Magics in the Makeup (fic)
Title: Magics in the Makeup
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: PG
Word Count: 730
Characters/Pairings: Monica, Sylar
Disclaimer: Don’t own. Kring can have it.
Spoilers/Time Line: AU but could be related to some GN's (IDK)
Summery: He tries for the good side
Author’s Notes: for bellonablack who requested 'Gabriel/Monica with Micah--a family Christmas kinda story...maybe he can be 'redeemed''
She pulled up a seat next to him as he took a sip from his drink.
"Let me guess. Virgin?" She quipped.
"No dear, that's all you."
"Oh ho! That's original. I meant the drink but since you're so sure --"
"I know what you meant, Monica." He spoke as she removed the hood from her head, shaking out the snow that got into her hair. She was past her awed excitement phase at the sight of snow. Now she was at the point where she hated it, just like anyone else who'd seen it ruined too many times with fresh blood. He frowned at the thought then tilted his head toward hers.
And I just got it done, she thought. He looked at her then and she looked back at him with a challenge on her face. "Well, I did! Coming out in this weather looking for you're dumb ass!"
"Who asked you to?"
"Micah did, actually. He thinks you might get up to things."
"Like what?"
"Like drinking alone on Christmas."
"It's better than the other things I could be getting up to, don't you think?" He turned his body toward hers, bringing the glass up to his lips once more.
"Good point. So why don't you come on over so we can watch you better. You know from the comfort of home."
He paused studying her. He knew her story. Turned in to the Kill Squad by her own jealous brother. Him thinking is was her fault their Nan had died. And she clung closely to the family she had left, (Micah) and made space for the one she created (him, Sparrow, West etc.). He shook his head reading her for the lie, but there was none. And still he felt the need to protest.
"Bullshit! Your here to check up on me."
"Well what's wrong with that? It's not like you have anything else better to do." He raised his glass in a salute, shaking it contents at her. "Look! I'm here trying to invite you over for the holiday. Is that so wrong?"
"Me?" He asked
Monica looked over one shoulder and then the other. "Yeah you. I don't see any other ex ser-" and then off his look, "Okay! Sorry." She even looked chastised.
He didn't like it when his dirty history was thrown back in his face. He was trying to make up for the evil he'd done in the past by fighting with the people he previously hunted. Sometimes he thinks the people he fights with, the ones who took him in, didn't get the gravity of what he was.
Sometimes Monica would hint about knowing, but she never saw at the pictures of his victims or their families. And she didn't want to know. They both knew if she knew, she'd hate him for it. And he knew that she didn't want to hate anyone. Even if they truly deserved it.
"Are you going to order something?" he asked letting her slip slide ... for now.
"No, cause we're not staying that long."
"We aren't?"
"Didn't you hear a word I said? You are coming home. It's Christmas and it's damn pathetic watching you sit here by all by yourself trying to drink your miseries away. And it's really sad because you can't even get drunk!"
"There's no alcohol in this."
"I KNEW IT!" She nearly screamed as she made a scene with her hands raised in the air. She settled down as subtly as she could and ran her hand again over her hair. "You are such a poser." She stood checking her reflection in the bar mirror before pulling the hood back over her head.
"I think it still looks nice." Sylar said as he reached a hand out and tried to grab a lock of it. She knocked his hand away before he could touch it. Just like every other time he tried to touch her hair. He also knew it annoyed the hell out of her.
"What the hell would you know about it anyway?" She said as she punched him in the stomach before turning to walk away. He bent with the contact and hid a smile. He could be that for her, he thought as he dropped some crumpled cash on the bar. If she wanted it bad enough.
"Come on you mope, the others are waiting."