Ihsindriel Mylar part 4
Zachluvsstripes (11:04:05 PM):*Sylar's eyes slowly peered open again. From how his head lulled over he's staring at the IV as it drips down. His eyes trailed back down to stare at his arm receiving the fluid into his system. A soft moan as he turned his head back to the other side. A shiver down his spine suddenly. It came to his realization that he was freezing. He shivered multiple times as he squirmed under the tight straps. His hands had clenched up in his sleep and his fingers were now sore. Wait, ...he looked down at his right hand and flexed those fingers out. He can't even feel the slightest glimmer of something else there. So he tried to use his hearing. The quiet of the room is all he's met with. No amplified drip of the IV, no racing of his own heartbeat and it had indeed begun to race in his chest. The events of the past day slowly coming back to him making the puzzle pieces fit together. So it's happened. They're in all likelihood gone and that virus has taken over his system. He sighed heavily ,tense shoulders slumped down in the realization of his current fate. He was nothing once more and it....it was not fair.*
LorenMorgenstern (11:14:01 PM):*Of course it was not about whether or not the situation was fair, it was how Mohinder wanted it, and since he had the upperhand right now, thus it was. A few long moments passed before the young geneticist came back to check his patient, now dressed a bit differently in a button down with pale flowers on it, medium blue denim and a clean look about him. Many hours had passed with Sylar drugged deeply enough that he would not likely wake, though it was some time since he'd been fully anesthetized. The doctor stood in the door way a moment when he noticed his charge was awake before the glisten of fever sweat caught his eye and he stepped in, walking over to press the backs of his delicate fingers against the killer's heated skin.* How are you feeling? *Asked with an ambiguous tone. Was there some sort of actual pity there? Or just a clinically motivated concern?*
Zachluvsstripes (11:22:13 PM):*Slowly his eyes moved over to meet the gaze of his captor. It was hard to distinguish just exactly what he was getting at by trying to pose such an innocuous question* I'm ...cold. I've gotten random chills ever since I woke up. *He lifted a brow as he felt the man's hand on his skin. The sensation not helping how cold he feels. It reminds him far too much of how his mother would respond when he wasn't feeling well.* So am I warm Mohinder? *Another chill as he shifted the part of his body he could barely move, his shoulders and neck* How long have I been out? *His words a slight slur to them, tone dull and somewhat raspy from sleep*
LorenMorgenstern (11:33:30 PM):This time, about fourteen hours. All together maybe sixteen or seventeen. It's past noon now. *And Sylar had come in the evening before, almost nine o'clock at night when Mohinder arrived home and found the killer upon him. Briefly.* And you are very warm, but that's expected. I've thrown your body off its general routine entirely and its stumbling to compensate. *Mohinder retrieved a thermometer from his collection of medical supplies, but he didn't try to coerce Sylar into tonguing it, instead sliding the plastic-sheathed bit of metal high between his torso and upper arm.* I just have to make certain your temperature doesn't rise high enough to boil that devious brain of yours.. *He watched the LED numbers gradually climb.*
Zachluvsstripes (11:44:48 PM):*Silently watched as his temperature was taken. He vaguely wondered how high his fever would get. It would be slightly amusing in principle if he did die before Mohinder could finish whatever sort of 'revenge' he seemed to have planned. He smacked his lips together there was an awful taste in them for some reason. A soft groan as he felt suddenly very very hot. His breathing quickened to try and calm himself down but he couldn't. The nausea had already taken over for the time being. Another louder groan, more of a whining moan really as he feels a push from the back of his throat up. Oh how he loathed gagging and the result of throwing up as well. He coughed a few times shaking the gurney slightly. His body drenched in sweat in all of an instant as he continued to pant. Eyes moving to lock back onto Mohinder,wide and slightly vulnerable*
LorenMorgenstern (11:54:54 PM):*In an instant the Indian has put the thermometer aside and a plastic bowl appears in his hands. Probably generally used for mixing while cooking, he's comandeered it from his own kitchen to stand in for a sick basin. Sylar vomitting up his own fear and revulsion onto himself might have been vaguely amusing, and there might be a component of that to his nausea now, but Mohinder knows well a large part of it is now the immunosuppressant treatment, and the fewer linens he has to launder, the better. He never lay the killer back down fully, letting him sleep propped up incase he became sick in the night, and its only that much more convenient now as the geneticist holds the basin, cool, smooth fingertips stroking gently at the back of the American's slightly bent neck. It's a speed-ball of torture and mercy, the doctor fully owning up to his desire and his hand in stripping the Intuitive's powers and making him ill, and simultaneously providing adequate medical care and a kind, almost friendly hand. Helpful even as he hurts. Mohinder has picked up some of the killer's tricks.*
Zachluvsstripes (12:16:52 AM):*His eyes looked up one more time at Mohinder. The...was it sympathy in the look he gave him? In his propped up position it's easy to bend his neck down to start retching. At first he bucks forward , the straps digging into his skin from the sudden motion. He growls out slightly his mouth opened and closed in quick succession until he merely kept it open. From the back of his throat forward he felt the retch the gag in his throat turn into something more. The taste of stomach acid, bile rising up all he'd had was water for the past hours before so that's what's going to come back up. Into the basin below his lips he reached down to at least aim the best he could, he vomitted. Streams of water being flushed violently from his system. A few vicious coughs after another chased by howling moans of agony and the fear that he's only just begun to puke. He barely registered the fingers on the back of his neck, the prickled the dark hairs on his skin and made him shiver worse than the fever had yet done. * Ohhhh....oh God...*Rather pathetic pleas to that he spoke to himself to not do it again, to not throw up anymore were of course ignored by his system as he vomitted harder the next time, tears entered his eyes from the rush of sensation*
LorenMorgenstern (12:29:32 AM):*Mohinder's fingertips continued to carress the back of Sylar's neck, feeling the muscles beneath the skin bunch and strain, shoulders going taut as the weak contents of his stomach force themselves back up. There's not even much left of the water he drank, but that makes it worse, the Indian knows. There's at least a relief after the fact when you're able to empty the weight in your stomach and put it at slightly more ease, but this... there's nothing to force up and your body stubbornly insists that there is. As a child Mohinder broke a blood vessle in his face, vomiting after having his tonsils removed, nothing but water, bile, and dead blood.* Shhh... *He doesn't offer any particular words of comfort. The pain is part of the process. The killer must be made aware that his captor is not squeemish about hurting him, nor too impatient to deal with all the aspects of torture, the petty as well as the grandios. But he still takes the liberty to sift through Sylar's dark, sweat dampened strands.*
Zachluvsstripes (12:45:22 AM):*Coughed hard and long as there was nothing left at first. He paused and panted thinking that it was over. Slowly he glanced back up at Mohinder*....I think ...it's over.... *for a moment he actually believed this until a long harsh gag shook his body and he started a fit of dry heaving. The pain was excruciating and with no reason for it all at the end. At fist strings of spit trailed down into the basin and stayed connected to his lips no matter how many times he sputtered to remove them. Each time he gagged he coughed harder and harder moaning after his head hanging down further as he tried to catch ihs breath. The color of his skin was a sickly pallor that was of a very chalk white laced with an unnatural green-ish tint.* LorenMorgenstern (12:53:04 AM):Try to relax. *He finally instructs, tone firm but not cruel.* Your anxiety over it makes it worse. *The touch disappears from the pale New Yorker's neck and he twists away for a moment to reach out and retrieve a cloth. It's cool and damp, meant as a compress for Sylar's forehead, but he'll just wet down another cloth for that. For now he employs this one to wipe gently at the killer's trembling lips, careful of the wound he inflicted yesterday. That can't have been pleasant, acids on broken flesh, so he dabs there tenderly. It's all very gratifying, really, and the only reason Mohinder coaches him to settle is to keep the Intuitive from injuring himself with the stress.*
Zachluvsstripes (1:05:07 AM):*It's impossible to say if the words from Mohinder , delivered in a tone not often heard have become the reason for it. But he'd finally stopped his excruciating heaves. All he did was pant roughly to catch his breath, the sting on his lips indeed apparent when Mohinder dabbed at him with the cool cloth. Despite his earlier chilled sensation he eagerly pressed himself to the cloth when it was near. The cold comforting him in a way that was a very base reaction. It caused him a modicum of relief and he hadn't had anything of that sort in some time except perhaps being deeply sedated to avoid having this outburst earlier. After a pause and no further physical reaction he sighed and closed his eyes, his head moving back against the top of his makeshift bed.*...I'm done now. *It was interesting how Mohinder reacted, sickening really. Acting so damn sympathetic and perhaps even nurturing to a situation that he himself was responsible for*
LorenMorgenstern (8:39:36 PM):Mohinder chuckled slightly at the way Sylar announced the end to his heaves. "As though I'm your nanny," the geneticist's tone was almost good-natured in its joking as he stood, going to empty the basin and wet another cloth. When he returned he set the rinsed-out bowl aside and dabbed the killer's sweat-slicked forehead, a calm, noncommital look on his face that refused to betray whatever thoughts were running through his mind behind dark, untelling eyes. He swiped the corner of the cloth softly at the edge of either eye and down Sylar's cheeks to catch the salt tracks of his tears, then patted down his neck, cooling the fevered skin.*
Zachluvsstripes (8:57:57 PM):*He swallowed roughly as he looked up at Mohinder. Every time the cloth touched his skin his heart jumped some. Cooling material on his burning up skin. Slowly he looked at him* ...I didn't mean anything by it. I was just saying that out loud to myself *if anything. It was rather undignified to be dabbed like a child. His mother would do the same thing whenever he grew ill. No matter how much he wished for her to just stop, that he could take care of himself, he never said a word to her. He blinked slowly a few times, the instinctual tears an embarassment to him. Such weakness was unbecoming even though...he certainly would only feel even more so, weaker, by the day with every attempt to hear Mohinder's heartbeat was met with nothing at all enhanced.*
LorenMorgenstern (9:23:06 PM):*Mohinder shook his head dismissively. He didn't mind even if Sylar did try to intimidate or order him around at this point. He expected defiance right now. Just as he would have fought Sylar if the killer had tried some similar thing, he knew Sylar would fight that much harder for the kind of person he is. It's unnerving to think how easily he could be in the killer's possition, being slowly broken, but he let that fuel his conviction that this is the only way. Mohinder put the cloth away and pet the American's dark hair again, arranging it into a more controlled mess.* Just let me know if you feel sick again. *He retrieved the thermometer and took a new reading, the first having been completely interrupted.*