Characters: Gabriel, Samuel, Edgar, Lydia
AN: Sorry it's been so long! I've had computer issues and a packed summer. Time off has given me time to rethink some straggly bits in the plot, though, and I think it will work the better for it. Big thanks to Neuronerd for bouncing ideas with me. I promise that we will be getting to Peter Petrelli in the next chapter or two. I've been having a lot of fun building up Gabriel/Sylar but as ideas formed it wound up being more necessary to introduce PP a little later than planned. And thanks for your reviews!
Present Day
Gabriel remained side by side with Lydia. His stomach was full of the most delicious thing he could remember eating and despite himself and his situation, he felt content. This was a world of new possibilities and she was happy- if not persistent- in opening his eyes to it.
She took him through the carnival grounds showing him the way. It didn't matter that it was a new city and a new set up- Lydia always knew where everyone would be and more or less what they may be doing. He wondered to himself what it must be like to know just where you fit like pieces to a puzzle; he didn't even know where to uncover his own pieces let alone erect them.
"Every site must be different," he commented about how easily she found where she was going. Even then her feet seemed to know the way before she did. Gabriel followed, sometimes clumsily when he started to turn one way but she turned another instantly (intuitively) changing her mind and redirecting. It was so much bigger than he'd imagined- not that he'd had a lot of time to put thought into it.
It's been just hours, he reminded himself. Hours since they took you away from the police.
The chase. The shooting. Lubbock. Madeline. The forest. The bullets. The darkness. Gabriel's heart beat quickened in his chest as he wondered what happened to Madeline when they found her running in the wrong direction doing her best to buy him just a few more minutes so he wouldn't be dissected and desiccated under the blinding white lights of their laboratories.
I hope she's okay.
But his thoughts were torn from their inner dialogue as Lydia glanced over her shoulder, the corners of her eyes creasing as she smiled. She held his eye until he looked down with cheeks turning red. Silently he wished for them to stop; he could even feel the warmth spread to the tips of his ears.
"We're family," she said easily, her voice not quite laughing but he had heard the tone before. Musical notes of amusement but never so much that the unsure man felt as thought she were laughing at him. "When you know someone well enough you can be intuitive... you know what your family will do. The grounds aren't really any different." Lydia breached the small distance between them creating a bridge as she took his large hand in her calloused smaller one. "You'll make a place for yourself here. You're with family now. You'll find your way."
Eyes snapped up from the ground and curiously looked on at where her fingers slid through his. Watched as the delicate ones contracted and gave his a squeeze. Warmth spread from the touch and blossomed in his stomach. Isn't that what he wanted? To find his own way?
Lydia held his hand for a few moments longer then released it. Gabriel tripped over his own feet as they continued on. He caught himself by throwing his other foot out and stumbled only a little. They were quite large, as he'd noted before, but apparently needed for something if his balance was really so easily disturbed. Doing a quick mental assessment of himself and deciding minimal damage had been done, Lydia laughed. Her hand covered her mouth as she tried to swallow down the sound turned those musical notes to dissonance in Gabriel's ear. They scratched like nails in his ears as she laughed at him though she tried not to.
A single tear rolled down her pink cheek.
Gabriel straightened himself and clenched and unclenched his hands as his insides were grating in time to her laughter.
No damage, he thought. Except for your ego. Like she would really notice you. No one ever notices you.
Gabriel's mood went black and without so much as a thought he hurled the nearest rock twenty feet from him without touching it. Then another. And another. Her laughter ended but he was deaf to the transition of noiseless struggle for air. Gabriel's eyes were unseeing focused somewhere inward rather than out.
Lydia's eyes were wide in restrained horror and concern as she touched his arm once again. This time her fingers closed around him tightly almost tugging. Gabriel's vision returned slowly as he came into focus on her face. Taking a deep breath, his cheeks heated once again. The feeling in his stomach was sour and the taste in the back of his throat was worse. Somewhere inside him was still a grumbling whisper so passionately dispossessed the fury was electrical. The air around him went charged, crackled and popped as the pressure in his head swelled.
She withdrew her hand quickly, and managed to fill her lungs. Lydia sucked on her finger, a pink welt showing where she'd been shocked. Gabriel's eyes softened and the air stilled. He swallowed the feeling down; it disappeared just as quickly as it came.
The two continued walking Lydia's eyes watching more warily for Sylar but Gabriel failed to notice.
The afternoon wore on and she told him about Joseph and the community he wanted to build for their kind. How he wanted to bring them together and when he passed, Samuel had taken up the torch to carry on their traditions. And his legacy would be a larger one. Working. Sharing. Always helping one another but now taking in more to grow their family. Samuel wanted to let all specials know that they were just that- special. There was a place for them outside of society where they could be safe and celebrate their differences in numbers such that the outside world couldn't touch them.
Lydia spoke; Gabriel listened. The picture she painted was beautiful and he never noticed the way she occasionally tiptoed. Walking side by side, their footfalls fell in time and eventually stopped.
"Don't you ever get tired of wandering?" Gabriel asked. He clamped his mouth shut as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
No, you don't sound ungrateful at all. Who are you to be questioning how they live? Not like you're exactly settled down yourself, he snarked at himself. Not that he would know if he was. Lydia watched cautiously as the clouds passed across his face but the weather cleared there just as quickly.
"I didn't mean..."
Lydia held up her hand and shook her head, her hair cascading around her. Something about her made him completely tongue-tied. She reassured him and the darkness slipped from his face.
"Many of us love traveling always somewhere new and exciting. More of us have grown tired of it. When the seeds take root, we'll settle. We'll have found home."
The afternoon wore on without further incident, lest not from Sylar. Aside from the display between Gabriel and Edgar things had gone smoothly. Samuel and the family had watched quietly without interfering to see how the dispute over territory- better known as Lydia- would conclude. She had watched wordlessly and could see the hope extinguish in Samuel's eyes when it was Gabriel, not Sylar, who ended the fight. Gabriel who, without any self-realization or real control, flung knives away from himself and into a nearby post. And it was Gabriel who flung Edgar away into a bucket of cement failing to permanently quiet the discord but momentarily end the feud. Samuel's face had hardened. Sylar would have killed him instantly no thought involved.
The darkness Lydia had witnessed earlier was snuffed out quickly and didn't lift its head again. Gabriel seemed no more knowledgeable of his powers or his lack of control over them than he had before. She had thought maybe... just maybe... when he had been wounded by her unintentional insult that Sylar would return but he'd been put to rest. Samuel glared at her, his eyes saying more than words could, and stomped away leaving others to clean up.
Samuel wanted Sylar back to his former infamous glory as a weapon and protector to the family but Lydia was certain that he didn't want so much at the expense of anyone at the carnival. He'd never wish harm to someone in the family. But the look on his face as he stalked away caused her stomach to clench... Sylar would have killed Edgar and Samuel was... he was disappointed. Chewing her bottom lip, Lydia glanced between the two men. To Edgar who was being pulled from the cement and nursing metaphorical rather than physical wounds. To Sy-Gabriel who was looking at his own hands in confusion and awe.
Someone so lost couldn't possibly be their savior- could he?
Thoughts were tumultuous as they played across the backs of closed eyelids. When Gabriel was gone from her sight, she had pressed her palms to her eyes and took a few slow breaths. Too many possibilities. So much to see. Samuel wanted Sylar back and he had to be confident that they would be safe, that if he woke up the serial killer wouldn't pluck special after special from their family tree where they were so ripe and plenty. Didn't he?
Before she could think about it, her hands hoisted up her long skirt just a bit and it trailed behind her like a trail as bare feet carried her across the grounds. They knew their place no matter where they were. The ground might change- some softer or harder under her feet- but the path was always so easy to find. She sequestered way in one of the tents not bothering to knock or announce herself. Samuel might not have tolerated others breaking his concentration but he also wouldn't want to wait to hear her news.
"It's not working," Lydia said.
Shoulders tensed but he failed to speak, his back facing the younger woman. It was obvious, she knew, from the fight. Beneath their feet the earth moved, just enough to fill his hand and then a jar, turning to clay and darker ink.
"He likes what he sees and what he hears," she continued, not oblivious to the fact that some of it had to do with herself. "But he's not remembering. He's so confused. Things are murky and... Separate. I don't know how else to describe it to you but it's not one cohesive want or desire in him. Things are struggling beneath the surface."
Samuel sighed and turned around producing the long, whip thin needle. She moved to the seat, sliding her shirt from her shoulders baring her back to him. The needle was filled and then entered her skin, emptying the ink. It swirled around one shoulder than the next, down her spine and separated to two then to three clouds. They continued shifting even after they had formed, so uncertain and undefined. A face without many features, just enough to be male. Flight through the clouds destination undefined. What Lydia could only sense as a union but she wasn't entire sure of what.
"What does it mean?" Samuel wondered. It was never so unsettled.
"I think we're going to lose him. Sylar will be gone to the world unless we can wake him up. He's not gone but he's buried."
Samuel's hand rested firmly on her shoulder, clutching her in a way that insisted that she continue. Pulling her shirt back up and around her, Lydia turned and recounted the afternoon how he'd boiled so quickly and unexpectedly at an offhand and unintended wound to his pride and Samuel came to understand that stories and stroking his ego would not wake up the killer. It was so easy- so obvious. It was insult and injury and blood.
There was no time for building to it, making him feel at home. They needed a plan of action before Sylar was gone, beyond reach. "So we unhinge him and put him back together in the image we want," Samuel concluded as he felt the first tendrils of ideas plant themselves into place and taking root.
Lydia stood up and left her friend and leader in thought not feeling better for the tone of his voice.
Ten Days From Now
"Bless me father for I have sinned. It's been... I can't remember how long it's been since my last confession. Far too long, I'm sure." With a small chuckle, he ran his hand over his face. It wasn't funny. Nothing about it was funny. Fingertips traced the intricate patterns in the screen dancing back and forth from shadow to light. Always teetering from one to the other. Shadows were cast across his face, which was fine. He felt exposed in the light. He turned his head fixing his gaze to the side and watched the other shadow person so much stiller than himself. Opposite the partition was the priest, a figure so important in his life- though he wasn't sure how. Growing up? Holiday sermons? Pretenses of perfect values for campaigns? Multiple memories conflicted.
"We all stray from our path at times, and with help we find our way back. Tell me your sins."
It was warm inside the box and the air felt thick, not the right fit for his lungs. He fought against something inside of him that felt trapped. So dark. So pressing. For a moment his lungs couldn't get a breath in but eyes were closed and in a few moments he would still his heart. There's nothing to fear. Fingertips lingered over the delicate woodcarving and screen trying to hook their way through to the outside. They dug into the wood until blood drained from his knuckles leaving them white. The feeling brought him back down. It was harder and harder to clear the fog away each time.
Opening his eyes, he stared once more at the wood covering the screen. Why the patterns should look so cheerful he couldn't understand. Dark thins went on inside these cramped walls. The setting for scandals should be far bleaker. Even if God could forgive the type of thing man- or monsters- might be capable of, it shouldn't look so cheery. It wasn't respectful. Dropping his hands, he cleared his throat.
"Go on my son," came across the partition.
"I want to but I'm not sure I could. Find my way, I mean. These past few weeks I've been searching but father, I don't think I'd know it even if I found it. I've one so far and I just... I doubt there's a way back from where I've gone."
"There's a way for all of us."
Something dark inside of him grumbled. It was for just a moment but his fingers twitched at the thought of reaching through the partition and choking the blind optimism out of the other. In fact, he wouldn't need to reach. The clock inside of him began to tick. He just had to think about it. The pressure would build and after it was done there'd come a few seconds of clarity... Gabriel swallowed and pressed his palms to his eyes and sat up straighter. The clock quieted to nothingness and the monster went back into his corner restlessly. He was growing bold.
"I've done things to people. Terrible things." And he knew how it sounded to others. They couldn't imagine what kind of terrible things. They couldn't know what terrible truly was. Closing his eyes once more, he pressed long fingers into his sockets a little harder. A burst of color lit behind his eyelids but try as he may he couldn't block out the images. The colors always blossomed then deepened to crimson. A very specific shade. Any time he closed his eyes- even for a moment- there they were. The people. On the back of his lids in vivid colors. Worse were the other senses that followed (not always, but often enough)- the scents or the coppery taste of accidental spatters on lips. Muscles tensed in memory mimicking their previous poses. He unclenched his fist, freeing his fingers. "I used them... Father, I sucked them dry. When I finished with them there was nothing left. I would get my fingers... get right inside and I could figure out the way they worked. It wasn't hard for me to get close and hook them. They never knew. But sometimes, at the end when there was nothing they could do about it, they would realize. I would let them just because I wanted them to see. Sometimes I wanted them to know what I was going to do. I don't think any of them really understood..."
Speaking it out loud made his mouth salivate. The other person inside of him could taste the fear and the hopelessness. His stomach churned. "I could get right inside of them and peel back everything. Layer after layer, I would get in deeper and deeper. It all made so much sense. The further I got, the further I needed to go. Father, once I started I couldn't stop not until I was at the core. Such a delicate process, surgical, even. It was all so messy. To get in there, father, you have to be willing to get messy. It's never clean, no matter how careful you are. It's always, always messy." Blood, it was never clean. Not at least until he had finished. He'd experimented with telekinesis and using it to keep the blood from going all the places it shouldn't but part of him needed it as much as it sickened him. And cleaning up and disposing, it became part of the ritual. Part of the need.
"I can't remember it though, father. Not really. I know that I did it... I close my eyes and I can't get rid of the images. I can't sleep without waking up to them. Seeing the people... But those things I've done... it doesn't feel like me. I watch it happen from some place else... behind a wall with a window and the image is blurry but it's starting to get clearer. I don't want it to get clearer because I can't stop seeing it or feeling it. It's so far away but it's getting closer and if it gets here..." he couldn't think about what would happen when it completely clicked.
Inside of his head he felt the pressure build. The buzzing in his ears crashed inside his skull, drowning out the sounds of his breathing or blood rushing through his veins. He tried, he really did, but whenever he tried to force the scatter pieces of puzzle into place the pressure came. It squeezed and forced its way behind his eyes and he felt as if it were forcing them out. He pressed his palms to keep them into place. No, he couldn't settle into the shoes of someone capable of dissecting people like a scientist might a rat. He couldn't. So he pressed back against the pressure, pushing it down. Swallowing, he dragged his tongue over the roof of his mouth. It felt like lead and tasted like bile.
"People say that I've done these things and I know... but they remember it in a way that I can't. What I can remember... what I feel... it makes me absolutely sick," he hissed. Running his hands through his hair, he clasped them behind his neck and shifted his weight on his knees. Though he straightened his back, he then leaned forward pressing his forehead to the wood. "Who would do those kinds of things to people? Who would live with themselves? And when I try to remember... he couldn't stop himself. And later... later he- I- didn't even try. It was so addicting taking everything they had. They couldn't appreciate it like I did and it was so intoxicating... Addicting. I couldn't stop. I envied everything they had until I didn't have to anymore."
And worse, so much worse, was how easy the rationalization had become. His fingers so far inside, probing and prodding, pupils blown wide as he unlocked absolutely everything- it was justified. They would squander it. They didn't want it. They couldn't understand it.
They weren't special enough. Not special like he was.
The breath rushed from his lungs and Gabriel continued recounting his sins. There were too many horrors to recount but they came faster and easier, lifting only slightly from his bowed shoulders. He told the father about each person- not their ability or how he took it from them- but he remembered them so the priest would, too.
As he was leaving, the priest suggested he take information on addiction counseling- it was a common enough problem and God could help. He laughed a sad sound and clutched the father's hand with both of his to thank him.
Gabriel left without it.
