Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
Chapter One
"The first condition of immortality is death." Stanislaw J. Lec
He enjoyed fixing things almost as much as he enjoyed destroying them.
Almost.
The itch came to him as he stood at the counter in the busy airport. It had been ages since he last had time to think about his broken watch, ages since he'd had time to rest. He looked down at it now, eyes fixing on the minute hand frozen always at seven minutes to midnight. The gears wanted to work, he could feel them straining to fight their death–
"And how may I help you today, sir?" A smiling blonde stood behind the counter, ready at her computer.
Sylar smiled back and kept his lips pulled away from his teeth as he spoke. "Yes, I would like three tickets to New York, please."
The woman looked around his shoulder and frowned when she saw the nervous-looking twins shifting behind him. Sylar could see the direction her mind was heading, and he could see just what he needed to do to divert it.
He leaned over the counter slightly, his stomach pressing up against the edge. "I'm bringing my friends home. Their parents were murdered recently." His voice was low and confidential; he smiled. "Terrible tragedy. We just want to get home."
She looked back at them with more sympathy. "Yes," she said, shaking her head, "yes, of course." Her fingers flew lightly over the keys on the keyboard. "There's a flight to New York in two hours. I can get you seats, but they won't all be together. Is that all right?"
"It's fine."
"Form of identification, please."
Sylar looked over his shoulder and nodded toward the counter. Maya and Alejandro searched through their bags and pulled out their passports, slightly battered and worn. Sylar placed his on top of the pile and pushed them towards the woman.
It had been easy enough to change the most important information. Sylar supposed that it came with the territory; if he knew how things worked, then of course he'd know what it is that humans would and wouldn't notice.
The woman handed him back the passports, her expression never showing recognition or fear.
Good.
"Here are your tickets, have a nice flight."
Sylar nodded politely at her as he led Maya and Alejandro away.
As soon as they were out of the crowds, Maya gripped onto Sylar's arm. "Gabriel," she said, and that was all she needed to say; her voice carried with it all the joy she felt, the hope, the reverence, the worship.
He smiled benevolently down at her, and his eyes were drawn to Alejandro's face. When he noticed Sylar watching, he looked away, but the muscles in his jaw tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed. "It's bad to grind your teeth, you know," he said, even though he knew that Alejandro wouldn't understand him. But there are some things that are the same no matter what language you speak: derision is one of them.
Maya pressed her shoulder hard into Alejandro's chest, speaking a few short words under her breath to him. These were enough to calm him down so that he didn't erupt into violence.
The lines to go through security were long. The three of them stood silently, none of them looking at one another – other than occasional quick glances in Maya's case. Sylar took the blissful silence as an opportunity to eavesdrop on the conversations around him.
"Did you hear what she did–?"
"Oh, I know, that man is so unreasonable–"
"Are we almost there? How much longer do we have to wait–?"
"I found the best dress shop the other day–"
Maya clung tighter to his arm the closer they got to the metal detectors. "Gabriel, it will be okay?" she asked in her broken English.
He wasn't worried. What could they find on him, if he didn't have any belongings, nothing but the clothes on his back? "Of course. We have nothing to hide." He grinned down at her and intertwined his fingers with hers. "Nothing that they can find, anyway."
He fancied he could feel her power pulsing beneath her skin, like a second heart; it made him hungry, and it made him really want to repair his watch.
The area immediately before the metal detectors was bustling with action. Businessmen slipped off their polished shoes, children fidgeted, mothers jostled everyone with their strollers. Alejandro pulled Maya closer to him, away from Sylar, as they waited their turn to walk through the gate.
"Next."
Sylar walked through without a sound and stood against the barriers waiting for Maya and Alejandro. Alejandro pushed her forward, made her go first. She looked at the guard with a mixture of guilt and distrust, and she eyed the metal detector warily.
"Please step through, ma'am," the guard said. The man looked to be growing more and more suspicious the longer she stalled.
Her eyes met his; Sylar nodded and beckoned, feeling a bit like he was encouraging a toddler to start walking.
The alarm sounded, a harsh screech. Everyone looked at them.
Of course.
He would have to speak to Maya after they got through all this – if they got through it – to remind her that she was wanted for murder and that such information would likely soon get to the United States, if the police didn't know already. Such negligence couldn't be tolerated.
They had her remove her necklace and belt, and the alarm stayed silent this time. She shuffled over to him and shrank into his side as much as she dared (which wasn't much) to watch Alejandro. If there was one good thing to be said about Alejandro, it was that he at least wasn't as thoughtless as his sister.
At their gate, they found the quietest corner. Maya sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, staring out the window at the jets taxiing up to the terminal. "Is that ours?" she asked, pointing to the jet that was currently being unloaded.
"No," he said. "We still have a long wait."
Maya didn't say anything, just wrapped her arms tighter around her legs.
Sylar leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and rested a hand lightly on his stomach. His stitches were still far from being healed; the skin was red and swollen and irritated, the stitches themselves cut small incisions into the soft flesh. He shifted a little to keep a better eye on Maya, and his wound twinged. He grunted.
Maya looked over, resting her cheek on an arm; she stood, watching for his reaction. Sitting down next to him on the bench, she leaned her weight against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She saw his hand arching protectively. "Your wound, it still hurts?"
He brushed a finger along the incision, and even through a thick jacket, he still felt the pressure. He shivered. "Wounds like these don't heal quickly." He couldn't stop the bitter thought that, had he been a bit quicker, he would never have woken up in Mexico in the first place. Such a wound would have been nothing with the cheerleader's power.
But, he thought to himself when Maya laid a hand on his, there is always that silver lining.
Alejandro, who had been watching them carefully and silently jumped to his feet. "Maya," he said sharply. He grabbed her hand away from Sylar's and tried to pull her to her feet, but she resisted. He succeeded in gripping her upper arms and hauling her up, and holding her closed to his face he started speaking to her rapidly in Spanish, not taking care to keep his voice down. Maya shook her head and tried to struggle away, but he held on to her all the tighter. It looked as if he were trying to drag her away, but Maya stubbornly dug in her heels.
The looks the twins were receiving from the other travelers were slightly alarming. Now was no time for rash action, for bringing attention to themselves. He stood up, gripping his stomach and hissed low to them, "You're making people nervous."
"Alejandro is being unreasonable!" Maya said furiously.
Her brother didn't need to understand English to know that she had betrayed him. "Basta ya, Maya," he snapped.
He pulled them both down so they sat on either side of him, feeling very much like a father plagued with unruly children. He ignored Alejandro and turned instead to Maya. "What was he saying?"
"He doesn't want to go to New York with you. He said–" She caught Alejandro's expression and her eyes dropped.
"What did he say, Maya?" Alejandro grabbed his shoulder, but Sylar shrugged him off.
"He said– he said we go without you." She grabbed his hand. "But, Gabriel, you know that I can't–!" Whatever else she would have said seemed to be lost in the unfamiliar terrain of English. Instead, she clutched his hand imploringly.
When Sylar glared over his shoulder at him, he saw that Alejandro had subsided, was slouching in his chair with his arms crossed, staring straight ahead. "I understand, Maya. Don't worry, I understand."
"If you do not come," she said haltingly, "how do we find doctor Suresh?"
"You won't have to worry about that," he said, smiling thinly. "I will take you to Suresh. What you should worry about, though, is your brother." He lowered his voice, because he knew that it would catch Alejandro's attention, drive him mad for not being able to understand. "Do you think that he really wants you to get healed? He has suggested an awful lot of times that you give up."
He saw Maya's wide eyes travel from his face to Alejandro's just over his shoulder. Her brows furrowed, and she looked away.
"Just be wary of him," Sylar said.
He let Maya have the window seat, so that she could see the world from so high above, see the mountain ranges and the forests and the plains, the cities and farming country, the ocean. She gazed out the window in awe the whole flight, sometimes tugging on his arm and whispering "Gabriel" excitedly and pointing to something down below them.
Sylar kept himself occupied during the flight. As soon as the plane had leveled off (and as soon as Maya had calmed down enough to loosen her grip on his hand), he took off his watch and bent over the tray table, wearing store-bought glasses that were far too weak and wielding a pair of tweezers that was far too clumsy. But it worked.
It felt good, repairing things again. This had been his talent before, what set him apart, his destiny. How could the watchmaker's son have known that he was destined to one day rid the world of the undeserving, to be the next step in the ladder of evolution?
The gears to his watch had been silent for too long; it took effort to get them moving again. They were stubborn. Turbulence – Sylar slammed his hand down over it so none of the gears were lost beneath the seat with the hard gum and stale peanuts. Maya learned not to bother him, after her insistent shaking of his arm earned a verbal slap from him.
Tick.
Finally. He sat back and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.
His watch had died the day he killed Chandra Suresh, and until now he had avoided repairing it, a memory of his transgression – perhaps a deserving one, but a transgression nonetheless. A calm washed over him that he had not felt that night, since seven minutes to midnight.
He felt purged of his sins.
Author's Note: It's still a toss-up whether or not I'll continue this. I have several chapters written, but then I decided to take out a character, so I'll have to rewrite them. Title might be temporary, I don't know. Anyway, hope you enjoy.