Mohinder was, surprise of surprises, working. If he hadn't been working, he'd probably have been thinking about working, possibly while drinking tea or staring out the window or something. He did, in fact, have a mug of tea, but it was sitting cooling on his desk while he sat hunched over his computer, squinting into the screen through his glasses and clacking away at a fascinating set of chemical equations he had spent the last couple of days working through. If he managed to make them fit together in the right way, then he might be able to create a matrix in which he could suspend genetic samples so as to more easily
( ... )
It was something vaguely resembling fascinating, hearing all that went on behind that wall. The clack of the keyboard, the hum of the computer tower, the steady in and out of Mohinder's breath... and underneath it all, that one, steady heartbeat that he could pick out anywhere, calmly pumping the blood through his veins. Some strange, impromptu melody, everything chaotic and offbeat, yet somehow all refining the one individual inside. Huh.
Sylar almost didn't expect the door to open. Which wasn't much of a matter, a door was no problem when you could look at an armored car sideways and send the thing tumbling over itself down the length of a highway, but it was... some attempt at civility? One of those metaphorical olive branches, maybe. Both a bit off-set by the way Mohinder's face fell when the door opened. Pity.
He was wearing glasses. He didn't usually wear glasses.
"Mohinder," he returned, sharply, just as uselessly, and planted a palm against the wood panels. "It is okay for me to come in?" Like he was waiting for an answer.
( ... )
Mohinder was forced backwards by the opening of the door, though his shock would have done it anyway. He backed away rapidly, trying to keep Sylar at arm's length. Or more, for preference. The further, the better; every time Sylar came in close like that Mohinder thought his lungs had stopped working.
He cursed himself silently. He knew he should have learnt to put wards on the door. It had been a foolish mistake not to, and now look where he was.
He knew it was futile to try to get the upper hand back -- he'd hardly ever had it to begin with -- but he felt like he needed to try to get some ground back. He glared at Sylar, heart hammering against his ribcage. "And I'd just been about to invite you in," he sniped, stalling for time, moving back towards his bed.
Mohinder's heart was hammering away against his ribcage and Sylar almost right-out smirked. He couldn't have even said why, there was just some creepy kind of satisfaction in Mohinder's spike of nervousness.
The door swung shut behind Sylar without anybody having to touch the thing, his eyes flickering back to the man for a moment with a furrowed sort of expression. Invite him in? Oh. Well. That kind of defeated the need to slam open the door. Sylar didn't say anything more, just glanced away and surveyed the room for a few long seconds. Bed, computer, what have you. He was picking at a book on the shelf, rifling through pages, almost as if he was expecting to find something of importance inside.
"You disappeared for a month." The book slammed shut, Sylar's eyes searching around the room more, for what, he couldn't have even answered. "Why." Without even bothering to look at Mohinder, he replaced the book, neatly back in its place, and moving onto a second.
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Sylar almost didn't expect the door to open. Which wasn't much of a matter, a door was no problem when you could look at an armored car sideways and send the thing tumbling over itself down the length of a highway, but it was... some attempt at civility? One of those metaphorical olive branches, maybe. Both a bit off-set by the way Mohinder's face fell when the door opened. Pity.
He was wearing glasses. He didn't usually wear glasses.
"Mohinder," he returned, sharply, just as uselessly, and planted a palm against the wood panels. "It is okay for me to come in?" Like he was waiting for an answer. ( ... )
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He cursed himself silently. He knew he should have learnt to put wards on the door. It had been a foolish mistake not to, and now look where he was.
He knew it was futile to try to get the upper hand back -- he'd hardly ever had it to begin with -- but he felt like he needed to try to get some ground back. He glared at Sylar, heart hammering against his ribcage. "And I'd just been about to invite you in," he sniped, stalling for time, moving back towards his bed.
Reply
The door swung shut behind Sylar without anybody having to touch the thing, his eyes flickering back to the man for a moment with a furrowed sort of expression. Invite him in? Oh. Well. That kind of defeated the need to slam open the door. Sylar didn't say anything more, just glanced away and surveyed the room for a few long seconds. Bed, computer, what have you. He was picking at a book on the shelf, rifling through pages, almost as if he was expecting to find something of importance inside.
"You disappeared for a month." The book slammed shut, Sylar's eyes searching around the room more, for what, he couldn't have even answered. "Why." Without even bothering to look at Mohinder, he replaced the book, neatly back in its place, and moving onto a second.
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