[Tim has had quite a few painkillers. Later, he'll miss having his injuries treated in a cave, where he can't make a stoned fool of himself. He's still in the infirmary, so spam is totally a possibility here.] God, my cheek is killing me. [Probably because you keep touching it, Tim. He's gingerly rubbing that fractured cheekbone.]So those, uh.
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No.
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It's important.
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Sounds like.
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It is! [He lowers his voice conspiratorially] I don't think he's from my Gotham.
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...what did you do?
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Fell out a window.
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What's your name?
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Tim. What's going on with Sylar? What is Rayne talking about?
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We have a deal, when he kills, it's only if the victims are willing. [CAN YOU TELL HE HATES IT?]
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[HAVE A PAUSE, because SHE CAN TELL. But CISSIE HATES HER LIFE RIGHT NOW.]
Why?
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Maybe you shouldn't say anything about it, though. [He's suspicious of why it was filtered form her. :|]
Because he doesn't think he can stop needing other powers.
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