"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.
And in a heartbeat Sylar went from looking like the edge of a knife blade to an affable, if trendy, young professional. He gave the woman a smile that exuded the same level of comfortable warmth as the gentle cool breeze that wafted in from them.
"Good evening, Miss," his voice was soft, friendly, more within his 'Gabriel' range than his Sylar purr. "I hope we aren't disturbing you. My brother and I are just looking for some information on a man we've heard you've seen. We're a special task force with the CDC," which was a lie, but it didn't matter. They were definitely on a mission of disease control. "Our focus is the epidemic. We were hoping you could help us with our search for the man claiming to be the source."
She tensed at that, and toyed with a dainty necklace laying above the collar of her summer dress.
"I don't have anything to tell you," she said before trying to close the door. Gently, Peter caught it with his hand.
"...Please. You spoke to the paper about it-"
"-The paper paid me five hundred dollars for a measly quote. Times are tough, y'know? I shouldn't have done it but I needed the cash."
"We can pay you more than that." To prove it, he pulled out his wallet and opened it up. Occasional stops at the ATM had their pockets nicely lined with Angela's money. "Please?"
The woman hesitated, glancing over their heads to make sure they were alone. Then she stepped aside. "Is the temperature finally droppin'?" she asked, feeling their cool breeze.
"Just a breeze passing through I think," Sylar answered as he followed her inside. "You have a lovely home," he told her, politely, and took a seat in the living room to which they were led.
"What would really help us, is a description of the man. As detailed as you can give, and any specifics on where he's traveling from here."
She would have offered them tea had they been anyone she knew, but really she just wanted them to leave as soon as possible.
"Well. He came in from New York, or so he said. Headin' for the mountains in California. Not sure why. I ran into him at night and it was dark...he was dark. I couldn't tell he was one of them at first but I got it pretty quick when he touched me. Icy skin." She shuddered and closed her eyes. "Soft but icy. He didn't smell like you'd expect them to smell, y'know? I've seen a few more of 'em. They don't take care of themselves. This one did. He uh," she paused and shook her head, realizing she probably needed to explain how she ran into the guy. "I used to work at the hospital in the city. He wanted blood. Said he didn't like killin' people but he was passin' through and hungry. He sort of took me hostage for the night so I could break into the local blood bank and give him a crate. I guess he liked me 'cuz he started talking. Sweet man," she added with a far-off look. "Perhaps he was sweet before this happened
( ... )
A chill shot down Sylar's spine and his breath hitched slightly. He did not discuss his actual feelings about Mohinder Suresh with anyone, not even Peter, but he couldn't stop them from boiling back to the surface every time he so much as thought on the geneticist's name.
However, there was a large population of medically-minded Indians in the United States. Sylar's childhood dentist had been a deep skinned man called Doctor Gupta who spoke with a thick native accent that had been difficult for a nine year old to understand.
But this educated monster had beguiled this woman, and he didn't want to kill…
"Did he tell you why he was headed for California, specifically? Was he looking for something or somebody there? A girl, maybe…?"
If it was Mohinder, and he wanted a way to live without stealing or murdering, then the answer to his problem was none other than Sylar's own former target: Claire.
"He didn't say, no," she replied, shaking her head. Then she tapped her cigarette out in the ashtray and leaned back, eying the both of them. "That's all I know."
Peter could feel what Sylar was thinking. He didn't need to be a mind-reader to get it. "Thank you for your time, ma'am. We really appreciate it."
He stood up as she did and then headed for the door. The young woman followed them to it to see them out, and just as they were heading down her porch steps she caught them. "Oh, hey. He uh...he was wearin' an interesting necklace. When I asked him, he said it was a helix. Would make sense, right? Someone so interested in blood being infatuated with DNA." Her shoulders went up. "You take care of yourselves. Lot of scary people out there these days." And then her door closed, and locked.
Sylar's affable act dropped the instant they were out the door. He was suddenly silent and brooding again, his mind awash with vivid memories and fantasies of a potential future. He'd never let himself believe Mohinder was truly dead, because a world without him in it didn't bear thinking of. Still, he had never thought… of all things, this.
"Yeah." That was about all Peter could offer at the moment. His own mind was whirring with the horrific thoughts of his friend starting all of this. Mohinder was like him in the size of his heart and the way he cared for people - he couldn't imagine the weight of something like this. Mohinder was probably going mad.
He walked briskly with Sylar towards their motel and didn't speak until they were close. "He might not be....himself. You know? The Mohinder we knew might be gone."
"People don't just 'go away'," Sylar retorted, a bit terse and more defensive than he meant to let on. The air around them might have dropped a few degrees as well. "They just grow.
"He's stealing bottled blood, and nattering on about genetics. If he's doing that, then maybe it was different for him. Or maybe this madness these people go through is temporary. Maybe if we locked them all up for a couple of years and fed them on donor blood, most of them would eventually come out of it.
"Anyway," he pulled the keycard through the reader roughly, letting them both back into the room. "This is still the best lead we have, so we're chasing it. And then the Company is going to do whatever it takes to fix it, because if it's him, and he is the source, then I'd wager my telekinesis this started with research in their labs."
Peter followed Sylar in and closed the door, eyeballing him. "Yeah of course. We'll get him to go back to the Company. But you can't let this information go to your head. I can already tell it is. I dunno what it was between you and Mohinder. You guys were weird around each other. But you gotta be careful with this. If he's the source and he bites you, I dunno....we just have to treat him carefully."
With his luck Sylar and Mohinder would get into an epic battle and end up killing each other somehow.
"He won't bite me. He had to drug me to even get close, and you saw how I repaid him for that. I'll stick him to the ceiling again if he so much as snarls," Sylar muttered, peeling out of his jacket and dropping his long body into the hotel room's desk chair. His eyes were instantly off into an unknowable distance.
What would Mohinder be like, after all this? How many had he bitten before getting himself onto bottled blood? What did he think of his voracious progeny, and those who now hunted them down? Sylar burned for these answers as badly as the doctor himself had when news of his father's death had first reached him in India, and Sylar had been 'Patient Zero' then.
Peter lifted an eyebrow at him, but didn't press the matter. Sylar's mannerisms and far-off looks spoke loudly enough and it wasn't worth getting him worked up over. He would just have to be careful and make sure nothing bad happened once they found Mohinder.
"Let's get some rest, okay? We can head out first thing in the morning. We'll find him." Someone like Mohinder was bound to leave a trail. He wasn't always the most careful and, let's face it, with those looks? Yeah, people would remember him.
Peter toed off his shoes and got into his bed, punching his pillow a few times to get it right.
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.
Reply
"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?"
Reply
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.
Reply
"Good evening, Miss," his voice was soft, friendly, more within his 'Gabriel' range than his Sylar purr. "I hope we aren't disturbing you. My brother and I are just looking for some information on a man we've heard you've seen. We're a special task force with the CDC," which was a lie, but it didn't matter. They were definitely on a mission of disease control. "Our focus is the epidemic. We were hoping you could help us with our search for the man claiming to be the source."
Reply
"I don't have anything to tell you," she said before trying to close the door. Gently, Peter caught it with his hand.
"...Please. You spoke to the paper about it-"
"-The paper paid me five hundred dollars for a measly quote. Times are tough, y'know? I shouldn't have done it but I needed the cash."
"We can pay you more than that." To prove it, he pulled out his wallet and opened it up. Occasional stops at the ATM had their pockets nicely lined with Angela's money. "Please?"
The woman hesitated, glancing over their heads to make sure they were alone. Then she stepped aside. "Is the temperature finally droppin'?" she asked, feeling their cool breeze.
Reply
"Just a breeze passing through I think," Sylar answered as he followed her inside. "You have a lovely home," he told her, politely, and took a seat in the living room to which they were led.
"What would really help us, is a description of the man. As detailed as you can give, and any specifics on where he's traveling from here."
Reply
"Well. He came in from New York, or so he said. Headin' for the mountains in California. Not sure why. I ran into him at night and it was dark...he was dark. I couldn't tell he was one of them at first but I got it pretty quick when he touched me. Icy skin." She shuddered and closed her eyes. "Soft but icy. He didn't smell like you'd expect them to smell, y'know? I've seen a few more of 'em. They don't take care of themselves. This one did. He uh," she paused and shook her head, realizing she probably needed to explain how she ran into the guy. "I used to work at the hospital in the city. He wanted blood. Said he didn't like killin' people but he was passin' through and hungry. He sort of took me hostage for the night so I could break into the local blood bank and give him a crate. I guess he liked me 'cuz he started talking. Sweet man," she added with a far-off look. "Perhaps he was sweet before this happened ( ... )
Reply
A chill shot down Sylar's spine and his breath hitched slightly. He did not discuss his actual feelings about Mohinder Suresh with anyone, not even Peter, but he couldn't stop them from boiling back to the surface every time he so much as thought on the geneticist's name.
However, there was a large population of medically-minded Indians in the United States. Sylar's childhood dentist had been a deep skinned man called Doctor Gupta who spoke with a thick native accent that had been difficult for a nine year old to understand.
But this educated monster had beguiled this woman, and he didn't want to kill…
"Did he tell you why he was headed for California, specifically? Was he looking for something or somebody there? A girl, maybe…?"
If it was Mohinder, and he wanted a way to live without stealing or murdering, then the answer to his problem was none other than Sylar's own former target: Claire.
Reply
Peter could feel what Sylar was thinking. He didn't need to be a mind-reader to get it. "Thank you for your time, ma'am. We really appreciate it."
He stood up as she did and then headed for the door. The young woman followed them to it to see them out, and just as they were heading down her porch steps she caught them. "Oh, hey. He uh...he was wearin' an interesting necklace. When I asked him, he said it was a helix. Would make sense, right? Someone so interested in blood being infatuated with DNA." Her shoulders went up. "You take care of yourselves. Lot of scary people out there these days." And then her door closed, and locked.
Reply
Sylar's affable act dropped the instant they were out the door. He was suddenly silent and brooding again, his mind awash with vivid memories and fantasies of a potential future. He'd never let himself believe Mohinder was truly dead, because a world without him in it didn't bear thinking of. Still, he had never thought… of all things, this.
"We have to find him."
Reply
He walked briskly with Sylar towards their motel and didn't speak until they were close. "He might not be....himself. You know? The Mohinder we knew might be gone."
Reply
"He's stealing bottled blood, and nattering on about genetics. If he's doing that, then maybe it was different for him. Or maybe this madness these people go through is temporary. Maybe if we locked them all up for a couple of years and fed them on donor blood, most of them would eventually come out of it.
"Anyway," he pulled the keycard through the reader roughly, letting them both back into the room. "This is still the best lead we have, so we're chasing it. And then the Company is going to do whatever it takes to fix it, because if it's him, and he is the source, then I'd wager my telekinesis this started with research in their labs."
Reply
With his luck Sylar and Mohinder would get into an epic battle and end up killing each other somehow.
Reply
What would Mohinder be like, after all this? How many had he bitten before getting himself onto bottled blood? What did he think of his voracious progeny, and those who now hunted them down? Sylar burned for these answers as badly as the doctor himself had when news of his father's death had first reached him in India, and Sylar had been 'Patient Zero' then.
Reply
"Let's get some rest, okay? We can head out first thing in the morning. We'll find him." Someone like Mohinder was bound to leave a trail. He wasn't always the most careful and, let's face it, with those looks? Yeah, people would remember him.
Peter toed off his shoes and got into his bed, punching his pillow a few times to get it right.
Reply
Leave a comment