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
( ... )
Mohinder banged his hand down on the button just as Sylar managed to snag his arm. He bit back a sigh of relief and yanked at the telekinetic fingers, trying to gauge their strength. Still strong, even when Sylar was blinded. Mohinder grimaced and pulled again. "Nothing," he snapped. "I-- trying to get you out of here." Let Sylar think he was going for a gun, something else.
The problem was, now he didn't know what to do. His plan had only extended as far as hiding his research from Sylar's prying eyes--he hadn't considered what was going to happen after that point, if Sylar had recovered enough (which it appeared he had) to use his powers at all.
It was time to think fast again. He hoped he hadn't used up all his luck on his computer. "Are you going to let me go?" he asked in a strained voice, looking around the room, around the desk for something he could use against the madman.
He had no idea what Mohinder was trying to pull right now. Like he could tell, eyes still clenched shut, a fist rubbing against his eyes. Whatever it was, he definitely heard a click, something like the computer shutting down. That one bit less of a hum in the white noise of the room, it was enough to alert anybody's ears, never mind somebody with fucking super hearing. And here he'd thought the man would be going for a gun or whatever could take him down quickest. No, his first priority was... the computer? What the hell had been on that?
Sylar's eyes slit open in the slightest, barely able to see through the blur of his vision, just fixing his gaze on Mohinder for a moment. God, that stung like nothing he'd ever felt before. ...And he'd been shot. ...Several times over. Not to mention samurai swords through guts and fucking tuning forks - he'd had no clue how much that had actually hurt, did he? - and they could totally not go there right now and he'd be perfectly fine with that. "You're working out another formula, aren't you? You
( ... )
He should have known that Sylar would have heard the computer. Maybe it had just been wishful thinking on his part--he certainly would have liked for Sylar to stay unaware of it. He rather wanted to keep Sylar as far away from the List as possible at all times. He had the feeling it was never far from Sylar's thoughts, but he'd like it to be...
...which gave him an idea. If he threw Sylar something else, the man might not press him on this, perhaps? At least it might be another stalling mechanism--he just needed more time, time to think of something else or call for help. "No," he blurted out. "Not the List. It's a virus."
It wasn't exactly lying, not that the distinction made any difference to him at this point. Mohinder had indeed been devoting a significant part of his research to his sister's virus, and to some kind of cure that wouldn't require him to personally visit every afflicted person and open a vein. At the time Sylar had shown up he had most certainly been working on the List, but that was only a piece of it now
( ... )
So this was new. Work on a virus, rather than something of some sort of other importance? The List, for one thing. Which was maybe of more importance to Sylar, in general, than to Mohinder. Mohinder's concern stood for scientific reasoning. And for, you know, keeping the people on said list away from Sylar. But anything outside of that... Sylar was mulling the concept over in his head. Random research in other fields? Or still in the same one? And, by proxy, something very very able to take him down
( ... )
...Except that he still had a deranged, enraged serial killer in his room, and he still had no idea how to get him out of there. It wasn't like Mohinder could just bolt. Then he would have a deranged, enraged serial killer waiting for him in his room.
Oh God, was he actually going to have to help him? How sickening. Mohinder winced. "All right. Um..." He sat down on the edge of his desk, rubbing his arm unconsciously. "Stop rubbing your eyes. You're making it worse. Water will help the stinging a bit..." He hesitated, then added, grudgingly, "Cold water." Because as much as he would love to add to Sylar's suffering, would love to see him burn for hours yet, that was not going to help him right now.
Sylar paused for a moment, fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose as he waited. He would have shot Mohinder an extremely decisive look, were it not for the mace sizzling away in his sockets right now. "And... what, I can just make this appear out of nowhere?" he shot back, waving a hand in the general direction of Mohinder, patience definitely waning in light of the situation. Frost, maybe, but he couldn't exactly freeze over his eyeballs right now.
"What are you waiting for?" he added in a snap, that sort of voice sliding towards the edge of so desperate that he nearly sounded something approaching human for a minute. "Go get it."
Oh, for goodness' sake. "I have a bathroom," Mohinder snapped back, all but rolling his eyes. It should have figured that the big, bad boogeyman would get a little pepper spray in his eyes and suddenly turn into the world's bloody biggest baby. "I thought you might want to do it for yourself." What did Sylar expect Mohinder to go, go over there and dab at his eyes with a wet tissue? Because that was not likely.
In the interests of not further angering the raving psychotic, though, Mohinder relented with an aggravated sigh. "Just sit down. I'll get a glass."
Muttering to himself in Hindi, Mohinder headed for the bathroom door, but paused before entering the room and looked back at Sylar. "Not that I believe you'll listen to me," he said evenly, "but don't touch anything." With that note of menace, he escaped into the bathroom.
He would've rolled his eyes if he could open them. "Right, I could do just that, without being able to see," he grumped automatically, throwing a glare in what sounded like Mohinder's general direction, judging by the direction from which his voice was coming. If the stupid man hadn't sprayed pepper spray in his eyes...
It was some manner of wit, when Sylar had just spent the last twenty minutes or so noting just how much Mohinder couldn't think of or what have you, and he had to give the guy credence, at least. Somewhere between the cursing him under his breath and swearing to God that he was going to snap Mohinder's damn neck once he could see it again. ...At least he would have if he didn't have to find out about this damn virus thing now. He just made things so difficult, didn't he?
If he had just cooperated, they wouldn't have had this problem now. And Sylar wouldn't have to kill him later, right? He just made everything very frustrating
( ... )
This was all unbelievably surreal. Here he was, filling up a glass of water to fix the eyes of the person he'd just sprayed with Mace -- who was, by the way, his father's killer. Mohinder stared at himself in the mirror with a bleak expression, halfway expecting his reflection to start shouting at him. Or possibly just shake his head in disgust. Why not? He was disgusted with himself.
He wondered if he could get away with putting lye in the water and decided that he probably couldn't. He sighed and leaned forward, resting his face in his hands, digging his fingers into his hair. He couldn't believe he was doing this. As if they were friendsHe looked up when Sylar's voice cut through his own inner monologuing, brow creasing. The virus? Why did Sylar care about the virus? At least it was better than him asking about the List. Mohinder sighed and straightened, turning on the sink. "It affects people with abilities," he replied loudly. "I think it might be spreading." Maybe, if he was lucky, he thought grimly, Sylar would pick it up from
( ... )
Yes, because all friends did this, Sylar would have snapped in return, had he been held privy to Mohinder's thought process. All friends had physical fights like this. And maced each other. This happened all the time. Best friends initiation. ...All right, he might not be taking the comment so far as to say all aforementioned, but of all things - curare, guns, spinal taps, what have you - and it was the pepper spray that was irritating Sylar the most of grievances Mohinder had inflicted upon him
( ... )
"How do you think?" Mohinder snapped impatiently. "I've found someone who has it. There have been two documented cases so far." Their names he was not about to share. Nor, for that matter, the only known cure. If Sylar knew that Mohinder's blood was the only way he'd found of eradicating the virus so far... well, even for Mohinder, who sometimes missed the obvious, that would obviously be a terrible thing.
"I'd like to keep there from being more, if possible." Although the idea of Sylar becoming infected... was tempting, he had to admit. Not that he would. Something that dangerous, he wouldn't inflict even on Sylar, if only because it meant other people might become exposed to it.
Mohinder turned off the tap and carried the glass back into the bedroom, holding it out at arm's length towards Sylar. He didn't care to get any closer; even being this near Sylar made him... nervous. "Here. You can use this."
Sylar's mouth drew up into a slight smirk in light of Mohinder's words, somewhere between ironic and amused, despite the tears still welling up in his eyes from the effects of the pepper spray. As if someone in his position, as many powers as Sylar honed or or didn't, had room to exhibit smugness at a time like this. Whether he was dealing with Mohinder right now or not.
"Now, now, someone's a little snappy," he commented dryly, eyebrow cocked in a somewhat settled amusement. Two cases, well, that wasn't so bad at all. Here he'd been drawing horrible images in his mind, of plagues and pandemics and everything he'd built starting to come crashing down, all because of one little wayward sneeze. But, no, this was child's play, yes? Two cases? Just... stay away from those two people, naturally. ...Unless he'd already been exposed to them. Damn
( ... )
"You can't," Mohinder protested, even as visions of a thousand different ways Sylar could try to make him talk flashed through his mind. "You don't have the ability, not yet. I'd know it if you did." If Sylar could make people do whatever he wanted them to... well, there was no telling what he'd have done by now, kill rule or no. And he couldn't read minds yet -- that was Matthew Parkman's ability, and last Mohinder had heard the man was still alive and well despite the four shots to the chest he'd taken in New York
( ... )
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The problem was, now he didn't know what to do. His plan had only extended as far as hiding his research from Sylar's prying eyes--he hadn't considered what was going to happen after that point, if Sylar had recovered enough (which it appeared he had) to use his powers at all.
It was time to think fast again. He hoped he hadn't used up all his luck on his computer. "Are you going to let me go?" he asked in a strained voice, looking around the room, around the desk for something he could use against the madman.
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Sylar's eyes slit open in the slightest, barely able to see through the blur of his vision, just fixing his gaze on Mohinder for a moment. God, that stung like nothing he'd ever felt before. ...And he'd been shot. ...Several times over. Not to mention samurai swords through guts and fucking tuning forks - he'd had no clue how much that had actually hurt, did he? - and they could totally not go there right now and he'd be perfectly fine with that. "You're working out another formula, aren't you? You ( ... )
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...which gave him an idea. If he threw Sylar something else, the man might not press him on this, perhaps? At least it might be another stalling mechanism--he just needed more time, time to think of something else or call for help. "No," he blurted out. "Not the List. It's a virus."
It wasn't exactly lying, not that the distinction made any difference to him at this point. Mohinder had indeed been devoting a significant part of his research to his sister's virus, and to some kind of cure that wouldn't require him to personally visit every afflicted person and open a vein. At the time Sylar had shown up he had most certainly been working on the List, but that was only a piece of it now ( ... )
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So this was new. Work on a virus, rather than something of some sort of other importance? The List, for one thing. Which was maybe of more importance to Sylar, in general, than to Mohinder. Mohinder's concern stood for scientific reasoning. And for, you know, keeping the people on said list away from Sylar. But anything outside of that... Sylar was mulling the concept over in his head. Random research in other fields? Or still in the same one? And, by proxy, something very very able to take him down ( ... )
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...Except that he still had a deranged, enraged serial killer in his room, and he still had no idea how to get him out of there. It wasn't like Mohinder could just bolt. Then he would have a deranged, enraged serial killer waiting for him in his room.
Oh God, was he actually going to have to help him? How sickening. Mohinder winced. "All right. Um..." He sat down on the edge of his desk, rubbing his arm unconsciously. "Stop rubbing your eyes. You're making it worse. Water will help the stinging a bit..." He hesitated, then added, grudgingly, "Cold water." Because as much as he would love to add to Sylar's suffering, would love to see him burn for hours yet, that was not going to help him right now.
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Sylar paused for a moment, fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose as he waited. He would have shot Mohinder an extremely decisive look, were it not for the mace sizzling away in his sockets right now. "And... what, I can just make this appear out of nowhere?" he shot back, waving a hand in the general direction of Mohinder, patience definitely waning in light of the situation. Frost, maybe, but he couldn't exactly freeze over his eyeballs right now.
"What are you waiting for?" he added in a snap, that sort of voice sliding towards the edge of so desperate that he nearly sounded something approaching human for a minute. "Go get it."
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In the interests of not further angering the raving psychotic, though, Mohinder relented with an aggravated sigh. "Just sit down. I'll get a glass."
Muttering to himself in Hindi, Mohinder headed for the bathroom door, but paused before entering the room and looked back at Sylar. "Not that I believe you'll listen to me," he said evenly, "but don't touch anything." With that note of menace, he escaped into the bathroom.
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It was some manner of wit, when Sylar had just spent the last twenty minutes or so noting just how much Mohinder couldn't think of or what have you, and he had to give the guy credence, at least. Somewhere between the cursing him under his breath and swearing to God that he was going to snap Mohinder's damn neck once he could see it again. ...At least he would have if he didn't have to find out about this damn virus thing now. He just made things so difficult, didn't he?
If he had just cooperated, they wouldn't have had this problem now. And Sylar wouldn't have to kill him later, right? He just made everything very frustrating ( ... )
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He wondered if he could get away with putting lye in the water and decided that he probably couldn't. He sighed and leaned forward, resting his face in his hands, digging his fingers into his hair. He couldn't believe he was doing this. As if they were friendsHe looked up when Sylar's voice cut through his own inner monologuing, brow creasing. The virus? Why did Sylar care about the virus? At least it was better than him asking about the List. Mohinder sighed and straightened, turning on the sink. "It affects people with abilities," he replied loudly. "I think it might be spreading." Maybe, if he was lucky, he thought grimly, Sylar would pick it up from ( ... )
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"I'd like to keep there from being more, if possible." Although the idea of Sylar becoming infected... was tempting, he had to admit. Not that he would. Something that dangerous, he wouldn't inflict even on Sylar, if only because it meant other people might become exposed to it.
Mohinder turned off the tap and carried the glass back into the bedroom, holding it out at arm's length towards Sylar. He didn't care to get any closer; even being this near Sylar made him... nervous. "Here. You can use this."
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words, somewhere between ironic and amused, despite the tears still
welling up in his eyes from the effects of the pepper spray. As if
someone in his position, as many powers as Sylar honed or or didn't, had
room to exhibit smugness at a time like this. Whether he was dealing with Mohinder right now or not.
"Now, now, someone's a little snappy," he commented dryly, eyebrow cocked in a somewhat settled amusement. Two cases, well, that wasn't so bad at all. Here he'd been drawing horrible images in his mind, of plagues and pandemics and everything he'd built starting to come crashing down, all because of one little wayward sneeze. But, no, this was child's play, yes? Two cases? Just... stay away from those two people, naturally. ...Unless he'd already been exposed to them. Damn ( ... )
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