The Luxury of Regret

I wrote this one because quite frankly it wouldn't leave me alone until I did. Thanks to Angelic Poison, the authoress of the very fantastic, 'Beautiful Demon,' for turning me on to this pairing.

Warnings: Mylar slash (non graphic) - mild language, dark themes, and a lot of angst.

"You're a murderer. You don't get the luxury of regret."

- From Episode 21, "The Hard Part."

He promised himself that this would be the last time that he would allow himself the luxury of hearing his voice and it would have been if it had not had the same old affect it always had. The one of creeping into, crawling deep within the broken, remaining shards of his heart and festering there, sly and impatient.

Yes, that hollow, black thing inside of him - somehow came alive again, beating, aching at the sound of the soft accented voice on the other end of the line.

There was always a part of him that wanted to reach across the wire that separated them, this unwanted distance and somehow find the ability to erase everything he ever was, to kill this black thing he had become against his own will.

Yet, he could do nothing to erase it nor will it away from him self and everywhere he looked now he was faced with his regret, with bitterness and most of all a longing that he could barely contain.

It was a red hot, desperate angry thing that begged for release; to be fulfilled at all cost.

He could close his eyes now and see him before him so clearly; it was as if he had drawn him into memory and imprinted him there forever. He could see his smooth dark skin and those probing eyes - searching his own, the small half smile that would curl against his lips when amused.

It had been two months since he had been forced to flee, weakened and near death.

He almost wish he had died…He wished now as he had often that he had the strength to do it himself.

I am evil, he thought, I ache to kill again. I want too - I can't stop it. I never could.

He had called him twice before and had listened to his breathing, his questions, "Who is this?" "Why are you calling?"

He wanted to speak, to say something but there was nothing to say.

What would one say to the person they loved, the person who despised me?

The man on the other end hated him and rightfully so. All that voice did now was serve as a reminder of how desperately he wished to go back and change his fate.

To have those eyes look at him once again with affection, kindness and not such open and undisguised disgust and loathing.

How many times back, in the brief time they shared, had he wanted to reach across the room and draw him into his arms with the power of his mind. To use his power to crush his body against his own, hard enough to bruise and kiss those lips of his until they both were sated and full.

Desire spent and then renewed again and again; he knew once he had him, he would never get his fill.

He could murder but he could not tell the man on the other end of the phone that he loved him. He could not have then either - perhaps he never would. The realization of this made two lone tears escape from the corners of impossibly dark eyes and spill down the sides of his face, drip down now over the knuckle of the hand that stood, clutching the phone now. He opened his eyes and spoke before he could rethink it.

"Please don't hang up on me," he said, not recognizing the thin, sad plea that was his voice.

There was a hard pause and a shock of breath drawn from the other man, a half a country away from him.

"Sylar?"

He sounded frightened and completely unnerved at the realization of who it was on the end of the line.

The futility of it all made Sylar lower his eyes with shame for it, the fear he had placed in the other man's heart.

"Yeah, it's me," he answered.

"You're suppose to be dead…"

"Yes, I am - but as you can see I'm not."
"Why are you calling me?"

It was Sylar's turn to pause; to draw out a strangled breath, heavy with emotion.

"I don't know."
It was as honest of an answer as he could give and he knew that he was a fool for having called, for letting Mohinder know that he was alive and out there somewhere in the world.

What was the matter with him.

"I need to see you," he said quickly, surprising the both of them.

"Don't call me again," Mohinder said and there was that fear again. Sylar could practically hear him looking over his shoulder for him as if like a monster from a horror movie, he would spring out of the shadows to claim his victim.

He had hung up on him, the dial tone rang loudly and obnoxiously in his ear as he realized that he did not want to talk to him and rightfully so. What could one do to apologize for murdering someone's father - for murdering countless others?

I don't want to be this man anymore - I want to be normal, I don't want to be special. I just want to be with you.

Mohinder had stepped away from the phone has if it had suddenly come alive in his hands. His eyes wide with shock and cold fear, Sylar was suppose to be dead so why was he calling him now?

What in the world was he planning?

He sank down in the chair behind him, his legs weakened and he had to sit or fall.

He stared down at his hands and saw them trembling, the rest of his body quaking with fear, hard enough to shake the chair in which he sat in.

Yet, there was something else laced there amidst the fear and the panic, it was the single image of a man.

Not Sylar but of Zane, a man with a shy smile and large dark eyes who had made Mohinder believe that maybe, just maybe there was no need to be alone any longer.

All lies, all of it - he lied from the moment you laid eyes on him…

There was no Zane. There was only Sylar - vicious, brutal, pure evil - a violent killer and a madman.

Yes, a madman that had just called him now in a voice that sounded as if it were tinged, edged with remorse and sorrow.

Regret.

Want.

Pain.

Sylar paced the floor of his small closet size apartment, feeling the sadness within him start to build towards anger. A barely contained rage simmering and bubbling to the surface.

His hands clenched in fiery fists, his breath shallow and ragged as he tried to calm himself and yet it was impossible.

The darkness that was within him was rushing up upon him, making him into the dark thing he hated himself for.

That dial tone repeated itself in his ear, its finality and what it symbolized.

He doesn't want to hear a goddamn thing you have say…

He raised his right hand to open up the cabinets of his small kitchen and send the dishes and glasses in there into a whirlwind - they slammed into shattered, broken pieces into the walls.

He turned his left hand and levitated his one chair and flung that to against the farthest wall, till it was pile of broken wood - nothing left of it but some splinters and fabric.

The pain was not eased by this display, this surge of anger that raced through his entire being.

He sank down to his knees - panting, tears rolling down his face one by one. His whole body shaking with the need of him, the desire more painful then anything physical he had ever known, not even that blade that was plunged into his body and then brutally ripped out of him - even then he had survived and now, now he felt as if he would die from the knowledge of it all. That he was truly evil, that he was unworthy of his love…would always be.

He didn't care anymore. He wanted to see him again even if it meant seeing first hand only disgust and hatred in those beautiful eyes of his, to see upon his face - the mark and the stain of everything wrong, of the evilness he had unwillingly become.

Can you save me, can you tell me it'll be okay….can you?

Who do I tell? Do I run…where would I go, back to India?

Mohinder had sat up the entire night, rooted to his spot in his chair, a coil spring of tightly wound nerves.

What would he do now.

He stared at phone waiting for it to ring.

It never did.

He walked now in a daze of clouded insecurity and quite frankly fear.

He did not trust his feet, feet that would not listen as everything that was left in him that bore any semblance to the real and the sensible, all but begged him to reconsider.

Begged of him to turn around and leave before it was too late.

Yet, those feet would not heed him and so he continued walking.

He paused outside the apartment building and then pushed against the rusted security door, edged it open with his boot, stepped inside.

He climbed the steps slowly towards the second floor, the building bearing a faint, musky scent of dust and mold. Still, the smell bore the familiar and he took an appreciative sniff as he walked down the hall and to the door that would take him to the one person he needed, the one person who could possibly have it within him to save him now from himself.

He knocked and then ducked away from the peep hole, pressing his back against the wall and listening with acute hearing, the foot steps of someone walking hesitantly towards the door, of which was accompanied by the sound of a heartbeat pounding in panic and of a man's breathing shallow and heavy.

There was no answer, no move to open the door.

Sylar took a deep breath and pressing his head against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, spoke now to the man standing behind the door.

"We both know I can take this door down Mohinder, so why don't you save us both the trouble and just open it."

At the sound of his voice, the pulse quickened.

There was a click as the door was unlocked and Mohinder opened it, looking nearly angelic yet terrified in dark pressed slacks and a white button down shirt.

His hair slicked back as if from a recent shower and his eyes so dark, so full of uncertainty and fear.

They sized the other up, each not speaking. It was Sylar who broke the spell.

He pushed past Mohinder and stepped into the apartment, turned and closed the door behind them both as he did so.

"I honestly thought you would have run the second you heard from me."

" Well, I figured if you wanted me dead you wouldn't have called first."

Sylar met his eyes, allowed the faint trace of a smile.

"You're right," he said.

"Then why are you here?"
Sylar shrugged and moved about the room, ran a hand over the piles of papers and books on Mohinder's desk and looked up and met the other man incredulous eyes.

"You making progress?"

"If you've come for the list, it isn't here."
He turned and looked back over his shoulder at the other man, eyeing him now with distrust, he looked ready to run but there was nowhere to go.

He couldn't outrun him even if he tried.

"I didn't come for the list, I came to see you…"

There was a pause.

"Why, what could you possibly have to say to me after what you've done?"

Mohinder's words a sharp heated stab of revulsion and hatred.

It tore at Sylar, he looked away.

"You have every right to hate me."

"Of course I do, you son of a bitch, you killed my father!"

"I've killed a lot of people."

"I have nothing to say to you," Mohinder hissed, "You should have died and rightfully so - you don't deserve to live."
Sylar lowered his head briefly and then looked up, moved towards Mohinder who instinctively backed up and away from him.

"I know that too, Mohinder - please I just…"

"Just what!" Mohinder nearly screamed at him and before he knew it he was backed into a wall with nowhere to go and Sylar was before him, arms outstretched, palms pressed against the wall, blocking Mohinders escape.

His dark eyes searching the terrified eyes of the man before him and Mohinder saw the guilt swimming in those eyes of his, his unshed tears.

"I just needed to see you once more."

Sylar's voice was a hot whisper one tinged with desire and frustration as he leaned closer and nuzzled the other man's neck with his lips, lightly, breathing in his scent, feeling comforted by it.

Mohinder turned his head away, and closed his eyes.

"Get away from me!"

"Tell me it was real Mohinder, tell me you never thought…"

Mohinder suddenly gave a strangled cry and shoved Sylar off him, faced him with ragged breath and eyes burning with intensity and anger.

"Get out!"
Sylar met his eyes, saw - the proof of what he wanted and needed and desired above all things in his short and unhappy life.

He stepped closer defying Mohinder's wishes and taking his terrified face in his hands, ; he kissed him, hard.

Mohinder went rigid in his arms and without wanting to, felt his body begin to respond as Sylar kissed and bit and nipped at his lips, prodding their iron resistance with his tongue. Sylar frustrated by Mohinder's lack of response pushed them both up and against the wall hard enough to hurt the weaker man pinned beneath him.

"Don't you dare deny me," Sylar whispered, "I need you, I want you…I fucking love you."

Those words were enough to bring Mohinder back to his senses, he pulled away from the other man, and ripped himself up and out of his arms.

"What would someone like you know about love?" he spat out venomously.

"Tell me you never cared, I want to hear you say it!"

Mohinder looked up at him, his lips curved into a tragic smile.

"I never cared for you - not this thing you are now but yes, once when I thought…I thought you were someone else…"

Sylar shut his eyes, opened them.

"I am that man, somewhere inside me - I can feel it, I need your help, please."
Sylar went towards him and tried once more to get the other man in his arms, the ache of it all and his desperation to possess the one thing he desired above all else.

He wanted to feel loved, just once - too feel human again and as he stood looking into the deep, unfathomable eyes of his would be redemption; he thought for the tiniest moment that maybe, just maybe he could have that - a chance.

"You disgust me!"

Mohinder's seething hostility cut to the core and Sylar nodded, slowly.

He stopped in his tracks and backed up, nodded.

"I never meant to hurt you…"

"Just go…"
They held eyes for another moment longer and Sylar could fee the anger rising in him again, terrifying him with the thought that he might lash out and hurt the man before him.

He had to leave and he had to do it now.

He turned and went to the door, turned back, caught Mohinder eye once more and held it.

"You don't believe me but I do - love you and I am sorry, I want you to know that…"
Mohinder looked away as Sylar took his exit, closing the door behind him.

Depending on the response, there will definitely be another chapter up…so let me know what you think? Thanks for reading…