FIC: The Mystery of Whale Migration [1/2]
Title: The Mystery of Whale Migration [1/2]
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 (6,000 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 One. Part Two can be found here.
For years, scientists were stumped by the mystery of whale migration. Such a big ocean; how do they find each other?
*****
He arrives too late.
The front door is shut and locked, and Sylar hesitates for a moment and considers dramatically ripping it from the frame with his telekinetic powers. Deciding that the gesture might alert his quarry to his arrival, he instead uses his power to have the lock undo itself, and he simply lets himself in. A flash of movement catches Sylar's eye, accompanied by a low canine groan. The dog, it's the dog - what is his name, Mr. Puddles or Mr. Scruffles or something? - crouching just beyond the threshold, barking and growling like crazy with his ears flattened against his head.
The Pomeranian follows him from room to room, his guard-dog tendencies simultaneously admirable and laughable.
Finding nothing throughout the house, he enters the kitchen and goes to the fridge, disappointed. If he can't satisfy one hunger, the least he can do is to satisfy another. There's a note hung on the door, dangling from a magnet; the loopy, girlish writing must be Claire's.
Mom - gone to NY. Gotta find Dad. I'll call you.
Sylar scoffs. He'd only just left New York.
He almost got two new shiny powers, too - locational clairvoyance and black tears of death would have been fun to have, had it not been for that electric bitch.
So he goes back the way he came - plane, train, automobile - whatever way gets him to his destination fastest. It's not until he's lingering outside of Primatech's Hartsdale headquarters, that he reconsiders the wisdom of his plan, however briefly. He's not invincible, he knows, but it's a power worth risking everything for.
That, and he's counting on the orders being "contain and detain" rather than "kill on sight."
He ducks and dodges and kills without compunction until he turns a corner and finds himself face-to-face with her again, that electric bitch.
"Sylar," she snarls, lifting her hands, fingers spread, blue sparks shooting across the tips. She holds her palms facing each other, and between them a charge builds up, a ball of blue that glows and grows bigger each moment.
She'd made him into a monster, she'd prevented him from taking even more powers from Maya and the Walker kid (and killing Mohinder, just for fun) and now here she is again, standing her ground at the end of the hall like she's someone to be scared of. But last time they faced off, he had none of his powers, and still lived; this time he's got them back, and she's not going to be so lucky.
"Oh, don't even try it," he warns, and in an instant she's flattened against the wall, arms forced to her sides, face contorted with surprise and alarm.
While she writhes against his unseen power, he approaches her slowly, enjoying the fear evident in her expression. "Hello, Elle," he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard over her gasping. He runs his hand along the side of her face, cocking his head, catlike.
"Sy... Sylar," she chokes, tears springing to her eyes, her mouth twisting.
He places one hand across her throat and brings the other to her face, finger pointed towards her forehead. The blood pounds in his ear like the tick-tock of a clock as he cuts a bright crimson gash across her skin. The hand on her neck starts to tingle - ticklishly at first, then stinging with pain, and he's distracted. He drops his hand and steps back; she shrieks and they are both enveloped in a flash of blue.
*****
When he comes to the first thing he recognizes is the chill of the concrete slab beneath him, hard and smooth and wretchedly uncomfortable. His breath comes in ragged gasps; his nostrils are blocked by tubes, delivering powerful suppressants into his system. He struggles, but the the restraints strapping him down make too much movement impossible. In the bleak blankness of the cell, he can hear the echo of another person's breath, and he turns his head toward the sound as he opens his eyes.
"Hello, Gabriel," says Angela Petrelli.
He swallows back the bile that rises in his throat, his eyes cast hatefully upon her.
"You aren't a killer, Gabriel. You don't want to be that person, I know. You just need a little love, a little guidance - something that a mother should provide for her son."
"My name is Sylar," he snarls at her, "and you are not my mother."
"Oh, but I am, dear," Angela coos, running her warm palm gently across his clammy forehead. "I am."
Sylar is stricken silent.
"I should never have given you up for adoption," she continues, petting his hair as he stares, incredulous. "I was afraid... I'd had dreams about... well, no matter, I'm here now."
"Are you really... my mother?" Sylar asks, spitting the words out as though they taste bitter in his mouth.
Angela leans over and undoes the strap that holds him down against the hard surface. "If I wasn't your mother, could I trust you this much?" She unfastens the second strap now, and removes the tube from his nose with great care.
It's a hell of a gamble on Angela's part, but Sylar lays still for a moment - belief comes to him more readily than doubt, especially when that belief helps cement his need to be special.
*****
He follows her to Bob Bishop's office, wearing a tailored suit she'd provided, complacent as a cat.
Behind the heavy oak door three men wait inside: the man whose name is plated in gold on the door; the Haitian, solemn as ever, standing by himself in the corner like a fly on the wall; and one other, tall and bespectacled and still wearing his coat, like he's ready to leave when Angela enters, smiling.
"Gabriel, this is Noah Bennet. I believe you two have already met," Bob says with disconcerting brightness. "We've decided that you two will be working together."
"Hello Noah. Did you miss me?" Sylar hisses quietly, so that only Bennet can hear him.
"I'm not doing this. Not with him." Bennet doesn't plead or whine; he's simply stating a fact.
"Under the conditions of your freedom, Noah, you're obligated to," Bishop replies. "You can either work with him, or go back to Level Five."
Angela tries to cut the tension in the room, interjecting "He's misunderstood, Noah, that's all. He needs a strong hand to guide him, and I think you're just the one to provide it."
When Bennet looks at her, his eyebrows furrow with concern, but he doesn't object.
"Then you two are good to go," Bishop says, breaking the uncomfortable silence, and he lifts a manila folder from his desk and hands it to Bennet. "Here's your first assignment. Go get 'em, boys."
As they move towards the door together, it suddenly flies open and in stalks Elle Bishop, crackling with anger. The odor of ozone quickly fills the office as she waves her finger in Angela's face. "You let him out?" she yells, accusatory. "You let that maniac out?"
Unruffled, Angela smirks and replies, "I did, Elle. See for yourself, he's standing right behind you."
She whirls around, the fringe on her forehead flying up to momentarily reveal the bandage still there. "You!" she hisses, and she extends her arm threateningly. The Haitian steps forward and places his hand on her wrist, a gentle reminder that she can do no harm. "It's your fault that this happened!"
"That what happened?" Sylar asks, his confusion just barely edging out the rancor in his voice.
Bishop intervenes. "Her electrical outburst shut down the security system downstairs, while also knocking you unconscious. Most of the Level Five prisoners escaped; that's why we require your assistance in this matter."
"They've taken me off active duty because I'm too volatile," she sneers. "And it's only because you tried to kill me."
"And you weren't trying to kill me?" Sylar growls back, caught up in this petty back-and-forth against his better judgement. Bennet only rolls his eyes.
"Elle, this isn't the time or the place for this," her father warns. "If you have a problem with your job, then you can lodge a formal complaint."
"But Daddy..."
He hands her a form and returns to his cushy seat behind his desk, ignoring her sulkish stare.
Sylar feels Bennet's hand on his shoulder, his voice in his ear. "Let's get out of here," Bennet whispers, "before things get really ugly."
*****
The first mission goes well, despite the friction between the two agents working it. It's evident that Noah's not fond of being partnered with the man who's blatantly been hunting his daughter and threatening his family, but even he would have to admit that Sylar is a proficient learner with this on-the-job training. Bagging and tagging had never been so quick and easy.
With their target efficiently parceled and delivered to the nearest Primatech lab site, the two men linger in the parking lot as Bennet checks in with his wife.
"Everything went fine. Yeah. New partner, really efficient.... his name's Gabriel, I don't think you know him," Sylar overhears, but he's not one to judge. It's for the woman's own good, after all. She'd probably be frantic if she knew who her husband was working with now.
Bennet exchanges a few more pleasantries with his wife, asking after each of the kids. When he asks how Claire's doing, he grows silent and solemn, and the conversation ends quickly after that.
"Trouble on the home front?" Sylar asks nonchalantly, not at all concerned that he'd just been eavesdropping.
Bennet sucks in a breath and leans against the outside of the vehicle, his lips pursed as he decides whether or not he wants to answer Sylar's pointed question. "Yeah, I guess you could say that," he finally replies. "Claire hasn't been home since she came looking for me in New York."
"She's, what, seventeen?" Sylar asks, emulating concern. "What about school? Where's she even staying?"
"I guess she's staying with the Petrellis," Bennet answers. "But she hasn't tried to contact me; I only heard about it through Angela. I thought you would have already known, since you're her son and all."
"Yeah, well," Sylar hisses, "we aren't exactly close."
"I guess this makes you Claire's biological uncle," Bennet adds. He can't disguise the relief in his voice at the realization. Even a psychopath can understand that she's off-limits by dint of that fact.
"I guess it does," Sylar replies. Even though he couldn't prove it, he feels like he knows something that Bennet doesn't. He can understand that Claire's off-limits; that doesn't mean his foolish brothers do.
There's an uncomfortable pause in their dialogue, and Bennet seizes the opportunity to change the subject. "So Elle Bishop seemed pleased to see you again, didn't she? That's a nice scar you gave her, by the way."
"She seemed just as happy to see you," Sylar snaps back. He's still smarting from the tongue-lashing she gave him earlier, and he doesn't care to be reminded of how he let her get away with it. At the mention of her name, he seethes inside, counting up all the different reasons he hates her now.
"She wasn't always like that, you know," Bennet remarks. "She used to be such a sweet girl. Maybe a little naive."
Sylar narrows his eyes. "That was an act."
Bennet's eyebrows peak upwards, and he turns toward Sylar, shoving his hands in his pockets. "That's the funny thing - it wasn't. She was more herself with you than she's ever been with her father."
"How do you know what she's really like?"
Bennet pauses. "We were partners," he says slowly, deliberately, his words carefully chosen. "We worked together on that assignment, you know - tracking you, observing you..."
"Wait, your job was to... observe me?"
"In the act."
"Why not just a regular bag-and-tag, like everybody else?"
"Aw, Gabriel," Noah says, smiling sardonically. "Don't you know you're special?"
"Fuck you."
"We have to approach more volatile targets with greater care. Got to know what we're up against, after all."
"So you had to see me kill someone and take their power, is that right?"
"Just so we'd know what to expect if and when we needed to apprehend you," Noah replies, the tone of his voice all business-as-usual. But as he opens the car door he lowers his head and the next thing he comes out more sincerely. "Elle didn't want to do it. I mean she really didn't want to do it."
Sylar is stone-faced as he climbs into the passenger seat, but the gears in his head are backing up, shifting, trying to make the things Noah's telling him work with the way he remembers events unfolding. He says solemnly, "She tried to stop me."
Noah simply stares straight ahead, caught in his own recollection. "It was kind of you to let her get away," he observes.
Sylar is silent and slumps into his seat, not even bothering with the seatbelt.
"Something that Gabriel would have done, am I right? Showing her a small mercy like that."
Sylar doesn't know how to respond. He rolls the thought uncomfortably over in his mind, like turning over a rock to see the grime underneath it. It's the truth, but it's ugly, and he's not sure he's ready for it.
"She hasn't been the same since," Noah sighs as he draws his seatbelt across his waist. "I'm sure you know that already."
As the engine starts up the radio comes on and silences their conversation. The noise drowns out Sylar's thoughts, which is fine by him. They weren't much fun to dwell on anyway, and they were all about somebody he used to know.
Then one night in the frozen Pacific, some enterprising biologist recorded their song in the wild.
Angela Petrelli, for all the liberties she seems to grant him, still has Gabriel on a short leash. At the end of every workday he returns to his cell on Level Five, changing from his crisp suit into a set of drab pajamas.
She visits with him at night, trying to build up a relationship with him. Yes, she lied about being his mother to use him, but he's obviously lost without a parental figure in his life. A little white lie can do no harm, and in this case it can only help. It's the only way she can think to keep him under control, and besides that, she finds that she looks forward to seeing him at the end of the day. She asks him how his day goes, and he asks about hers. Even if there's nothing genuine behind the ritual, it's reassuring at least to go through the motions.
"How was your mission with Bennet today?"
"It went well, actually," Sylar says.
"There's something I want to ask you," he says.
She cradles his face in her palm, smiling with maternal affection. "Well, what is it?"
"It's about Elle."
"What about her, dear?"
"Bennet said she used to be different," Sylar says.
Angela folds her hands and her expression reads of concern. "Maybe she was, a long time ago. I don't remember."
"I just want to help her," he says defensively, as though Angela had disagreed with him somehow.
"Gabriel, you have to do what's best for you right now. And looking out for others - well, that's a very important thing, and I wish more people thought like that. But you're not in any state to help anyone else right now." It's not that she didn't believe he was capable of it - in fact, that was what she was afraid of. Better to keep him under reigns for the time being.
When she leaves, he reclines on the mattress they've provided for him, the mattress that lies across the cold, concrete slab in the center of the cell. His mind races with thoughts he can't drown out any longer. Desperately he takes the pieces of the puzzle and tries to make them fit one another: How does Gabriel fit with Sylar? How does Sylar fit with Elle? How does Elle fit with Gabriel?
The answer doesn't come to him until after he's been overtaken by sleep. When he wakes up in the morning, surrounded by the cold, artificial light, he realizes that Sylar can't fit into the puzzle, not in the jigsaw he's trying to create for himself.
Two guards open the door, one with a breakfast tray and the other with a clean suit. "Here you go, Sylar," one says, handing him the suit, while the other places the tray on the makeshift bed.
"It's Gabriel now," he corrects them. "My name is Gabriel Gray."
*****
He decides it's about time to confront her, to confess. When he returns from his next mission, he stalks her in the corridors, waiting for her to turn down a deserted hallway. It's a futile endeavor - even if she's alone, the hallways are never empty, agents and aides and orderlies always milling aimlessly about.
But one morning - he doesn't know the hour, the light in his cell is always the same - he wakes before the guards arrive, and when he stirs he sees her watching him through the shatter-proof pane. She's dressed to the nines, as usual, wearing a professional suit with princess seams, royal blue blouse beneath.
"Come here often?"
"I just like to see you locked up," she tells him, her words dripping with malice. "This is my favorite part of the day."
"Still burned about your job?" he asks, the question tinged with a meanness he doesn't intend. He rubs the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands. With clearer vision comes better manners. "Why don't you come inside? Make yourself comfortable."
"Like hell."
Gabriel gets out of his bed and walks over to the glass, placing his palms against the surface and looking up at the woman on the other side. He studies her - the way her thumb moves nervously across the gabardine of her sleeve, the way her lip curls ever-so-slightly at the corner with contempt, the edge of the bandage still visible underneath her bangs.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"You're... you're sorry?" she asks, suspicious.
"Do you accept my apology?"
She eyes him, cynical. "No. Not at all." She bites her lip. "But I will come inside."
She enters a code in the keypad outside the door and lets herself in. Gabriel stands awkwardly at the glass, unsure of how to proceed from here. He did only just wake up.
"Well?" she prods him. "Were you just looking for company or did you actually want to discuss something?"
"I'm trying to be different," he tells her, almost blurting it out. "I really am sorry. I don't want to be Sylar anymore."
Her mouth forms a tiny o as she exhales, unconvinced. "Well, good luck with that. Have fun with your lifestyle change."
"I need you to believe what I'm telling you," he says, trying to hide the desperation in his voice. She had believed in him once before; she was the only one that believed in him, then. He knows that he needs to earn it back. "I can do it."
Elle taps the toe of her shoe on the floor impatiently. "Look, Sylar, you can't go back to who you used to be, especially not if you're working here. This place ruins people."
"What about Bennet?" Gabriel wonders out loud. "He's got it all. Wife, kids..."
"She's just a beard he keeps for his job," Elle says nastily. "Trust me, when he's on a mission she's the furthest thing from his mind."
"How do you know?"
"He told you I was his partner, didn't he?" she asks, her smile twisting wickedly.
Gabriel's eyes narrow with disdain. "He'd never do that to her. Especially not with you, not with who you were then."
"He made me who I am now," she retorts. "Just how do you think he did that?"
She's trying to mess with him, he can see that. What he doesn't understand is why. What does she hope to accomplish by sullying Bennet's image with him? What purpose does she serve in making herself look the slut in the process?
And then he realizes she has everything to lose. He remembers what Bennet told him about the mission, how it had affected her. But it wasn't Noah who'd been the one to change her.
"You used to be sweet and naive," Gabriel says out loud as his understanding falls into place. "You used to be innocent. You got to close to someone when you were on a mission and it ruined you."
Elle rolls her eyes and sucks in her breath in frustration. "Yeah. I know. I just told you." And then under her breath - "dumbass."
He ignores her and continues, slowly stepping towards her. "It wasn't Noah who changed you. You didn't fall for him. You fell for me."
The blues of her eyes flash with electric anger. "That is so not true," she hisses.
"You can be that person again if you tried, Elle," he tells her, his voice turning soft and soothing. "I'm trying to be Gabriel again. We can go back to what it was like when we first met, start over, try again."
"You can't have that between you and me, Gabriel," Elle says snidely. "It was a long time ago, and lightning never strikes twice."
He wants her; he wants her badly. "It does so," he replies, twining his fingers into her hair and working up a static charge across her scalp. He clutches the side of her head and forces her lips to his, pushing his tongue into her teeth. He paws at her, hands running across her shoulders, her sleeves, tingling with electricity down her arm.
She's hesitant at first, but tentatively responds in kind, letting her palms press into his chest, slowly spreading around his torso from there. There's crackling where her fingertips reach the edge of his shirt, and it makes his cock stand suddenly erect. She gasps when she feels his hardness against his thigh, suddenly enthralled by the power she has over him.
"Not this," he whispers plaintively into Elle's ear. His eyes dart from one camera in the corner of the room to the other. The last thing he needs is to be caught on surveillance by Bishop. It's one thing to make out a little, but he can't imagine a faster way to land back on Level Five then by boning the boss's daughter. "Not here. Not now."
"Why the fuck not?" she asks, her eyes glimmering with devilry. Before he has a chance to respond, she's untying the front of his pajamas and thrusting her hand underneath his clothing, searching for his cock through the fabric of his boxers.
"There's..." he gasps as she weaves her hand through his fly and wraps her warm hand around the shaft of his member. "There's cameras," he says finally, stuttering, leaning against the wall for extra support.
With her free hand, Elle blasts the corners of the room, one at a time, until any and all traces of cameras are obliterated. "Happy now?" she asks, bringing her hand to his cheek and touching the corner of his lip with her thumb.
When she drops to her knees, he plants his palms firmly on the wall in front of him, letting all his weight fall there to make up for the way his knees are trembling. He lets his head fall to his chest, and when he opens his eyes, they meet hers; she lifts her gaze as she plays with the head of his cock in her mouth, the blue offset by his vibrant member, pumped full of blood. The playful expression on her face is too much for him to take, and he doesn't mean to but he comes without even a warning to Elle.
His surprise is, unfortunately, written all over her face. Her expression suddenly turns from playfulness to bafflement, and she releases Sylar's now-shrinking member and dabbing the dribble delicately.
The blood from Gabriel's member has drained from there in order to flush his face with embarrassment. "I - I - I - I'm sorry, Elle!" he says, the pitch of his voice volatile in his panicked shame. "I didn't mean to... That was an accident!"
She's quiet for a moment, still trying to grasp what just happened. When she does finally speak, it's a simple request. "Got a tissue?"
He fumbles in his pockets, hoping to find something suitable, finding the handkerchief Angela Petrelli had given him. He hands it to her, his hand trembling, and Elle takes it and immediately starts swabbing away his cum. "I didn't mean to do that," he tells her when he calms down enough to keep his voice in its normal register.
"It's all right, Gabriel," she says, blotting the last of his ejaculate away, but her tone says otherwise.
"Elle, I can't even -"
"Just stop apologizing!" she snaps as she rises to her feet, and he bites his lip to keep from speaking.
He tries to take heart in the fact that the first time is awkward for everyone, but he just wishes it hadn't been with someone he cared for so much.
*****
"What happened to the cameras in here?" Angela asks when she stops by for her evening visit.
Gabriel crosses his arms and mutters like a sullen teenager. "I don't know," he lies.
"It looks like an electrical fire. Maybe the wiring needs to be replaced."
Gabriel closes his eyes and rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand. "It was Elle. Elle was here today."
"Is that so?" Angela asks, her voice lilting with genuine curiosity. "Why did she do this?"
"I don't know," Gabriel says, lying again, unable to help himself. He can't tell her the truth; she's his mother, what would she even think? "I think she's mad at me."
"That's... that's ridiculous, why would she be mad at you?"
"Because I made her who she is. It's my fault that she's crazy."
"Now, now, Gabriel, stop being ridiculous," Angela tsks, sitting on Gabriel's bed beside him. "It's not your fault."
"She was different before she went on that mission."
"What mission?"
"To observe me. To watch me kill."
"Oh, Gabriel, if only you knew. That girl was destined to be a screw-up anyway; that it happened after she met you is a coincidence, and nothing more."
"What do you mean, Mother?" he asks. It's the first time he's used that term to address her, and she's jarred by it.
"The truth, Gabriel?"
"I want to know everything."
The corners of Angela's mouth pull unhappily across her face. "The truth, unabridged then," she said, her voice suddenly serious. "Her father coaxed her power into manifesting early. She burned her grandmother's house down as a child, killing most of her family. Her father put her in a Cleveland facility after that, but it wasn't built to hold the electrical charges she could produce, so after a multi-county blackout she came to live here, in Hartsdale."
"You mean in the building?"
"For years. Her father seized the opportunity to prod her powers further. The human brain isn't made to withstand the kind of charges she's capable of; it's amazing she hasn't killed herself yet."
Her words sink in and cut him to the bone. He bites his lip so hard he doesn't notice he's bleeding until the metallic taste is on his tongue, and absently he reaches up and tries to wipe the blood away. "Mother," he says again, plaintive, pleading almost.
"What, dear? What is it?"
"I think I can fix her, Mother."
"Oh, Gabriel," Angela sighs, "It's not your responsibility to fix every broken person in this world. There are simply too many."
"But Elle - I want to. I owe her the chance, at least."
"If that's really what you want," Angela says, "then you have my blessing."
As the door shuts behind her and she's gone from Gabriel's view, she shakes her head. "It's not like he can make her any crazier."
*****
Asking to be partnered with her is out of the question - they're both specials, for one thing, so it would be against policy to begin with. Besides that, asking Bob Bishop for some one-on-one time with Elle doesn't appeal to Gabriel in the slightest. And so the next few times they meet, it's because of his stealth and natural stalking ability.
They pass each other a few times in various corridors of the Hartsdale building; she never makes eye contact, never blushes, never seems to register his presence at all. It's discouraging, but Gabriel knows at least that she's willfully ignoring his existence when she starts changing her routes to avoid him.
Next he graduates to physical contact - accidental bumps, occasional brushes, and the eventual forcing his way into crowded elevators when it's too late for her to get off.
The next phase in his plan is verbal communication, but one day she's agitated enough to beat him to the punch. "Stop following me, Gabriel," she snaps at him after he treads on the toes of her stilettos. "It's not cute and it's not funny."
"I'm not trying to be cute or funny," he replies, secretly thrilled that she calls him by his name. "I don't know what you could possibly mean."
"Hilarious, Gabriel - hilarious," she retorts, crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child. "I'll bet you and Bennet had a good laugh over that one time..."
Gabriel can't help but smile when he realizes she's just as embarrassed by their half-successful tryst as he is. "I never talked about it to anyone. I never would."
Elle suspends her hand in the air between them. "Yeah, well, yeah, you better not," she threatens uncertainly. Electricity sparkles between her fingers, and Gabriel's entranced by the starkness of the light it casts across Elle's collarbone. "And stop staring at my chest."
From there she warms up to him again, each meeting more promising then the next, until one day he feels confident enough to ask her out. He needs to get special permission from Angela Petrelli to borrow a car for a day, but she lets him take his pick of company vehicles without any hassle. The way he's encouraged by Angela's trust shows in his approach to Elle, who's taken by surprise and agrees.
The car ride to the coastal state park is awkward at best, and when they get there the clouds hang low and threaten to drizzle, but at least it means they have the place to themselves. They leave their shoes in the car and follow the shoreline, talking lowly and walking slowly.
The wind comes over the waves in salty gusts, and Gabriel closes his eyes as he drinks in the air. He lets his hands fall to his sides, and she takes up the closer one in her own.
He kisses her. It's impulsive yet deliberate, and as their lips press together their breath mingles; her essence penetrates right into his lungs, and gently he reaches up and puts her hair behind her ear.
They lean into one another, and Elle lets Gabriel trace the edge of her jaw with his lips. She clutches his shoulders, and he wraps his hands around her waist. Together they sink to the ground, kneeling and then reclining onto the sandy shoreline, the slight damp seeping into their clothes.
For a while, the two of them lie in the sand, facing one another and tracing each others' silhouettes with cool, curious fingers. In either direction there's no sign of human life as far as the foggy horizons, and as far as they know they could be alone in the world. It's chilly out but they have the warmth offered by one another; they lose their clothing and the friction of skin enough skin is enough to keep them cozy.
They inch close enough for Gabriel to throw a leg up on Elle, and she snakes hers in between his thighs so they can meet in the middle. Their eyes lock as they rock slowly, gently in tandem. Her breath goes ragged with anxiety, or anticipation, or both, and Gabriel pauses and kisses her deeply, holding her chin between his thumb and his forefinger.
After they come, she curls into him and he holds her in his arms like a doll. He tickles the back of her ears with his nose, and she startles. When she turns over to face him, he sees her eyes watering, ready to cry.
"I'm sorry," she says.
"For what?"
"We can't be... we can't be who you want us to be," she tells him, unable to lift her face to meet his. Instead she traces idly in the sand between them. "You can be Gabriel - I believe it, I believe you're Gabriel now - but I'm already too fucked up."
"No, you're not," he insists. "If I can get past what I've done as Sylar, then you can get past whatever it is that you're afraid of."
"I don't think I can, Gabriel," she says, her voice beginning to waver now. "I won't make a good girlfriend or lover or wife or whatever it is you're looking for. I'm not good for anything but working for the Company."
"But that's just who your father wants you to be." A few grains of sand cling to the corners of her eye. He lifts his hand to her face and gently strokes them away with his thumb. She smiles appreciatively but can't help blushing, suddenly self-conscious - she's never been with someone so attentive before. "You can be more than that if you tried."
She starts pulling her clothing back on, and he follows suit. Once dressed, they sink back into the sand, sitting side by side. He reclines back on his arms, and she lays her head against his chest.
The clouds vanish and the coastal sky is, for the first time all day, clear. They both look to the deep void, but while one sees the shimmering of infinite stars the other only sees the cold, blank spaces in between them.
*****
Gabriel finds himself, for once, in Bishop's ornate office again, only this time without the usual company of Angela or Bennet. He's been called for alone, him specifically, and judging by Bishop's demeanor, it's not a welcome kind of visit.
There's no mistaking that Bob Bishop is absolutely livid. His eyes are narrowed into tiny black seeds, receding into his ruddy face. "What is the meaning of this?"
He can tell why Bob is upset with him - perhaps it's an outgrowth of his intuitive aptitude, or perhaps it's merely a basic understanding of how fathers work - but he decides to play it safe and act dumb. "I asked my mother - Angela Petrelli - for the car. You can verify that with her."
Bishop is glaring at him, his jowls shaking. "You know that's not the reason I'm upset. I'm upset because my daughter was gone for six hours this afternoon, and I believe you have something to do with it."
"The Company's policy of employee relationships is clearly outlined in -"
Bob interrupts. "You're getting ahead of yourself, Mr. Gray. You aren't technically an employee of Primatech - you're an inmate here, a captive. An indentured servant working for room and board."
Gabriel's a little peeved at the remark, but stoically returns to form. "Then I don't understand the issue, if it's not a violation of company policy."
"It's a violation of personal policy. Stay away from my daughter."
"Mr. Bishop, I understand your concern, but your daughter is a grown woman who is capable of making her own decisions. If she has a day off, then she should be welcome to spend it however - and with whoever - she pleases."
"That's just it, Mr. Gray, she's a grown woman but she most certainly isn't capable. Why do you think she lives here in the building? Why is it she's paired with our most proficient agents on missions? She's only capable of two things, Gray - you should know that by now."
Gabriel raises an eyebrow quizzically. "I don't know what you mean. What two things?"
"Being a weapon. And being bait."
Gabriel seethes. There's more to her than that, he wants to say, but he bites his tongue.
"And, as rudimentary as her role is to this Company, she's still an asset," Bishop continues. "An asset I'd rather not have damaged."
"Like you haven't damaged her enough already," Gabriel retorts, unable to hold back any longer. "She obviously deserves to have someone care for her, since you've failed her as a father."
"I didn't invite you in here to have my parenting critiqued!"
"Then what did you call me in for?"
"You've outlived your usefulness here, now that all the Level Five escapees have been detained," he begins. "As long as you're no longer a danger to society, you're free to go, but keep in mind you will be monitored. Closely." Bob's lips form a narrow line across his chin. "In other words, you're fired. The Haitian will escort you off the premises."
*****
Part Two
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 (6,000 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 One. Part Two can be found here.
For years, scientists were stumped by the mystery of whale migration. Such a big ocean; how do they find each other?
*****
He arrives too late.
The front door is shut and locked, and Sylar hesitates for a moment and considers dramatically ripping it from the frame with his telekinetic powers. Deciding that the gesture might alert his quarry to his arrival, he instead uses his power to have the lock undo itself, and he simply lets himself in. A flash of movement catches Sylar's eye, accompanied by a low canine groan. The dog, it's the dog - what is his name, Mr. Puddles or Mr. Scruffles or something? - crouching just beyond the threshold, barking and growling like crazy with his ears flattened against his head.
The Pomeranian follows him from room to room, his guard-dog tendencies simultaneously admirable and laughable.
Finding nothing throughout the house, he enters the kitchen and goes to the fridge, disappointed. If he can't satisfy one hunger, the least he can do is to satisfy another. There's a note hung on the door, dangling from a magnet; the loopy, girlish writing must be Claire's.
Mom - gone to NY. Gotta find Dad. I'll call you.
Sylar scoffs. He'd only just left New York.
He almost got two new shiny powers, too - locational clairvoyance and black tears of death would have been fun to have, had it not been for that electric bitch.
So he goes back the way he came - plane, train, automobile - whatever way gets him to his destination fastest. It's not until he's lingering outside of Primatech's Hartsdale headquarters, that he reconsiders the wisdom of his plan, however briefly. He's not invincible, he knows, but it's a power worth risking everything for.
That, and he's counting on the orders being "contain and detain" rather than "kill on sight."
He ducks and dodges and kills without compunction until he turns a corner and finds himself face-to-face with her again, that electric bitch.
"Sylar," she snarls, lifting her hands, fingers spread, blue sparks shooting across the tips. She holds her palms facing each other, and between them a charge builds up, a ball of blue that glows and grows bigger each moment.
She'd made him into a monster, she'd prevented him from taking even more powers from Maya and the Walker kid (and killing Mohinder, just for fun) and now here she is again, standing her ground at the end of the hall like she's someone to be scared of. But last time they faced off, he had none of his powers, and still lived; this time he's got them back, and she's not going to be so lucky.
"Oh, don't even try it," he warns, and in an instant she's flattened against the wall, arms forced to her sides, face contorted with surprise and alarm.
While she writhes against his unseen power, he approaches her slowly, enjoying the fear evident in her expression. "Hello, Elle," he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard over her gasping. He runs his hand along the side of her face, cocking his head, catlike.
"Sy... Sylar," she chokes, tears springing to her eyes, her mouth twisting.
He places one hand across her throat and brings the other to her face, finger pointed towards her forehead. The blood pounds in his ear like the tick-tock of a clock as he cuts a bright crimson gash across her skin. The hand on her neck starts to tingle - ticklishly at first, then stinging with pain, and he's distracted. He drops his hand and steps back; she shrieks and they are both enveloped in a flash of blue.
*****
When he comes to the first thing he recognizes is the chill of the concrete slab beneath him, hard and smooth and wretchedly uncomfortable. His breath comes in ragged gasps; his nostrils are blocked by tubes, delivering powerful suppressants into his system. He struggles, but the the restraints strapping him down make too much movement impossible. In the bleak blankness of the cell, he can hear the echo of another person's breath, and he turns his head toward the sound as he opens his eyes.
"Hello, Gabriel," says Angela Petrelli.
He swallows back the bile that rises in his throat, his eyes cast hatefully upon her.
"You aren't a killer, Gabriel. You don't want to be that person, I know. You just need a little love, a little guidance - something that a mother should provide for her son."
"My name is Sylar," he snarls at her, "and you are not my mother."
"Oh, but I am, dear," Angela coos, running her warm palm gently across his clammy forehead. "I am."
Sylar is stricken silent.
"I should never have given you up for adoption," she continues, petting his hair as he stares, incredulous. "I was afraid... I'd had dreams about... well, no matter, I'm here now."
"Are you really... my mother?" Sylar asks, spitting the words out as though they taste bitter in his mouth.
Angela leans over and undoes the strap that holds him down against the hard surface. "If I wasn't your mother, could I trust you this much?" She unfastens the second strap now, and removes the tube from his nose with great care.
It's a hell of a gamble on Angela's part, but Sylar lays still for a moment - belief comes to him more readily than doubt, especially when that belief helps cement his need to be special.
*****
He follows her to Bob Bishop's office, wearing a tailored suit she'd provided, complacent as a cat.
Behind the heavy oak door three men wait inside: the man whose name is plated in gold on the door; the Haitian, solemn as ever, standing by himself in the corner like a fly on the wall; and one other, tall and bespectacled and still wearing his coat, like he's ready to leave when Angela enters, smiling.
"Gabriel, this is Noah Bennet. I believe you two have already met," Bob says with disconcerting brightness. "We've decided that you two will be working together."
"Hello Noah. Did you miss me?" Sylar hisses quietly, so that only Bennet can hear him.
"I'm not doing this. Not with him." Bennet doesn't plead or whine; he's simply stating a fact.
"Under the conditions of your freedom, Noah, you're obligated to," Bishop replies. "You can either work with him, or go back to Level Five."
Angela tries to cut the tension in the room, interjecting "He's misunderstood, Noah, that's all. He needs a strong hand to guide him, and I think you're just the one to provide it."
When Bennet looks at her, his eyebrows furrow with concern, but he doesn't object.
"Then you two are good to go," Bishop says, breaking the uncomfortable silence, and he lifts a manila folder from his desk and hands it to Bennet. "Here's your first assignment. Go get 'em, boys."
As they move towards the door together, it suddenly flies open and in stalks Elle Bishop, crackling with anger. The odor of ozone quickly fills the office as she waves her finger in Angela's face. "You let him out?" she yells, accusatory. "You let that maniac out?"
Unruffled, Angela smirks and replies, "I did, Elle. See for yourself, he's standing right behind you."
She whirls around, the fringe on her forehead flying up to momentarily reveal the bandage still there. "You!" she hisses, and she extends her arm threateningly. The Haitian steps forward and places his hand on her wrist, a gentle reminder that she can do no harm. "It's your fault that this happened!"
"That what happened?" Sylar asks, his confusion just barely edging out the rancor in his voice.
Bishop intervenes. "Her electrical outburst shut down the security system downstairs, while also knocking you unconscious. Most of the Level Five prisoners escaped; that's why we require your assistance in this matter."
"They've taken me off active duty because I'm too volatile," she sneers. "And it's only because you tried to kill me."
"And you weren't trying to kill me?" Sylar growls back, caught up in this petty back-and-forth against his better judgement. Bennet only rolls his eyes.
"Elle, this isn't the time or the place for this," her father warns. "If you have a problem with your job, then you can lodge a formal complaint."
"But Daddy..."
He hands her a form and returns to his cushy seat behind his desk, ignoring her sulkish stare.
Sylar feels Bennet's hand on his shoulder, his voice in his ear. "Let's get out of here," Bennet whispers, "before things get really ugly."
*****
The first mission goes well, despite the friction between the two agents working it. It's evident that Noah's not fond of being partnered with the man who's blatantly been hunting his daughter and threatening his family, but even he would have to admit that Sylar is a proficient learner with this on-the-job training. Bagging and tagging had never been so quick and easy.
With their target efficiently parceled and delivered to the nearest Primatech lab site, the two men linger in the parking lot as Bennet checks in with his wife.
"Everything went fine. Yeah. New partner, really efficient.... his name's Gabriel, I don't think you know him," Sylar overhears, but he's not one to judge. It's for the woman's own good, after all. She'd probably be frantic if she knew who her husband was working with now.
Bennet exchanges a few more pleasantries with his wife, asking after each of the kids. When he asks how Claire's doing, he grows silent and solemn, and the conversation ends quickly after that.
"Trouble on the home front?" Sylar asks nonchalantly, not at all concerned that he'd just been eavesdropping.
Bennet sucks in a breath and leans against the outside of the vehicle, his lips pursed as he decides whether or not he wants to answer Sylar's pointed question. "Yeah, I guess you could say that," he finally replies. "Claire hasn't been home since she came looking for me in New York."
"She's, what, seventeen?" Sylar asks, emulating concern. "What about school? Where's she even staying?"
"I guess she's staying with the Petrellis," Bennet answers. "But she hasn't tried to contact me; I only heard about it through Angela. I thought you would have already known, since you're her son and all."
"Yeah, well," Sylar hisses, "we aren't exactly close."
"I guess this makes you Claire's biological uncle," Bennet adds. He can't disguise the relief in his voice at the realization. Even a psychopath can understand that she's off-limits by dint of that fact.
"I guess it does," Sylar replies. Even though he couldn't prove it, he feels like he knows something that Bennet doesn't. He can understand that Claire's off-limits; that doesn't mean his foolish brothers do.
There's an uncomfortable pause in their dialogue, and Bennet seizes the opportunity to change the subject. "So Elle Bishop seemed pleased to see you again, didn't she? That's a nice scar you gave her, by the way."
"She seemed just as happy to see you," Sylar snaps back. He's still smarting from the tongue-lashing she gave him earlier, and he doesn't care to be reminded of how he let her get away with it. At the mention of her name, he seethes inside, counting up all the different reasons he hates her now.
"She wasn't always like that, you know," Bennet remarks. "She used to be such a sweet girl. Maybe a little naive."
Sylar narrows his eyes. "That was an act."
Bennet's eyebrows peak upwards, and he turns toward Sylar, shoving his hands in his pockets. "That's the funny thing - it wasn't. She was more herself with you than she's ever been with her father."
"How do you know what she's really like?"
Bennet pauses. "We were partners," he says slowly, deliberately, his words carefully chosen. "We worked together on that assignment, you know - tracking you, observing you..."
"Wait, your job was to... observe me?"
"In the act."
"Why not just a regular bag-and-tag, like everybody else?"
"Aw, Gabriel," Noah says, smiling sardonically. "Don't you know you're special?"
"Fuck you."
"We have to approach more volatile targets with greater care. Got to know what we're up against, after all."
"So you had to see me kill someone and take their power, is that right?"
"Just so we'd know what to expect if and when we needed to apprehend you," Noah replies, the tone of his voice all business-as-usual. But as he opens the car door he lowers his head and the next thing he comes out more sincerely. "Elle didn't want to do it. I mean she really didn't want to do it."
Sylar is stone-faced as he climbs into the passenger seat, but the gears in his head are backing up, shifting, trying to make the things Noah's telling him work with the way he remembers events unfolding. He says solemnly, "She tried to stop me."
Noah simply stares straight ahead, caught in his own recollection. "It was kind of you to let her get away," he observes.
Sylar is silent and slumps into his seat, not even bothering with the seatbelt.
"Something that Gabriel would have done, am I right? Showing her a small mercy like that."
Sylar doesn't know how to respond. He rolls the thought uncomfortably over in his mind, like turning over a rock to see the grime underneath it. It's the truth, but it's ugly, and he's not sure he's ready for it.
"She hasn't been the same since," Noah sighs as he draws his seatbelt across his waist. "I'm sure you know that already."
As the engine starts up the radio comes on and silences their conversation. The noise drowns out Sylar's thoughts, which is fine by him. They weren't much fun to dwell on anyway, and they were all about somebody he used to know.
Then one night in the frozen Pacific, some enterprising biologist recorded their song in the wild.
Angela Petrelli, for all the liberties she seems to grant him, still has Gabriel on a short leash. At the end of every workday he returns to his cell on Level Five, changing from his crisp suit into a set of drab pajamas.
She visits with him at night, trying to build up a relationship with him. Yes, she lied about being his mother to use him, but he's obviously lost without a parental figure in his life. A little white lie can do no harm, and in this case it can only help. It's the only way she can think to keep him under control, and besides that, she finds that she looks forward to seeing him at the end of the day. She asks him how his day goes, and he asks about hers. Even if there's nothing genuine behind the ritual, it's reassuring at least to go through the motions.
"How was your mission with Bennet today?"
"It went well, actually," Sylar says.
"There's something I want to ask you," he says.
She cradles his face in her palm, smiling with maternal affection. "Well, what is it?"
"It's about Elle."
"What about her, dear?"
"Bennet said she used to be different," Sylar says.
Angela folds her hands and her expression reads of concern. "Maybe she was, a long time ago. I don't remember."
"I just want to help her," he says defensively, as though Angela had disagreed with him somehow.
"Gabriel, you have to do what's best for you right now. And looking out for others - well, that's a very important thing, and I wish more people thought like that. But you're not in any state to help anyone else right now." It's not that she didn't believe he was capable of it - in fact, that was what she was afraid of. Better to keep him under reigns for the time being.
When she leaves, he reclines on the mattress they've provided for him, the mattress that lies across the cold, concrete slab in the center of the cell. His mind races with thoughts he can't drown out any longer. Desperately he takes the pieces of the puzzle and tries to make them fit one another: How does Gabriel fit with Sylar? How does Sylar fit with Elle? How does Elle fit with Gabriel?
The answer doesn't come to him until after he's been overtaken by sleep. When he wakes up in the morning, surrounded by the cold, artificial light, he realizes that Sylar can't fit into the puzzle, not in the jigsaw he's trying to create for himself.
Two guards open the door, one with a breakfast tray and the other with a clean suit. "Here you go, Sylar," one says, handing him the suit, while the other places the tray on the makeshift bed.
"It's Gabriel now," he corrects them. "My name is Gabriel Gray."
*****
He decides it's about time to confront her, to confess. When he returns from his next mission, he stalks her in the corridors, waiting for her to turn down a deserted hallway. It's a futile endeavor - even if she's alone, the hallways are never empty, agents and aides and orderlies always milling aimlessly about.
But one morning - he doesn't know the hour, the light in his cell is always the same - he wakes before the guards arrive, and when he stirs he sees her watching him through the shatter-proof pane. She's dressed to the nines, as usual, wearing a professional suit with princess seams, royal blue blouse beneath.
"Come here often?"
"I just like to see you locked up," she tells him, her words dripping with malice. "This is my favorite part of the day."
"Still burned about your job?" he asks, the question tinged with a meanness he doesn't intend. He rubs the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands. With clearer vision comes better manners. "Why don't you come inside? Make yourself comfortable."
"Like hell."
Gabriel gets out of his bed and walks over to the glass, placing his palms against the surface and looking up at the woman on the other side. He studies her - the way her thumb moves nervously across the gabardine of her sleeve, the way her lip curls ever-so-slightly at the corner with contempt, the edge of the bandage still visible underneath her bangs.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"You're... you're sorry?" she asks, suspicious.
"Do you accept my apology?"
She eyes him, cynical. "No. Not at all." She bites her lip. "But I will come inside."
She enters a code in the keypad outside the door and lets herself in. Gabriel stands awkwardly at the glass, unsure of how to proceed from here. He did only just wake up.
"Well?" she prods him. "Were you just looking for company or did you actually want to discuss something?"
"I'm trying to be different," he tells her, almost blurting it out. "I really am sorry. I don't want to be Sylar anymore."
Her mouth forms a tiny o as she exhales, unconvinced. "Well, good luck with that. Have fun with your lifestyle change."
"I need you to believe what I'm telling you," he says, trying to hide the desperation in his voice. She had believed in him once before; she was the only one that believed in him, then. He knows that he needs to earn it back. "I can do it."
Elle taps the toe of her shoe on the floor impatiently. "Look, Sylar, you can't go back to who you used to be, especially not if you're working here. This place ruins people."
"What about Bennet?" Gabriel wonders out loud. "He's got it all. Wife, kids..."
"She's just a beard he keeps for his job," Elle says nastily. "Trust me, when he's on a mission she's the furthest thing from his mind."
"How do you know?"
"He told you I was his partner, didn't he?" she asks, her smile twisting wickedly.
Gabriel's eyes narrow with disdain. "He'd never do that to her. Especially not with you, not with who you were then."
"He made me who I am now," she retorts. "Just how do you think he did that?"
She's trying to mess with him, he can see that. What he doesn't understand is why. What does she hope to accomplish by sullying Bennet's image with him? What purpose does she serve in making herself look the slut in the process?
And then he realizes she has everything to lose. He remembers what Bennet told him about the mission, how it had affected her. But it wasn't Noah who'd been the one to change her.
"You used to be sweet and naive," Gabriel says out loud as his understanding falls into place. "You used to be innocent. You got to close to someone when you were on a mission and it ruined you."
Elle rolls her eyes and sucks in her breath in frustration. "Yeah. I know. I just told you." And then under her breath - "dumbass."
He ignores her and continues, slowly stepping towards her. "It wasn't Noah who changed you. You didn't fall for him. You fell for me."
The blues of her eyes flash with electric anger. "That is so not true," she hisses.
"You can be that person again if you tried, Elle," he tells her, his voice turning soft and soothing. "I'm trying to be Gabriel again. We can go back to what it was like when we first met, start over, try again."
"You can't have that between you and me, Gabriel," Elle says snidely. "It was a long time ago, and lightning never strikes twice."
He wants her; he wants her badly. "It does so," he replies, twining his fingers into her hair and working up a static charge across her scalp. He clutches the side of her head and forces her lips to his, pushing his tongue into her teeth. He paws at her, hands running across her shoulders, her sleeves, tingling with electricity down her arm.
She's hesitant at first, but tentatively responds in kind, letting her palms press into his chest, slowly spreading around his torso from there. There's crackling where her fingertips reach the edge of his shirt, and it makes his cock stand suddenly erect. She gasps when she feels his hardness against his thigh, suddenly enthralled by the power she has over him.
"Not this," he whispers plaintively into Elle's ear. His eyes dart from one camera in the corner of the room to the other. The last thing he needs is to be caught on surveillance by Bishop. It's one thing to make out a little, but he can't imagine a faster way to land back on Level Five then by boning the boss's daughter. "Not here. Not now."
"Why the fuck not?" she asks, her eyes glimmering with devilry. Before he has a chance to respond, she's untying the front of his pajamas and thrusting her hand underneath his clothing, searching for his cock through the fabric of his boxers.
"There's..." he gasps as she weaves her hand through his fly and wraps her warm hand around the shaft of his member. "There's cameras," he says finally, stuttering, leaning against the wall for extra support.
With her free hand, Elle blasts the corners of the room, one at a time, until any and all traces of cameras are obliterated. "Happy now?" she asks, bringing her hand to his cheek and touching the corner of his lip with her thumb.
When she drops to her knees, he plants his palms firmly on the wall in front of him, letting all his weight fall there to make up for the way his knees are trembling. He lets his head fall to his chest, and when he opens his eyes, they meet hers; she lifts her gaze as she plays with the head of his cock in her mouth, the blue offset by his vibrant member, pumped full of blood. The playful expression on her face is too much for him to take, and he doesn't mean to but he comes without even a warning to Elle.
His surprise is, unfortunately, written all over her face. Her expression suddenly turns from playfulness to bafflement, and she releases Sylar's now-shrinking member and dabbing the dribble delicately.
The blood from Gabriel's member has drained from there in order to flush his face with embarrassment. "I - I - I - I'm sorry, Elle!" he says, the pitch of his voice volatile in his panicked shame. "I didn't mean to... That was an accident!"
She's quiet for a moment, still trying to grasp what just happened. When she does finally speak, it's a simple request. "Got a tissue?"
He fumbles in his pockets, hoping to find something suitable, finding the handkerchief Angela Petrelli had given him. He hands it to her, his hand trembling, and Elle takes it and immediately starts swabbing away his cum. "I didn't mean to do that," he tells her when he calms down enough to keep his voice in its normal register.
"It's all right, Gabriel," she says, blotting the last of his ejaculate away, but her tone says otherwise.
"Elle, I can't even -"
"Just stop apologizing!" she snaps as she rises to her feet, and he bites his lip to keep from speaking.
He tries to take heart in the fact that the first time is awkward for everyone, but he just wishes it hadn't been with someone he cared for so much.
*****
"What happened to the cameras in here?" Angela asks when she stops by for her evening visit.
Gabriel crosses his arms and mutters like a sullen teenager. "I don't know," he lies.
"It looks like an electrical fire. Maybe the wiring needs to be replaced."
Gabriel closes his eyes and rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand. "It was Elle. Elle was here today."
"Is that so?" Angela asks, her voice lilting with genuine curiosity. "Why did she do this?"
"I don't know," Gabriel says, lying again, unable to help himself. He can't tell her the truth; she's his mother, what would she even think? "I think she's mad at me."
"That's... that's ridiculous, why would she be mad at you?"
"Because I made her who she is. It's my fault that she's crazy."
"Now, now, Gabriel, stop being ridiculous," Angela tsks, sitting on Gabriel's bed beside him. "It's not your fault."
"She was different before she went on that mission."
"What mission?"
"To observe me. To watch me kill."
"Oh, Gabriel, if only you knew. That girl was destined to be a screw-up anyway; that it happened after she met you is a coincidence, and nothing more."
"What do you mean, Mother?" he asks. It's the first time he's used that term to address her, and she's jarred by it.
"The truth, Gabriel?"
"I want to know everything."
The corners of Angela's mouth pull unhappily across her face. "The truth, unabridged then," she said, her voice suddenly serious. "Her father coaxed her power into manifesting early. She burned her grandmother's house down as a child, killing most of her family. Her father put her in a Cleveland facility after that, but it wasn't built to hold the electrical charges she could produce, so after a multi-county blackout she came to live here, in Hartsdale."
"You mean in the building?"
"For years. Her father seized the opportunity to prod her powers further. The human brain isn't made to withstand the kind of charges she's capable of; it's amazing she hasn't killed herself yet."
Her words sink in and cut him to the bone. He bites his lip so hard he doesn't notice he's bleeding until the metallic taste is on his tongue, and absently he reaches up and tries to wipe the blood away. "Mother," he says again, plaintive, pleading almost.
"What, dear? What is it?"
"I think I can fix her, Mother."
"Oh, Gabriel," Angela sighs, "It's not your responsibility to fix every broken person in this world. There are simply too many."
"But Elle - I want to. I owe her the chance, at least."
"If that's really what you want," Angela says, "then you have my blessing."
As the door shuts behind her and she's gone from Gabriel's view, she shakes her head. "It's not like he can make her any crazier."
*****
Asking to be partnered with her is out of the question - they're both specials, for one thing, so it would be against policy to begin with. Besides that, asking Bob Bishop for some one-on-one time with Elle doesn't appeal to Gabriel in the slightest. And so the next few times they meet, it's because of his stealth and natural stalking ability.
They pass each other a few times in various corridors of the Hartsdale building; she never makes eye contact, never blushes, never seems to register his presence at all. It's discouraging, but Gabriel knows at least that she's willfully ignoring his existence when she starts changing her routes to avoid him.
Next he graduates to physical contact - accidental bumps, occasional brushes, and the eventual forcing his way into crowded elevators when it's too late for her to get off.
The next phase in his plan is verbal communication, but one day she's agitated enough to beat him to the punch. "Stop following me, Gabriel," she snaps at him after he treads on the toes of her stilettos. "It's not cute and it's not funny."
"I'm not trying to be cute or funny," he replies, secretly thrilled that she calls him by his name. "I don't know what you could possibly mean."
"Hilarious, Gabriel - hilarious," she retorts, crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child. "I'll bet you and Bennet had a good laugh over that one time..."
Gabriel can't help but smile when he realizes she's just as embarrassed by their half-successful tryst as he is. "I never talked about it to anyone. I never would."
Elle suspends her hand in the air between them. "Yeah, well, yeah, you better not," she threatens uncertainly. Electricity sparkles between her fingers, and Gabriel's entranced by the starkness of the light it casts across Elle's collarbone. "And stop staring at my chest."
From there she warms up to him again, each meeting more promising then the next, until one day he feels confident enough to ask her out. He needs to get special permission from Angela Petrelli to borrow a car for a day, but she lets him take his pick of company vehicles without any hassle. The way he's encouraged by Angela's trust shows in his approach to Elle, who's taken by surprise and agrees.
The car ride to the coastal state park is awkward at best, and when they get there the clouds hang low and threaten to drizzle, but at least it means they have the place to themselves. They leave their shoes in the car and follow the shoreline, talking lowly and walking slowly.
The wind comes over the waves in salty gusts, and Gabriel closes his eyes as he drinks in the air. He lets his hands fall to his sides, and she takes up the closer one in her own.
He kisses her. It's impulsive yet deliberate, and as their lips press together their breath mingles; her essence penetrates right into his lungs, and gently he reaches up and puts her hair behind her ear.
They lean into one another, and Elle lets Gabriel trace the edge of her jaw with his lips. She clutches his shoulders, and he wraps his hands around her waist. Together they sink to the ground, kneeling and then reclining onto the sandy shoreline, the slight damp seeping into their clothes.
For a while, the two of them lie in the sand, facing one another and tracing each others' silhouettes with cool, curious fingers. In either direction there's no sign of human life as far as the foggy horizons, and as far as they know they could be alone in the world. It's chilly out but they have the warmth offered by one another; they lose their clothing and the friction of skin enough skin is enough to keep them cozy.
They inch close enough for Gabriel to throw a leg up on Elle, and she snakes hers in between his thighs so they can meet in the middle. Their eyes lock as they rock slowly, gently in tandem. Her breath goes ragged with anxiety, or anticipation, or both, and Gabriel pauses and kisses her deeply, holding her chin between his thumb and his forefinger.
After they come, she curls into him and he holds her in his arms like a doll. He tickles the back of her ears with his nose, and she startles. When she turns over to face him, he sees her eyes watering, ready to cry.
"I'm sorry," she says.
"For what?"
"We can't be... we can't be who you want us to be," she tells him, unable to lift her face to meet his. Instead she traces idly in the sand between them. "You can be Gabriel - I believe it, I believe you're Gabriel now - but I'm already too fucked up."
"No, you're not," he insists. "If I can get past what I've done as Sylar, then you can get past whatever it is that you're afraid of."
"I don't think I can, Gabriel," she says, her voice beginning to waver now. "I won't make a good girlfriend or lover or wife or whatever it is you're looking for. I'm not good for anything but working for the Company."
"But that's just who your father wants you to be." A few grains of sand cling to the corners of her eye. He lifts his hand to her face and gently strokes them away with his thumb. She smiles appreciatively but can't help blushing, suddenly self-conscious - she's never been with someone so attentive before. "You can be more than that if you tried."
She starts pulling her clothing back on, and he follows suit. Once dressed, they sink back into the sand, sitting side by side. He reclines back on his arms, and she lays her head against his chest.
The clouds vanish and the coastal sky is, for the first time all day, clear. They both look to the deep void, but while one sees the shimmering of infinite stars the other only sees the cold, blank spaces in between them.
*****
Gabriel finds himself, for once, in Bishop's ornate office again, only this time without the usual company of Angela or Bennet. He's been called for alone, him specifically, and judging by Bishop's demeanor, it's not a welcome kind of visit.
There's no mistaking that Bob Bishop is absolutely livid. His eyes are narrowed into tiny black seeds, receding into his ruddy face. "What is the meaning of this?"
He can tell why Bob is upset with him - perhaps it's an outgrowth of his intuitive aptitude, or perhaps it's merely a basic understanding of how fathers work - but he decides to play it safe and act dumb. "I asked my mother - Angela Petrelli - for the car. You can verify that with her."
Bishop is glaring at him, his jowls shaking. "You know that's not the reason I'm upset. I'm upset because my daughter was gone for six hours this afternoon, and I believe you have something to do with it."
"The Company's policy of employee relationships is clearly outlined in -"
Bob interrupts. "You're getting ahead of yourself, Mr. Gray. You aren't technically an employee of Primatech - you're an inmate here, a captive. An indentured servant working for room and board."
Gabriel's a little peeved at the remark, but stoically returns to form. "Then I don't understand the issue, if it's not a violation of company policy."
"It's a violation of personal policy. Stay away from my daughter."
"Mr. Bishop, I understand your concern, but your daughter is a grown woman who is capable of making her own decisions. If she has a day off, then she should be welcome to spend it however - and with whoever - she pleases."
"That's just it, Mr. Gray, she's a grown woman but she most certainly isn't capable. Why do you think she lives here in the building? Why is it she's paired with our most proficient agents on missions? She's only capable of two things, Gray - you should know that by now."
Gabriel raises an eyebrow quizzically. "I don't know what you mean. What two things?"
"Being a weapon. And being bait."
Gabriel seethes. There's more to her than that, he wants to say, but he bites his tongue.
"And, as rudimentary as her role is to this Company, she's still an asset," Bishop continues. "An asset I'd rather not have damaged."
"Like you haven't damaged her enough already," Gabriel retorts, unable to hold back any longer. "She obviously deserves to have someone care for her, since you've failed her as a father."
"I didn't invite you in here to have my parenting critiqued!"
"Then what did you call me in for?"
"You've outlived your usefulness here, now that all the Level Five escapees have been detained," he begins. "As long as you're no longer a danger to society, you're free to go, but keep in mind you will be monitored. Closely." Bob's lips form a narrow line across his chin. "In other words, you're fired. The Haitian will escort you off the premises."
*****
Part Two
posted June 1, 2009, but backdated for the flist