
"I didn't need to talk about him", said Sylar quickly. "He means nothing to me."
Mohinder means nothing to me.
"I'll call the police!"
"If you insist, I'm going away, Chandra. But, when I came back, I swear: you will learn to recognize my importance."
"Are you threatening me?!"
"No. It's a promise."
"Murderer! Stay away from me!"
Chandra's screams followed Sylar out of the house, but he wasn't thinking about the hysterical doctor. He was thinking about Mohinder.
Mohinder didn't matter. Nothing mattered. It meant nothing. Chandra had blown away months of hard work and research, and it meant nothing that Mohinder never would hear from his father's mouth the expression "I love you".
It doesn't matter, he thought, bashing Chandra's head against his taxi's glass. Mohinder didn't matter. Nothing matters.
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And it means nothing to me
That you blew this away
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It took some time until Sylar heard about Mohinder again.
Mohinder was living in New York, in Chandra's old apartment (ah, memories…), and he had found the map, the research and the McCain girl. And Sylar thought she was doing something with him (she was smarter than she looked, Sylar knew how she worked).
The funny thing was when he found out that Mohinder wanted to find him. Claim revenge on his father's death. To stop the evolutionary imperative.
I wanna know you, Mohinder, he thought, cutting off the top of a Midland waitress's head. It'll be pleasant.
It didn't work with Chandra, because Chandra wasn't special.
What if he tried with Mohinder?
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You could have been number one
If you only found the time
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Damn it.
Damn it.
He always knew there was another force in evolution's game, working with special people, and he understood how it works, but never thought they could catch him. And, yet, there he was locked like an animal, looking for the face of that girl who looked too innocent to carry a gun
He knew he had met that delicate face before.
He stared at her, trying, even if it was useless, to understand how she worked, and suddenly he realized.
She wanted to kill him and Mohinder was one of the reasons.
"I'm the girl next door to Chandra Suresh."
The McCain girl.
He felt anger.
Before she had the chance to do anything, he pulled her into the glass, and he had pleasure in hurting the beautiful face which dared to love Mohinder.
She killed herself.
And it was stupidly funny.
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And you could have ruled the whole world
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"Dr. Suresh?", asked a hesitating Zane Taylor, welcoming politely his own murderer.
Sylar felt hope filling up his soul.
"Yes."
"Come in."
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If you had the chance
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When Sylar opened the door of Zane's house for Mohinder, he thought he was about to collapse.
He imagined the adult Mohinder like some kind of copy of Chandra, never talking about what was important and unable to recognize special people, but that was not Mohinder.
Mohinder was pleasant and cheerful, with eyes full of feeling and idealism. He carried on his shoulders Chandra's plans, and Sylar understood why the old Indian man said he wasn't cold enough. But Chandra didn't know his son had a warmth that replaced the coldness's fault
Mohinder wanted to know Zane, Zane's ability, and Sylar tried to be a good Zane (because the true Zane Taylor was broken, didn't deserve what he had, and Mohinder wouldn't want to know him, anyway), and the young doctor liked the Zane he was.
Mohinder smiled when Sylar asked to join him in his vain journey.
And Sylar would never admit it, but he felt happy when the other held out his hand.
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You could have been number one
And you could have ruled the whole world
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The first thing Sylar noticed in Mohinder was that, although he wasn't, he wanted to be like Chandra.
He turned on the key in the car in the way Chandra used to do it, and it was in that way he adjusted the mirror, put on the seatbelt and talked about genetics. Unnatural gestures. Unnatural smile.
Sylar prayed Mohinder didn't blow everything away, like Chandra.
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And we could have had so much fun
But you blew this away
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Sylar didn't like to face the darkness.
He didn't fear very many things in this world, but the darkness never was totally pleasant, because he couldn't think about something so devoid of warmth.
Sylar couldn't stop thinking about warmth.
About Mohinder's warmth.
Because of that, he looked for the hot darkness of the Indian's man eyes.
"Zane?" Mohinder said with surprise, opening his room's door and letting Sylar enter.
"Hi," said the murderer, because he couldn't think of anything better to say.
"Hi," replied Mohinder, looking confused. "Do you need something?"
There were no words to explain what couldn't be explained. Sylar embraced Mohinder around his waist and kissed him violently, feeling Mohinder's body against his own, his lips opening to receive the tongue which was invading them, both men shaking.
Sylar could never tell how their bodies found the bed, or the exact description of the feverish heat with which they were consumed like fire, when he felt himself inside Mohinder, close as they were. just one body, one heart beating in the same rhythm.
The only thing Sylar could tell after everything was how he felt happy when the Indian doctor slept in his sweaty arms.
Annoyance found its way into the murderer's veins when he realized he had to leave Mohinder there to talk with Dale Smither.
For no more than a second, looking at how the Indian man left himself in his arms (like he was feeling safe), Sylar thought about giving up.
He shook his head with energy. Evolution.
While he put Mohinder carefully in the bed, trying to not wake him up, Sylar looked to him again and wondered what would happen if he had to leave forever.
It means nothing. Mohinder means nothing.
He repeated the mantra along the way to Dale's house, trying to persuade himself it was true.
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You're still nothing to me
And this means nothing to me
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He was still unfocused when he and Mohinder came to Dale's house. If it was because of the pretty chat he had with Mohinder in that morning (finished with a kiss which left Sylar's cheeks red) or because of his newest acquisition, which was shaking his head like he had invited The Ramones to play inside it, he didn't know.
He only managed to get back to himself when Mohinder, eyes wide in shock, came back to the car and threw up.
Sylar almost laughed. Almost. Although he thought it was strange to someone to fear this way something so simple and right like the death, Mohinder's panic was not funny. It was distressing.
He felt horror invading him when he realized what was happening.
No. He couldn't let Mohinder be important to him.
He just couldn't.
"Are you feeling alright, Zane?" asked the doctor in his New York's apartment way. "You've been so quiet. It was because of Dale… or did I do something?"
Sylar shook his head to dissolve the dense fog of thoughts that was tormenting his mind.
"No, Mohinder. It's nothing."
It's nothing.
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And if you don't know what you've done
Then I give you a clue
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The tea was strange, but Sylar thought Mohinder overdid it with the sugar.
Mohinder was strange, but Sylar thought he was disheartened because no one replied his calls.
It was only when he felt dizzy that he remembered Mohinder didn't use to put sugar in the tea.
"I already have you, Mr. Sylar."
Sylar's last coherent thought was that he and Mohinder would really make a good duo, because Mohinder, too, was smarter than the others thought he was.
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You could have been number one
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It hurt.
For Heaven's sake, it hurt.
What was hurting was not Mohinder's will to hurt him. Or the hot anger the doctor was trying to make him feel.
What hurt was that betrayal shined in his eyes, and the sad expression he on his face. What hurt was the certainty that Mohinder was blowing everything away exactly like Chandra, without trying to understand him, to accept him. And, worst of all, what hurt was the certainty that, when everything was about to over, he found out Mohinder mattered.
It was moved by that certainty that Sylar wished to destroy him, to break him, with words and actions, to take him to the moment where the pain is beautiful.
And, if he offered to Mohinder a last chance of life, it was because his heart couldn't take that mixture of high pain and destroying impulse. Because his heart wanted to let Sylar behind and be Gabriel again, and it would do that for Mohinder. In his last plea to finish with that madness.
But Mohinder didn't know the time to retreat.
When Sylar freed his arms, he smiled.
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If you only found the time
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Mohinder became deformed and corrupted by his touch.
The pain of the screams no one could hear echoed in Sylar's ears, like he was handling an instrument which brought, at the same time, delirious pleasure and terrible agony.
Like children handling an animal in order to feel the heat of its fragile body in their hands, Sylar held Mohinder, looking at him covered in blood, with the appreciation which only a master in the hurt's art could have while feeling something dying inside himself. Mohinder was there, still intact inside, and Sylar knew he wouldn't stop until the doctor was totally in pieces.
"I love you," he said, because he wanted to see him suffering. "I love you more than anything I loved. For you, I would give up everything. Evolution. Everything. But you blew this away."
Sylar kissed his mouth, and let him believe that night could be the hotel night and he could be Zane; but then he bit Mohinder's shoulder, trying to mark the skin and the soul, feeling the delicious taste of his blood, while his own telekinesis was making the Indian doctor drown in worlds of brilliant colors and flashing lights, moaning and screaming.
"I love you," Mohinder whispered. "I love you."
Sylar gulped.
"I love you too."
What tormented Sylar more was to know that, even while he was violently fucking Mohinder and nearly breaking him in half, in soul and blood; even while Mohinder screamed, feeling a deep and private pain which made him believe he was near death; even with this, or until because of this, they loved each other, a love that wasn't innocent and romantic anymore; a love that was destructive and cold like Sylar was and like Mohinder wanted to be.
They would keep floating in feelings if Sylar didn't wake up with a knock on the door.
Peter Petrelli had sweet eyes when Sylar buried a shard of glass in his head and turned to Mohinder.
The last thing he saw was the map coming in his direction, because Mohinder would never repeat those three words.
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And you could have ruled the whole world
If you had the chance
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Mohinder blew everything away, exactly like Sylar feared.
Mohinder blew everything away when all was going to be good, when they loved each other. Mohinder blew their love away.
Mohinder blew Isaac Mendez's life away too, because Sylar killed him soon after he woke up.
And Sylar wouldn't call Mohinder if he had another person to call.
Okay, it's a lie.
He was going to explode half of New York and he loved Mohinder, and he wanted to talk with him, he wanted him to explain and say everything was going to be alright.
He didn't explain. He would never explain.
When Mohinder tried to call 911, pleading, maybe, to fix his broken soul, Sylar turned the phone off.
And he almost screamed with anger, thinking about everything they could have been.
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You could have been number one
And you could have ruled the whole world
And we could have had so much fun
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Pain.
He made Hiro Nakamura fly because he didn't want the Japanese boy to kill Peter Petrelli. Because he wanted the explosion to happen.
He was going to die.
Mohinder was near him. He was taking care of Matt Parkman (a fool, a total fool, always thinking he could straighten something out with bullets). Mohinder, too, was going to die.
They were going together to the hell, he thought with a laugh, and he would have laughed more if he wasn't feeling that awful pain. Of course, he had forgotten Nakamura stabbed him with a sword.
Laying there, awaiting the flames which would consume him, he thought about Mohinder, and he realized how everything meant nothing near of that obsessive, suffocating and terrible love. And he realized how, with Mohinder at his side, he could have forgotten everything. He could be just Gabriel. A watchmaker.
I love Mohinder and we are going together to the hell.
Maybe, in hell, things worked in a different way. Maybe Mohinder wouldn't try to escape what he couldn't accept. Maybe he wouldn't blow everything away.
Maybe they could be what they weren't.
Now, he could recognize without pain: in the end, Mohinder meant everything.
I love you, he thought, and felt good. I love you.
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But you blew this away.
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A/N: Thanks to Rose Ganymede, for the advices, for Zachary Quinto, for being so talented, and for Tim Kring, for everything!