FIC: The Mystery of Whale Migration [2/2]
Title: The Mystery of Whale Migration [2/2]
Characters: Sylar/Elle primarily. Also features a large ensemble (Bennetrellis, Bob Bishop).
Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence.
Word Count: about 13,000 total (about 7,000 this part)
Disclaimer: I don't own any aspect of Heroes or its characters
Spoilers/Warnings: Technically it's an AU from where Season 2 ends. Warnings up to and through episode 3.04; warnings for sex, violence, and possible character death
Summary: Gabriel doesn't want to be Sylar anymore, and he needs Elle to help him rediscover himself.
A/N: Written for superkappa for Sweet Charity, a fandom auction to raise money for RAINN. I've borrowed quite a bit from jncar's post here about the events that possibly led to the IABD-verse.
Beta'ed by dragynflies, who seriously deserves an award for putting up with me.
This is Part Two. Part One can be found here.
They don't sing in captivity.
Angela helps find him his own apartment in Queens, not far from where he grew up. She even gives him an allowance, just as she did for her real children, but he takes a job anyway at a vacuum repair shop. It's the solitary sort of work he was used to before meeting Chandra, before giving in to his obsessive need to be special. In some ways, this reassures him; it's an echo of his former life, a reflection of his attempt to return to what he once was. He doesn't practice his powers at all anymore; he doesn't need them like he used to.
At the same time, it's dreadfully lonely, and every time the door chime sounds it takes every ounce of his willpower not to rise from his seat in the back room to see if it's someone he used to know. Soon he drowns out the sound altogether.
So it's particularly jarring when he hears her voice. "Anyone here?" it inquires. He convinces himself he's hearing things, and then he feels a pair of arms snake around his waist, he feels her pert bosom pressing into his back, and he drops what he's doing in surprise.
His heart skips a beat when she whispers in his ear, "I missed you."
He takes her back to his place, absently hitting the button on his old-fashioned answering machine out of habit. Bennet's voice comes through the speaker, concerned as usual. They never did get along, the two of them, but Bennet calls every so often with updates, in the event they ever need to team up again. Every voicemail is the same - Bennet gives a brief rundown of "acquired targets" and those considered "still at large" - but after a pause in the message Bennet gets personal.
"I'm... I'm worried about Claire, Gabriel. If you happen to run into her out there on the East Coast, just let her know we're trying to get in contact. Her mother misses her, even Lyle."
"Who's Lyle?" Gabriel asks out loud.
"Her brother, dumbass," Elle laughs, throwing her arms around his shoulders and nipping his ear playfully. "Turn that thing off. It's not right to mix business and pleasure."
"I think she's followed Nathan to Pinehe-" Bennet's voice says before it's cut off.
*****
One visit leads to another, and another, and another, and before long she's been seeing him surreptitiously for weeks, for months. When given half the chance she takes the Metro North down to Manhattan, taking two subway trains to get to his repair shop. She doesn't call ahead; she doesn't want to get his hopes up in the event she's called back before she even reaches the city. He offers to come up to Hartsdale to see her, but she refuses. Part of the appeal is the sneaking out, the stolen liberty, and besides that, she doesn't know how her father would handle it if he were to find out.
Even with little notice, Gabriel's prepared for a variety of dates. As the seasons change, so do their activities: long walks to the art museum in Flushing Meadows-Corona Park in the fall; ice-skating there in the winter; visits to the nearby Queens Zoo in the spring. With him, she tries Indian food for the first time, and Thai, and Dominican. Sometimes they see movies when the weather is bad, and sometimes they stay in and Gabriel tries out recipes he finds online. Elle thinks even his failures are delicious.
Elle never knows what to expect when she's with Gabriel - that's part of why she keeps going back to him. Sometimes they rent a movie and make out on the couch like teenagers, letting their hands nervously wander over their clothing. Sometimes he takes her shirt off slowly, and she's glad that he notices how cute her bra is. Sometimes he tears it off with an immediacy that she can feel rising between his legs, pressing into her thighs. When she's able to stay the night, he lifts her in his arms and carries her to the bedroom.
She can't stay tonight, though, but she can't help herself. A good song comes on the radio, and in the course of dancing around Gabriel's apartment, her clothes seem to come off on their own. He can't keep up with her moves; while the music is playing she thrusts her hips and gyrates like a wild woman, laughing all the while. Finally he manages to wrap his arms around her waist and whisk her to the bedroom, where he lays her on the bed and rolls her tight jeans over the tops of her thighs. The song's faded to a commercial break, but Elle continues thrashing when Gabriel lowers his mouth into her curls, letting his tongue follow the hidden crevice to her core. She shudders as she comes, but he stops only for a moment before grasping her hips and pinning her down again. She's dizzy with pleasure now, but he keeps licking and pressing and sucking in all the right ways. She squeals with delight, grasping his hair and shocking him a little without realizing it, and he stops what he's doing and flips her onto her stomach, hoisting her up on all fours. He climbs onto the mattress behind her and unfastens his own pants, taking her from behind. When she climaxes again, practically shrieking, he comes too. Exhausted now, they fold into one another's arms a moment later, relishing the embrace more than the actual act.*****
"Will you be able to come next week?" he asks, gazing at her without the filter of the glasses he's taken to wearing again.
"I can try. Why?"
"I'd just like to make plans, if that's all right. Take you out somewhere fancy and expensive, like you deserve."
She can't help smiling. "Friday all right?"
"Friday's perfect," he tells her. "I'm going to shower quickly so I can walk you back to the subway stop."
"Sounds good."
While he's in the bathroom, she gathers up her clothes and frowns at the wrinkles in them. She goes to his closet, looking for his ironing board, and in the course of her search she comes across a small bag with fancy metallic lettering. Curiosity gets the better of her, and she reaches inside, pulling out a small velvet case.
Inside there's a ring, a small diamond on a platinum gold band. Elle shuts the case quickly and stashes it back in the bag, back where she found it, her chest tightening. She shuts the closet door and dresses in her rumpled clothing, suddenly not concerned with her appearance.
*****
She thinks she's been outsmarting her father all this time, vanishing only when he's away on business, trying to recruit more scientists and doctors and anyone else whose qualifications could prove useful to the Company, but when she arrives back at the Hartsdale campus, it's already locked down for the night, and the guards have to call her father to get her clearance.
She'd missed her stop on the Metro North train because she'd been too lost in thought. The ring was beautiful, it really was, but the thought behind it was unsettling to her.
Her father gruffly approves her entry, provided she meet him in his office before she goes to her quarters. When she arrives he's already there, and though it's late he's still in his work clothes. He's been waiting for me, she realizes, and she stands behind a chair rather than sitting down.
"I know you've been seeing him, Elle," he says, and there's nothing more chilling to Elle than the lack of expression in his words - no tone of fatherly concern, nor of warning, nor malice. It's a simple statement of fact. "If you continue this liaison, you will be terminated. Do you understand that?"
Her lips turn down at the corners, and she crosses her arms like an angry child. "My personal life doesn't interfere at all with my professional life," she retorts.
"It does when your father is your boss," Bob replies, folding his hands. "And if you don't break it off with Sylar, then I'll be neither your boss nor your father anymore."
"His name is Gabriel," she mutters, but there's no strength in her voice anymore, and even if Bob hears her comment he acts as though he doesn't.
"This meeting is over. I'll see you here nine A.M. Monday morning for your next assignment."
"Yes, Daddy," she says, compliant, but when she leaves his office she slams the door behind her.
*****
She intends to break it off with Gabriel before their date that night, but he's so damn chatty the entire way there she can't squeeze a word in edgewise. Her stomach turns.
It's a nice restaurant, a much nicer place than Elle had expected, frankly, and even in her designer clothes she feels out of place and underdressed. Gabriel looks even more out of place, wearing sweater vest under his suit jacket, and yet he seems vastly more comfortable in this atmosphere.
They check their coats and the hostess shows them to their table, which is located on a dais next to a plate-glass window overlooking the Hudson. The surface of the river glimmers as it reflects the lights of the Manhattan skyline. Elle figures that he must have called weeks ago to ensure such a seat with such a view in such a restaurant with such a crowd.
Like a gentleman, Gabriel pulls a chair out from the table for Elle. She smiles weakly as she sits down, and he smiles widely back.
"This is nice," Gabriel says as he takes his seat across from her. He folds and unfolds his hands nervously, unable to keep his attention focused on anything for more than a moment at a time. He picks up the menu and hastily sets it down again. He straightens the plates on the table and lines up the silverware fussily. He peruses the wine list, making offhand remarks about the offerings while repeatedly taking off his glasses to wipe the lenses before putting them on again.
Just watching him makes her dizzy. "I have to go to the bathroom," she tells him.
"Now? Already?"
"I'll be right back," she says, grabbing her bag from the floor as she steps down from the dais and hurries to the corridor with the word "Restrooms" clearly marked above.
She goes past the ladies washing their hands and fixing their makeup and lets herself into the stall at the furthest end of the room. Once there, she leans up against the cool tile wall, letting herself slide down the smooth surface until she's sitting on the floor. She rests her chin against her chest for a moment, pressing her palms against her cheeks and then pushing the heels of her hands gently into her eyes. She inhales deeply, hoping that the scent of generic bathroom cleaner could bring her mental clarity.
It doesn't.
As the toilet in another stall flushes, Elle tilts her head back to keep tears from falling freely down her cheeks. She sighs again, trying to calculate how long she'd been gone, and how much longer she can stay before Gabriel comes looking for her. Another few minutes pass before she forces herself to her feet, dabbing at the sides of her eyes with a few sheets of bunched-up toilet paper as she exits the restroom.
"Is something the matter, Elle?" Gabriel asks as she returned to her seat.
She mumbles something, her hands fluttering across her table setting.
Gabriel looks worriedly over the rims of his glasses. "I didn't hear you."
"I just don't feel well, is all," she snaps back. She rests her head against the palm of her hand, massaging one temple between her thumb and her forefinger. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."
"I... I know, I just..."
"And you know my stomach's been funny all week. I don't know why you insisted we go out to eat," she adds, unable to hide her irritation at the whole situation.
Gabriel's hand lingers on his thigh, where he can feel the outline of the jewelry box securely in his pocket through the fabric of his pants. "I just thought..." he starts, but he stops before reaching even the middle of the sentence, realizing how wishy-washy he sounds. The corners of his mouth pull downwards into a frown; already this evening was not going at all how he had planned. "Perhaps we should change the subject. Did you see the..."
Elle feels a sudden pang in her gut, and she lurches forward in her seat, feeling genuinely nauseous now. "I have to use the bathroom again," she interrupts. Her hands tremble as she pushes herself away from the table, blinking from light-headedness.
"Again?"
She rises out of her seat, leaving her purse dangling on the back of her chair this time, as she hurries again through the dining room. With each step she feels worse, and when she reaches the door to restroom she can feel herself losing her balance. She sidesteps the door to the bar just beyond. Reaching out, she grips to smooth, varnished edge of the bar with both hands to steady herself. Slowly she sets her forehead against the cool surface, closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of wood polish before she loses consciousness and tumbles backwards to the floor.
*****
"Elle? Elle, can you hear me?"
She can feel the cool, hard floor beneath the soles of her stocking feet. Did someone take her shoes off?
"Elle, are you feeling all right?"
She opens her eyes slowly, her vision swims. She wants to say of course I don't feel all right, you jackass but what she says instead is "Did I pass out?" The weakness of her own words dismays her.
"They want to call an ambulance," Gabriel tells her.
"No - no, I'll be fine," Elle says quickly. "Let's just go home. Please, let's just go home." She turns to Gabriel, repeating earnestly "Please. Let's go home."
He's hesitant for a moment, and she squeezes his hand.
*****
"I can't do this anymore, Gabriel. I'm not made for this sort of life. I was trained to be an agent. I have to be an agent. I want to be an agent."
"You can do that. Bennet did it."
"Bennet is..." Elle crosses her arms and looks down at the floor. "Bennet is a different story, okay? For once this isn't about Bennet. This is about me."
"But you can have it both ways. You can be a full-time agent and a full-time... a full-time..." Gabriel pauses, unsure of his phrasing. He starts again. "You can be a full-time agent and have a full-time family, too."
"A family? With me?" Elle throws her hands into the air to hide their trembling. "I'm a sociopath, Gabriel. You can't trust me with kids. If that's the kind of life you wanted to have, you should have hooked up with the cheerleader."
The bile rose up her throat again as Elle sank into the plush living chair.
"You should see a doctor."
"I'm fine, Gabriel."
"I want you to see a doctor."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're clearly not."
"I'm... I'm stressed. That's all."
"You're stressed. You haven't been sleeping well. Your stomach feels funny. You're achey. You're tired. You're aren't fine."
"I found the ring."
"You... what?"
"I found the ring, Gabriel. I knew it was coming. I've known it was coming."
But even then, supposed to now be unburdened of this terrible secret, Elle felt the burn of bile in her mouth.
"Elle? Elle, where are you going? If you're not feeling well, I don't want you to go out by yourself."
"I'm just running to the fucking pharmacy, Gabriel," she says with more malice than intended. She pauses for a minute, inhales, collects herself. "I'm just going to the pharmacy. I'll be back soon."
"I want to come with you."
"I just need a few minutes to be alone, Gabriel," she tells him, but she can't look him in the eye to say so as she walked out the door.
*****
She blinks in the light - too harsh, too bright - and heads straight for the aisle with over-the-counter medications. She just wants something for her headache. And her backache. And, come to think of it, her sore breasts. And definitely her upset stomach.
She's overcome by another wave of nausea, and she rests her head against the shelf until the feeling passes, not caring whether the shelf leaves an awkward pattern of red marks on her forehead. Sighing, she resumes looking at all the different packages of medicines, comparing prices and claims, turning them over and examining the directions and warnings.
Do not take if you are nursing or pregna...
The bottle suddenly slips from Elle's clammy palm, landing with a crack that splits the cap open. Tiny white pills scatter across the floor in all directions, and another customer looks up from a tube of calamine lotion. His mouth turns down in an expression of annoyance and disdain.
Elle's hands are shaky; electrical shocks jump between her fingers as she suppresses the urge to burn him to a twisted, smoking crisp. Still trembling, she snatches another item from nearby shelves, hissing "Just... fuck you, then," to the other customer over her shoulder as she hurries down the aisle.
*****
The entire walk home from the pharmacy she's able to keep the thought from her mind. The clack-clack-clack of her heels on the pavement creates a welcome distraction, and she's even glad for each chilly gust of wind.
Gabriel waits for her, sitting on the edge of his chair and jumping to attention when he hears her key rattle in the door. She marches right past him and goes straight to the tiny bathroom in his apartment.
"Elle, can I..." Gabriel starts, following her, confused. "Can I take your coat?"
She pushes it to the back of her mind even as she drops her coat on the tile floor, even as Gabriel knocks softly, though relentlessly, on the door, as though he's afflicted with separation anxiety. Even as she sets the test on the lip of the sink, patiently waiting for it to register one blue line or two, she keeps herself occupied by tapping her shoes against the floor, rapping out a disjointed rhythm.
It's when she says it out loud that it suddenly becomes tangible, real. A real thing - a real problem.
As soon as she'd says it out loud, Gabriel runs his hands through his hair over and over and over again. "Pregnant," he repeats, a tone of wonder in his voice. "Wow. Pregnant." He begins pacing across his apartment, his strides (normally so long and confident) short and staccato now, like he's just been kicked in the gut. "Jesus Christ, Elle, I never imagined - this is just so unexpected." He spins on his heel and gazes into her eyes, his own twinkling with moisture. "This is amazing, Elle," he says, a slow smile coming to his face. "I'm going to be a father. We're going to be parents."
But while he's busy processing the possibilities, she comes to a decision of her own. "I'm not going to do this," she tells him, her eyes averted.
"You're... what?" Gabriel falls to his knees at Elle's feet, taking her hands in his. "Elle, Elle - look at me," he says soothingly. "Elle - I know, it's a lot to handle, this is a huge deal..."
"I'm not doing this," she tells him, shaking her head emphatically, her face still turned away from his. Her voice is devoid of all emotion, showing no trace of how mad or upset she might be.
"But, Elle -"
"I'm not," she repeats. "I won't."
"You don't mean that. You haven't even thought about it. You need to give it a chance to sink in." He still smiles, a comforting sort of smile.
Elle thinks it's patronizing. "Stop telling me what I need to do, Gabriel," she says menacingly.
The smile fades from his face, and his eyes turn cold behind his glasses - in an instant he reverts from kind and loving Gabriel Gray to someone he used to be.
"Don't make me make you, then," he hisses back.
*****
In the morning, Gabriel wakes up alone.
Such a big ocean...
He's still in bed when Angela arrives. She knocks once, twice, three times - out of politeness, because she doesn't really expect him to answer the door. She sighs and lets herself in with the key that he'd given her.
With one hand she flips on the light switch while in the other she carries a shopping bag from Century 21, now filled with containers of homemade soups. She sets the bag on the kitchen counter near the doorway, opens the fridge, and shoves aside some of the decaying contents - old lunchmeat, sour milk - to make room. "I brought you something to eat, Gabriel," she calls out into the apartment. "I'm putting them in the fridge. That way you can microwave them later, or put them on the stove..."
Chicken noodle, tomato rice, lentil (her specialty); so many varieties, all made herself from scratch. Perhaps it is an indication of having too much time on her hands since being downsized from the Company recently, like Gabriel, but perhaps it means something more than that. She's become increasingly maternal over these past few months - affectionate, loving even - and with Nathan and Claire supporting Pinehearst publicly, and Peter... God knows what Peter is up to, now... she's adopted Gabriel as a genuine outlet for her motherly instincts. She's begun to believe in her own untruth. She is his mother. She is his mother.
She shuts the refrigerator door as Gabriel comes stalking out of the bedroom cloaked in his comforter, blinking as he steps into the light, stark and artificial. His beard has started to grow in fully; he's found no reason to shave or shower or even change his socks for several days.
"Oh, Gabriel," Angela tsk-tsk-tsks, opening her arms to embrace him. He clings to his comforter but lets himself lean into her hug, sighing as she presses the side of her face into his chest. As she pulls away, she clutches his shoulder, breathing deeply as she takes in the pitiful caricature he's become. A look of recognition crosses her face momentarily, and Gabriel wonders whether she'll comment on the fact that he's wearing the same Queensborough Community College t-shirt he had on when she'd visited the day before yesterday.
If she notices she holds her tongue. Instead the corners of her eyes crinkle and she forces a smile to her face. "Are you hungry, Gabriel? I could heat something up for you."
"What did you bring?" he asks, his voice scratchy.
"A few soups. Tomato rice, chicken noodle, wedding..." She stops when Gabriel cringes. Inwardly she curses herself for being insensitive as he sinks into the plush chair behind him, groaning. Of course she'd known he meant to propose to Elle. Even if he hadn't told her himself, she had seen it in a dream. "I'm sorry, Gabriel, I didn't think that it... I just wasn't thinking." She takes the empty chair beside him, leaning forward and placing her hand on his. "Still haven't heard from her? Not at all?"
"I should never have let her leave," Gabriel whines. "I should be looking for her."
"You're in no state to find anything," Angela says, unable to keep from scolding. "It seems you can't even find your way to your dresser drawer for a change of clothes."
"I should go find her," he says, not listening.
"Gabriel, look at me," Angela says, cupping the side of his face in her palm, cold and soft. She turns his face towards hers before she goes on. "A woman doesn't leave without good reason. I doubt very much that you'd find her. Trust me, she'll return to you when she's ready." She wishes she knew what else she could tell her son to reassure him. As far as Angela knows, Elle's father hasn't even noticed her leaving. There's always another weapon, always someone else to use as bait, after all.
Gabriel doesn't reply. He averts his watery eyes, and he inhales raggedly as he turns away.
Angela heaves a sigh of frustration. She's never been able to put up with this kind of self-pitying nonsense - not from herself, not from her sons. "Get up. Go shower. Get dressed," she commands.
"What for?"
"We're going to church."
It's not the nearest to Gabriel's apartment, but it's the closest one Angela knows of with a service at noon. Our Lady of Mercy, it's called, with a bright brick facade pleasing landscaping: grass sloping up to the sides of the building, with a plaster figure of Christ's mother out front.
It has been quite a while since Angela Petrelli has attended Mass with anyone. She knows Nathan still goes to services on holidays and holy days, but it's more for the sake of his image and less for the sake of his soul. Peter had always retained the dreamy attitude of a mystic but the services themselves had done nothing to weigh down his lofty ideals; he'd stopped going with her when he was in high school.
Every time she visits a church, Angela reflects on the strange circumstances that have led her here. She had not been raised Catholic; in fact, she'd converted in order to marry Arthur, receiving three sacraments - baptism, communion, confirmation - all on the same day. She still clings to these tenets of belief, of faith, even though the one who introduced her to them had not; the irony of it is not lost on her. She religiously attends Mass - always weekly, sometimes daily as well - and confesses her sins every Saturday, her confessions carefully worded so as not to be incriminating. The priests give her penance for these vaguely veiled sins; the specifics are between her and her God.
Ten Hail Marys and Ten Our Fathers silently recited to make amends for kidnappings, forced brainwashing, entrapment, all on a weekly basis. It's not enough - God knows it's not enough - but the routine gives her comfort, affirms her hope for eternal salvation. And perhaps this, too, is her penance: the adoption of a serial killer, the redemption of a psychopath through motherly love. She knows that in order to be forgiven herself, she must learn to forgive others the sins they've committed, and Sylar is right at the top of that list.
Gabriel keeps his head bowed during the opening liturgy, the prayers through chant and song. He remembers the responses, but only barely, mouthing along kyrie elaison without lending his voice to the words.
The church is infused with midday sunlight, mellow and warm and welcoming, cast in the colors of the stained glass windows. His heart feels slightly less heavy, and he solemnly lifts his head. He lets his gaze wander across them, each portraying a scene in the life of a saint - each saint having once been a sinner. Between the windows (their beauty makes them hard to look at) he finds himself lingering at the Stations of the Cross: portrayals of Christ's journey to his death in relief. To death, and subsequently, to new life.
Sinners made saints. Death to new life.
He stands, sits, kneels in conjunction with the rest of the congregation, but his heart isn't in the ritual. It's somewhere else, figuring out what it has to do in order to be like the men and women in the windows, in order to be like the man cum God in between them.
The answer comes from something he feels from the woman beside him. Forgiveness. That's the key, that's the ticket, that's everything. He finally understands that he's never been able to forgive himself for his transgressions because all this time he's been holding a grudge. He finds it easier to release than he'd imagined. He doesn't need her to tell him that she's sorry. He just lets the feeling go - lets go of the anger, the disappointment, the betrayal, the blame.
In that moment Sylar dies, and Gabriel Gray is born into new life.
"Mass is ended," the priest calls out. "Let us go in peace, to love and serve the Lord."
"Thanks be to God," Angela answers, in unison with the other attendees.
Gabriel breathes in like it's his first breath. "Thanks be to God" - his first words. The memories of being Sylar turn dull and brittle and fall away like dead autumn leaves, and he feels naked and bare but finally ready to move on.
That night he dreams of Elle - she's been invading his sleep often enough these days, but this time it's different. It's more real somehow, more like being awake than asleep. He can feel her weight beside him in bed; it's as though the surface of the mattress slopes underneath her figure next to him. He doesn't open his eyes when he wakes up, unwilling to let go of this illusion. As dawn approaches, as the unwelcome sunlight slants in through the bedroom window, she fades away like a ghost, and Gabriel tries to go on about his day as though nothing ever happened.
...how do they find each other?
He dreams again, but this time it's not like anything else he's ever dreamed. It's more visceral, more real, more frightening. He gets the sense of some sort of impending danger, a looming threat. In his mind's eye he sees the Bennet home in Costa Verde, and even when he wakes up he can't shake the feeling that something terrible's going to happen.
The shrill ring of his cell phone jolts him into reality, and he answers alertly, even though the clock beside his bed says 3 a.m.
"Gabriel, we have to do something!" It's Angela Petrelli, and there's panic in her voice. "The Bennets - did you dream it, too?"
He understands implicitly. "I'm on my way there," he tells her, leaping out of bed and throwing clothes on haphazardly. "Sit tight, I'm already on my way."
*****
He arrives too late.
The screen door is shut, but the front door behind it hangs open, barely balancing from a hinge that's been violently bent. A flash of movement from within catches Gabriel's eye, accompanied by a quiet whine. The dog, it's the dog - what's his name, Mr. Puddles or Mr. Scruffles or something - and crouches just beyond the threshold, his fur damp and matted and his ears flattened against his head.
Gabriel hurriedly lets himself in, swinging open the screen door with such force that it snaps back on its hinge in protest. Aside from the door, nothing seems amiss in the foyer, but the dog's low crying makes him uneasy. The dog lingers at Gabriel's feet, sniffing his socks cautiously and following Gabriel as he moves from room to room. His claws click-click-click on the tile floor, and he leaves a trail of pale pink paw-prints behind him.
"Anyone here?" Gabriel calls out. "Anyone?" Bennet's study is in total disarray - papers flung about, chairs strewn across the floor, and potted plants and other knickknacks smashed and scattered across the carpet.
There's a crunch of paper and glass behind him; he turns and recognizes Claire's figure, silhouetted in the entranceway. At first Gabriel sighs with relief, glad to see another living soul, but Claire's brow is furrowed and her mouth turned downwards in a menacing scowl.
"What did you do, Sylar?" Claire hisses. "What did you do?"
"I..." Gabriel stammers, confused. He looks through the blinds and sees another car double-parked beside his own, and realizes that Claire wasn't here when this happened. She'd only just arrived, like him, and she doesn't know what happened any more than he does. "I... I didn't do anything," Gabriel replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't do anything."
"Where are they?" Claire bends to the floor and picks up a piece of shattered glass from the window, a glint of light illuminating its sharp edges. Blood trickles from her palm as she rushes up to Gabriel and holds the glass against his jaw, ready to sever his jugular artery with a simple turn of her wrist. "Where are they, Sylar? What did you do with them?"
"I didn't do anything, Claire," Gabriel tells her again, his breath shallow and ragged; he can feel the raw edge of the Claire's makeshift weapon against his chin.
"I'm going to ask you this one more time, Sylar," she hisses. "Where is my family?"
Gabriel shudders, gripped by a kind of mortal fear he had never experienced. One slice, and his life is over. One slice, and everything is wasted. One slice, and he'd have to face judgment, and he still isn't ready for that.
But he isn't frightened of Claire - instead, when he looks into her glistening, hate-filled eyes, he finds himself sympathizing with her. He knows what it is to feel the desperation of finding one's loved ones suddenly gone. He understands what it means to blame oneself for failing them, and he can relate to her need to blame someone else, her immediate thirst for vengeance.
"Claire, don't do this," he mutters, but it isn't enough, and she slams the edge of the glass into the soft skin where his jawline meets his neck.
Blood sprays forth from the wound, coating Claire's face and hands as Gabriel lurches forward. He reaches up to the glass jutting out of his neck, but it's too late to remove it - in mere seconds he staggers to the floor, struggling futilely to staunch the blood. Face-down on the carpet, a dark stain spreads beneath his head, and Claire indifferently wipes her palms on the sides of her jeans.
Gabriel's vision is strangely watery, and he blinks a few times to clear his eyes. He can feel his blood, warm and sticky, all on the side of his face, soaking through his clothes, but now instead of feeling himself fade away he feels himself getting stronger again. He runs his fingers along the edge of the glass, pinching it between his fingers and slowly taking it from his neck. More blood follows, but after another moment it stops completely and the wound tingles and tickles as the skin there knits itself back together.
His strength returning, Gabriel shoves himself up from the floor, looking up at Claire's incredulous expression.
"But I... I just killed you..."
Gabriel blinks a few times at her, trying to rationalize his resurrection in his own head.
"I just killed you!"
"You... You did, I think," Gabriel says out loud, still dazed.
"It's not fair! I killed you!" Claire screams, angry tears flowing from her eyes, her body racked by uncontrollable sobs. She picks up a stapler from her father's desk and flings it at him; it hits his face and falls away ineffectively. Gabriel shuts his eyes as he tries to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve, and when he opens them again, Claire is gone.
Shaken but otherwise unhurt, Gabriel unzips his blood-soaked hoodie and drops it to the ground, but even his t-shirt has been stained. Frowning, he scans around him to see where Mr. Muggles has gone to. He can hear the dog whining and scratching at something in another room.
He follows the sound to the kitchen, where the dog has gotten into the pantry and scratches at the wall behind the shelving. Curious, Gabriel bends down and feels along the wall until he finds the seams of a hidden door. He knocks once, softly, but there is no reply. He knocks again. "Anyone in there?"
A muffled voice comes unsteadily back. "...Gabriel?"
In an instant Gabriel forces his fingers through the cracks between the wall and the door - tearing his fingernails, which then instantly heal - and he rips the door away and reaches into the opening. A pair of hands grasp his forearms, and he gently leads the stowaway from the darkness into the light.
"Elle!" he cried, unable to stop his tears. "Elle, what are you doing here? What happened?"
She shudders and sobs and lets her head fall into his shoulder. Unsure of what else to do, he wraps his arms around her and rocks her back and forth, cooing and stroking her back as though she's a child.
*****
He lets her cry until she's exhausted from it. When she's done, he delicately lifts her up and takes her to the couch in the living room, an area that appears relatively normal compared to the disaster that lay in Bennet's office.
He doesn't ask, but when he gets her a glass of water she begins to explain anyway. "Noah was here for just a minute, warning us. Sandra helped me hide in the crawl space. Then there was... they just... I didn't see anything, I just heard..." she pauses for an unendurable time, as though waiting for her words to catch up with her.
"What were you doing here in the first place?" Gabriel asks, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She looks a mess - disheveled and smeared with sawdust from the secret compartment.
"I've been here since... since..." She hesitated. "I came here the morning I left you. The Bennets did always seem like the ones with the answers."
"And you needed answers."
"I still don't even know what the questions are," she says, her eyes glassy as she stares at the ecru of the opposite wall.
She shuts her eyes and loops her arm into his, scooting closer to him. He feels an electric shiver when she lets her body come up against his, when she lays her weight against his own for support. He puts his arm around her and breathes in the scent of her hair.
"Is it too late to say I love you?" she asks.
He runs his hand along her arm, squeezing her gently. "I don't think it's ever too late, as long as you mean it."
"I mean it, I really do," Elle whispers.
They enjoy the silence for a while, letting the sensation of one another's touch say everything they don't know how to put into words.
"I was thinking," Elle says, her whisper breaking the quietude - "I was thinking Noah for a boy, and Sandra for a girl."
He holds his breath as he turns towards her sharply. He gazes at her upturned face through the cracked, cloudy lenses of his glasses, and he thinks for a moment that his hearing might be just as blurry as his vision. "What... what did you say?" he asks.
"Noah for a boy," Elle repeats. "Or Sandra. For a girl."
"Elle, I thought you were going to -"
"I couldn't do it," she interrupts, her lip quivering and her voice tremulous. "I couldn't go through with it." She looks upwards at him through a veil of tears as apologies begin pouring out of her. "I'm so sorry, Gabriel. I'm sorry I made you... and I let you think that... I'm sorry I was scared, I didn't stay, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry..." She continues even as she's racked by sobs again, even as Gabriel takes her face in his hands and presses his lips to hers.
"Shhh, shhh," he says. There's no need for her to apologize, because he's already forgiven her. He'd forgiven her a long time ago.
*****
Part One
posted June 1, 2009, but backdated for the flist
Characters: Sylar/Elle primarily. Also features a large ensemble (Bennetrellis, Bob Bishop).
Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence.
Word Count: about 13,000 total (about 7,000 this part)
Disclaimer: I don't own any aspect of Heroes or its characters
Spoilers/Warnings: Technically it's an AU from where Season 2 ends. Warnings up to and through episode 3.04; warnings for sex, violence, and possible character death
Summary: Gabriel doesn't want to be Sylar anymore, and he needs Elle to help him rediscover himself.
A/N: Written for superkappa for Sweet Charity, a fandom auction to raise money for RAINN. I've borrowed quite a bit from jncar's post here about the events that possibly led to the IABD-verse.
Beta'ed by dragynflies, who seriously deserves an award for putting up with me.
This is Part Two. Part One can be found here.
They don't sing in captivity.
Angela helps find him his own apartment in Queens, not far from where he grew up. She even gives him an allowance, just as she did for her real children, but he takes a job anyway at a vacuum repair shop. It's the solitary sort of work he was used to before meeting Chandra, before giving in to his obsessive need to be special. In some ways, this reassures him; it's an echo of his former life, a reflection of his attempt to return to what he once was. He doesn't practice his powers at all anymore; he doesn't need them like he used to.
At the same time, it's dreadfully lonely, and every time the door chime sounds it takes every ounce of his willpower not to rise from his seat in the back room to see if it's someone he used to know. Soon he drowns out the sound altogether.
So it's particularly jarring when he hears her voice. "Anyone here?" it inquires. He convinces himself he's hearing things, and then he feels a pair of arms snake around his waist, he feels her pert bosom pressing into his back, and he drops what he's doing in surprise.
His heart skips a beat when she whispers in his ear, "I missed you."
He takes her back to his place, absently hitting the button on his old-fashioned answering machine out of habit. Bennet's voice comes through the speaker, concerned as usual. They never did get along, the two of them, but Bennet calls every so often with updates, in the event they ever need to team up again. Every voicemail is the same - Bennet gives a brief rundown of "acquired targets" and those considered "still at large" - but after a pause in the message Bennet gets personal.
"I'm... I'm worried about Claire, Gabriel. If you happen to run into her out there on the East Coast, just let her know we're trying to get in contact. Her mother misses her, even Lyle."
"Who's Lyle?" Gabriel asks out loud.
"Her brother, dumbass," Elle laughs, throwing her arms around his shoulders and nipping his ear playfully. "Turn that thing off. It's not right to mix business and pleasure."
"I think she's followed Nathan to Pinehe-" Bennet's voice says before it's cut off.
*****
One visit leads to another, and another, and another, and before long she's been seeing him surreptitiously for weeks, for months. When given half the chance she takes the Metro North down to Manhattan, taking two subway trains to get to his repair shop. She doesn't call ahead; she doesn't want to get his hopes up in the event she's called back before she even reaches the city. He offers to come up to Hartsdale to see her, but she refuses. Part of the appeal is the sneaking out, the stolen liberty, and besides that, she doesn't know how her father would handle it if he were to find out.
Even with little notice, Gabriel's prepared for a variety of dates. As the seasons change, so do their activities: long walks to the art museum in Flushing Meadows-Corona Park in the fall; ice-skating there in the winter; visits to the nearby Queens Zoo in the spring. With him, she tries Indian food for the first time, and Thai, and Dominican. Sometimes they see movies when the weather is bad, and sometimes they stay in and Gabriel tries out recipes he finds online. Elle thinks even his failures are delicious.
Elle never knows what to expect when she's with Gabriel - that's part of why she keeps going back to him. Sometimes they rent a movie and make out on the couch like teenagers, letting their hands nervously wander over their clothing. Sometimes he takes her shirt off slowly, and she's glad that he notices how cute her bra is. Sometimes he tears it off with an immediacy that she can feel rising between his legs, pressing into her thighs. When she's able to stay the night, he lifts her in his arms and carries her to the bedroom.
She can't stay tonight, though, but she can't help herself. A good song comes on the radio, and in the course of dancing around Gabriel's apartment, her clothes seem to come off on their own. He can't keep up with her moves; while the music is playing she thrusts her hips and gyrates like a wild woman, laughing all the while. Finally he manages to wrap his arms around her waist and whisk her to the bedroom, where he lays her on the bed and rolls her tight jeans over the tops of her thighs. The song's faded to a commercial break, but Elle continues thrashing when Gabriel lowers his mouth into her curls, letting his tongue follow the hidden crevice to her core. She shudders as she comes, but he stops only for a moment before grasping her hips and pinning her down again. She's dizzy with pleasure now, but he keeps licking and pressing and sucking in all the right ways. She squeals with delight, grasping his hair and shocking him a little without realizing it, and he stops what he's doing and flips her onto her stomach, hoisting her up on all fours. He climbs onto the mattress behind her and unfastens his own pants, taking her from behind. When she climaxes again, practically shrieking, he comes too. Exhausted now, they fold into one another's arms a moment later, relishing the embrace more than the actual act.*****
"Will you be able to come next week?" he asks, gazing at her without the filter of the glasses he's taken to wearing again.
"I can try. Why?"
"I'd just like to make plans, if that's all right. Take you out somewhere fancy and expensive, like you deserve."
She can't help smiling. "Friday all right?"
"Friday's perfect," he tells her. "I'm going to shower quickly so I can walk you back to the subway stop."
"Sounds good."
While he's in the bathroom, she gathers up her clothes and frowns at the wrinkles in them. She goes to his closet, looking for his ironing board, and in the course of her search she comes across a small bag with fancy metallic lettering. Curiosity gets the better of her, and she reaches inside, pulling out a small velvet case.
Inside there's a ring, a small diamond on a platinum gold band. Elle shuts the case quickly and stashes it back in the bag, back where she found it, her chest tightening. She shuts the closet door and dresses in her rumpled clothing, suddenly not concerned with her appearance.
*****
She thinks she's been outsmarting her father all this time, vanishing only when he's away on business, trying to recruit more scientists and doctors and anyone else whose qualifications could prove useful to the Company, but when she arrives back at the Hartsdale campus, it's already locked down for the night, and the guards have to call her father to get her clearance.
She'd missed her stop on the Metro North train because she'd been too lost in thought. The ring was beautiful, it really was, but the thought behind it was unsettling to her.
Her father gruffly approves her entry, provided she meet him in his office before she goes to her quarters. When she arrives he's already there, and though it's late he's still in his work clothes. He's been waiting for me, she realizes, and she stands behind a chair rather than sitting down.
"I know you've been seeing him, Elle," he says, and there's nothing more chilling to Elle than the lack of expression in his words - no tone of fatherly concern, nor of warning, nor malice. It's a simple statement of fact. "If you continue this liaison, you will be terminated. Do you understand that?"
Her lips turn down at the corners, and she crosses her arms like an angry child. "My personal life doesn't interfere at all with my professional life," she retorts.
"It does when your father is your boss," Bob replies, folding his hands. "And if you don't break it off with Sylar, then I'll be neither your boss nor your father anymore."
"His name is Gabriel," she mutters, but there's no strength in her voice anymore, and even if Bob hears her comment he acts as though he doesn't.
"This meeting is over. I'll see you here nine A.M. Monday morning for your next assignment."
"Yes, Daddy," she says, compliant, but when she leaves his office she slams the door behind her.
*****
She intends to break it off with Gabriel before their date that night, but he's so damn chatty the entire way there she can't squeeze a word in edgewise. Her stomach turns.
It's a nice restaurant, a much nicer place than Elle had expected, frankly, and even in her designer clothes she feels out of place and underdressed. Gabriel looks even more out of place, wearing sweater vest under his suit jacket, and yet he seems vastly more comfortable in this atmosphere.
They check their coats and the hostess shows them to their table, which is located on a dais next to a plate-glass window overlooking the Hudson. The surface of the river glimmers as it reflects the lights of the Manhattan skyline. Elle figures that he must have called weeks ago to ensure such a seat with such a view in such a restaurant with such a crowd.
Like a gentleman, Gabriel pulls a chair out from the table for Elle. She smiles weakly as she sits down, and he smiles widely back.
"This is nice," Gabriel says as he takes his seat across from her. He folds and unfolds his hands nervously, unable to keep his attention focused on anything for more than a moment at a time. He picks up the menu and hastily sets it down again. He straightens the plates on the table and lines up the silverware fussily. He peruses the wine list, making offhand remarks about the offerings while repeatedly taking off his glasses to wipe the lenses before putting them on again.
Just watching him makes her dizzy. "I have to go to the bathroom," she tells him.
"Now? Already?"
"I'll be right back," she says, grabbing her bag from the floor as she steps down from the dais and hurries to the corridor with the word "Restrooms" clearly marked above.
She goes past the ladies washing their hands and fixing their makeup and lets herself into the stall at the furthest end of the room. Once there, she leans up against the cool tile wall, letting herself slide down the smooth surface until she's sitting on the floor. She rests her chin against her chest for a moment, pressing her palms against her cheeks and then pushing the heels of her hands gently into her eyes. She inhales deeply, hoping that the scent of generic bathroom cleaner could bring her mental clarity.
It doesn't.
As the toilet in another stall flushes, Elle tilts her head back to keep tears from falling freely down her cheeks. She sighs again, trying to calculate how long she'd been gone, and how much longer she can stay before Gabriel comes looking for her. Another few minutes pass before she forces herself to her feet, dabbing at the sides of her eyes with a few sheets of bunched-up toilet paper as she exits the restroom.
"Is something the matter, Elle?" Gabriel asks as she returned to her seat.
She mumbles something, her hands fluttering across her table setting.
Gabriel looks worriedly over the rims of his glasses. "I didn't hear you."
"I just don't feel well, is all," she snaps back. She rests her head against the palm of her hand, massaging one temple between her thumb and her forefinger. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."
"I... I know, I just..."
"And you know my stomach's been funny all week. I don't know why you insisted we go out to eat," she adds, unable to hide her irritation at the whole situation.
Gabriel's hand lingers on his thigh, where he can feel the outline of the jewelry box securely in his pocket through the fabric of his pants. "I just thought..." he starts, but he stops before reaching even the middle of the sentence, realizing how wishy-washy he sounds. The corners of his mouth pull downwards into a frown; already this evening was not going at all how he had planned. "Perhaps we should change the subject. Did you see the..."
Elle feels a sudden pang in her gut, and she lurches forward in her seat, feeling genuinely nauseous now. "I have to use the bathroom again," she interrupts. Her hands tremble as she pushes herself away from the table, blinking from light-headedness.
"Again?"
She rises out of her seat, leaving her purse dangling on the back of her chair this time, as she hurries again through the dining room. With each step she feels worse, and when she reaches the door to restroom she can feel herself losing her balance. She sidesteps the door to the bar just beyond. Reaching out, she grips to smooth, varnished edge of the bar with both hands to steady herself. Slowly she sets her forehead against the cool surface, closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of wood polish before she loses consciousness and tumbles backwards to the floor.
*****
"Elle? Elle, can you hear me?"
She can feel the cool, hard floor beneath the soles of her stocking feet. Did someone take her shoes off?
"Elle, are you feeling all right?"
She opens her eyes slowly, her vision swims. She wants to say of course I don't feel all right, you jackass but what she says instead is "Did I pass out?" The weakness of her own words dismays her.
"They want to call an ambulance," Gabriel tells her.
"No - no, I'll be fine," Elle says quickly. "Let's just go home. Please, let's just go home." She turns to Gabriel, repeating earnestly "Please. Let's go home."
He's hesitant for a moment, and she squeezes his hand.
*****
"I can't do this anymore, Gabriel. I'm not made for this sort of life. I was trained to be an agent. I have to be an agent. I want to be an agent."
"You can do that. Bennet did it."
"Bennet is..." Elle crosses her arms and looks down at the floor. "Bennet is a different story, okay? For once this isn't about Bennet. This is about me."
"But you can have it both ways. You can be a full-time agent and a full-time... a full-time..." Gabriel pauses, unsure of his phrasing. He starts again. "You can be a full-time agent and have a full-time family, too."
"A family? With me?" Elle throws her hands into the air to hide their trembling. "I'm a sociopath, Gabriel. You can't trust me with kids. If that's the kind of life you wanted to have, you should have hooked up with the cheerleader."
The bile rose up her throat again as Elle sank into the plush living chair.
"You should see a doctor."
"I'm fine, Gabriel."
"I want you to see a doctor."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're clearly not."
"I'm... I'm stressed. That's all."
"You're stressed. You haven't been sleeping well. Your stomach feels funny. You're achey. You're tired. You're aren't fine."
"I found the ring."
"You... what?"
"I found the ring, Gabriel. I knew it was coming. I've known it was coming."
But even then, supposed to now be unburdened of this terrible secret, Elle felt the burn of bile in her mouth.
"Elle? Elle, where are you going? If you're not feeling well, I don't want you to go out by yourself."
"I'm just running to the fucking pharmacy, Gabriel," she says with more malice than intended. She pauses for a minute, inhales, collects herself. "I'm just going to the pharmacy. I'll be back soon."
"I want to come with you."
"I just need a few minutes to be alone, Gabriel," she tells him, but she can't look him in the eye to say so as she walked out the door.
*****
She blinks in the light - too harsh, too bright - and heads straight for the aisle with over-the-counter medications. She just wants something for her headache. And her backache. And, come to think of it, her sore breasts. And definitely her upset stomach.
She's overcome by another wave of nausea, and she rests her head against the shelf until the feeling passes, not caring whether the shelf leaves an awkward pattern of red marks on her forehead. Sighing, she resumes looking at all the different packages of medicines, comparing prices and claims, turning them over and examining the directions and warnings.
Do not take if you are nursing or pregna...
The bottle suddenly slips from Elle's clammy palm, landing with a crack that splits the cap open. Tiny white pills scatter across the floor in all directions, and another customer looks up from a tube of calamine lotion. His mouth turns down in an expression of annoyance and disdain.
Elle's hands are shaky; electrical shocks jump between her fingers as she suppresses the urge to burn him to a twisted, smoking crisp. Still trembling, she snatches another item from nearby shelves, hissing "Just... fuck you, then," to the other customer over her shoulder as she hurries down the aisle.
*****
The entire walk home from the pharmacy she's able to keep the thought from her mind. The clack-clack-clack of her heels on the pavement creates a welcome distraction, and she's even glad for each chilly gust of wind.
Gabriel waits for her, sitting on the edge of his chair and jumping to attention when he hears her key rattle in the door. She marches right past him and goes straight to the tiny bathroom in his apartment.
"Elle, can I..." Gabriel starts, following her, confused. "Can I take your coat?"
She pushes it to the back of her mind even as she drops her coat on the tile floor, even as Gabriel knocks softly, though relentlessly, on the door, as though he's afflicted with separation anxiety. Even as she sets the test on the lip of the sink, patiently waiting for it to register one blue line or two, she keeps herself occupied by tapping her shoes against the floor, rapping out a disjointed rhythm.
It's when she says it out loud that it suddenly becomes tangible, real. A real thing - a real problem.
As soon as she'd says it out loud, Gabriel runs his hands through his hair over and over and over again. "Pregnant," he repeats, a tone of wonder in his voice. "Wow. Pregnant." He begins pacing across his apartment, his strides (normally so long and confident) short and staccato now, like he's just been kicked in the gut. "Jesus Christ, Elle, I never imagined - this is just so unexpected." He spins on his heel and gazes into her eyes, his own twinkling with moisture. "This is amazing, Elle," he says, a slow smile coming to his face. "I'm going to be a father. We're going to be parents."
But while he's busy processing the possibilities, she comes to a decision of her own. "I'm not going to do this," she tells him, her eyes averted.
"You're... what?" Gabriel falls to his knees at Elle's feet, taking her hands in his. "Elle, Elle - look at me," he says soothingly. "Elle - I know, it's a lot to handle, this is a huge deal..."
"I'm not doing this," she tells him, shaking her head emphatically, her face still turned away from his. Her voice is devoid of all emotion, showing no trace of how mad or upset she might be.
"But, Elle -"
"I'm not," she repeats. "I won't."
"You don't mean that. You haven't even thought about it. You need to give it a chance to sink in." He still smiles, a comforting sort of smile.
Elle thinks it's patronizing. "Stop telling me what I need to do, Gabriel," she says menacingly.
The smile fades from his face, and his eyes turn cold behind his glasses - in an instant he reverts from kind and loving Gabriel Gray to someone he used to be.
"Don't make me make you, then," he hisses back.
*****
In the morning, Gabriel wakes up alone.
Such a big ocean...
He's still in bed when Angela arrives. She knocks once, twice, three times - out of politeness, because she doesn't really expect him to answer the door. She sighs and lets herself in with the key that he'd given her.
With one hand she flips on the light switch while in the other she carries a shopping bag from Century 21, now filled with containers of homemade soups. She sets the bag on the kitchen counter near the doorway, opens the fridge, and shoves aside some of the decaying contents - old lunchmeat, sour milk - to make room. "I brought you something to eat, Gabriel," she calls out into the apartment. "I'm putting them in the fridge. That way you can microwave them later, or put them on the stove..."
Chicken noodle, tomato rice, lentil (her specialty); so many varieties, all made herself from scratch. Perhaps it is an indication of having too much time on her hands since being downsized from the Company recently, like Gabriel, but perhaps it means something more than that. She's become increasingly maternal over these past few months - affectionate, loving even - and with Nathan and Claire supporting Pinehearst publicly, and Peter... God knows what Peter is up to, now... she's adopted Gabriel as a genuine outlet for her motherly instincts. She's begun to believe in her own untruth. She is his mother. She is his mother.
She shuts the refrigerator door as Gabriel comes stalking out of the bedroom cloaked in his comforter, blinking as he steps into the light, stark and artificial. His beard has started to grow in fully; he's found no reason to shave or shower or even change his socks for several days.
"Oh, Gabriel," Angela tsk-tsk-tsks, opening her arms to embrace him. He clings to his comforter but lets himself lean into her hug, sighing as she presses the side of her face into his chest. As she pulls away, she clutches his shoulder, breathing deeply as she takes in the pitiful caricature he's become. A look of recognition crosses her face momentarily, and Gabriel wonders whether she'll comment on the fact that he's wearing the same Queensborough Community College t-shirt he had on when she'd visited the day before yesterday.
If she notices she holds her tongue. Instead the corners of her eyes crinkle and she forces a smile to her face. "Are you hungry, Gabriel? I could heat something up for you."
"What did you bring?" he asks, his voice scratchy.
"A few soups. Tomato rice, chicken noodle, wedding..." She stops when Gabriel cringes. Inwardly she curses herself for being insensitive as he sinks into the plush chair behind him, groaning. Of course she'd known he meant to propose to Elle. Even if he hadn't told her himself, she had seen it in a dream. "I'm sorry, Gabriel, I didn't think that it... I just wasn't thinking." She takes the empty chair beside him, leaning forward and placing her hand on his. "Still haven't heard from her? Not at all?"
"I should never have let her leave," Gabriel whines. "I should be looking for her."
"You're in no state to find anything," Angela says, unable to keep from scolding. "It seems you can't even find your way to your dresser drawer for a change of clothes."
"I should go find her," he says, not listening.
"Gabriel, look at me," Angela says, cupping the side of his face in her palm, cold and soft. She turns his face towards hers before she goes on. "A woman doesn't leave without good reason. I doubt very much that you'd find her. Trust me, she'll return to you when she's ready." She wishes she knew what else she could tell her son to reassure him. As far as Angela knows, Elle's father hasn't even noticed her leaving. There's always another weapon, always someone else to use as bait, after all.
Gabriel doesn't reply. He averts his watery eyes, and he inhales raggedly as he turns away.
Angela heaves a sigh of frustration. She's never been able to put up with this kind of self-pitying nonsense - not from herself, not from her sons. "Get up. Go shower. Get dressed," she commands.
"What for?"
"We're going to church."
It's not the nearest to Gabriel's apartment, but it's the closest one Angela knows of with a service at noon. Our Lady of Mercy, it's called, with a bright brick facade pleasing landscaping: grass sloping up to the sides of the building, with a plaster figure of Christ's mother out front.
It has been quite a while since Angela Petrelli has attended Mass with anyone. She knows Nathan still goes to services on holidays and holy days, but it's more for the sake of his image and less for the sake of his soul. Peter had always retained the dreamy attitude of a mystic but the services themselves had done nothing to weigh down his lofty ideals; he'd stopped going with her when he was in high school.
Every time she visits a church, Angela reflects on the strange circumstances that have led her here. She had not been raised Catholic; in fact, she'd converted in order to marry Arthur, receiving three sacraments - baptism, communion, confirmation - all on the same day. She still clings to these tenets of belief, of faith, even though the one who introduced her to them had not; the irony of it is not lost on her. She religiously attends Mass - always weekly, sometimes daily as well - and confesses her sins every Saturday, her confessions carefully worded so as not to be incriminating. The priests give her penance for these vaguely veiled sins; the specifics are between her and her God.
Ten Hail Marys and Ten Our Fathers silently recited to make amends for kidnappings, forced brainwashing, entrapment, all on a weekly basis. It's not enough - God knows it's not enough - but the routine gives her comfort, affirms her hope for eternal salvation. And perhaps this, too, is her penance: the adoption of a serial killer, the redemption of a psychopath through motherly love. She knows that in order to be forgiven herself, she must learn to forgive others the sins they've committed, and Sylar is right at the top of that list.
Gabriel keeps his head bowed during the opening liturgy, the prayers through chant and song. He remembers the responses, but only barely, mouthing along kyrie elaison without lending his voice to the words.
The church is infused with midday sunlight, mellow and warm and welcoming, cast in the colors of the stained glass windows. His heart feels slightly less heavy, and he solemnly lifts his head. He lets his gaze wander across them, each portraying a scene in the life of a saint - each saint having once been a sinner. Between the windows (their beauty makes them hard to look at) he finds himself lingering at the Stations of the Cross: portrayals of Christ's journey to his death in relief. To death, and subsequently, to new life.
Sinners made saints. Death to new life.
He stands, sits, kneels in conjunction with the rest of the congregation, but his heart isn't in the ritual. It's somewhere else, figuring out what it has to do in order to be like the men and women in the windows, in order to be like the man cum God in between them.
The answer comes from something he feels from the woman beside him. Forgiveness. That's the key, that's the ticket, that's everything. He finally understands that he's never been able to forgive himself for his transgressions because all this time he's been holding a grudge. He finds it easier to release than he'd imagined. He doesn't need her to tell him that she's sorry. He just lets the feeling go - lets go of the anger, the disappointment, the betrayal, the blame.
In that moment Sylar dies, and Gabriel Gray is born into new life.
"Mass is ended," the priest calls out. "Let us go in peace, to love and serve the Lord."
"Thanks be to God," Angela answers, in unison with the other attendees.
Gabriel breathes in like it's his first breath. "Thanks be to God" - his first words. The memories of being Sylar turn dull and brittle and fall away like dead autumn leaves, and he feels naked and bare but finally ready to move on.
That night he dreams of Elle - she's been invading his sleep often enough these days, but this time it's different. It's more real somehow, more like being awake than asleep. He can feel her weight beside him in bed; it's as though the surface of the mattress slopes underneath her figure next to him. He doesn't open his eyes when he wakes up, unwilling to let go of this illusion. As dawn approaches, as the unwelcome sunlight slants in through the bedroom window, she fades away like a ghost, and Gabriel tries to go on about his day as though nothing ever happened.
...how do they find each other?
He dreams again, but this time it's not like anything else he's ever dreamed. It's more visceral, more real, more frightening. He gets the sense of some sort of impending danger, a looming threat. In his mind's eye he sees the Bennet home in Costa Verde, and even when he wakes up he can't shake the feeling that something terrible's going to happen.
The shrill ring of his cell phone jolts him into reality, and he answers alertly, even though the clock beside his bed says 3 a.m.
"Gabriel, we have to do something!" It's Angela Petrelli, and there's panic in her voice. "The Bennets - did you dream it, too?"
He understands implicitly. "I'm on my way there," he tells her, leaping out of bed and throwing clothes on haphazardly. "Sit tight, I'm already on my way."
*****
He arrives too late.
The screen door is shut, but the front door behind it hangs open, barely balancing from a hinge that's been violently bent. A flash of movement from within catches Gabriel's eye, accompanied by a quiet whine. The dog, it's the dog - what's his name, Mr. Puddles or Mr. Scruffles or something - and crouches just beyond the threshold, his fur damp and matted and his ears flattened against his head.
Gabriel hurriedly lets himself in, swinging open the screen door with such force that it snaps back on its hinge in protest. Aside from the door, nothing seems amiss in the foyer, but the dog's low crying makes him uneasy. The dog lingers at Gabriel's feet, sniffing his socks cautiously and following Gabriel as he moves from room to room. His claws click-click-click on the tile floor, and he leaves a trail of pale pink paw-prints behind him.
"Anyone here?" Gabriel calls out. "Anyone?" Bennet's study is in total disarray - papers flung about, chairs strewn across the floor, and potted plants and other knickknacks smashed and scattered across the carpet.
There's a crunch of paper and glass behind him; he turns and recognizes Claire's figure, silhouetted in the entranceway. At first Gabriel sighs with relief, glad to see another living soul, but Claire's brow is furrowed and her mouth turned downwards in a menacing scowl.
"What did you do, Sylar?" Claire hisses. "What did you do?"
"I..." Gabriel stammers, confused. He looks through the blinds and sees another car double-parked beside his own, and realizes that Claire wasn't here when this happened. She'd only just arrived, like him, and she doesn't know what happened any more than he does. "I... I didn't do anything," Gabriel replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't do anything."
"Where are they?" Claire bends to the floor and picks up a piece of shattered glass from the window, a glint of light illuminating its sharp edges. Blood trickles from her palm as she rushes up to Gabriel and holds the glass against his jaw, ready to sever his jugular artery with a simple turn of her wrist. "Where are they, Sylar? What did you do with them?"
"I didn't do anything, Claire," Gabriel tells her again, his breath shallow and ragged; he can feel the raw edge of the Claire's makeshift weapon against his chin.
"I'm going to ask you this one more time, Sylar," she hisses. "Where is my family?"
Gabriel shudders, gripped by a kind of mortal fear he had never experienced. One slice, and his life is over. One slice, and everything is wasted. One slice, and he'd have to face judgment, and he still isn't ready for that.
But he isn't frightened of Claire - instead, when he looks into her glistening, hate-filled eyes, he finds himself sympathizing with her. He knows what it is to feel the desperation of finding one's loved ones suddenly gone. He understands what it means to blame oneself for failing them, and he can relate to her need to blame someone else, her immediate thirst for vengeance.
"Claire, don't do this," he mutters, but it isn't enough, and she slams the edge of the glass into the soft skin where his jawline meets his neck.
Blood sprays forth from the wound, coating Claire's face and hands as Gabriel lurches forward. He reaches up to the glass jutting out of his neck, but it's too late to remove it - in mere seconds he staggers to the floor, struggling futilely to staunch the blood. Face-down on the carpet, a dark stain spreads beneath his head, and Claire indifferently wipes her palms on the sides of her jeans.
Gabriel's vision is strangely watery, and he blinks a few times to clear his eyes. He can feel his blood, warm and sticky, all on the side of his face, soaking through his clothes, but now instead of feeling himself fade away he feels himself getting stronger again. He runs his fingers along the edge of the glass, pinching it between his fingers and slowly taking it from his neck. More blood follows, but after another moment it stops completely and the wound tingles and tickles as the skin there knits itself back together.
His strength returning, Gabriel shoves himself up from the floor, looking up at Claire's incredulous expression.
"But I... I just killed you..."
Gabriel blinks a few times at her, trying to rationalize his resurrection in his own head.
"I just killed you!"
"You... You did, I think," Gabriel says out loud, still dazed.
"It's not fair! I killed you!" Claire screams, angry tears flowing from her eyes, her body racked by uncontrollable sobs. She picks up a stapler from her father's desk and flings it at him; it hits his face and falls away ineffectively. Gabriel shuts his eyes as he tries to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve, and when he opens them again, Claire is gone.
Shaken but otherwise unhurt, Gabriel unzips his blood-soaked hoodie and drops it to the ground, but even his t-shirt has been stained. Frowning, he scans around him to see where Mr. Muggles has gone to. He can hear the dog whining and scratching at something in another room.
He follows the sound to the kitchen, where the dog has gotten into the pantry and scratches at the wall behind the shelving. Curious, Gabriel bends down and feels along the wall until he finds the seams of a hidden door. He knocks once, softly, but there is no reply. He knocks again. "Anyone in there?"
A muffled voice comes unsteadily back. "...Gabriel?"
In an instant Gabriel forces his fingers through the cracks between the wall and the door - tearing his fingernails, which then instantly heal - and he rips the door away and reaches into the opening. A pair of hands grasp his forearms, and he gently leads the stowaway from the darkness into the light.
"Elle!" he cried, unable to stop his tears. "Elle, what are you doing here? What happened?"
She shudders and sobs and lets her head fall into his shoulder. Unsure of what else to do, he wraps his arms around her and rocks her back and forth, cooing and stroking her back as though she's a child.
*****
He lets her cry until she's exhausted from it. When she's done, he delicately lifts her up and takes her to the couch in the living room, an area that appears relatively normal compared to the disaster that lay in Bennet's office.
He doesn't ask, but when he gets her a glass of water she begins to explain anyway. "Noah was here for just a minute, warning us. Sandra helped me hide in the crawl space. Then there was... they just... I didn't see anything, I just heard..." she pauses for an unendurable time, as though waiting for her words to catch up with her.
"What were you doing here in the first place?" Gabriel asks, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She looks a mess - disheveled and smeared with sawdust from the secret compartment.
"I've been here since... since..." She hesitated. "I came here the morning I left you. The Bennets did always seem like the ones with the answers."
"And you needed answers."
"I still don't even know what the questions are," she says, her eyes glassy as she stares at the ecru of the opposite wall.
She shuts her eyes and loops her arm into his, scooting closer to him. He feels an electric shiver when she lets her body come up against his, when she lays her weight against his own for support. He puts his arm around her and breathes in the scent of her hair.
"Is it too late to say I love you?" she asks.
He runs his hand along her arm, squeezing her gently. "I don't think it's ever too late, as long as you mean it."
"I mean it, I really do," Elle whispers.
They enjoy the silence for a while, letting the sensation of one another's touch say everything they don't know how to put into words.
"I was thinking," Elle says, her whisper breaking the quietude - "I was thinking Noah for a boy, and Sandra for a girl."
He holds his breath as he turns towards her sharply. He gazes at her upturned face through the cracked, cloudy lenses of his glasses, and he thinks for a moment that his hearing might be just as blurry as his vision. "What... what did you say?" he asks.
"Noah for a boy," Elle repeats. "Or Sandra. For a girl."
"Elle, I thought you were going to -"
"I couldn't do it," she interrupts, her lip quivering and her voice tremulous. "I couldn't go through with it." She looks upwards at him through a veil of tears as apologies begin pouring out of her. "I'm so sorry, Gabriel. I'm sorry I made you... and I let you think that... I'm sorry I was scared, I didn't stay, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry..." She continues even as she's racked by sobs again, even as Gabriel takes her face in his hands and presses his lips to hers.
"Shhh, shhh," he says. There's no need for her to apologize, because he's already forgiven her. He'd forgiven her a long time ago.
*****
Part One
posted June 1, 2009, but backdated for the flist