Fic: The Edge
Title: The Edge
Author: Jemisard
Fandom: Heroes: Season one
Summary: The Company have gained a new, inexplicable edge in their fight against the evolved at a time when the only person who might have answers has gone missing. It falls to Peter and an unexpected ally to get to the bottom of the mystery of the edge.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Adult themes, violence
“Well, who’d have thought we’d be here again.”
Peter’s feet kicked against the wall, more reflex than anything. The telekinetic grip on his chest was tight and hard, squeezing what little breath remained from him; his gasps seem to amuse the man who held him there, hand held up and fingers pinched together.
Sylar slowly tilted hs head, regarding Peter with that cold, curious gaze of his. Peter could feel the cogs ticking in his head, analysing. Deciding.
He wasn’t going to give the killer a chance to claim another victim. With the feeling of Sylar pressing in on him as hard as the telekinesis against his chest, he pushed it back, slamming forwards.
The grip vanished; Peter hit the ground on his knees as Sylar crashed into the wall. He could already feel the bruising vanishing, breathing easier as he pushed himself to his feet.
Sylar looked up, eyes dark with anger. One hand flicked out, Peter was already pushing back against the rush of power, both of them sliding back a foot as they shoved hard.
“You can’t beat me. Not fair and square.” Sylar kept staring, gaze intent on Peter’s face.
“Kirby Plaza.” He felt a rush of anger and flickered out of view of Sylar.
“Four on one. Plus onlookers. Figures that a politician’s brother would find that fair.” That infuriating smirk of his was back. Peter just wanted to wipe it off...
There was cold in the air.
He scrambled backwards, but the floor under his feet was slippery and he was falling, smacking into the wall and dazing himself.
Sylar chuckled and stood up, straightening himself out into a long, dark streak in Peter’s vision. “You’re hopeless. I bet you only just realised he’s missing, didn’t you?”
There was anger, and a sense of smugness, and bitter resentment that Peter welcomed. He gestured weakly with one hand, barely throwing Sylar off balance. “That the best you can-”
The cabinet wrenched from the wall and Peter hurled it with all the strength he could muster. It smashed into Sylar, splintering against him and sending him crumpling to the floor.
“Not so- tough now.” He stood up, wiped the blood from the back of his head. Sylar groaned and rolled onto his back, just in time for Peter to kick a foot into his ribs and send him rolling. “What did you do to him?”
“Do to-”
“Don’t give me that!” He hauled Sylar up by one hand, belting him across the face. “What did you do to Mohinder?”
“You idiot.” Sylar spat blood with his words. “I haven’t done anything.”
“So what’re you doing here, huh?” He slammed Sylar against the wall, listening intently.
I can’t believe- They didn’t notice - I’ve been the only one looking - With friends like that -
Peter shook his head, reeling backwards. “You didn’t take him?”
“Are you reading my mind? You invasive, little-” He was cut of with a groan as Peter shoved him back into the wall.
“What do you know about Mohinder going missing?”
“More than you do,” he laughed, blood flecking his lips.
“Tell me!”
“Or what?” His mouth twisted into a sneer. “You’ll tell on me?”
Peter shook him, hard, and focused again.
Don’t even know if he’s in my- Been looking for three months, how did they not notice that-
“Three months? What do you mean, you were looking?” None of this made sense. Peter knew Sylar was after Mohinder’s list, which was why Mohinder had automated the process, so that if Sylar returned, nothing could make him divulge more names.
That had been little over three months ago.
Something hard smacked into the back of Peter’s head and the world crashed into black.
Peter pushed himself slowly away from the ground.
The waves crashed against the beach, the water silver in the moonlight, sand unearthly under his feet.
He walked slowly, feeling confused and lost. The city stretched alongside him, quiet and distant.
It seemed vaguely strange to Peter that he was walking along a beach by himself, but he had no sooner thought it that he saw people, heard them whispering almost silently and pointing him onwards, then turning their faces again. He looked to his side and watched as his shadow shrugged at him and strode on ahead, weaving through the crowd.
Peter wandered after it, but the shadow was fast and Peter found himself being caught by soft hands and voices that begged just a moment of his time. He lingered, hugging Claire tightly, stopping to listen to Noah, sharing a look with Matt.
Then there was an ungodly scream and everyone cowered and over them Peter saw his shadow by the water’s edge.
Someone lay in the water. Someone dressed all in white with dark skin, the water tugging at clothes and hair and limp limbs.
The shadow screamed and blackness consumed everything.
He jerked awake.
Sylar looked up from the book he was reading, feet crossed at the ankle, resting on the desk. “Told you you couldn’t take me.”
Peter tried to move, but he couldn’t feel his fingers. He looked around and his neck felt stiff and unreal. His eyes slide in and out of focus, but he saw the duct tape holding him to the chair and the i.v. drip in his arm. “What have you done to me?”
“Little trick I picked up. It’s called d-tubocurarine, or curare for short. It’s derived from the poison arrow frog. It’s interrupting your receptors, so you can’t move. Or use your abilities.” He tapped his temple and smiled widely.
Peter got the distinct feeling he was fucked.
Sylar pushed away from the desk, straightening his legs and standing up, a long, dark streak in Peter’s blurred vision. “It’s terrifying, isn’t it? Being suddenly crippled like that.”
Determined, he said nothing in response and instead tried to make his eyes focus clearly.
If you’ve cost me the lead that painting gave me, I am going to hurt you. A lot.
He tried not to react to the thought, but his heartbeat picked up slightly. Sylar cocked his head; Peter remembered that look so well, that too fine hearing tuning in on him.
“You can try not to look scared, but I know the sound of fear, Petrelli. Now-” his fingers pinched and he couldn’t breathe. “I want to know what you know of Mohinder’s disappearance.”
The grip loosened, the sense of fingers against his throat remaining. “He’s missing. His family reported him two months ago. They thought he’d moved here.”
Sylar pinched again. “That’s it? That’s all you have?” He stalked back to the desk, flicking open the book again. “I don’t understand. This was the next step.” This was meant to show me what happened to him. Goddamn Mendez, power’s as flaky as he was.
The grip loosened again abruptly, letting him suck air back into his starved body. “Why did you come here?”
Because I drew it didn’t seem like the best answer, so Peter said the next thing to come to mind. “Because we only just realised he was missing.”
The disgusted snort was followed by another pinch. “Three months.” You didn’t notice for three months while I tracked across two continents trying to find him. You’re meant to be his friends, but it’s me picking up the pieces.
“Sy-” he tried to kick free, to move, to breathe.
Sylar’s amusement washed over him, but the grip loosened. “What? Got something more productive to contribute to the conversation?”
“I painted here. I was looking for Mohinder, but I painted this room and that book. So I came here, and found you instead.” And he wanted to keep breathing, he didn’t want to blank out.
The black eyes turned back to him, staring as though to read the truth from him. He looked back, not flinching. Just tried to sense past the cogs turning in the predator’s mind.
So we saw the same thing. We both came looking for him and we were both led to here. Which means he’s the next piece. He has something that will lead to him. And there, a sense of concern that rippled the anger and frustration. Genuine concern.
“Why do you want to find him so badly? Is all of this over the list?”
The emotions snapped away, a look of burning, cold resentment passed between them and then Sylar chuckled. “Sure. Why not the list? I want the list he’s made with all the names on it.” He walked over, close, close enough that he could lean down and grab Peter’s face with his hand and pull his chin up. “Think he’ll tell me if I promise not to bite again?”
“If you’re intent on acquiring new powers,” Peter was shocked at how calm his voice sounded, cool and slow, “then why am I still alive and not cut open for you to get at my brain?”
A terrible silence rang between them. Peter couldn’t sense Sylar at all except with his eyes as the man straightened up and looked down on him.
His laughter echoed out. “Why? Would you prefer if I did, Petrelli? Carve you open while you were laid out?”
“It’s the power you wanted, right? You wouldn’t need the list with me. So why-?”
The hand closed on air and he could feel fine bones cracking his throat. “Don’t push me. I will kill you, and I will enjoy it if I do it and then I’ll put you back together and do it again for the hell of it.” One finger flicked, snapping his head back painfully. “It suits my needs to keep you alive. And remember, you annoy me, I can kill you over, and over again. Got it?”
The grip vanished and he couldn’t hold up his head, letting it slump to his chest and trying to breathe again.
“Got it, Petrelli?”
“Yeah. Got it.” He looked up through his lashes.
A chair skittered over and Sylar straddled it backwards, leaning on the back to look at him. It struck Peter as being out of place on Sylar. More the mannerism of the man whose apartment they were in than his own. “The first time I met Mohinder, he sat like that.”
“Yeah. He did that a lot.” And the wave of emotion that washed by was soft and roiling but good and then gone.
“Sylar?”
“Mm?” That heavy gaze turned back to him.
“Do you want to find him? Really?”
Yes. I need to find him, he needs to finish what he was doing, they’ll pay when I find them- “No, I spent three months looking for the laughs.”
“Do you know what he was working on? He’d cracked the formula, last we heard, he was working on that virus. The one Molly had.”
“How cute. First name basis. Why would I tell you?”
“Because the way to find him led you to me. And I got the same result. Here and now is how to find him.” And it was words Peter would never have imagined he could say, but they needed to be said right now. He had the terrible feeling that Mohinder’s life depended on it.
“I can find him without you.”
“Maybe.” Dark look. “Okay, probably. But would you find him in time? I have things you don’t. Connections. Abilities.” Patience with people.
-might be quicker. Not like I would have resorted to Mendez’s ability if I wasn’t drawing a cold- “All right. He was working on something he’d found. He called it a panacea. The universal cure. He had some theory about a way to tip the medical odds in someone’s favour, but I don't know what it was.”
Everything in Peter went cold and when he looked to the side he saw the wall roil with mists that showed half images that faded away again. “The Company.”
“What company?” Sylar looked to the wall, and Peter felt the power surge and settle in both of them.
“Linderman’s group. Their agents, they have a tablet. It makes them recover faster. Shrug off drugs. Gives them an edge. Sound like what Mohinder was working on?”
Long fingers flicked, and the duct tape binding him neatly sliced apart. The drip turned itself off and the needle slid from his skin, the mark closing instantly. Sylar stood, stalking back to the desk and hunching over.
For a few moments everything was quiet, so Peter tried to move his fingers. “How long does this stuff take to clear?”
Sylar shrugged. “I have no idea.” Took me about an hour in the lab to function right and here was- “Are you reading my mind?”
“I’m trying not to. It’s not somewhere I want to be.” He focused hard and his fingers flexed slightly.
“I still hate you, Petrelli. So long as we’re clear on this. But if those bastards have Mohinder-”
Hate rose in Peter. If they had Mohinder, he’d make them regret that they ever went near him, ever dared to barge into his life again after the stress of dealing with Thompson before.
“So, what’s your suggestion?”
“Hm?” Peter snapped out of his reverie of what he was going to do to the Company when he found them.
“Us. Together. Going to find Mohinder. Should I use smaller words?”
“You’re an asshole.” But it was a valid point. What now? “I guess we should share information. See what we actually have between the two of us.”
“You sound like a bad movie.” Sylar turned around again finally, hand falling from his chest. “So what do you have?”
“Why am I- oh, forget it. We’ve confirmed that the Company have a new resource, that tablet I mentioned. We were trying to contact Mohinder to run an analysis on it. So far, we’ve seen it bring people back to consciousness after being hit with increased strength, neutralise tranquillisers in minutes and act as an antibody to a neuro poison.” He flexed his fingers, grateful when they actually responded this time. “We also know they’ll kill themselves rather than let themselves be taken by telepaths. Whatever it is, they’re going to extreme lengths to keep it a secret.”
It was only now with his awareness refocusing that Peter could note, with an odd detachment, the way that Sylar was starting to affect him. The coldness of the man, the analytical way he viewed the world and Peter had never been quite so consciously aware of himself reacting to someone’s presence like this.
“They took Mohinder three months ago. He was looking at moving back to New York on a more permanent basis, since his research focus had shifted.”
“He figured he couldn’t give you anything if you tried.”
Sylar ignored the comment. “While he was working on the code, he started on another piece of research. A panacea. I don’t know where he was getting his data from, or his samples. His extrapolations were that it could be developed into a rudimentary form the cheerleader’s power for others. Close wounds, staunch bleeding, accelerate the natural healing processes.”
Peter eyes went wide. “That, that would be incredible.”
“One morning, he was gone. Laptop, clothes, notes, any paper left behind was shredded. I put together what I could, but it was mostly his predictions for applications.. The hard data was all gone.”
Silence settled between them.
“That’s it?”
“I spent three months chasing dead ends. In India, then they moved him to Yugoslavia briefly and then back to America. Since then...” He gestured, an oddly grandiose gesture. “I lost them when they hit the country. I’ve been trying to pick them up, but there wasn’t enough to go on.” And Peter could feel what it took to admit that. It hurt, it actually physically hurt in some abstract way.
“How long-?”
“Seven weeks. Some of us don’t have any fast way of travelling.” And have to keep out of the way of the feds. Sylar folded his arms over his chest. “Or making buddy buddy with people who kidnap and torture people who are special.”
“That’s rich. You trying to take the moral high ground.”
The desk rattled.
“Stop that. We have to work together.” Peter focused on trying to move himself. “The painting showed-”
“You and me meeting to find Mohinder. And now I have the information you have.” The long fingers curled into a fist. “Why shouldn’t I kill you?”
Give me a reason, give me an excuse, I hate you, I hate your life and your friends and your fucking Peter perfect illusion and I just need an excuse and you’re gone.
“You must be feeling better if you’re going invisible already.”
“What?” He focused again and felt himself reappear. “Sorry.”
Sylar was watching him. No. Sylar wasn’t looking at him at all. Sylar was looking at him like he did that night they last met here. Trying to see what made him tick. “Something triggered it.” Subconscious emotional triggering of powers. Is that how he does it? Someone who was invisible he associates with being angry? Are you in my head, Petrelli?
He made his face stay calm. Neutral. Tried not to show anything, just look expectantly at the other man. “So. Are you going to kill me?”
“Not yet. You’re more useful alive.” And he sat down again, like nothing was amiss. “I’m assuming that your connection to this group will be able to tell you where he is.”
Peter doubted it. Bennet had been on the run for six months now. “Not... really.”
“Then what use are you, Petrelli?”
“I have more abilities.” It was out without thinking about it. “I can go invisible. I can pass unseen. I can read minds, which was why they were so scared of me getting hold of them. It could take you weeks of destruction to find out where they’ve taken him, but I can get information quicker and without alerting them.” It was a cold analysis of the situation, but the cold was a reassurance. The killer was thinking about this, just like him.
“And if you’re so great, why are you going to work with me to find him?”
“Because, you’ve got better control. You can open locks without having to rip doors off hinges. You think things through better. And if things turn bad-”
“You lack the survival instincts to do what’s necessary to win. You and the cheerleader are the same, makes me wonder if the ability wipes basic survival instinct, because I have never seen a pair of people so prone to life threatening injuries from day to day life.” He smirked. “You need me to be able to kill for you.”
Yes. He did. He didn’t want to hurt people. Even Company agents. Most of those guards were just people. “No killing. Killing draws attention. And if they realise we’re onto them-
“-they’ll move him again. Yes, I understand the basics, Petrelli. We have a better chance of doing this fast together. And now we have a starting point.” Peter was given a pointed look.
He thought it over, everything falling into place in impossibly long moments that took a blink of an eye. Sylar knew Mohinder was missing and had led Peter to realise the Company had him and the Company had previously had a base in one place they definitely knew of.
There was a wide, wolfish grin on Sylar’s face as Peter felt comprehension dawn on him.
“Odessa.”
Author: Jemisard
Fandom: Heroes: Season one
Summary: The Company have gained a new, inexplicable edge in their fight against the evolved at a time when the only person who might have answers has gone missing. It falls to Peter and an unexpected ally to get to the bottom of the mystery of the edge.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Adult themes, violence
“Well, who’d have thought we’d be here again.”
Peter’s feet kicked against the wall, more reflex than anything. The telekinetic grip on his chest was tight and hard, squeezing what little breath remained from him; his gasps seem to amuse the man who held him there, hand held up and fingers pinched together.
Sylar slowly tilted hs head, regarding Peter with that cold, curious gaze of his. Peter could feel the cogs ticking in his head, analysing. Deciding.
He wasn’t going to give the killer a chance to claim another victim. With the feeling of Sylar pressing in on him as hard as the telekinesis against his chest, he pushed it back, slamming forwards.
The grip vanished; Peter hit the ground on his knees as Sylar crashed into the wall. He could already feel the bruising vanishing, breathing easier as he pushed himself to his feet.
Sylar looked up, eyes dark with anger. One hand flicked out, Peter was already pushing back against the rush of power, both of them sliding back a foot as they shoved hard.
“You can’t beat me. Not fair and square.” Sylar kept staring, gaze intent on Peter’s face.
“Kirby Plaza.” He felt a rush of anger and flickered out of view of Sylar.
“Four on one. Plus onlookers. Figures that a politician’s brother would find that fair.” That infuriating smirk of his was back. Peter just wanted to wipe it off...
There was cold in the air.
He scrambled backwards, but the floor under his feet was slippery and he was falling, smacking into the wall and dazing himself.
Sylar chuckled and stood up, straightening himself out into a long, dark streak in Peter’s vision. “You’re hopeless. I bet you only just realised he’s missing, didn’t you?”
There was anger, and a sense of smugness, and bitter resentment that Peter welcomed. He gestured weakly with one hand, barely throwing Sylar off balance. “That the best you can-”
The cabinet wrenched from the wall and Peter hurled it with all the strength he could muster. It smashed into Sylar, splintering against him and sending him crumpling to the floor.
“Not so- tough now.” He stood up, wiped the blood from the back of his head. Sylar groaned and rolled onto his back, just in time for Peter to kick a foot into his ribs and send him rolling. “What did you do to him?”
“Do to-”
“Don’t give me that!” He hauled Sylar up by one hand, belting him across the face. “What did you do to Mohinder?”
“You idiot.” Sylar spat blood with his words. “I haven’t done anything.”
“So what’re you doing here, huh?” He slammed Sylar against the wall, listening intently.
I can’t believe- They didn’t notice - I’ve been the only one looking - With friends like that -
Peter shook his head, reeling backwards. “You didn’t take him?”
“Are you reading my mind? You invasive, little-” He was cut of with a groan as Peter shoved him back into the wall.
“What do you know about Mohinder going missing?”
“More than you do,” he laughed, blood flecking his lips.
“Tell me!”
“Or what?” His mouth twisted into a sneer. “You’ll tell on me?”
Peter shook him, hard, and focused again.
Don’t even know if he’s in my- Been looking for three months, how did they not notice that-
“Three months? What do you mean, you were looking?” None of this made sense. Peter knew Sylar was after Mohinder’s list, which was why Mohinder had automated the process, so that if Sylar returned, nothing could make him divulge more names.
That had been little over three months ago.
Something hard smacked into the back of Peter’s head and the world crashed into black.
Peter pushed himself slowly away from the ground.
The waves crashed against the beach, the water silver in the moonlight, sand unearthly under his feet.
He walked slowly, feeling confused and lost. The city stretched alongside him, quiet and distant.
It seemed vaguely strange to Peter that he was walking along a beach by himself, but he had no sooner thought it that he saw people, heard them whispering almost silently and pointing him onwards, then turning their faces again. He looked to his side and watched as his shadow shrugged at him and strode on ahead, weaving through the crowd.
Peter wandered after it, but the shadow was fast and Peter found himself being caught by soft hands and voices that begged just a moment of his time. He lingered, hugging Claire tightly, stopping to listen to Noah, sharing a look with Matt.
Then there was an ungodly scream and everyone cowered and over them Peter saw his shadow by the water’s edge.
Someone lay in the water. Someone dressed all in white with dark skin, the water tugging at clothes and hair and limp limbs.
The shadow screamed and blackness consumed everything.
He jerked awake.
Sylar looked up from the book he was reading, feet crossed at the ankle, resting on the desk. “Told you you couldn’t take me.”
Peter tried to move, but he couldn’t feel his fingers. He looked around and his neck felt stiff and unreal. His eyes slide in and out of focus, but he saw the duct tape holding him to the chair and the i.v. drip in his arm. “What have you done to me?”
“Little trick I picked up. It’s called d-tubocurarine, or curare for short. It’s derived from the poison arrow frog. It’s interrupting your receptors, so you can’t move. Or use your abilities.” He tapped his temple and smiled widely.
Peter got the distinct feeling he was fucked.
Sylar pushed away from the desk, straightening his legs and standing up, a long, dark streak in Peter’s blurred vision. “It’s terrifying, isn’t it? Being suddenly crippled like that.”
Determined, he said nothing in response and instead tried to make his eyes focus clearly.
If you’ve cost me the lead that painting gave me, I am going to hurt you. A lot.
He tried not to react to the thought, but his heartbeat picked up slightly. Sylar cocked his head; Peter remembered that look so well, that too fine hearing tuning in on him.
“You can try not to look scared, but I know the sound of fear, Petrelli. Now-” his fingers pinched and he couldn’t breathe. “I want to know what you know of Mohinder’s disappearance.”
The grip loosened, the sense of fingers against his throat remaining. “He’s missing. His family reported him two months ago. They thought he’d moved here.”
Sylar pinched again. “That’s it? That’s all you have?” He stalked back to the desk, flicking open the book again. “I don’t understand. This was the next step.” This was meant to show me what happened to him. Goddamn Mendez, power’s as flaky as he was.
The grip loosened again abruptly, letting him suck air back into his starved body. “Why did you come here?”
Because I drew it didn’t seem like the best answer, so Peter said the next thing to come to mind. “Because we only just realised he was missing.”
The disgusted snort was followed by another pinch. “Three months.” You didn’t notice for three months while I tracked across two continents trying to find him. You’re meant to be his friends, but it’s me picking up the pieces.
“Sy-” he tried to kick free, to move, to breathe.
Sylar’s amusement washed over him, but the grip loosened. “What? Got something more productive to contribute to the conversation?”
“I painted here. I was looking for Mohinder, but I painted this room and that book. So I came here, and found you instead.” And he wanted to keep breathing, he didn’t want to blank out.
The black eyes turned back to him, staring as though to read the truth from him. He looked back, not flinching. Just tried to sense past the cogs turning in the predator’s mind.
So we saw the same thing. We both came looking for him and we were both led to here. Which means he’s the next piece. He has something that will lead to him. And there, a sense of concern that rippled the anger and frustration. Genuine concern.
“Why do you want to find him so badly? Is all of this over the list?”
The emotions snapped away, a look of burning, cold resentment passed between them and then Sylar chuckled. “Sure. Why not the list? I want the list he’s made with all the names on it.” He walked over, close, close enough that he could lean down and grab Peter’s face with his hand and pull his chin up. “Think he’ll tell me if I promise not to bite again?”
“If you’re intent on acquiring new powers,” Peter was shocked at how calm his voice sounded, cool and slow, “then why am I still alive and not cut open for you to get at my brain?”
A terrible silence rang between them. Peter couldn’t sense Sylar at all except with his eyes as the man straightened up and looked down on him.
His laughter echoed out. “Why? Would you prefer if I did, Petrelli? Carve you open while you were laid out?”
“It’s the power you wanted, right? You wouldn’t need the list with me. So why-?”
The hand closed on air and he could feel fine bones cracking his throat. “Don’t push me. I will kill you, and I will enjoy it if I do it and then I’ll put you back together and do it again for the hell of it.” One finger flicked, snapping his head back painfully. “It suits my needs to keep you alive. And remember, you annoy me, I can kill you over, and over again. Got it?”
The grip vanished and he couldn’t hold up his head, letting it slump to his chest and trying to breathe again.
“Got it, Petrelli?”
“Yeah. Got it.” He looked up through his lashes.
A chair skittered over and Sylar straddled it backwards, leaning on the back to look at him. It struck Peter as being out of place on Sylar. More the mannerism of the man whose apartment they were in than his own. “The first time I met Mohinder, he sat like that.”
“Yeah. He did that a lot.” And the wave of emotion that washed by was soft and roiling but good and then gone.
“Sylar?”
“Mm?” That heavy gaze turned back to him.
“Do you want to find him? Really?”
Yes. I need to find him, he needs to finish what he was doing, they’ll pay when I find them- “No, I spent three months looking for the laughs.”
“Do you know what he was working on? He’d cracked the formula, last we heard, he was working on that virus. The one Molly had.”
“How cute. First name basis. Why would I tell you?”
“Because the way to find him led you to me. And I got the same result. Here and now is how to find him.” And it was words Peter would never have imagined he could say, but they needed to be said right now. He had the terrible feeling that Mohinder’s life depended on it.
“I can find him without you.”
“Maybe.” Dark look. “Okay, probably. But would you find him in time? I have things you don’t. Connections. Abilities.” Patience with people.
-might be quicker. Not like I would have resorted to Mendez’s ability if I wasn’t drawing a cold- “All right. He was working on something he’d found. He called it a panacea. The universal cure. He had some theory about a way to tip the medical odds in someone’s favour, but I don't know what it was.”
Everything in Peter went cold and when he looked to the side he saw the wall roil with mists that showed half images that faded away again. “The Company.”
“What company?” Sylar looked to the wall, and Peter felt the power surge and settle in both of them.
“Linderman’s group. Their agents, they have a tablet. It makes them recover faster. Shrug off drugs. Gives them an edge. Sound like what Mohinder was working on?”
Long fingers flicked, and the duct tape binding him neatly sliced apart. The drip turned itself off and the needle slid from his skin, the mark closing instantly. Sylar stood, stalking back to the desk and hunching over.
For a few moments everything was quiet, so Peter tried to move his fingers. “How long does this stuff take to clear?”
Sylar shrugged. “I have no idea.” Took me about an hour in the lab to function right and here was- “Are you reading my mind?”
“I’m trying not to. It’s not somewhere I want to be.” He focused hard and his fingers flexed slightly.
“I still hate you, Petrelli. So long as we’re clear on this. But if those bastards have Mohinder-”
Hate rose in Peter. If they had Mohinder, he’d make them regret that they ever went near him, ever dared to barge into his life again after the stress of dealing with Thompson before.
“So, what’s your suggestion?”
“Hm?” Peter snapped out of his reverie of what he was going to do to the Company when he found them.
“Us. Together. Going to find Mohinder. Should I use smaller words?”
“You’re an asshole.” But it was a valid point. What now? “I guess we should share information. See what we actually have between the two of us.”
“You sound like a bad movie.” Sylar turned around again finally, hand falling from his chest. “So what do you have?”
“Why am I- oh, forget it. We’ve confirmed that the Company have a new resource, that tablet I mentioned. We were trying to contact Mohinder to run an analysis on it. So far, we’ve seen it bring people back to consciousness after being hit with increased strength, neutralise tranquillisers in minutes and act as an antibody to a neuro poison.” He flexed his fingers, grateful when they actually responded this time. “We also know they’ll kill themselves rather than let themselves be taken by telepaths. Whatever it is, they’re going to extreme lengths to keep it a secret.”
It was only now with his awareness refocusing that Peter could note, with an odd detachment, the way that Sylar was starting to affect him. The coldness of the man, the analytical way he viewed the world and Peter had never been quite so consciously aware of himself reacting to someone’s presence like this.
“They took Mohinder three months ago. He was looking at moving back to New York on a more permanent basis, since his research focus had shifted.”
“He figured he couldn’t give you anything if you tried.”
Sylar ignored the comment. “While he was working on the code, he started on another piece of research. A panacea. I don’t know where he was getting his data from, or his samples. His extrapolations were that it could be developed into a rudimentary form the cheerleader’s power for others. Close wounds, staunch bleeding, accelerate the natural healing processes.”
Peter eyes went wide. “That, that would be incredible.”
“One morning, he was gone. Laptop, clothes, notes, any paper left behind was shredded. I put together what I could, but it was mostly his predictions for applications.. The hard data was all gone.”
Silence settled between them.
“That’s it?”
“I spent three months chasing dead ends. In India, then they moved him to Yugoslavia briefly and then back to America. Since then...” He gestured, an oddly grandiose gesture. “I lost them when they hit the country. I’ve been trying to pick them up, but there wasn’t enough to go on.” And Peter could feel what it took to admit that. It hurt, it actually physically hurt in some abstract way.
“How long-?”
“Seven weeks. Some of us don’t have any fast way of travelling.” And have to keep out of the way of the feds. Sylar folded his arms over his chest. “Or making buddy buddy with people who kidnap and torture people who are special.”
“That’s rich. You trying to take the moral high ground.”
The desk rattled.
“Stop that. We have to work together.” Peter focused on trying to move himself. “The painting showed-”
“You and me meeting to find Mohinder. And now I have the information you have.” The long fingers curled into a fist. “Why shouldn’t I kill you?”
Give me a reason, give me an excuse, I hate you, I hate your life and your friends and your fucking Peter perfect illusion and I just need an excuse and you’re gone.
“You must be feeling better if you’re going invisible already.”
“What?” He focused again and felt himself reappear. “Sorry.”
Sylar was watching him. No. Sylar wasn’t looking at him at all. Sylar was looking at him like he did that night they last met here. Trying to see what made him tick. “Something triggered it.” Subconscious emotional triggering of powers. Is that how he does it? Someone who was invisible he associates with being angry? Are you in my head, Petrelli?
He made his face stay calm. Neutral. Tried not to show anything, just look expectantly at the other man. “So. Are you going to kill me?”
“Not yet. You’re more useful alive.” And he sat down again, like nothing was amiss. “I’m assuming that your connection to this group will be able to tell you where he is.”
Peter doubted it. Bennet had been on the run for six months now. “Not... really.”
“Then what use are you, Petrelli?”
“I have more abilities.” It was out without thinking about it. “I can go invisible. I can pass unseen. I can read minds, which was why they were so scared of me getting hold of them. It could take you weeks of destruction to find out where they’ve taken him, but I can get information quicker and without alerting them.” It was a cold analysis of the situation, but the cold was a reassurance. The killer was thinking about this, just like him.
“And if you’re so great, why are you going to work with me to find him?”
“Because, you’ve got better control. You can open locks without having to rip doors off hinges. You think things through better. And if things turn bad-”
“You lack the survival instincts to do what’s necessary to win. You and the cheerleader are the same, makes me wonder if the ability wipes basic survival instinct, because I have never seen a pair of people so prone to life threatening injuries from day to day life.” He smirked. “You need me to be able to kill for you.”
Yes. He did. He didn’t want to hurt people. Even Company agents. Most of those guards were just people. “No killing. Killing draws attention. And if they realise we’re onto them-
“-they’ll move him again. Yes, I understand the basics, Petrelli. We have a better chance of doing this fast together. And now we have a starting point.” Peter was given a pointed look.
He thought it over, everything falling into place in impossibly long moments that took a blink of an eye. Sylar knew Mohinder was missing and had led Peter to realise the Company had him and the Company had previously had a base in one place they definitely knew of.
There was a wide, wolfish grin on Sylar’s face as Peter felt comprehension dawn on him.
“Odessa.”