Save the Baby, Save the World Chapter Two
AU: Save the Baby, Save the World
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating:T, will turn M/NC-17 for smut and violence.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes
Summary: Sylar does not kill Elle on the beach. Instead they go on a cross country killing spree. Nathan hooks up with Danko, who obsessively hunts Sylar, and by extension Elle.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes
Warning: Character Death
Still, no M material. It will occur soon.
Please, review. Any comments or criticism welcome.
Checkers.
Who likes checkers that much? Really, why make the whole floor red and black tile? With Manhattan studio apartments renting at over twenty-five hundred a month, one would expect a more tasteful entryway. Most people probable never notice just how bad the floor looked. Well, Sylar thought most people never stood on the ceiling either.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Dinner- The Previous Day
‘How do you catch an invisible man, Elle?’ Sylar asked with a slightly bemused smile. He tries to gentle unlock their interwoven fingers. Elle frowns slightly and tightens her grip. She seems unwilling to let him eat his cereal. Sylar thinks that for such a small woman he grip is unusually strong, not that he usually minds, considering what she does with it.
‘Just like in the movies, turn on the sprinkler system. Then he is not invisible anymore.’ Elle flashed an impish smile, which showed just how insightful she thought the comment.
Sylar pulls at his hand again. Elle’s eyes shift away from his face. Then she releases her hold. Sylar clenches and unclenches his fingers attempting to stop the tingling after the little jolt Elle gave him when she let go. He flashes her an annoyed look and takes a bite of his cereal. The slightly charged silence draws out as he chews.
‘Yes, that would work . . . but let me rephrase the question. How do you find him?’ Sylar asked with slight irritation.
‘Oh, that is even easier. I know him.’ Elle again flashes the girl next door smile. ‘See he used to work for the company but he is out of the loop now. Bennett almost captured him about a year ago, but Peter saved him, I think . . . Anyway, the company found out where he lives. We never got around to doing anything about it. Among you, Claire and Adam, no one had the time. So, I can show up at his door and get us in. Then we do our thing.’
‘And he will let Little Miss Sociopath in?’
The smile tightens on Elle’s face, ‘I asked you not to call me that.’
‘Sorry. I-‘
‘No, you’re not.’
‘Elle, please. I was just trying to be funny.’
‘It wasn’t. I might be a lot of things but I am not a sociopath.’
No you’re just the deranged woman I am sleeping with, Sylar thinks. Who gets incredible turned on by killing people, which would be completely normal for . . . a sociopath.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says while reaching back across the table to hold her hand. ‘The problem is he may know me or heard of me. Then if he sees us together things get harder. Unless, you want the sprinkler system to get you wet too.’
‘If you hide, then I can get him to show himself. He will at least want to talk to me. Then I give him a little jolt and he’s all yours.’
Sylar cuts off his reply as the waitress approaches. The slightly overweight middle aged woman appears hesitant, a slightly uncomfortable smile on her face. She holds a piece of thin rectangular white paper.
‘Everything alright?’ she asks.
‘Everything’s fine,’ Sylar responds politely, ‘is that the bill, ma’ma?’
‘Yes.’ The waitress places the paper on the table top and turns to leave.
‘You know serial killers don’t pay bills,’ Elle says with a quietly insistent voice.
The waitress pauses mid turn. Sylar quickly laughs which sounds forced and overly fake even to him.
‘You’ll have to forgive her. She thinks that’s the funniest joke ever. Caused us some trouble with the rental car. Right, dear?’ While his voice sounded politely apologetic, he non-to gently squeezed Elle’s hand, with his much larger fingers crushing hers uncomfortable together.
Elle smiles. Her long golden hair, fair complexion and electric blue eyes give her an aura of polite naiveté, ‘Just a joke, dear.’
The waitress unfreezes, a trouble frown crosses her face, and she quickly crosses back to the dinner’s counter. Once again, she speaks with the man standing behind it, while throwing confused looks at Elle.
‘What is wrong with you?’ Sylar’s voice is low and harsh.
‘Let go.’ Sparks travel from Elle’s fingers directly into Sylar’s hand, which was gripped painfully tight around hers. He releases her hand. Then he jerks his arm back across the table.
‘You need to control yourself,’ he says. His left hand cradles the blanked remains that were once his right palm, with the skin already knitting back together. ‘This is a public place and Drako would not hesitate to come after us here. Maybe you forgot the last time?’
‘I’m just having a little fun. I did not forget and there is nothing wrong with me. It’s just . . .’ the defiant look she was giving him shifts away as her voice trails off.
‘It’s just what?’
‘Nothing. Claude lives in Manhattan,’ Elle blurts out.
‘Claude?’
‘The invisible man.’
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Manhattan, NYC-Present Day
Sylar likes being back in New York, even if it is Manhattan. Things feel comfortable, familiar. What feels neither comfortable nor familiar is standing upside down in an entryway. Plus, the floor looks absolutely hideous, with its alternating red and black tile. Elle stands near the elevator doors. She keeps looking up at him every few seconds like he was somehow going to move without her noticing. Nothing on the ceiling to hide behind, unless you count the doorman’s corpse, with its neck twisted at a very unnatural angle. Sometimes there really are stupid questions, like ‘who’re you, bud?’ Did he really look like a ‘bud’ to this overweight, red uniform wearing, powerless weakling? A slight twist from his telekinesis coupled with a wicked little cackle from Elle, and no more ‘bud’ questions. Hiding the corpse presented a problem initially. The entryway was sparsely furnished. Elle suggested hiding ‘bud’ on the ceiling with him.
The apartment building door opens. A young couple wearing fashionable winter coats walk through the door. Their steps falter when they see Elle. She flashes her best cute innocent blue eyed girl smile. The woman checks one of the mail boxes. Then the couple walks past Elle and into an elevator, which dings its departure. Once again, Elle looks up at Sylar. His black shirt and pants standing out against the white ceiling like a menacing gargoyle silhouetted against the sun. He smiles reassuringly at her, again.
The door opens. Nothing. It closes. Elle’s body tenses. Suddenly a gray haired man wearing a worn trench coat appears before her.
‘Elle?’ his voice disbelieving.
‘You look like you saw a ghost or an invisible woman, Claude.’
‘I am supr-‘ his statement, whatever it may have been cut short by the electricity shooting from Elle’s outstretched hand.
Claude flies across the entryway. His body slams against the wall a few feet above the checkerboard floor. Claude slumps to the floor.
Sylar drops from his spot above and to the right of the entry door. He starts walking slowly toward Claude. The latter blinks, looks at Sylar with unfocused eyes and then he disappears.
Sylar halts mid stride. He looks around. Nothing. Immediately he uses his telekinesis to hold the apartment building door closed.
‘Elle, elevators.’
She nods and starts to step backward, when an unseen force hurls her across the room. She tumbles into a half dead furn. Knocking it over on top of herself, electricity already forming between her hands, she looks around again.
‘Stop.’ That was all the warning he gave her. His mind already reaching out toward the sprinkler above, he drops ‘bud.’ The body crashes with a sickening thud to the floor below. He twists the sprinkler head. Suddenly the entryway fills with deafening noise and spraying water. A high-pitched scream cuts across the fire alarm’s deafening ring. The elevator door opens. A distorted liquid humanoid changeling stumbles through it. Sylar runs across the slick tilt floor. He disappears through the door.
Elle twists in agony on the floor. Her body shoots off little uncontrolled sparks, with each one causing a terrible biting tinkling pain. She can smell the raw ozone of her power turning against her. Elle crawls toward the door that will lead to her to the street, to anywhere but this cold liquid hell. Her long golden hair hanging lank across her face she crawls on soaked hands and knees. Each time she moves a new spark makes her scream. Suddenly two strong hands lift her. She can feel the electric current coursing through her. It jumps away from her to cause the two strong hands a grunt of pain. Then the door opens and she is outside. Turning in mid air she feels half pulled and half carried down the alley besides the building.
Then she is sitting on the ground beside a stack of cardboard boxes. She looks around. Nothing.
‘Sylar?’ her voice timid and lacked with pain.
‘Sylar?’ this time louder, more urgent.
Then he is there standing before her. His black clothes cling to his frame, with a slight manic smile and the last few streaks of Claude’s blood on his face.
‘You like,’ his voice happy like a child showing off a new toy. He crouches down in front of her. Then he pulls a towel from the box next to her. Smiling he hands it to her.
‘I thought this might happen. That’s why I wanted to get here while you were still shopping,’ his voice still proudly happy.
Sirens that were once distant start to sound louder.
‘I need to go to a hospital,’ Elle says. Her voice soft with worry and pain.
Frowning Sylar asks, ‘Why? Just get the water off and you will be fine.’
‘Yes,’ she responds hesitantly, ‘but . . .’
‘But, what?’
‘I’m late.’
‘Late for what,’ his voice changing from proud to confused.
‘I’m late.’
‘Late for what,’ this time less confused and more irritated.
‘Do I have to spell it out for you.’
‘Yes,’ this time irritation sounding through strongly.
‘The Canfield House, the beach, afterward. . . we were not always safe.’ Her gaze directed beseechingly up toward him. The words coming out as a pleading whisper.
‘Oh.’
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating:T, will turn M/NC-17 for smut and violence.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes
Summary: Sylar does not kill Elle on the beach. Instead they go on a cross country killing spree. Nathan hooks up with Danko, who obsessively hunts Sylar, and by extension Elle.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes
Warning: Character Death
Still, no M material. It will occur soon.
Please, review. Any comments or criticism welcome.
Checkers.
Who likes checkers that much? Really, why make the whole floor red and black tile? With Manhattan studio apartments renting at over twenty-five hundred a month, one would expect a more tasteful entryway. Most people probable never notice just how bad the floor looked. Well, Sylar thought most people never stood on the ceiling either.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Dinner- The Previous Day
‘How do you catch an invisible man, Elle?’ Sylar asked with a slightly bemused smile. He tries to gentle unlock their interwoven fingers. Elle frowns slightly and tightens her grip. She seems unwilling to let him eat his cereal. Sylar thinks that for such a small woman he grip is unusually strong, not that he usually minds, considering what she does with it.
‘Just like in the movies, turn on the sprinkler system. Then he is not invisible anymore.’ Elle flashed an impish smile, which showed just how insightful she thought the comment.
Sylar pulls at his hand again. Elle’s eyes shift away from his face. Then she releases her hold. Sylar clenches and unclenches his fingers attempting to stop the tingling after the little jolt Elle gave him when she let go. He flashes her an annoyed look and takes a bite of his cereal. The slightly charged silence draws out as he chews.
‘Yes, that would work . . . but let me rephrase the question. How do you find him?’ Sylar asked with slight irritation.
‘Oh, that is even easier. I know him.’ Elle again flashes the girl next door smile. ‘See he used to work for the company but he is out of the loop now. Bennett almost captured him about a year ago, but Peter saved him, I think . . . Anyway, the company found out where he lives. We never got around to doing anything about it. Among you, Claire and Adam, no one had the time. So, I can show up at his door and get us in. Then we do our thing.’
‘And he will let Little Miss Sociopath in?’
The smile tightens on Elle’s face, ‘I asked you not to call me that.’
‘Sorry. I-‘
‘No, you’re not.’
‘Elle, please. I was just trying to be funny.’
‘It wasn’t. I might be a lot of things but I am not a sociopath.’
No you’re just the deranged woman I am sleeping with, Sylar thinks. Who gets incredible turned on by killing people, which would be completely normal for . . . a sociopath.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says while reaching back across the table to hold her hand. ‘The problem is he may know me or heard of me. Then if he sees us together things get harder. Unless, you want the sprinkler system to get you wet too.’
‘If you hide, then I can get him to show himself. He will at least want to talk to me. Then I give him a little jolt and he’s all yours.’
Sylar cuts off his reply as the waitress approaches. The slightly overweight middle aged woman appears hesitant, a slightly uncomfortable smile on her face. She holds a piece of thin rectangular white paper.
‘Everything alright?’ she asks.
‘Everything’s fine,’ Sylar responds politely, ‘is that the bill, ma’ma?’
‘Yes.’ The waitress places the paper on the table top and turns to leave.
‘You know serial killers don’t pay bills,’ Elle says with a quietly insistent voice.
The waitress pauses mid turn. Sylar quickly laughs which sounds forced and overly fake even to him.
‘You’ll have to forgive her. She thinks that’s the funniest joke ever. Caused us some trouble with the rental car. Right, dear?’ While his voice sounded politely apologetic, he non-to gently squeezed Elle’s hand, with his much larger fingers crushing hers uncomfortable together.
Elle smiles. Her long golden hair, fair complexion and electric blue eyes give her an aura of polite naiveté, ‘Just a joke, dear.’
The waitress unfreezes, a trouble frown crosses her face, and she quickly crosses back to the dinner’s counter. Once again, she speaks with the man standing behind it, while throwing confused looks at Elle.
‘What is wrong with you?’ Sylar’s voice is low and harsh.
‘Let go.’ Sparks travel from Elle’s fingers directly into Sylar’s hand, which was gripped painfully tight around hers. He releases her hand. Then he jerks his arm back across the table.
‘You need to control yourself,’ he says. His left hand cradles the blanked remains that were once his right palm, with the skin already knitting back together. ‘This is a public place and Drako would not hesitate to come after us here. Maybe you forgot the last time?’
‘I’m just having a little fun. I did not forget and there is nothing wrong with me. It’s just . . .’ the defiant look she was giving him shifts away as her voice trails off.
‘It’s just what?’
‘Nothing. Claude lives in Manhattan,’ Elle blurts out.
‘Claude?’
‘The invisible man.’
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Manhattan, NYC-Present Day
Sylar likes being back in New York, even if it is Manhattan. Things feel comfortable, familiar. What feels neither comfortable nor familiar is standing upside down in an entryway. Plus, the floor looks absolutely hideous, with its alternating red and black tile. Elle stands near the elevator doors. She keeps looking up at him every few seconds like he was somehow going to move without her noticing. Nothing on the ceiling to hide behind, unless you count the doorman’s corpse, with its neck twisted at a very unnatural angle. Sometimes there really are stupid questions, like ‘who’re you, bud?’ Did he really look like a ‘bud’ to this overweight, red uniform wearing, powerless weakling? A slight twist from his telekinesis coupled with a wicked little cackle from Elle, and no more ‘bud’ questions. Hiding the corpse presented a problem initially. The entryway was sparsely furnished. Elle suggested hiding ‘bud’ on the ceiling with him.
The apartment building door opens. A young couple wearing fashionable winter coats walk through the door. Their steps falter when they see Elle. She flashes her best cute innocent blue eyed girl smile. The woman checks one of the mail boxes. Then the couple walks past Elle and into an elevator, which dings its departure. Once again, Elle looks up at Sylar. His black shirt and pants standing out against the white ceiling like a menacing gargoyle silhouetted against the sun. He smiles reassuringly at her, again.
The door opens. Nothing. It closes. Elle’s body tenses. Suddenly a gray haired man wearing a worn trench coat appears before her.
‘Elle?’ his voice disbelieving.
‘You look like you saw a ghost or an invisible woman, Claude.’
‘I am supr-‘ his statement, whatever it may have been cut short by the electricity shooting from Elle’s outstretched hand.
Claude flies across the entryway. His body slams against the wall a few feet above the checkerboard floor. Claude slumps to the floor.
Sylar drops from his spot above and to the right of the entry door. He starts walking slowly toward Claude. The latter blinks, looks at Sylar with unfocused eyes and then he disappears.
Sylar halts mid stride. He looks around. Nothing. Immediately he uses his telekinesis to hold the apartment building door closed.
‘Elle, elevators.’
She nods and starts to step backward, when an unseen force hurls her across the room. She tumbles into a half dead furn. Knocking it over on top of herself, electricity already forming between her hands, she looks around again.
‘Stop.’ That was all the warning he gave her. His mind already reaching out toward the sprinkler above, he drops ‘bud.’ The body crashes with a sickening thud to the floor below. He twists the sprinkler head. Suddenly the entryway fills with deafening noise and spraying water. A high-pitched scream cuts across the fire alarm’s deafening ring. The elevator door opens. A distorted liquid humanoid changeling stumbles through it. Sylar runs across the slick tilt floor. He disappears through the door.
Elle twists in agony on the floor. Her body shoots off little uncontrolled sparks, with each one causing a terrible biting tinkling pain. She can smell the raw ozone of her power turning against her. Elle crawls toward the door that will lead to her to the street, to anywhere but this cold liquid hell. Her long golden hair hanging lank across her face she crawls on soaked hands and knees. Each time she moves a new spark makes her scream. Suddenly two strong hands lift her. She can feel the electric current coursing through her. It jumps away from her to cause the two strong hands a grunt of pain. Then the door opens and she is outside. Turning in mid air she feels half pulled and half carried down the alley besides the building.
Then she is sitting on the ground beside a stack of cardboard boxes. She looks around. Nothing.
‘Sylar?’ her voice timid and lacked with pain.
‘Sylar?’ this time louder, more urgent.
Then he is there standing before her. His black clothes cling to his frame, with a slight manic smile and the last few streaks of Claude’s blood on his face.
‘You like,’ his voice happy like a child showing off a new toy. He crouches down in front of her. Then he pulls a towel from the box next to her. Smiling he hands it to her.
‘I thought this might happen. That’s why I wanted to get here while you were still shopping,’ his voice still proudly happy.
Sirens that were once distant start to sound louder.
‘I need to go to a hospital,’ Elle says. Her voice soft with worry and pain.
Frowning Sylar asks, ‘Why? Just get the water off and you will be fine.’
‘Yes,’ she responds hesitantly, ‘but . . .’
‘But, what?’
‘I’m late.’
‘Late for what,’ his voice changing from proud to confused.
‘I’m late.’
‘Late for what,’ this time less confused and more irritated.
‘Do I have to spell it out for you.’
‘Yes,’ this time irritation sounding through strongly.
‘The Canfield House, the beach, afterward. . . we were not always safe.’ Her gaze directed beseechingly up toward him. The words coming out as a pleading whisper.
‘Oh.’