Author shenanigans: Yay! You guys like it :D Thank you for reviewing, alerting, favorite-ing, etc. I was going to wait to post this, but I got all I excited from nice reviews that I went ahead and wrote it and now wish to post it. Unfortunately, this isn't all focused on Sylaire as I do have to mention other people. But fear not! I'll get there.
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My disclaimer is in the first chapter, and I feel no need to expand on that every single chapter. Thanks!
Chapter 2. Frustration
Sylar had to commend himself; he did indeed have some skill.
First Matt Parkman, and now Peter Petrelli.
(Nathan, too, if you counted minds without bodies. Besides himself, he didn't.)
He corrupted them from the inside out, turned them from noble heroes to vengeful villains. He didn't kick them off their high horses; he damn near broke the horses' legs off. That, mind you, is a task when you're body isn't your own, and your soul is fractured among multiple personalities.
He had to admit, the fact that he was inside Parkman's head did give him the upper hand; however, he was only in Parkman's head because the ex-cop decided to rip him from existence and replace him with the Senator of all people. The Senator! The thought made his skin crawl.
Yet, Sylar smiled enchantingly to middle-aged, redhead Judy at the nurse's station of an unknown Texas hospital because he was quite the master of disguise. He was himself, not changing his DNA because he had had enough of body jumping to last a lifetime, thank you, but he was so leisurely suave, he bet he could make anything with estrogen bend to his will. Even Claire Bennett wouldn't stand a chance.
As Judy batted her overly mascara-ed eyelashes and pointed down the empty hall, he winked, and he was sure she was fanning her red-hot face as he turned to saunter in that direction. Sylar hadn't thought about the cheerleader for what felt like years, probably due to the fact that he couldn't think at all as he was too focused on finding his own body. When was the last time he saw her? The hotel room? Had it been that long?
He smirked to himself. That was far too long. Everyone, particularly the cheerleader, needed a daily dose of Sylar mayhem. If they didn't receive it, they'd become too pompous, too proud of the extermination of a quite powerful roach—one that would live through a nuclear holocaust, by the way.
Unlike dear old brother Pete.
It made him chuckle inside every time he heard Nathan's voice in his memory…almost as much as it made him cringe since the words came from his mouth.
Tell Mom I love her…Take care of Claire…
So cliché. Do all feeble men die so…foolishly?
You've always been everything that's good in the world, Pete.
A swell of pride erupted in his chest at that thought. Good, ol' Pete. Fight the good fight, alright. Was there such a thing as a good fight? Whatever it was, it bled out of him as the conscious was beaten out of Sylar while Peter crucified him with a nail gun. Even though Peter won that small, insignificant battle, Sylar had dragged him to his level—a much more satisfying victory in the end.
Sylar's internal laughter bubbled forth as he found the door he was looking for. His smile was irrepressible as his fingers wrapped around the cold metal handle and twisted it open.
Matt Parkman stared with darkened eyes out of a window from where he lay in his bed, body slump and defeated. Sylar's eye twitched as he observed the man, looking for some recognition to register and for a snarky comment about how evil he was and how he obviously didn't understand the consequences of his actions to play from his lips, but there was none. No movement. His eyes didn't even bother to glance at him, but Sylar could sense Parkman knew he was there.
Disappointment sank Sylar's shoulders. This wouldn't be any fun if there was no fight.
"Oh, Mattie," he teased with a sigh. "Look what they've done to you."
It was unfair, low, and a dishonorable thing, but hey, Sylar had done worse than scalp a man so drugged up, he couldn't even take a piss without falling in the toilet.
I got a feelin' the world ain't seen nothing yet.
He lifted his lethal finger and with the force of a saw drew an oozing red line across Matt Parkman's forehead.
Nathan was right about one thing.
The world ain't seen nothing yet.
You can do anything, Pete. Anything. Remember that.
I love you.
"What do you mean you don't know where she is?"
Peter was having trouble with three things. One was not crushing his cell phone, as he had run into a patient with an uncanny ability to lift a thousand pounds with ease only a few hours before. Two was keeping an eye on Emma as she was stitching up the end of a suture on a cadaver and constantly nodding back to him with insecurity. And three was barely containing the urge to throw a tantrum seeing as how his brother had "committed suicide" a week ago, a sociopathic serial killer with a hit list was on the loose, and the daughter of said deceased brother was nowhere to be found as she had slipped out under her guardian's distracted nose, both of whom were probably on said hit list.
Peter had just about had it.
"Gretchen says she stole the compass and ran off to the carnival." Noah sighed in frustration on the other end of the line. Oh, he didn't even know the half of it. "Seeing as how it's a moving carnival, it will be somewhat difficult to find."
Peter released a long, deep breath, one that drew Emma's attention away from her task and towards her estranged friend. Walking to him, she took his hand in hers, rubbing gentle circles with her thumbs. He lifted his eyes from the ground, to the gesture, to her face, and he gave a crooked, half-hearted smile. She returned the favor and continued massaging his hand.
"Well, we'll just have to find a compass then, won't we?" he asserted, diverting his eyes away from Emma's.
Noah agreed, used one of his terrible one-liners, and told Peter he'd meet him at Claire's dorm to see if Gretchen possibly had the compass and was lying to protect Claire.
He snapped the phone shut, letting the device drop to the floor lest he be tempted to smash it into the wall.
Emma grabbed this hand, too, and held them both in hers, staring at his face until he chose to finally meet her gaze. "What's wrong?" she asked in her curled words, the language of the deaf.
He grinned, the entity of falsehood. "It's nothing," he claimed. "Just…my niece is in some trouble."
She tilted her head, pausing for a moment to look at their hands, a blush painting her cheeks before she released him and turned to the room of dead bodies. "What kind of trouble?"
Her shyness chipped at his anger, making him chuckle. He stepped next to her, making sure his lips were in her eyesight. "The running away kind."
"Ah," she murmured, nodding as she busied herself with picking up her supplies. Peter observed her quietly; she wore her white doctor's coat and her hair was piled on her head in a messy bun. Her hazel eyes darted from motion to motion, never focusing on one object. She really was a beautiful woman, and if Peter had any sense, he'd have kissed her right there.
Unfortunately, the only sense he had was on how to stop an exploding man. And even that didn't quite go swimmingly.
"I need to find her." His voice was a deep vibration next to Emma, and she saw the colors spill before her in waves. It was strange; his color was always a deep, dark, electric blue no matter what his tone was. With everyone else, as their voices changed, their colors changed. With Peter, it was always blue.
She turned to him, obviously having not heard what he said, and he repeated himself for her to read his lips.
"I don't know how long I'll be gone," he added, receiving a sullen expression from the woman. He offered a sad smile, reaching out his hand to stroke stray hairs from her face. She remained silent and watched as he leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek before whirling away towards the door, only stopping to pick up his bag.
"Wait!" Emma shouted suddenly, stopping Peter in his tracks.
He turned where he stood and met her eyes, which were excited from an acknowledged epiphany.
"Did you say something about finding a compass?" She spoke and signed with her hands at the same time.
He quirked an eyebrow.
"Yeah?"
She grinned, ear to ear.
"I think I have one."
