(no subject)
Strange Condition
by Harikari
AN: Here's the end. Much thanks to everyone who has commented/reviewed. You all are what makes writing and posting fanfiction worth it. Thanks, everyone! I hope you enjoy.
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Part Nine
Mohinder's back was pressed close against Jake Harris' chest. The older man had one arm wrapped tight around the geneticist's shoulders; the other, the one burdened with the weight of a glock, was sticking straight out. The nose of the gun was pointed at Sylar's forehead. The hand holding the weapon was steady.
He smells like smoke, thought Mohinder. He smells like his home. Harris shifted a little; the geneticist couldn't help tensing more, letting out a soft gasp of alarm. He was trying hard not to panic. His breath was coming fast, his thoughts whirring dizzyingly through his mind.
Chameleon. A chameleon. He can mimic other's abilities for a time. He's... He was capable of beating Sylar. Very capable. Mohinder's heart fluttered disturbingly at the thought (and he wasn't completely sure why it did, perhaps because knowing that Harris could conceivably do away with the super powered serial killer meant knowing that he was almost certainly going to die - of course he was).
"So you've figured it all out," came Harris' voice from directly behind him. He sounded unmoved, unimpressed. "You've both played detective. Discovered that I plan to kill you...to do to you what you did to my little sister." There was a pause; Mohinder could hear Harris' erratic breathing (could actually feel it against his back), his own breathing. He stared at Sylar - the killer, expressionless and still, looked otherworldly and intimidating in the low light.
"Good," Harris continued. "I'm glad. It's easier this way. Now I don't have to waste time explaining why I'm doing this - you know what you did wrong. Now I can just get straight to the killing you."
There was silence for a beat. And then...
"You really believe you can kill me, old man?" asked Sylar. His voice sounded deep, almost a growl. He didn't sound afraid.
"I know I can you son of a bitch," breathed Harris.
And suddenly, before Mohinder had time to fall even deeper into panic, Harris' grip around his shoulders tightened (the grip was vise like now, almost painful). The older man's entire body seemed to straighten, lock into place.
The geneticist saw it as Harris' grip on the handgun he was holding shifted, tensed. Saw it as the man's finger started to move. As he pulled the trigger.
The shot was loud.
Without thought Mohinder forced his body forward and broke free of the hold on his shoulders, lifted his arms to cover his ears with his hands. But it was too late. Because the shot had already been fired, and his ears were ringing painfully.
The geneticist swallowed hard and, hands still clamped tight over both ears, he looked up; was met with the sight of Sylar still standing. The serial killer's hand was raised, palm forward and stark white against the darkness. And the bullet - Mohinder squinted, could just make out the spent bullet floating in midair. Stuck in place, in the air, halfway between Harris and the killer.
"You've had all of my powers a few times now, Harris," said Sylar. He sounded angry now, looked angry. "You should know better than that."
Sylar flicked the wrist of the hand he was holding out in front of him; hardly a move at all. The bullet fell to the ground and the gun in Harris' hand went flying; landed with a violent clatter on the damp ground. He flicked his wrist again - Mohinder felt a pressure on his shoulders, forceful but invisible hands pushing him backwards and away from Harris.
He stumbled back, came to a stop when his back was almost touching the wall of one of the two hulking buildings they were standing between. "Syl-" he started, but was cut off.
"Stay there, Mohinder."
Harris, who had been standing as if in shock -- his teeth clenched and bared - seemed to come back to himself then. He turned. "Yes, Doctor. Stay there." And quickly, he raised his hand.
Mohinder's back slammed hard against the wall, the back of his head hit it with a smack that made his teeth rattle inside his head. He let out a shout; felt a sudden rush of pain in his already wounded side, as if fingers were digging into the-
"Stop!" demanded Sylar. And even through the pain Mohinder glimpsed movement. Sylar stepping closer, raising his arm. The pain abruptly ceased, Mohinder fell to his knees and Harris flew.
The man hit the dumpster near the back of the alley with a bang. He groaned, cursed, started to struggle back up. But Sylar was already walking; he took long strides, easily ate up the distance between him and his target.
Squinting, one hand pressed against his throbbing side and trying to struggle up himself, the geneticist caught a hint of a sadistic looking smile gracing the serial killer's face. He watched as Sylar again raised his arm-
The killer was abruptly thrown back, landed hard on his back a few feet in front of Mohinder.
The geneticist gasped as Harris stood.
"You can't beat me!" shouted Harris. Loud and desperate sounding. He was breathing hard. Was slowly stumbling closer to the fallen Sylar.
Mohinder, still on his knees, flinched and half turned his head a split second later when Sylar unexpectedly sat up, a glowing bluish white light already emanating from his left hand.
The killer jerked his arm back, quickly swung it forward again; the light flew. It hit Harris in the chest. The man stopped his advance, let out a grunt. The light seemed to spread over his chest, tendrils of blue and white reaching out and overtaking his broad chest area like the wriggling limbs of some horrific creature, before vanishing. Before disappearing into the older man's chest.
He absorbed it, realized Mohinder immediately.
"You've had your powers for a lot longer than me," spat Harris. His voice was deep with what was doubtlessly anger and vicious hate. He was close to Sylar now, was standing over the killer and glaring down at him. "You should know better."
Sylar narrowed his eyes, finally stood as a dark grin spread across Harris' face.
"I'll-" started Harris, but before he could continue the killer lashed out. His fist slammed into Harris' face; the man reeled backwards a few steps, his nose bleeding. Sylar didn't pause; he spread his fingers, seemed to concentrate for a second and then closed them again to clutch a shard of ice that had appeared in his hand.
Of course he'll win, thought Mohinder, feeling relief and dread all in the same moment. What had he been thinking? Harris has all of his powers but Sylar... Sylar had experience.
The serial killer stepped forward and, gripping the frozen stake tightly, raised it; he brought it down hard, fast - it was less than half an inch away from sinking into Harris' neck when the older man moved. He grabbed Sylar's wrist, wrestled it away - they struggled, Sylar baring his teeth in anger and not letting up his hold on the weapon and Harris not loosening his hold on the killer's wrist.
Then, without warning, Harris rolled the hand he wasn't holding onto the killer with into a fist; punched Sylar so hard in the gut that the younger man made a choking sound, doubled over. The stake dropped, landed on the ground - a few small pieces of it broke off, shattered.
Sylar had his free arm wrapped around his abdomen, seemed to be struggling to breathe.
And suddenly Mohinder recalled the stand off at Kirby Plaza and Hiro stabbing the serial killer, remembered that that battle had only taken place a little over a month ago and the fact that for as long as he'd been the man's captive the killer had shown signs of still being in pain, still being injured.
Harris brought his knee up, launched it into his opponent's stomach. Sylar cried out.
Mohinder, stunned and frightened, held his breath for a moment. But then Harris was kicking Sylar again, and the killer wasn't fighting back any longer, wasn't pulling away.
"The drawing...I wouldn't have gone after you. I was going to let it go, let it..."
The geneticist swept the alley with his eyes, paused when he spotted the gun on the ground only a few feet away.
"...You know I wasn't trying to destroy New York, Mohinder. I was trying to stop Peter from destroying New York."
Sylar collapsed to his knees.
With difficulty, Mohinder stood. Still bent slightly at the waist, his wound burning, he started towards the weapon.
He heard the sound of impact -- flesh on flesh. Heard the killer grunt again as he reached the gun, bent to retrieve it.
It was heavy in his hand. He gripped it tightly, pulled in a deep breath and straightened; turned. Harris had his back to him, was staring down at his opponent. The serial killer was mostly limp - it looked as if the only thing preventing him from falling flat on his face was Harris' grip on his wrist.
"...I have control. I know how to handle the power I collect, how to use it."
Harris' free hand was starting to glow.
Mohinder slowly raised the gun; aimed.
"You mutilated her," Jake Harris was saying. His voice was trembling. "You..." He faltered. "I would ask you why, but I already know the answer. I know you're scum, you're evil. I know why you do what you do." He bent until his mouth was close to Sylar's ear. "I know what's important to you, and I plan to destroy it once I'm finished with you."
Sylar's teeth flashed in what looked like angry grimace. He started moving, the glow of Harris' hand quickly morphed into a red and deadly looking orb of light floating just over his palm. He swung his arm up and back-
Mohinder pulled the trigger. The shot rang out (it sounded even louder than the last). Harris screamed; fell.
The bullet had caught him in the leg - his left calf. He was on all fours now, bleeding and gasping and seemingly surprised. He swallowed, Mohinder saw him tense as if to get up...
Sylar stood. Shot a look at the geneticist, brows raised and whispered, "That's my boy."
Mohinder swallowed a retort. Took a single step back. The serial killer turned back to his fallen opponent.
"No," pleaded Harris as Sylar's eyes met his. He sounded broken. Horrible guilt made Mohinder's throat tight, his eyes tearful. "You'll pay," he went on. "You'll both-"
The killer jerked his neck - Mohinder gasped in surprise, quickly turned away - there was a whoosh (the sound of Harris body speeding through the air, the geneticist knew) and then a loud and horrible crunching sound.
Mohinder felt sick, closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. A moment later he felt a cold wetness on his cheek; opened his eyes and saw Sylar standing before him, saw that a flurry of snowflakes were falling on them, surrounding them.
It's snowing.
He met Sylar's gaze.
"Is he...?" Mohinder asked, started to ask, but stopped when he realized he really didn't want to know. If Harris wasn't dead now he would be soon. The serial killer would make sure of that. "I...I didn't help you because..." he said instead, but found he couldn't get those words out either.
Couldn't get them out because, though he'd known the moment he'd pulled the trigger why he was doing it (because if Harris killed Sylar he would undoubtedly die too, because with Peter Petrelli dead Sylar was the only one capable of stopping any human being with abilities honestly bent on taking over or destroying the entire world that might arise one day - he was the comfortable evil, the evil Mohinder knew) he felt lost and unsure now.
"I know," said Sylar. He stared down at Mohinder for a moment. Then he reached over; pulled the handgun from the geneticist's grip.
The retrieval of the gun was unexpected. Mohinder thought briefly about trying to take it back. Instead, feeling suddenly exhausted and guilty and hurt and like he might pass out at any moment, he lifted one hand to clutch at the killer's shoulder, leaned into it.
Sylar didn't react to the touch at first. He just held the gun to the side and at arms length, closed his eyes; the weapon slowly melted into a thick looking silvery liquid, dripped slowly from the serial killer's fingers and onto the ground.
Mohinder watched the other man. "Harris," he started as Sylar was shaking out his hand (shaking it to, apparently, rid it of any traces of melted gun - though there was nothing on his skin that the geneticist could see). "He said something about a little girl at a grocery store the night I...we...met him. He knew about Dale because..." He shook his head, felt light headed and not quite himself. "He must have crossed paths with someone with an ability, someone who can see into people's minds or..."
He trailed off when Sylar gripped at his waist with both hands - just above his hips; held him. The snow was still falling. Mohinder could see his own breath and the killer's breath as they exhaled; the clouds their breathing produced mingled briefly in the air, then disapeared.
"And," the geneticist went on, "I gave him my contact information when I first called him. He must have used that to get to my apartment, where of course he ran into Molly and the others and-"
The serial killer leaned down so that their foreheads were touching and they were staring directly into each other's dark eyes. Mohinder breathed.
"I'm not going to help you, Sylar," he insisted. "I'm not going to tag along and help you kill innocent people. I won't."
Sylar didn't argue. He just moved; caught the geneticist's mouth in a kiss. Mohinder let out a startled sound of protest, started to push the taller man away...
Stopped when he felt a tongue penetrate the hot cavern of his mouth. Moaned. Started to kiss back, to duel with the tongue trying to dominate his own.
Sylar broke the kiss to breathe; forced Mohinder back a few steps so that his spine was pressed against the wall again. Then the killer leaned in, pulled at Mohinder's jacket and the shirt underneath (the killer's t-shirt, the geneticist remembered, and wondered if that fact earned him the predatory growl that emerged from Sylar's throat) to expose his shoulder, bent until the geneticist could feel moist breath on his neck. Until he was licking biting, sucking at the bruise he'd left there only a few days before.
Mohinder pushed at the killer's shoulders, urged him up. They kissed again. Heated and wet and slightly sloppy. The smaller man felt it as the killer slid one arm around his back (as if to hold him close, keep him in place), moved the other up. His large fingers found the geneticist's hair and combed through his curls, pulled at them until he let out a cry that was muffled by their kiss.
Mohinder pulled away from the killer's mouth then, and Sylar let him.
The taller man rested his head against the geneticist's shoulder, breathed deep. He removed his hand from where it was tangled in his captive's hair. Moved it down. Slowly snaked it up under the geneticist's shirt - his palm was splayed flat against Mohinder's stomach for a long moment.
After a pause his hand moved, slid up to brush against a sensitive nipple. Mohinder gasped -
And then, suddenly, Sylar straightened. Looked away. He stared off into the distance for a beat, turned back to the geneticist. Smiled.
Mohinder blinked. Recognized the grin as the same malicious lift of the mouth from that first night at Harris' house. Sylar leaned so that his mouth was close to his captive's ear and whispered, "I should go, Doctor. Your friends are coming."
Feeling dazed, Mohinder shook his head. "My...what? My friends? How?"
But Sylar didn't answer; just quickly pulled him in (ground his obvious arousal against Mohinder's hip - the geneticist blushed at this, his own erection had quickly disappeared at Sylar's mention of his friends and at the realization of who exactly he was with -- he felt sick now, cold) before stepping back.
The serial killer stared at him for a moment, stared at him as if he was taking every detail in, then reached into his left coat pocket and pulled out something small and black...
My cellphone.
Mohinder's eyes widened.
Why does he have my cellphone? Did he pick it up when I was attacked by Harris' or...has he known all along that I've had it?
"Here," Sylar said, and enfolded the phone in the geneticist's hand. "You probably need this." He seemed to hesitate for a second, then bent forward. Mohinder swallowed, waited for the kiss he knew was coming -
The geneticist let out a surprised shout when Sylar bit him hard on the bottom lip; drew blood. The killer gave a dark laugh. Mohinder could see the blood he'd just drawn (mixed with the blood that had leaked from the cut Harris' had given him) glistening on his skin, in the corner of his mouth. "I'll come back for you," he promised before turning and walking away.
The geneticist stared at him for a moment. Then, abruptly, it was as if a fog had lifted. As if some sort of invisible veil had been been hiding or shielding the alley they were in from the world. It lifted and Mohinder could hear cars again, people passing noisily by just outside of the alleyway...
"Mohinder!"
Mohinder's breath caught in his throat at the shout. At the sound of that voice. Molly's voice. He turned, saw the little girl hurrying towards him. She was running up the alley (behind her, idling just outside of the alleyway was a car - Niki and D.L. were stepping out of it), splashing through puddles and Mohinder was afraid for a second that she would slip...
She lifted her arms as she reached him; he lifted her up. She was sobbing. "Mohinder," she managed through her crying as he held her tight, pushed stray tendrils of her long hair behind her ear. "Mohinder, you're here."
"I'm here," he managed. He felt dazed, overwhelmed, couldn't quite believe what was happening or what had happened.
"I told them you would be," she said. And she reached up; her small hand brushed his cheek. Her teary eyes found his bleeding mouth. "Are you okay?"
As if from a great distance, Mohinder could hear Niki's heels click-clicking against the ground as she hurried over, could hear D.L. muttering into his cell (the man was talking to Micah, no doubt). He looked behind him; his eyes swept the ground near the dumpster, the entire alley - but there was no trace of Harris' limp body, no trace of Sylar.
"Mohinder?" Molly asked again. And he turned to stare at her. "Are you okay?"
"I am now," answered the geneticist. He felt as if he was awakening from a very long, very strange dream. Sylar's return, Jake Harris' quest for revenge...it all felt far away. Not real.
Molly smiled up at him. Mohinder smiled, too.
Epilogue