"I'm a bit too focused elsewhere to provide air conditioning," the quip came off Sylar's lips with a flippant smirk as his eyes swept the scene. The old man had been drenched in blood when they'd found him, slightly tacky, quickly drying in the heat, but fresh enough. There was certain to be a victim near by, and that meant another one infected, up and killing in only a handful of days.
Peter was efficient enough as a slayer, but Sylar was a hunter by nature. When he'd first woken from his wounds, in Company custody, he'd believed it was only a matter of time before he made his escape. He'd never imagined they'd have a offer for him too good to turn away. A license to kill, and with very sound logic behind it. This disease was destroying everyone, regular people and the evolved alike. If they didn't do something to stop it, there wasn't going to be any more fantastic abilities, anywhere
( ... )
What sucked the most about trying to find the recently bitten was that they usually weren't turned. Mostly just very alive and very afraid. Still, with no cure in sight, they had to be put down.
Peter always let Sylar have that task. He couldn't look into someones eyes and kill them when they weren't yet entirely infected.
Silently and with that familiar Peter brood, he followed Sylar along the blood trail. It wound down the old man's stairs, through a hallway, then out the back door where it seemed to smear out on the grass. "Looks like they headed that way," Peter said, pointing towards the fence lining a well-kept yard. There was an obvious smear of blood on the wooden gate, so Peter trotted that way. They needed to move if they were going to catch up. "C'mon slowpoke."
"They'll probably try to head for medical help, as usual. God, I hate having to deal with ERs..." Sylar rolled his eyes slightly and picked up his pace, hunting more swiftly, hoping to come upon his prey before they made it back to a populated area. Luckily blood loss tended to slow his targets down
( ... )
Peter followed Sylar around the corner and then decided better of it once he saw the woman, turning his back on the situation.
That didn't stop him from hearing the sickening squelch of her head coming off. Christ. He could kill a vampire without blinking but that? That was sick and he couldn't help but think it got him one step closer to Hell.
"Are you done? Can we go back to the hotel?" He wasn't going to turn around.
"Sure," Sylar nodded, then nudged his chin toward Peter's abandoned dinner. "Eat. People won't stop dying just because you ignore your dinner. And you'll handle the interviews better. A turn in the shower wouldn't hurt you any, either."
He made a rare reach across the space between them to ruffle Peter's hair. Trying to be that brother, not just an uncomfortable stranger. It was difficult. He'd never had much of a family or even friends. Making up for that wad difficult in so many ways.
"Are you saying I stink?" Peter asked, closing his eyes and pushing Sylar away when he ruffled his hair. He couldn't help a very faint smile, glad for the momentary distraction.
"Not my fault my body isn't cut out for the heat." He picked up his slice of pizza and kept eating.
As Sylar likely surmised, Peter was easy enough to persuade when coming from a source of brotherly love. He responded best to gentle guidance, especially from Nathan.
After he finished his slice (and another for good measure) Peter got up and took a shower. He scrubbed away the dirt, grime, and sweat of their day, hoping they wouldn't have to kill anything else until tomorrow.
Peter pulled on a fresh outfit of dark jeans, a plain gray tee, and a black jacket. Best not to stand out in his favorite red hoodie, tonight.
Sylar chose a button down shirt of such dark purple it was practically black, fresh slacks and his tailored spring peacoat over it. Dark and razor thin described his fashion sense these days, and he'd only become a more competent dresser the more time he spent with the Petrellis. He still looked like the black sheep of them, shopping in Varvatos and McQueen instead of Marc Jacobs and Burberry, but he gave Nathan a run for his money for best-dressed.
This time they didn't have to worry too much about the heat when they hit the streets. Without a target to hunt, Sylar kept half a thought on cooling the air around them. It earned them plenty of second glances from passers by, two dark strangers that moved with a chill that followed them, but Sylar was used to the stares by now. Frankly, he thrived on it.
Peter had done some quick work on his laptop in finding the addresses they needed. He glanced down at the paper he was holding, then up at street signs. "Next road, we go right and then its house number 292."
He pushed the paper into his jacket, glad for Sylar's chilled ability. Peter truly did loathe the Arizonian heat.
They approached the home and Peter could tell that someone was inside. From the looks of it they were catching up on some evening television, perhaps even having dinner. Peter looked at Sylar before he knocked, and it didn't take someone long to emerge; a woman in her mid-thirties, pretty, but looking somewhat tired and drained.
"It would have been ages before we even swept Colorado, and why would we think to check something so out of the way?" Sylar shook his head, imagining how easy it would have been for them to miss the pair entirely, if Mohinder hadn't been so obvious in his search for Claire. Subtlety had never really been the flashy geneticist's strong point.
"Thank you, Gretchen. You've been enormously helpful," he did his best to give her a reassuring smile. "And don't let student services assign you a new roommate, yet. We'll have Claire back to her classes, soon. If you hear from her, or her family, don't say anything. Peter and I are more than capable of handling this, but only if Doctor Suresh doesn't keep running."
"Got it," she said with a nod. "Her dad has only called a couple of times and he buys my story that she's busy. So it should be okay." Gretchen put her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, wondering if she'd just made a mistake. But no, not if they were going to bring Claire back. She kind of liked the little blond ball of pep.
Peter told her thank you again before he headed out with Sylar. This was almost becoming too easy, which had him waiting on pins and needles for something to go wrong. That always happened. "We've almost got him," he said to his broody brother. Sylar had that I'm-on-a-mission intense look on his face and it gave Peter the creeps.
~~
Back in Colorado, tucked away inside of a warm log cabin at the foot of a snowy mountain, Mohinder Suresh was completely unaware that he was being tracked. He found with great power and charm came the ability to get anything he wanted - it reminded him of a certain someone, actually. On a deep level he finally understood the allure of desiring the top. Of needing to be
( ... )
Claire couldn't help the need to writhe. She was a young woman now, with needs she didn't know how to express, and Mohinder certainly wasn't hard on the eyes... The pain was erotic, too, such intense sensation. She tried not to think of it like that, but if not, then this was just plain violence, and she didn't want to feel like the victim here either
( ... )
Mohinder exhaled through his nose and then swallowed quite a large mouthful of blood he'd been letting collect against his tongue, savoring the taste like one might do with a fine wine.
Another curse (or perk) of the disease was enhanced senses. He could smell, taste, see, and feel ten times stronger than before. Particularly useful was his sensitive hearing. Sylar may have been going out of his way to be silent, but he failed to stifle the ruffle of clothing when he moved his arm up and down to utilize his telekinesis.
And while Mohinder didn't know the intruders were two old acquaintances, he still launched into a mode of alert panic and felt the intense need to protect them
( ... )
Once inside, Sylar mopped his own face of dried blood and set about making tea. He'd never stayed in this lavish winter home, but he was familiar enough with Angela's kitchen by now. He found everything easily enough, and soon had the kettle singing and four mugs set waiting.
"Did you have to bring him?" Claire murmured privately to Peter, while the Intuitive's back was turned. She was sure he could still hear her, would probably hear her if she'd been in the basement and him in the attic, but she didn't care. After what he'd done to Jackie and all the time he'd spent stalking her, being courteous with him wasn't a major priority.
Peter could certainly feel Sylar's anger rolling through the room, but he was trying to ignore it. One of them had to keep a clear head. "Yeah," he said to Claire, not trying to be quiet about it. "He's good at this." He gave her a tight smile and then took off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders since she was shivering. "Let's go sit by the fire in the living room okay? All of us." Tea by the fire sounded nice.
Upstairs, Mohinder heard their plans of tea and fire. He missed tea. Sure, he could still drink it, but it didn't do much for him in terms of taste. Nothing was as savory as blood. Disgusted with himself, he cleaned his blood-and-dirt caked skin in the bathroom and then put on fresh clothes; another pair of jeans and a white button-up. Mohinder headed downstairs with his briefcase of notes and took a seat in one of the armchairs by the fire. Ahhhh, warmth.
He had gotten used to things being mostly okay with Peter. Angela accepted him more than warmly, too. Sometimes her affection bordered on the inappropriate. To find himself reminded again that he was generally unwanted and broken didn't help his temper at all.
He'd gotten better at reigning himself in again. Once upon a time he'd been so very good at it, that no one thought he was anything but the sweetest, most insignificant of men. Handing out the tea cups, he felt that same feeling of being ready to crawl out of his own skin, the way he had, back then. This was a complete disaster.
Standing back to the opposite side of the fire, he asked simply, "How close are you to finding the cure?"
Mohinder set his tea aside. He didn't want to tease himself with it. "Not close at all," he said simply. "And having you two here hovering around me isn't going to help one bit." He wanted them to leave, for several reasons. Sylar tended to cloud his better judgment and make him feel things that he didn't want to feel. "Claire is safe. She's here willingly. I'm not killing people."
Peter settled next to Claire on the couch, watching Mohinder. Goddamn he looked creepy in the light of the fire, especially when its licking flames caught his eyes. "Come on, this is right up Sylar's alley. He's good at figuring stuff out. Let him help."
"If he wanted to help he should have stayed away!" Mohinder snarled dangerously. The virus had given him a short temper.
"Looks like you do care," he gritted through the pressure of Mohinder's fingers, taking advantage of a longer arm reach to keep him from getting a more secure hold. "Don't want to meet Chandra on the other side, tell your father you loosed a killer more deadly than his?"
His arm went limp in defeat and his eyes welled with wetness, the whites around a dark center seeming to turn red as if blood filled them from hemorrhage.
Mohinder let Sylar squeeze life from him for a few moments longer, studying his steady gaze, and then he acted quickly. One swift and powerful upward jab had Sylar's elbow bending the opposite that way it was meant to. That loud snap of bone was almost deafening to his super hearing but once his feet were on the ground again, Mohinder gained the upper-hand. He took Sylar by the hair and tossed him into that large, roaring fire in a fit of complete rage.
If the bastard hadn't had regeneration, this fight would go an entirely different way.
Sylar yelled as his bone snapped, and yelped as he went into the flames. His body did a decent job of snuffing most the flames, but his coat began to smoke. He had to scramble out and roll to extinguish it. He couldn't burn to death so easily, but the flames stung like a bitch!
He was laughing as he leapt up, rushing at Mohinder again to engage him at close quarters, shoving him in the direction of a sofa near them. "That's right. You're not getting out so of this mess so easily. You are infinitely more valuable alive."
Mohinder fell back onto the sofa and pulled Sylar with him, fingers twined in his clothing. "This is a fucking game to you still, isn't it?! This isn't a game to me Sylar, this is my life!!"
He meant business and all of this rough-housing was getting him riled up, so Mohinder didn't think twice about what he did next.
With Sylar half on top of him on the couch, both men sprawled, Mohinder latched a paw onto the back of his neck and pulled him down close, their noses almost touching. "I'm more valuable alive? So are you," he hissed ferociously before latching his mouth onto Sylar's neck, digging his teeth into supple flesh. Blood never tasted so sweet!
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Peter was efficient enough as a slayer, but Sylar was a hunter by nature. When he'd first woken from his wounds, in Company custody, he'd believed it was only a matter of time before he made his escape. He'd never imagined they'd have a offer for him too good to turn away. A license to kill, and with very sound logic behind it. This disease was destroying everyone, regular people and the evolved alike. If they didn't do something to stop it, there wasn't going to be any more fantastic abilities, anywhere ( ... )
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Peter always let Sylar have that task. He couldn't look into someones eyes and kill them when they weren't yet entirely infected.
Silently and with that familiar Peter brood, he followed Sylar along the blood trail. It wound down the old man's stairs, through a hallway, then out the back door where it seemed to smear out on the grass. "Looks like they headed that way," Peter said, pointing towards the fence lining a well-kept yard. There was an obvious smear of blood on the wooden gate, so Peter trotted that way. They needed to move if they were going to catch up. "C'mon slowpoke."
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That didn't stop him from hearing the sickening squelch of her head coming off. Christ. He could kill a vampire without blinking but that? That was sick and he couldn't help but think it got him one step closer to Hell.
"Are you done? Can we go back to the hotel?" He wasn't going to turn around.
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He made a rare reach across the space between them to ruffle Peter's hair. Trying to be that brother, not just an uncomfortable stranger. It was difficult. He'd never had much of a family or even friends. Making up for that wad difficult in so many ways.
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"Not my fault my body isn't cut out for the heat." He picked up his slice of pizza and kept eating.
As Sylar likely surmised, Peter was easy enough to persuade when coming from a source of brotherly love. He responded best to gentle guidance, especially from Nathan.
After he finished his slice (and another for good measure) Peter got up and took a shower. He scrubbed away the dirt, grime, and sweat of their day, hoping they wouldn't have to kill anything else until tomorrow.
Peter pulled on a fresh outfit of dark jeans, a plain gray tee, and a black jacket. Best not to stand out in his favorite red hoodie, tonight.
Reply
This time they didn't have to worry too much about the heat when they hit the streets. Without a target to hunt, Sylar kept half a thought on cooling the air around them. It earned them plenty of second glances from passers by, two dark strangers that moved with a chill that followed them, but Sylar was used to the stares by now. Frankly, he thrived on it.
"How far to our first witness?"
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He pushed the paper into his jacket, glad for Sylar's chilled ability. Peter truly did loathe the Arizonian heat.
They approached the home and Peter could tell that someone was inside. From the looks of it they were catching up on some evening television, perhaps even having dinner. Peter looked at Sylar before he knocked, and it didn't take someone long to emerge; a woman in her mid-thirties, pretty, but looking somewhat tired and drained.
"Can I help you?" she asked quietly.
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"Thank you, Gretchen. You've been enormously helpful," he did his best to give her a reassuring smile. "And don't let student services assign you a new roommate, yet. We'll have Claire back to her classes, soon. If you hear from her, or her family, don't say anything. Peter and I are more than capable of handling this, but only if Doctor Suresh doesn't keep running."
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Peter told her thank you again before he headed out with Sylar. This was almost becoming too easy, which had him waiting on pins and needles for something to go wrong. That always happened. "We've almost got him," he said to his broody brother. Sylar had that I'm-on-a-mission intense look on his face and it gave Peter the creeps.
~~
Back in Colorado, tucked away inside of a warm log cabin at the foot of a snowy mountain, Mohinder Suresh was completely unaware that he was being tracked. He found with great power and charm came the ability to get anything he wanted - it reminded him of a certain someone, actually. On a deep level he finally understood the allure of desiring the top. Of needing to be ( ... )
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Another curse (or perk) of the disease was enhanced senses. He could smell, taste, see, and feel ten times stronger than before. Particularly useful was his sensitive hearing. Sylar may have been going out of his way to be silent, but he failed to stifle the ruffle of clothing when he moved his arm up and down to utilize his telekinesis.
And while Mohinder didn't know the intruders were two old acquaintances, he still launched into a mode of alert panic and felt the intense need to protect them ( ... )
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"Did you have to bring him?" Claire murmured privately to Peter, while the Intuitive's back was turned. She was sure he could still hear her, would probably hear her if she'd been in the basement and him in the attic, but she didn't care. After what he'd done to Jackie and all the time he'd spent stalking her, being courteous with him wasn't a major priority.
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Upstairs, Mohinder heard their plans of tea and fire. He missed tea. Sure, he could still drink it, but it didn't do much for him in terms of taste. Nothing was as savory as blood. Disgusted with himself, he cleaned his blood-and-dirt caked skin in the bathroom and then put on fresh clothes; another pair of jeans and a white button-up. Mohinder headed downstairs with his briefcase of notes and took a seat in one of the armchairs by the fire. Ahhhh, warmth.
Awkward, annoying, Sylar-filled warmth. Humph.
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He'd gotten better at reigning himself in again. Once upon a time he'd been so very good at it, that no one thought he was anything but the sweetest, most insignificant of men. Handing out the tea cups, he felt that same feeling of being ready to crawl out of his own skin, the way he had, back then. This was a complete disaster.
Standing back to the opposite side of the fire, he asked simply, "How close are you to finding the cure?"
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Peter settled next to Claire on the couch, watching Mohinder. Goddamn he looked creepy in the light of the fire, especially when its licking flames caught his eyes. "Come on, this is right up Sylar's alley. He's good at figuring stuff out. Let him help."
"If he wanted to help he should have stayed away!" Mohinder snarled dangerously. The virus had given him a short temper.
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Mohinder let Sylar squeeze life from him for a few moments longer, studying his steady gaze, and then he acted quickly. One swift and powerful upward jab had Sylar's elbow bending the opposite that way it was meant to. That loud snap of bone was almost deafening to his super hearing but once his feet were on the ground again, Mohinder gained the upper-hand. He took Sylar by the hair and tossed him into that large, roaring fire in a fit of complete rage.
If the bastard hadn't had regeneration, this fight would go an entirely different way.
Reply
He was laughing as he leapt up, rushing at Mohinder again to engage him at close quarters, shoving him in the direction of a sofa near them. "That's right. You're not getting out so of this mess so easily. You are infinitely more valuable alive."
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He meant business and all of this rough-housing was getting him riled up, so Mohinder didn't think twice about what he did next.
With Sylar half on top of him on the couch, both men sprawled, Mohinder latched a paw onto the back of his neck and pulled him down close, their noses almost touching. "I'm more valuable alive? So are you," he hissed ferociously before latching his mouth onto Sylar's neck, digging his teeth into supple flesh. Blood never tasted so sweet!
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