[heroes] creep
Title: creep
Author: lizzyrebel
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: none really, di_elle wanted a sequel to meet me in the dark
Character/Pairing: Sylar, HRG, and Elle by proxy
Spoilers/Warnings: language, some dark themes
Author's Notes: AU from 1x09, sequel to meet me in the dark. Short follow up which will very likely be the second in a small series of one-shots because I am still bitter? ...yeah, I'm still bitter. Title taken from Radiohead.
Texas was the last place on earth that Bennet wanted Sylar moved to, but Linderman wanted him as far out of New York as possible, while still under Company control. Bennet had bit down on every protest he could imagine-because they all started and ended with the fact that he didn’t Sylar in the same atmosphere as Claire, let along in the same state.
If he said that, he’d have to explain why he thought Claire was in such danger. And that was something he wouldn’t do, not even if they tried to torture it out of him.
So, with Sylar drugged out on tranquilizers and Haitian pills, Benent took one of Lindermen’s private jets and flew Sylar to Odessa, Texas.
Elle had pitched a holy fit, nearly electrocuting all of level three as she stomped her foot and demanded why. What was so bad with New York? Why did they have to move him? What about her?
Bennet got it, which surprised and sickened him for the most part. He understood Elle’s desire to have Sylar close, to take her revenge on him herself. Her father hadn’t been there that day he and Eden had caught up with Elle, finding her at the mercy of Sylar, about ready to slice open her head after doing God only knew what to her.
Well, that wasn’t true. Bennet had a good idea what had happened. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to piece the clues together. Sylar with his jeans around his ankles, Elle with a tattered shirt, an unhooked bra, and a skirt twisted around her waist.
It had taken them two days to even get Elle to start speaking again, which had truly and royally messed Bennet up. Elle had always been a chatterbox-in fact, she never seemed to shut up-but for two days she had sat in her room, legs curled under her chin, and said nothing. She hadn’t talked to anyone, not even to her father, who had made an effort to stop in at regular intervals, more than he had ever done for his daughter before.
It was actually Bob Bishop who had pushed for removing Sylar from the New York facility. He had been truly shocked when Elle had lashed out at the announcement, screaming to holy hell that he couldn’t do that.
Bennet had been more than willing to let Bob deal with the mess that was his daughter-it was a mess of his own making, after all-and had flown Sylar back to Texas.
Eden had been chagrin, not about the move, about the fact that Sylar was still breathing. She had taken Elle’s attack the worst, had actually spent most of the two days of Elle’s silence with her, stroking her back and making promises that there was no way she was going to be able to keep.
There wasn’t a whole lot they could do. Orders were orders. For whatever reason they had strict orders that Sylar was not to be killed. Harmed was acceptable, but death was not on the menu.
The containment facility in Odessa wasn’t as top notch as the one in New York, but Bennet had done his best to make sure that it was at least fortified. They didn’t have the resources for five denominating levels of inmates, so each one got the same treatment, a little room with a glass wall and cold, stone bed.
He hoped Sylar liked it. It was going to be his home until the day he died.
His nondescript black loafers clattered against the stone floor of Primatech’s Texas facility. Sylar lifted his head and spun around on the stone slab he was sitting on.
“Like it?” Bennet asked. “We made it especially for people like you, Gabriel.”
“Sylar,” he hissed.
“Really? That’s not what your file says.” He lifted the thick portfolio in his right hand, held it in front of the glass wall so he could see. He began thumbing through the papers. “Gabriel Gray, born 1979, mother V. Grey, currently living in Queens, father D. Grey, deceased 1996. Worked in and owned a small watch repair store until 2006, where he disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Whereabouts currently unknown. That’s not you?”
“No,” he grounded out, his teeth locked together tightly.
“Don’t lie to yourself, Gabriel.” Bennet leaned in closer to window, his breath on it fogging the glass. “We both know what you are. An ordinary watch maker with a bad case of bloodlust.”
That wasn’t what Bennet’s file actually said, not about Gabriel and not about his power, but it felt good, damn good to watch Sylar’s eyes blaze hot and dark in his face as he hissed out a low, angry breath.
Sylar turned away from him, sliding off the stone slab, pacing the tiny room they had given him.
“We’re not in New York anymore,” he announced.
“Good guess.”
“I remember the plane ride. So we must be in Texas.” He turned back then and smiled slowly. “This close to little Claire? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Don’t let him get to you, Bennet snapped at himself. He leaned on his hip and smiled slowly at him. “I’m not worried about that. We’re going take you apart, piece by piece, see what makes you… tick. When we’re done, we’ll send you home to your mother in little, bitty pieces. She’ll be relieved to have a body to bury, I’m sure.”
Sylar stalked closer to the window, his fingers slamming against the glass so hard that the whole wall seemed to shake. “Don’t you go near my mother.”
“Glass houses, Gabriel. Maybe I’ll send Elle to her, let her tell Mrs. Gray that you’ll be coming home in a body bag.”
“Elle?” Sylar jerked up, like a hunter scenting blood.
“She’s a vindictive girl, Elle,” Benent explained. “Royally pissed when we decided to move you. She wanted to take you apart herself. But, well, her father didn’t take kindly to having his little girl’s rapist three floors below her bedroom.”
His hand slipped away from the glass, his eyes growing wide in an odd sign of vulnerability. “What?”
Benent cocked his head, lifting one eyebrow. Sylar looked actually surprised by his announcement.
“Who do you think found you defiling Elle Bishop? Did you like that, Gabriel? I know you wanted her all those months ago, when she played saint to your sinner, angel to your demon, virgin to your barbarian. Did you teach her a lesson? Hurt her like she hurt you?” Sylar’s right hand closed into a fist and he banged it against the glass, howling.
“I didn’t!” he snarled.
“Oh, c’mon, Gabriel. Who are you trying to fool? I’m the one who found you two. We’re lucky Elle didn’t kill herself.” It wasn’t remotely true, but Sylar didn’t need to know that. Didn’t need to know anything except what Bennet wanted to tell him.
“That’s not true. You’re lying,” Sylar said in a rush. “I didn’t-she wanted it.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. Well, there was a possibility he hadn’t considered. It hadn’t looked willing when he had gotten there, but he supposed he always gave Elle a little too much credit. That was his fault, not hers, because she reminded him his Claire-bear gone wrong.
But this-well, Bennet usually thought that worse of Elle and fucking a serial killer in a dirty alley didn’t seem too outrageous for Bob Bishop’s messed up princess.
The problem was, Bennet knew, that he had known Elle since she was little, and even though he was disposed to dislike people like her-powerful, making the normal people of the world vulnerable-he still tried to think she was a normal human being underneath it all. He had seen her grow up, watched the normalcy she could have had crumble under the watchful eyes of her father.
And be turned into one mess of a freakshow.
“Elle’s psychotic. Most days she can’t tell up from down,” Bennet sneered. “You really think that she truly wanted that? Her virginity taken in a dirty alley by a man whose hobbies include slicing innocent people’s brains open?”
“Yes,” Sylar ground out, his fingers curled into tight balls at his side. “Yes.”
“Well, maybe you’re psychotic, too.”
“She wanted it.” The vulnerability in his voice was gone now, replaced by sheer determination. “I’ll prove. Once I get out of here.”
“You’re never getting out of here.” If Bennet had to shoot Sylar’s brain outs, he’d make sure of it.
“But first,” Sylar went on, as if he didn’t hear Bennet, “I think I’ll deal with little Claire-bear. It’ll be so much more fun playing with Elle with the other tiny blonde’s power coursing through me.”
“You won’t get near her.”
“We’ll see.” Sylar was back in control now, the momentary shock of conscious disappearing in the face of his own ego. “You tell Elle she can play virgin sacrifice for now, but I’ll be back. And I’ll make her beg.”
There was a low ball of dread in Bennet’s stomach that he hadn’t honestly expected to be there.
Author: lizzyrebel
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: none really, di_elle wanted a sequel to meet me in the dark
Character/Pairing: Sylar, HRG, and Elle by proxy
Spoilers/Warnings: language, some dark themes
Author's Notes: AU from 1x09, sequel to meet me in the dark. Short follow up which will very likely be the second in a small series of one-shots because I am still bitter? ...yeah, I'm still bitter. Title taken from Radiohead.
Texas was the last place on earth that Bennet wanted Sylar moved to, but Linderman wanted him as far out of New York as possible, while still under Company control. Bennet had bit down on every protest he could imagine-because they all started and ended with the fact that he didn’t Sylar in the same atmosphere as Claire, let along in the same state.
If he said that, he’d have to explain why he thought Claire was in such danger. And that was something he wouldn’t do, not even if they tried to torture it out of him.
So, with Sylar drugged out on tranquilizers and Haitian pills, Benent took one of Lindermen’s private jets and flew Sylar to Odessa, Texas.
Elle had pitched a holy fit, nearly electrocuting all of level three as she stomped her foot and demanded why. What was so bad with New York? Why did they have to move him? What about her?
Bennet got it, which surprised and sickened him for the most part. He understood Elle’s desire to have Sylar close, to take her revenge on him herself. Her father hadn’t been there that day he and Eden had caught up with Elle, finding her at the mercy of Sylar, about ready to slice open her head after doing God only knew what to her.
Well, that wasn’t true. Bennet had a good idea what had happened. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to piece the clues together. Sylar with his jeans around his ankles, Elle with a tattered shirt, an unhooked bra, and a skirt twisted around her waist.
It had taken them two days to even get Elle to start speaking again, which had truly and royally messed Bennet up. Elle had always been a chatterbox-in fact, she never seemed to shut up-but for two days she had sat in her room, legs curled under her chin, and said nothing. She hadn’t talked to anyone, not even to her father, who had made an effort to stop in at regular intervals, more than he had ever done for his daughter before.
It was actually Bob Bishop who had pushed for removing Sylar from the New York facility. He had been truly shocked when Elle had lashed out at the announcement, screaming to holy hell that he couldn’t do that.
Bennet had been more than willing to let Bob deal with the mess that was his daughter-it was a mess of his own making, after all-and had flown Sylar back to Texas.
Eden had been chagrin, not about the move, about the fact that Sylar was still breathing. She had taken Elle’s attack the worst, had actually spent most of the two days of Elle’s silence with her, stroking her back and making promises that there was no way she was going to be able to keep.
There wasn’t a whole lot they could do. Orders were orders. For whatever reason they had strict orders that Sylar was not to be killed. Harmed was acceptable, but death was not on the menu.
The containment facility in Odessa wasn’t as top notch as the one in New York, but Bennet had done his best to make sure that it was at least fortified. They didn’t have the resources for five denominating levels of inmates, so each one got the same treatment, a little room with a glass wall and cold, stone bed.
He hoped Sylar liked it. It was going to be his home until the day he died.
His nondescript black loafers clattered against the stone floor of Primatech’s Texas facility. Sylar lifted his head and spun around on the stone slab he was sitting on.
“Like it?” Bennet asked. “We made it especially for people like you, Gabriel.”
“Sylar,” he hissed.
“Really? That’s not what your file says.” He lifted the thick portfolio in his right hand, held it in front of the glass wall so he could see. He began thumbing through the papers. “Gabriel Gray, born 1979, mother V. Grey, currently living in Queens, father D. Grey, deceased 1996. Worked in and owned a small watch repair store until 2006, where he disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Whereabouts currently unknown. That’s not you?”
“No,” he grounded out, his teeth locked together tightly.
“Don’t lie to yourself, Gabriel.” Bennet leaned in closer to window, his breath on it fogging the glass. “We both know what you are. An ordinary watch maker with a bad case of bloodlust.”
That wasn’t what Bennet’s file actually said, not about Gabriel and not about his power, but it felt good, damn good to watch Sylar’s eyes blaze hot and dark in his face as he hissed out a low, angry breath.
Sylar turned away from him, sliding off the stone slab, pacing the tiny room they had given him.
“We’re not in New York anymore,” he announced.
“Good guess.”
“I remember the plane ride. So we must be in Texas.” He turned back then and smiled slowly. “This close to little Claire? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Don’t let him get to you, Bennet snapped at himself. He leaned on his hip and smiled slowly at him. “I’m not worried about that. We’re going take you apart, piece by piece, see what makes you… tick. When we’re done, we’ll send you home to your mother in little, bitty pieces. She’ll be relieved to have a body to bury, I’m sure.”
Sylar stalked closer to the window, his fingers slamming against the glass so hard that the whole wall seemed to shake. “Don’t you go near my mother.”
“Glass houses, Gabriel. Maybe I’ll send Elle to her, let her tell Mrs. Gray that you’ll be coming home in a body bag.”
“Elle?” Sylar jerked up, like a hunter scenting blood.
“She’s a vindictive girl, Elle,” Benent explained. “Royally pissed when we decided to move you. She wanted to take you apart herself. But, well, her father didn’t take kindly to having his little girl’s rapist three floors below her bedroom.”
His hand slipped away from the glass, his eyes growing wide in an odd sign of vulnerability. “What?”
Benent cocked his head, lifting one eyebrow. Sylar looked actually surprised by his announcement.
“Who do you think found you defiling Elle Bishop? Did you like that, Gabriel? I know you wanted her all those months ago, when she played saint to your sinner, angel to your demon, virgin to your barbarian. Did you teach her a lesson? Hurt her like she hurt you?” Sylar’s right hand closed into a fist and he banged it against the glass, howling.
“I didn’t!” he snarled.
“Oh, c’mon, Gabriel. Who are you trying to fool? I’m the one who found you two. We’re lucky Elle didn’t kill herself.” It wasn’t remotely true, but Sylar didn’t need to know that. Didn’t need to know anything except what Bennet wanted to tell him.
“That’s not true. You’re lying,” Sylar said in a rush. “I didn’t-she wanted it.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. Well, there was a possibility he hadn’t considered. It hadn’t looked willing when he had gotten there, but he supposed he always gave Elle a little too much credit. That was his fault, not hers, because she reminded him his Claire-bear gone wrong.
But this-well, Bennet usually thought that worse of Elle and fucking a serial killer in a dirty alley didn’t seem too outrageous for Bob Bishop’s messed up princess.
The problem was, Bennet knew, that he had known Elle since she was little, and even though he was disposed to dislike people like her-powerful, making the normal people of the world vulnerable-he still tried to think she was a normal human being underneath it all. He had seen her grow up, watched the normalcy she could have had crumble under the watchful eyes of her father.
And be turned into one mess of a freakshow.
“Elle’s psychotic. Most days she can’t tell up from down,” Bennet sneered. “You really think that she truly wanted that? Her virginity taken in a dirty alley by a man whose hobbies include slicing innocent people’s brains open?”
“Yes,” Sylar ground out, his fingers curled into tight balls at his side. “Yes.”
“Well, maybe you’re psychotic, too.”
“She wanted it.” The vulnerability in his voice was gone now, replaced by sheer determination. “I’ll prove. Once I get out of here.”
“You’re never getting out of here.” If Bennet had to shoot Sylar’s brain outs, he’d make sure of it.
“But first,” Sylar went on, as if he didn’t hear Bennet, “I think I’ll deal with little Claire-bear. It’ll be so much more fun playing with Elle with the other tiny blonde’s power coursing through me.”
“You won’t get near her.”
“We’ll see.” Sylar was back in control now, the momentary shock of conscious disappearing in the face of his own ego. “You tell Elle she can play virgin sacrifice for now, but I’ll be back. And I’ll make her beg.”
There was a low ball of dread in Bennet’s stomach that he hadn’t honestly expected to be there.