-Day 3-
"I see they brought you another mattress."
Sylar nods, glancing down at the thicker hunk of cushion underneath him.
"It thwarts the back problems you people are trying to give me."
Mohinder sits down in his rolling desk chair a few feet from Sylar. He'd managed to convince Noah that he only needed one guard for protection, making the room feel a lot less claustrophobic. Making him feel like he wasn't been watched so intensely.
He opens a notebook and clicks his pen, jotting down the date and a few other things that Sylar wishes he could read.
"Try not to sound so negative about us. We just want to-"
"-Help. Yes. I got that the fifth time you said it."
Mohinder's frown does not go unnoticed. To avoid it and the accompanying guilt, Sylar swings his legs up and lays back on the bed, tucking long arms behind his head. He narrows his brown eyes at the ceiling, unable to look at Mohinder for fear of beauty trapping him into saying things he doesn't want to.
"So, what's your weapon of torture today, Doc?" He croons sarcastically. "More blood samples? Or…" Sylar pauses, grinning, "…tuning forks?"
"Very funny. I just want to talk, if that's alright with you."
Mohinder rolls his chair forwards so that he's closer to the bed, and Sylar can't help but shift uncomfortably at the proximity. Being near Mohinder with the air lacking usual tension is unnerving and foreign…it makes him feel like Zane Taylor again.
"Are we discussing our feelings today?"
He's a bit embarrassed by the childish snap in his tone, but it's the only defense that comes to mind to balance out such a powerless situation.
Nonetheless, Mohinder smiles. Sylar doesn't have to be looking at him – he can sense it.
"If you'd like. I'm more interested in your childhood, your family, and what it was like growing up in the Gray household."
"Ah, you're a psychologist now."
He finally locks eyes with the doctor. Sylar's childhood isn't something he's eager to discuss, even with the only person alive able to make him feel utterly at ease.
"Hardly," Mohinder chuckles.
"So then my childhood is important, why exactly?"
"Records. Just gathering a basic history."
Mohinder swallows nervously when Sylar spins to sit up and face him, his expression dangerous.
"Come on, Mohinder, don't lie. You're trying to delve deep into my mind, hoping to discover what makes me tick." He slants towards the other man, fingers gripping the mattress.
"Of-of course not," Mohinder stammers, leaning back slightly.
Oh there's that delicious fear. That savory hesitation.
It's nice to know Sylar still has it. Intimidation came natural to him the day Gabriel Gray withered away in his mind and he took over; he didn't intend on losing that any time soon, no matter how much they tried to break him down. For now, the only thing keeping him sane was the prospect of hearing Mohinder's sweet voice every day; smelling his spicy sent and watching those luscious lips fumble over an exotic accent. He decides, for the time being, to indulge in this part of the game, if only to keep Mohinder around as a distraction.
Sylar breaks his glare and smiles, much to Mohinder's confusion.
"Go on, then."
He lies back down under a blinking gaze and clasps his hands, waiting.
Clearing his throat and shaking the shock away, Mohinder jots more notes down before starting the interview.
"Right. Well, would you mind telling me about your family? Parents and any siblings you may have?"
"Had, Mohinder. Had. I'm alone and you know it."
"Sorry…had."
Even without super-hearing Sylar picks up the frustrated breath.
"No harm done. I had a workaholic father and an extremely devout mother. No brothers or sisters, unfortunately."
"Why unfortunately?" Mohinder asks, eyes trained down as he scribbles Sylar's words.
"I would've had someone else to take the brunt of their insanity."
"Why did you think they were insane?"
"Is that important for my records, Mohinder?"
"No, I'm just curious, really."
Liar.
"Do you think it's any of your personal business, then?"
"I suppose not, but this is part of getting to know you better."
Sylar would prefer moving on from this topic as soon as possible and he fears, yes fears, Mohinder's stubborn nature.
"Fine. My father would come home from a fifteen-hour workday at Gray and Son's, screaming at me for not putting away the tools he allowed me to use when tinkering with old watches. Then he'd beat my mother because she was pleading for him to calm down and pray. On the nights I was lucky, he'd hit me hard enough to knock me out and I was able to sleep through her obnoxiously loud sobbing. I was never aloud out to go anywhere besides school because my father always had something to punish me for, and my higher-than-holy mother feared letting me roam this big bad world. I spent my childhood alone, locked in my room, fixing anything I could get my hands on and nursing wounds from a selfish father. Did you get all that, Mohinder, or would you like me to repeat it for you?"
Mohinder's expression is blank and gaping.
"Did that really happen?"
"Why would I lie about it?"
I've never told anybody that before.
"That's…terrible."
"Yes and if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to forget about it again. So finish writing it down in your little notebook and let's move on."
Mohinder nods, frowning for Sylar yet feeling an odd sense of pride for having gotten the man to open up. When he's finished writing he asks a question that he knows could be equally as damaging.
"How did they die?"
"My father died in a car crash."
A certain glimmer passes through Sylar's eyes; a hint of joy. Mohinder forgoes writing it down considering that some things should be left personal.
"And your mother?"
He watches Sylar's chest rise and fall in quickened breathing; notes the curl of his fingers against white cloth and the clench of his jaw.
"Accidental murder."
Voice low and dangerous, Sylar closes his eyes. Mohinder is about to tell him he doesn't need to press the matter when-
"I killed her."
"You…you killed her?" He withholds the shock from his voice. Sylar's heard plenty of that today.
"Yes. She attacked me and I defended myself."
And then Mohinder says something that he's not sure if he means or not.
"Good." Both sets of eyes widen and Mohinder fumbles to correct himself. "I-I mean, good…that you were able to stop her because…well its not good but-"
"You think what I did was right?"
Mohinder sighs.
"If she truly was attacking you then, yes. Every human has the animalistic right to protect themselves, Sylar. You can't be blamed for acting on instinct."
Mohinder notices the tears, he thinks, before Sylar does. The shaky quiver in Sylar's voice alludes to deep-seeded pain that even he can't console.
"I was just trying to stop her…she had scissors and was in hysterics after I showed her what I could do…how special I was."
Nodding in understanding, Mohinder reaches out and touches his hand. Sylar's eyes close tightly, forcing tears down his temples.
He's sure Sylar could have done something else to calm his mother down; possibly used his telekinesis to rid her of the weapon, or even simply leave her home. But he isn't one to question others acting on enraged emotions in the heat of the moment. Of that he is guilty as well; most everyone is. Mohinder is quickly realizing just how human and how emotionally frail Sylar is.
He makes sure to write that down for the Company to read.
-Day 5-
Mohinder walks into the cell with two cups of coffee on a tray and the treasured notebook under his arm. Motioning to the guard pushing his chair, he turns worried eyes on Sylar, asleep on the bed.
He looks pale and is much skinnier than Mohinder would like, curled into himself like a child. How odd, he thinks, that it's so easy to sneak up on a man superior at lurking in the shadows.
Setting the coffee down and placing a palm on his patient's forehead, Mohinder frowns at clammy skin.
"Sylar?"
The man stirs, grunting once before rolling over.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, tired," Sylar replies before clearing his throat.
"You feel a little warm."
Both men realize at once that Mohinder's hand is lingering on his forehead.
It feels nice to Sylar; a little balmy but pleasurably soft, and the way it curves gently against his brow – Sylar doesn't mind it there at all.
He's grinning at the contact and can't help but smile wider when Mohinder blushes and jerks his hand away.
Sylar sits up, rubbing the smirk from his tired face.
"I'm fine. Really."
He takes the coffee that Mohinder is holding in front of him and sips it lightly.
"You don't look fine. I'll need another blood sample today to make sure you're not sick."
Glancing down at his bruised arms, Sylar frowns.
"How sweet of you to care, Mohinder."
"It's my job."
"Ah, so you admit that you don't really care. That you're only doing what they ask of you?"
Mohinder stops in the middle of preparing Sylar's arm and glares angrily.
"Was Gabriel Gray this incredulous?"
"Quite the opposite, actually. He hardly spoke."
"I'm sure it befell him nicely. It'd be wise to revert back, you know."
"Ouch!" Sylar hisses, both at Mohinder's sharp words and at the needle jammed into the crook of his arm. Finally, the Mohinder he remembers. "That wasn't a nice thing to say."
"Sorry. I didn't mean that."
"Yes you did or you wouldn't have said it."
Mohinder pulls the needle out, covering the tiny wound.
"Alright, I meant it a little."
The grin he flashes entrances Sylar and their knees are touching again and – God, Sylar has to dig his nails into the mattress to keep from leaping forwards to devour his doctor.
"I'm never going to be him again."
"That doesn't mean you can't be kind to people like he was."
"You consider locking yourself in a watch shop like a hermit and only talking to paying customers kind?"
Mohinder sighs, choosing his words carefully.
"Was it you or Gabriel Gray who murdered Brian Davis?"
"Me, after your father killed Gabriel and created me."
Gritting his teeth and biting his tongue, Mohinder tries desperately to push the thought of his father away.
"So, Gabriel never murdered anyone, correct?"
"Correct."
"And he helped people every day, fixing watches and staying out of trouble."
"So?"
"Then he was a kind, decent human being, working like everyone else and doing something he was passionate about."
"I can't go back to that, Mohinder!" Sylar yells, voice booming off the cement walls.
"You don't have to!" Mohinder's shout matches Sylar's in an attempt to dominate the conversation.
"Then what do you want from me?!"
"Stop killing people, and help them instead! Its really quite simple, Sylar, and it sure as hell doesn't take intuitive aptitude to figure out how!"
And then without warning, it happens. Sylar doesn't know if it's because he's been a caged animal for a week now, or that Mohinder is screaming and looking sexier than ever.
The reasons why are lost on Sylar when he closes the gap between their bodies and crashes his lips against Mohinder's. Their teeth clank and blood rushes from the site of impact, bruising and shocking them both into a kiss that lasts, unmoving, for several seconds.
Sylar is the one to pull away.
His eyes flick from Mohinder's shocked face to a nervously approaching guard.
"Doctor Suresh?" The man questions, snapping Mohinder out of his daze.
"It's fine!" Mohinder stands to stop him just as Sylar covers his face, blushing.
Wait, blushing? Sylar doesn't blush. Gabriel Gray blushes, Zane Taylor blushes for Christ's sake but never, never Sylar. Blushing is a weakness by showing emotions and he'll be damned if he lets Mohinder see.
There is a warm hand on his shoulder.
"Sylar? It's alright."
He mumbles against his palms, "Just leave."
"Leave?"
"I want to be alone."
Go, or I'll jump you and take what I want.
Mohinder hesitates before letting his hand fall away. His voice sounds hurt and now Sylar really can't look up because he knows what that face looks like when it's sad – how it contorts into the prettiest, wide-eyed, mouth-turned-down visage he's ever seen. He hadn't been able to look away from it that night in Montana after Mohinder had seen Dale's body. Such a tragically debauched, tear-stained face that Sylar couldn't resist kissing and licking, much to Mohinder's comfort; scraping clingy, needy hands on Sylar's shirt while that face rubbed against his chest.
The memory is replaying in Sylar's mind and fuck, Mohinder needs to leave his cell right now before he does more than just kiss the man.
"Alright. I'll run your blood sample and come back tomorrow."
Sylar nods, eyes closed tightly, unable to escape the images plaguing his thoughts.
He hears Mohinder shuffle out and the door click softly. When he finally removes his hands his face is bright red, eyes brimming with tears of frustration over something he can't have. Something that a presumably dead part of himself craves to the point of making him feel sick.
Sick with love? That's disgusting and weak.
"Fuck you, Gabriel Gray."
Sylar wakes in his dark, quiet cell in the middle of the night to a welcome surprise. Mohinder's hands are smoothing out the company-issued shirt on his chest, running teasing fingers down his torso. They slip under the cloth and Sylar takes in a sharp breath because they're colder than usual.
"Mohinder?"
"Shhh."
And then Mohinder is straddling him on the tiny bed, both men groaning in unison when straining erections rub together. Mohinder leans down to kiss Sylar's neck; soft and gentle, sending electric sparks across his flesh.
Sylar reaches up to finger the curls tickling his chin but he feels so weak; arms tired, slow, and –
"Oh, God!"
Mohinder licks and sucks the hollow behind his ear, grinding down against him with just the right roll of hips to create teasing friction.
Warm lips are against his ear next – hot breath invading his hearing – and Mohinder's voice is low; seducing.
"I've realized something."
"What's that?" Sylar pants. Teeth nibble on his earlobe, biting too roughly.
The sharp pain fades instantly when Mohinder's hand snakes under the elastic of his pants.
"That you'll never change."
Mohinder squeezes Sylar's erection to annunciate words that weigh down like a boulder on his chest.
"And you still want me?"
His husky, whining voice sounds desperate but Sylar could care less. He needs this so much and Mohinder is warm, soft, writhing with desire andso good with his tongue. The wet muscle licks a stripe up his neck and pushes into his ear – he nearly comes from that alone.
Mohinder's hand massages with conviction as he pulls back. Both men squint to see each other's eyes in the dark but Sylar can hardly control his vision, lids fluttering closed in ecstasy.
"I want you to tell me."
"Tell you what?" He gasps when a thumb circles the head of his cock.
"Tell me what you do with the brains."
Sylar tenses, eyes flying open. This was all part of the game?
"What? Get off of me, Mohinder!"
The lights in his cell flick on without warning, and Mohinder's face shows clear as day. It's hard, angry, and serious. Sylar shivers at the look in dark eyes; a dazzling fury that he knows too well.
"Tell me."
He could just as easily match Mohinder's anger because this level of trickery is low. He'd been trying, really trying to open up to Mohinder, and the man just throws it away like this?
"Go to hell."
Several tense moments pass, the two staring intensely into each other's eyes, vying silently for dominance. It's Mohinder who ultimately wins.
"Lead the way, Sylar." No sooner had the venomous words slipped from his lips did Mohinder's hands connect with Sylar's throat.
He chokes instantly, desperately trying to take in what little air the inhuman grip will allow. He's strangled people of his own before; primarily to play with them before thieving their ability. But as his lungs begin to burn with a hungry, deprived rage, Sylar's gut twists for not having known how terrible it feels to suffocate.
Scratching at Mohinder; his face, shoulders, chest, hands; Sylar can't find purchase anywhere on him. The weight on his throat increases when Mohinder leans forward, bringing his lips to Sylar's and breathing a simple request into his mouth.
"Die."
Sylar sits up in his bed, gasping for air and clawing at a pale neck. Drenched in sweat, he scans the pitch black room looking for someone that isn't really there. His heart pounds blood to a brain trying to recover from the nightmare that's been haunting him since the day Mohinder Suresh pointed a gun at his face, and pulled the trigger.
