Fic: Eye to Eye
Title: Eye to Eye
Characters: Sylar and Mohinder
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: (Future AU) Sylar stops by Mohinder's apartment, and he discovers something shocking about Suresh.
Disclaimer: Neither Heroes nor the show's characters belong to me
Genre: Angst, dark
Spoilers: Up to S03E01
A/N: Many thanks to cookie_simone for betaing this!
A/N II: Written for the mission_insane challenge. Table: Phrases | Prompt: It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye
The numbers on the door to Suresh’s apartment loom in front of Sylar. He stands outside for a moment, reliving the last few times he’d seen the entrance to Mohinder’s abode, and the tortures that the madman had unleashed upon its inhabitant.
He doesn’t even bother knocking; with a grunt and a forceful jerk of his wrist, he lets himself inside.
“Mohinder?”
Looking around, Sylar takes note of his surroundings with a vague sort of interest. The somber colors of the walls, the stillness of the kitchen chairs and the laptop sitting propped up on the geneticist’s desk. It’s obvious that not much has changed in this apartment, but -
- Something shifts, a figure moving from the bedroom. Snapping his neck upward, Sylar grabs onto the moving person with his telekinesis. Even without his increased hearing ability, the choking sounds of the struggling individual reach his ears.
He pauses, squinting to identify his captive, and then he relaxes his telekinetic hold.
“There you are.”
Mohinder’s hand goes up to his throat, massaging it gently as he remains in the same position Sylar caught him in. Sylar gives him a moment to catch his breath, and after he does, his reply comes out in a low, gravelly snarl:
“Get out, Sylar.”
“Already? But we haven’t had a chance to catch up.” Sylar’s toying with him now, and relishing it. He continues his attempt at distinguishing the expression on Mohinder’s face, but the scientist is still shrouded in darkness.
“There’s nothing for you here,” Mohinder spits. Sylar furrows his brow in suspicion: something is not quite right, and he’s going to find out what it is.
He flicks his hand lazily, and Mohinder is lifted up from the ground like a feather. He pitches forward when Sylar lets him go, and, after breaking his fall with his hands, he remains bent over in front of Sylar, as if he’s bowing to the man who killed his father.
Mohinder emits a furious, guttural growl that sounds like it might be a swear in his native tongue. Sylar chuckles to himself, but the laugh breaks off in his throat when Mohinder tosses his head back and fixes Sylar with a cold, one-eyed glare.
Sylar stares down at him - at his tousled, grimy hair and the black eyepatch that’s covering the left side of his face. Forgetting to keep Mohinder down on the ground, Sylar looks on as the scientist pushes himself back up into a standing position.
Finally, Sylar tells him, “I can fix it.”
Mohinder glares at him, his features hard and unyielding. Sylar had seen him like this before; he’d grown accustomed to the way Mohinder would look at him, but this time, Sylar feels a cold wave of tremors sweeping over his exposed skin.
Again, he repeats his sudden offer, and he steps forward with an outstretched hand, but Mohinder bats it away with disgust radiating out from his right eye.
“Don’t you dare touch me.”
Sylar cocks his head to one side. “Who did that to you?”
Mohinder turns around, making his way back to the bedroom. Sylar falls into step behind him immediately, his mind whirring with impatient questions and demands, but it’s as though his mouth is refusing to obey his thoughts.
He stops outside of the doorway to Mohinder’s room, watching Mohinder lower himself down to the bed with his back still turned on Sylar.
Keeping his gaze on Mohinder’s curved, bony spine, Sylar tells him, “I could do it right now. I could heal you within the blink of an…” He falters, then purses his lips as he finishes the inappropriate phrase silently.
Mohinder is still working next to the bed, his shoulders rotating haphazardly like he’s searching for something under the mattress as quickly as he can. His silence begins to frustrate Sylar, who, raising his voice, demands, “Don’t you want it back?”
Mohinder stops moving, his arms go slack for a brief moment. Then, suddenly, he whips around to face Sylar again, both of his hands gripping onto a gun.
“Get out,” he rasps. “I don’t ever want to see you again, not even with the one eye I have left.”
Sylar frowns at him. In a chiding tone, he says, “Please. Even if I didn’t have my abilities, you don’t have any depth perce-”
Bang.
Sylar sighs in mild annoyance, ignoring the bullet that hangs directly in front of his throat. The tiny piece of metal tumbles to the floor, and Sylar shakes his head at Mohinder.
“See what I mean?”
In a split second, Mohinder lowers the gun and pulls on the trigger without any warning. Sylar roars in response and stumbles back a little, grabbing onto the doorway for support. Blood begins to fill up in his boot, and his foot already begins to itch as the wound closes up and expels the bullet out through the skin.
“Not so quick that time, were you?” Mohinder sneers.
Steadying himself, Sylar fixates Mohinder with a cold, furious stare.
“How about I just take you out of your misery instead?” he says, and Mohinder answers him with a glint in his eye and the corner of his mouth curving upward. Sylar’s hand shakes against the frame of the doorway, ready to snap Mohinder’s neck in an instant…
Then he blinks, tearing his gaze away from Mohinder’s daring grin and his black eye patch. For the first time, Sylar feels repulsed from looking at Mohinder’s face. Those bony cheeks, that wild glint in his iris, the dry lips pulled over his grimy teeth -
It’s too much.
Sylar tries to keep his voice as even as he can. “Fine. You can rot away in here, for all I care. My offers stands: come and find me if you want to be restored. Or, I can take out that other eye myself. Slowly.”
Pivoting on his left foot, Sylar wordlessly starts to hobble out of the apartment, his boot squishing every time it hits the floor.
Sylar can hear Mohinder breathing heavily behind him, but there is no sound of the gun hitting the ground. He knows that Mohinder still has the gun trained on his back, and that if Mohinder wanted to blow his brains out with a lucky shot, he would do it in an instant.
This was fine. Sylar would have expected nothing less of Mohinder. What he hadn’t expected was for Mohinder to not accept his help, to reject the offer, and be left incomplete.
Sylar pauses before going out the front door; he considers going back to hold Suresh down so that he can bring the missing eye back, and even the playing field between them. He considers it, but then he passes through the threshold of the apartment, his steps falling more heavily than they did before.
Making his way down the hall, Sylar convinces himself that Mohinder will find him, sooner or later, and demand to be healed.
Sylar pauses to telekinetically wrench the bullet out through the hole in his boot and tosses it aside, watching it bounce off of the wall and roll back toward Mohinder’s place. He’ll come around, sooner or later, Sylar thinks to himself, resuming his exit.
He’ll come around, in time.
Characters: Sylar and Mohinder
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: (Future AU) Sylar stops by Mohinder's apartment, and he discovers something shocking about Suresh.
Disclaimer: Neither Heroes nor the show's characters belong to me
Genre: Angst, dark
Spoilers: Up to S03E01
A/N: Many thanks to cookie_simone for betaing this!
A/N II: Written for the mission_insane challenge. Table: Phrases | Prompt: It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye
The numbers on the door to Suresh’s apartment loom in front of Sylar. He stands outside for a moment, reliving the last few times he’d seen the entrance to Mohinder’s abode, and the tortures that the madman had unleashed upon its inhabitant.
He doesn’t even bother knocking; with a grunt and a forceful jerk of his wrist, he lets himself inside.
“Mohinder?”
Looking around, Sylar takes note of his surroundings with a vague sort of interest. The somber colors of the walls, the stillness of the kitchen chairs and the laptop sitting propped up on the geneticist’s desk. It’s obvious that not much has changed in this apartment, but -
- Something shifts, a figure moving from the bedroom. Snapping his neck upward, Sylar grabs onto the moving person with his telekinesis. Even without his increased hearing ability, the choking sounds of the struggling individual reach his ears.
He pauses, squinting to identify his captive, and then he relaxes his telekinetic hold.
“There you are.”
Mohinder’s hand goes up to his throat, massaging it gently as he remains in the same position Sylar caught him in. Sylar gives him a moment to catch his breath, and after he does, his reply comes out in a low, gravelly snarl:
“Get out, Sylar.”
“Already? But we haven’t had a chance to catch up.” Sylar’s toying with him now, and relishing it. He continues his attempt at distinguishing the expression on Mohinder’s face, but the scientist is still shrouded in darkness.
“There’s nothing for you here,” Mohinder spits. Sylar furrows his brow in suspicion: something is not quite right, and he’s going to find out what it is.
He flicks his hand lazily, and Mohinder is lifted up from the ground like a feather. He pitches forward when Sylar lets him go, and, after breaking his fall with his hands, he remains bent over in front of Sylar, as if he’s bowing to the man who killed his father.
Mohinder emits a furious, guttural growl that sounds like it might be a swear in his native tongue. Sylar chuckles to himself, but the laugh breaks off in his throat when Mohinder tosses his head back and fixes Sylar with a cold, one-eyed glare.
Sylar stares down at him - at his tousled, grimy hair and the black eyepatch that’s covering the left side of his face. Forgetting to keep Mohinder down on the ground, Sylar looks on as the scientist pushes himself back up into a standing position.
Finally, Sylar tells him, “I can fix it.”
Mohinder glares at him, his features hard and unyielding. Sylar had seen him like this before; he’d grown accustomed to the way Mohinder would look at him, but this time, Sylar feels a cold wave of tremors sweeping over his exposed skin.
Again, he repeats his sudden offer, and he steps forward with an outstretched hand, but Mohinder bats it away with disgust radiating out from his right eye.
“Don’t you dare touch me.”
Sylar cocks his head to one side. “Who did that to you?”
Mohinder turns around, making his way back to the bedroom. Sylar falls into step behind him immediately, his mind whirring with impatient questions and demands, but it’s as though his mouth is refusing to obey his thoughts.
He stops outside of the doorway to Mohinder’s room, watching Mohinder lower himself down to the bed with his back still turned on Sylar.
Keeping his gaze on Mohinder’s curved, bony spine, Sylar tells him, “I could do it right now. I could heal you within the blink of an…” He falters, then purses his lips as he finishes the inappropriate phrase silently.
Mohinder is still working next to the bed, his shoulders rotating haphazardly like he’s searching for something under the mattress as quickly as he can. His silence begins to frustrate Sylar, who, raising his voice, demands, “Don’t you want it back?”
Mohinder stops moving, his arms go slack for a brief moment. Then, suddenly, he whips around to face Sylar again, both of his hands gripping onto a gun.
“Get out,” he rasps. “I don’t ever want to see you again, not even with the one eye I have left.”
Sylar frowns at him. In a chiding tone, he says, “Please. Even if I didn’t have my abilities, you don’t have any depth perce-”
Bang.
Sylar sighs in mild annoyance, ignoring the bullet that hangs directly in front of his throat. The tiny piece of metal tumbles to the floor, and Sylar shakes his head at Mohinder.
“See what I mean?”
In a split second, Mohinder lowers the gun and pulls on the trigger without any warning. Sylar roars in response and stumbles back a little, grabbing onto the doorway for support. Blood begins to fill up in his boot, and his foot already begins to itch as the wound closes up and expels the bullet out through the skin.
“Not so quick that time, were you?” Mohinder sneers.
Steadying himself, Sylar fixates Mohinder with a cold, furious stare.
“How about I just take you out of your misery instead?” he says, and Mohinder answers him with a glint in his eye and the corner of his mouth curving upward. Sylar’s hand shakes against the frame of the doorway, ready to snap Mohinder’s neck in an instant…
Then he blinks, tearing his gaze away from Mohinder’s daring grin and his black eye patch. For the first time, Sylar feels repulsed from looking at Mohinder’s face. Those bony cheeks, that wild glint in his iris, the dry lips pulled over his grimy teeth -
It’s too much.
Sylar tries to keep his voice as even as he can. “Fine. You can rot away in here, for all I care. My offers stands: come and find me if you want to be restored. Or, I can take out that other eye myself. Slowly.”
Pivoting on his left foot, Sylar wordlessly starts to hobble out of the apartment, his boot squishing every time it hits the floor.
Sylar can hear Mohinder breathing heavily behind him, but there is no sound of the gun hitting the ground. He knows that Mohinder still has the gun trained on his back, and that if Mohinder wanted to blow his brains out with a lucky shot, he would do it in an instant.
This was fine. Sylar would have expected nothing less of Mohinder. What he hadn’t expected was for Mohinder to not accept his help, to reject the offer, and be left incomplete.
Sylar pauses before going out the front door; he considers going back to hold Suresh down so that he can bring the missing eye back, and even the playing field between them. He considers it, but then he passes through the threshold of the apartment, his steps falling more heavily than they did before.
Making his way down the hall, Sylar convinces himself that Mohinder will find him, sooner or later, and demand to be healed.
Sylar pauses to telekinetically wrench the bullet out through the hole in his boot and tosses it aside, watching it bounce off of the wall and roll back toward Mohinder’s place. He’ll come around, sooner or later, Sylar thinks to himself, resuming his exit.
He’ll come around, in time.