(no subject)
Title: Master of Pieces
For: nymphadoraklutz
Rating: PG-13 for implied sex and violence
Summary: Sylar/Jessica, AU. "From where I'm standing, the future looks pretty good."
"You're broken."
"Please--just listen to me--" he begs, backing away. He pushes the table over in front of him in a vain attempt to block the space between them, throws an empty paint can that's easily deflected away. "You don't have to do this--I can get the others--we can help you--"
"But I'm going to fix you," Jessica says. She vaults lightly over the overturned table, grabs him by his shirt, and slams him to the floor. The cut she draws across his forehead is jagged and crude, but it does the job, and soon enough she's looking, deep into the secrets of his soul.
"Can you do it?"
Jessica wipes her hands clean on her jeans and stands up, turning towards the question.
"Can you?" Sylar repeats, materializing out of the shadows near the door.
"I'll need some canvas," she tells him. She can already feel the power, bright and pushing behind her eyes, but she ignores it, the way he taught her to.
"I want you to paint our future," he says, stepping forward into a patch of sunlight. His dark eyes are intent on hers, and something-or someone-deep inside Jessica stirs. But she tamps the familiar feeling down, and reaches for the abandoned palette and the tubes of paint. Sylar searches for a few minutes, then brings her a blank canvas.
She lifts her brush to it, her vision going white.
*****
When Jessica comes back to herself again, it's nearly dark. Something flashes in the dimness, pulling her attention away from the painting, and she looks around. Sylar is amusing himself by lighting one hand on fire, and freezing it with the other.
"It's done," she says.
He closes his fist over the flame and turns to examine her work and blinks in surprise. "That sure is something."
"I don't think I got his artistic talent," Jessica says wryly.
"No, it's great." Sylar comes to stand by her side. "It'll look good over the fireplace."
"So," she says, pulling her shirt, stained with paint, over her head. "Shall we fulfill our destiny?"
A slow smile spreads over his face, and he starts to strip off his own clothes. "From where I'm standing, the future looks pretty good."
*****
Afterwards, she leaves him sleeping on the artist's narrow bed. Another blank canvas goes up on the easel, and she lets the bright vision overtake her again.
The painting resolves itself into a familiar face-but this time, there is no fear in it, only accusation and anger.
"First mirrors, and now you're hiding in this?" Jessica says, folding her arms across her chest and regarding the image of her other self with faint amusement. "I did what I had to do to save you. To save us." She spreads her arms wide. "And look at me. Look at all the powers I have, because of him."
Sylar's sleepy voice comes down to her from the bed. "Who are you talking to?"
"Nobody, baby," she calls back. She throws Niki a smirk. "We'll always be safe, now."
For: nymphadoraklutz
Rating: PG-13 for implied sex and violence
Summary: Sylar/Jessica, AU. "From where I'm standing, the future looks pretty good."
"You're broken."
"Please--just listen to me--" he begs, backing away. He pushes the table over in front of him in a vain attempt to block the space between them, throws an empty paint can that's easily deflected away. "You don't have to do this--I can get the others--we can help you--"
"But I'm going to fix you," Jessica says. She vaults lightly over the overturned table, grabs him by his shirt, and slams him to the floor. The cut she draws across his forehead is jagged and crude, but it does the job, and soon enough she's looking, deep into the secrets of his soul.
"Can you do it?"
Jessica wipes her hands clean on her jeans and stands up, turning towards the question.
"Can you?" Sylar repeats, materializing out of the shadows near the door.
"I'll need some canvas," she tells him. She can already feel the power, bright and pushing behind her eyes, but she ignores it, the way he taught her to.
"I want you to paint our future," he says, stepping forward into a patch of sunlight. His dark eyes are intent on hers, and something-or someone-deep inside Jessica stirs. But she tamps the familiar feeling down, and reaches for the abandoned palette and the tubes of paint. Sylar searches for a few minutes, then brings her a blank canvas.
She lifts her brush to it, her vision going white.
*****
When Jessica comes back to herself again, it's nearly dark. Something flashes in the dimness, pulling her attention away from the painting, and she looks around. Sylar is amusing himself by lighting one hand on fire, and freezing it with the other.
"It's done," she says.
He closes his fist over the flame and turns to examine her work and blinks in surprise. "That sure is something."
"I don't think I got his artistic talent," Jessica says wryly.
"No, it's great." Sylar comes to stand by her side. "It'll look good over the fireplace."
"So," she says, pulling her shirt, stained with paint, over her head. "Shall we fulfill our destiny?"
A slow smile spreads over his face, and he starts to strip off his own clothes. "From where I'm standing, the future looks pretty good."
*****
Afterwards, she leaves him sleeping on the artist's narrow bed. Another blank canvas goes up on the easel, and she lets the bright vision overtake her again.
The painting resolves itself into a familiar face-but this time, there is no fear in it, only accusation and anger.
"First mirrors, and now you're hiding in this?" Jessica says, folding her arms across her chest and regarding the image of her other self with faint amusement. "I did what I had to do to save you. To save us." She spreads her arms wide. "And look at me. Look at all the powers I have, because of him."
Sylar's sleepy voice comes down to her from the bed. "Who are you talking to?"
"Nobody, baby," she calls back. She throws Niki a smirk. "We'll always be safe, now."