FIC: What We Are or Might Have Been (1/?)
Title: What We Are or Might Have Been (1/?)
Author: Seraphtrevs ( My Fic Masterlist)
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: R
Genre: Tragicomedy
Word Count: (this part) ~3600
Warnings: Contains depictions of characters suffering from mental illness
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Summary: Sequel to Down To This. Company man Sylar has brought a superpowered (and psychotic) Mohinder to the Primatech facility in Hartsdale for treatment. After some finagling, he manages to get himself put in charge of Mohinder's recovery. With Mohinder by his side, Sylar hopes to live his newly minted dream of being Gabriel Petrelli, a Good Guy with a nice house in the suburbs, a loving partner, and a (relatively) honest job. Changing his identity, however, is proving to be much more difficult than he originally assumed, particularly when the people around him refuse to let him forget about his past.
A/N: This fic is a Volume 3 AU. In order to avoid dragging the narrative down with exposition, I've written an introduction that explains what happened in this universe versus canon.
Fair warning: this is a WIP. I've finished five of the eight chapters, and I'll be posting one chapter a week in order to allow myself time to complete the rest. Aaaaaand it's gotten away from me and is definitely more than eight chapters at this point.
Prologue
″Be what you would seem to be - or, if you'd like it put more simply - never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise."
- Lewis Carrol
Something terrible had happened to Gabriel Gray.
Gabriel didn't know what it was. Sylar didn't, either; that wasn't his job. The Will knew - the Will knew everything, and it parceled out bits of knowledge on a need-to-know basis. Because Sylar's job was to get Gabriel the things he needed, it wasn't really necessary for him to be bogged down with useless facts. They all had their places, like gears in a watch, and the most important thing was to keep them all moving.
Whatever had happened had left Gabriel with a searing need that ate at him constantly, and a crippling inability to do anything about it. That's where Sylar came in. For instance, when Gabriel was ten, a boy in his neighborhood had stolen some coins he'd bought for his collection. The boy was older and bigger than he was, and there was nothing Gabriel could do about it. Sylar, of course, was nowhere near that helpless. That night, when the boy was walking home from whatever mischief he'd been up to, Sylar pulled him into an ally and beat him with a baseball bat until the boy gave them back to him. Afterward, when Gabriel came to, he was perplexed by the blood on his hands - but he'd been happy to have his coins back. That was the way it always was - Gabriel needed, and Sylar provided. He didn't mind the arrangement. He actually never thought about it; he didn't think about a lot of things.
It had only started to bother him when the whole abilities fiasco had started. Before Chandra Suresh arrived, Gabriel didn't realize that his intuitive aptitude was a special ability. Why would he? Bodies feel hunger when they need energy, but no one considered eating a skill. It was the same with his need to know how things work; learning was something he did to satisfy a ravenous curiosity. He tried to deny it sometimes, because it often got him into trouble. To understand how things worked, he needed to take them apart, and that wasn't something that other people understood. Teachers punished him; his mother beat him. They always thought he was breaking things to be bad, but he wasn't. He was just taking a look. Gabriel would put it off as long as he could; he would lie awake at night with tears running down his cheeks, shaking with the need to know the secret workings of the things that surrounded him. Eventually Sylar would have to take over and smash something just so Gabriel could have an excuse to put it back together again.
When Chandra arrived, Gabriel's need became even deeper. Before, Sylar's appearances were only occasional, but the need Chandra awakened in Gabriel was so all-consuming that Sylar was aware nearly all of the time, twinning Gabriel's consciousness. Gabriel needed to be special, and it was up to Sylar to figure out how. And he did; it was unfortunately messy, as the things Sylar did often were. Gabriel was ecstatic at first, zipping things around the room with his new telekinetic powers and preening for Chandra. Gabriel convinced himself for a while that he'd just spontaneously developed telekinesis, but deep down, he knew that wasn't true, just as Chandra knew that things weren't what they seemed.
It was the ingratitude that bothered him the most. Gabriel and Chandra were so giddy with triumph, until they started to learn how that triumph was really achieved. And they both were horrified by it, like people who suddenly connected slaughtered cows with the nice steak dinners they enjoyed. Gabriel first blamed Chandra, acting as if this deep, ravishing hunger hadn't always existed in him, and then Gabriel had the nerve to blame him. In all of his existence, Sylar had only once ever taken something for himself - a name, when he had killed Brian Davis. He'd given Gabriel everything else. And now that Sylar had finally achieved for Gabriel his deepest heart's desire, how did he react? He blubbered like a child, scrawled pleas for forgiveness all over his walls, and finally tried to kill himself - along with the rest of them, the selfish little shit.
Fortunately, Elle had saved the body, but there was already unfathomable damage to the gears that made up Gabriel Gray. The Will struggled to keep them together, but nearly all of the parts were broken or breaking. And then Elle betrayed Gabriel, and it all fell apart. Gabriel was gone. The Will stopped functioning shortly afterward. One by one, the gears stopped moving, and finally, only Sylar was left.
He tried to keep it simple, and kept acquiring as he was supposed to. Because he was no one, it was easy to become anyone, so he took on the roles of repair men and delivery boys, survey takers and door-to-door salesmen, each identity lasting long enough to get him close enough to his victims. There was nothing holding him back now; he was free to take as much as he wanted, and he no longer had to share. The power was intoxicating, and for a while, he thought it was enough. But gradually, he began to become aware of the many empty places inside him, and he found himself stretching to fill them. He was tired of feeding a hunger that could never be sated. He wanted to stop wanting.
He had to be someone new.
Chapter One
″So is he ready now?″ Sylar asked. He stared at Mohinder through the observational glass. He seemed better. The first week after Sylar had brought him to the Hartsdale facility, he'd been a mess, literally climbing the walls and screaming for them to release him. He'd finally smashed out of his holding cell; when they attempted to recapture him, he'd scuttled up the wall and stuck himself into a corner on the ceiling. They'd had to tranquilize him with a dart gun and pry him down with a broom. Now, for the most part, he sat quietly on his bed and stared at the wall in front of him. His scales had even started to clear up.
Dr. Riceman, the current head physician at the Hartsdale facility, flipped through his chart. ″Well - there's no doubt his condition has improved since he's been brought in. He seems to be responding well to treatment. But is he well enough to leave the facility? No.″
″Oh, come on,″ Sylar said. ″He hasn't had a fit in days!″
The doctor looked at him pointedly over his glasses. ″That would be because he's nearly catatonic.″
At that moment, Mohinder lifted his foot up. He held it there until the slipper fell off of it, then lowered it to the ground again.
″There!″ Sylar said triumphantly. ″He moved!″
Angela fidgeted thoughtfully with her pearls. ″Is he likely to become dangerous again?″ she asked the doctor.
He looked through his chart again. He took a deep breath in, then let it out slowly. After a few moments, he finally said, ″If he's kept on the proper medication, and he comes in once a week for the transfusions, then maybe not. But that's a big 'maybe;' I still wouldn't recommend removing him from the facility. Until we can figure out a way of removing his abilities permanently, there's no telling what may happen. I don't know what he did to himself, but if you hadn't gotten him in here when you did, his genetic structure would have altered to the point where he wouldn't even be human anymore.″
″What do you mean?″ Sylar asked.
″The serum he injected himself with has, somehow, activated genes that are usually dormant in human DNA. He hasn't given himself super-abilities, exactly - he's given himself the normal abilities of creatures in our evolutionary past. Hence the spider webs and who knows what else. Without treatment, there's a very real chance he'd become some sort of - well, monster, for lack of a better word.″
″But he's okay now,″ Sylar said.
″Define 'okay,'″ the doctor said. ″There's also his psychiatric issues to consider. He was dangerously violent when you brought him in; that seems to have abated when we started the treatments to suppress his abilities, but he hasn't been here long enough for me to determine whether or not he'll become dangerous again. He's hallucinating, doesn't appear to be cognizant of where he is half the time, and he has periods of catatonia.″ The doctor paused for a moment and gave them both nervous looks. He looked as though he had wanted to say something, thought better of it, and finally changed his mind again. He took a deep breath and began to speak in a rush. ″And he's not the only one who has these sort of problems. Nearly everyone who comes through here has some sort of psychological dysfunction. I can only begin to speculate as to why, but I'm not a psychiatrist. I'm trying my best, but there's only so much I can do - ″
″Thank you for your analysis,″ Angela said. ″You may leave us now.″
″I can't treat these people properly,″ he said, steaming ahead. ″These people are all sick and dangerous, and I can't justify releasing any of them, least of all Dr. Suresh. It isn't ethical.″
″'Ethical?'″ Angela said. ″That's very interesting. I don't seem to recall you being overly concerned with ethics before, given the multiple malpractice suits that had been filed against you when I found you. And you also didn't seem consumed with ethical outrage when I made those problems of yours disappear. If you have a problem with my decisions, you're more than welcome to resign. I wonder - what are the statutes of limitations on what you've done? ″
The doctor's whole face flushed red, from his bearded cheeks to his balding forehead. ″That won't be necessary. I defer to you, of course.″ He walked towards the door, but paused before he went through it. ″You should at least hire an actual psychiatrist,″ he said quickly. He left the room.
Angela sighed once he was gone. ″He's probably right,″ she said. ″About hiring a psychiatrist.″
″So can I take him home now?″ Sylar asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. When Angela didn't answer right away, he said, ″We had a deal. I killed your husband, saved Peter and got rid of Pinehearst. And in return, you said I could have whatever I wanted. And this is what I want.″
″I still need him,″ she said. ″He was able to develop a formula to give people abilities completely on his own. It's flawed, yes, but he's our best bet to duplicate the formula that was stolen. Given a little time and support, he might even be able to improve upon it.″
″I can fix him,″ Sylar said.
″Really.″ She sounded skeptical.
″I can,″ he said. ″Maybe I could suck the powers out of him.″
At that, Angela flinched slightly. Sylar didn't understand why - she was the one who told him to kill her husband. She never said anything about not taking a peek inside his head while he was at it.
″Didn't you hear the doctor? His abilities would turn you into a monster. And we've talked about this already,″ she said. ″We agreed - no more abilities.″
It was true - they had agreed on that. The doctors had said something about how his DNA reshaped itself with every ability he took, and that if he continued to take on abilities, his genetic structure would become dangerously unstable. But he didn't appreciate being spoken to like one of her minions. ″Surely one more wouldn't hurt,″ he said, allowing just the hint of threat into his voice.
She turned from him abruptly. When she spoke again, her voice was shaky. ″Your father always said that. One more, one more - it was always just one more. But it never stopped. And with every power he took, I would lose another little piece of him, until the man I married was simply gone, and there was a monster in his place. Nathan was old enough to protect himself, but you were just a child - only two years old when it started getting bad...and then there was Peter. He was an infant, completely helpless...″ She turned around; there were tears in her eyes. ″I couldn't protect the both of you at the same time. That's why I had to give you up. Even then you were strong - but not strong enough to defend yourself from him. From what he'd become.″ She let out a tiny sob into a handkerchief she'd produced from somewhere. ″One more. I can't go through that again, I can't...″
″Oh, Mother,″ Sylar said. He felt tears of his own pricking behind his eyes. ″I'm sorry. Please don't cry.″
She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. ″If you love me, you must swear to me that you won't.″
″I swear I won't take on any more powers,″ he said.
The handkerchief vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared. ″That's my boy,″ she said, smiling. ″Always good to his mother. Come give me a kiss.″
Sylar kissed her obediently on the cheek. ″I love you, Mother.″
″I know you do,″ she said. ″Now, about Suresh.″ She looked through the observational glass again, her fingers drifting over her pearls again as she pursed her lips in thought. ″I suppose we're not having a lot of luck with him here. If you think you can make him functional again, you can have him. And if you succeed, I want you to bring him to work for us. You can do what you like with him otherwise.″
″Thank you, Mother,″ he said.
″I'll tell the staff to get his things ready. Do you want to take him home yourself, or shall I have them drop him off?″
″No, I'll take him. And I think I'll go talk to him for a minute.″
″He hasn't spoken a coherent word in a week, you know,″ she said.
″I'm pretty sure I can get through to him.″
Angela shrugged. ″If you say so. I'll leave you to it, then. And remember, Gabriel - I'm counting on you.″
″I know. I won't let you down.″
She gave him a sharp smile and left the room.
Sylar spent a few more minutes gazing at Mohinder through the glass. He was not in good shape. The more monstrous aspects of Mohinder's transformation had begun to fade, but so had his vitality. Whatever he'd done to himself before had made him strong, and very robust in many interesting ways. Now, he seemed deflated; his muscles had withered, and he seemed very small and fragile. His hair had changed from lustrous curls to stiff, straw-like tangles. There was a dullness about him that was very uncharacteristic. They may have stopped the mutations, but he was still a broken thing.
That was all right. Sylar had always been good at fixing things. When he was a child (or, rather, when Gabriel was a child - Sylar had never been one himself), he used to go through dumpsters and fish out appliances and electronics that people had thoughtlessly thrown away. There was almost never anything seriously wrong with them, but they'd been thrown away like garbage by people too impatient to take a few moments to find out what was wrong. They just didn't care. But he cared, and he could always make them work again.
Sylar opened the door to the cell; Mohinder didn't even look up. He was still staring straight ahead, as if there were something fascinating stuck on the wall in front of him. There wasn't, as far as Sylar could tell. He wondered what Mohinder saw there, or if he was seeing anything at all.
He walked slowly over to him, trying his best not to startle him. He crouched down in front of the bed and looked him in the eye. It was true that he hadn't spoken to anyone in awhile, but as far as Sylar could tell, no one had been trying particularly hard. Everyone was frightened (and not without reason); the staff usually gave him his medicines and ran out of the room as quickly as possible. But Sylar had noticed that Mohinder always obediently swallowed his pills, so he was at least somewhat aware of what was happening. He just seemed...distracted. All Sylar needed to do was make ignoring him not an option; fortunately, that was something Sylar was very good at.
He leaned in closer, and Mohinder flinched; it was almost imperceptible (and probably would be to anyone other than him - Sylar always seemed to pick up on things that other people missed). Mohinder was in there, somewhere, and not as far away as he seemed. He sat there with him, holding his gaze, until finally, Mohinder's eyes began to refocus. ″Hello, Mohinder,″ he said.
Mohinder blinked. ″Sylar?″ he said.
Sylar smiled and leaned back. That had been easier than he'd expected. ″I prefer 'Gabriel' now, but yes, it's me. How are you feeling?″
Mohinder looked at him suspiciously. He raised his hands up slowly, then leaned forward and put them on Sylar's face. He felt around for a moment before lowering them again. ″Just checking,″ he mumbled.
″Checking for what?″
″To see if you're here.″
″Do you know where 'here' is?″
″Right now?″ He looked around the room. ″Hartsdale,″ he said finally. ″The Hartsdale facility.″
″That's right,″ he said, taking his hand in his own. ″Do you remember how you got here?″
Mohinder's brow furrowed. ″I was at my lab in New York,″ he said slowly. ″And then you showed up and we fought. And then - ″ Mohinder jerked his hand from Sylar's grip. ″I don't remember.″
″I brought you here, after we...″ Sylar wasn't sure if Mohinder remembered the sex they'd had while he was under the influence of his own chaotic abilities; he decided this would be a bad time to address it. ″...after we finished fighting. Your mutation started getting worse. The doctors said that your genetic structure was unstable, and they didn't know what to do. But then I thought of something - if your DNA was damaged somehow, maybe the blood of someone with healing abilities would repair it. So they developed a serum from my blood, and they started giving you transfusions. And it worked.″
Sylar waited for Mohinder to thank him, but Mohinder didn't say anything. ″I was the one who thought of it,″ he said again. ″Me. And it was my blood we used.″ Mohinder remained silent. ″My own life's blood, drawn from my very veins -″
″Then why am I still scaly?″ Mohinder interrupted. He held up his hand and pointed at the smooth, subtle brown marks on his skin.
″Well,″ Sylar said. ″It mostly worked. But whatever you did to yourself continuously destabilizes your genetic structure, so you need regular infusions of the serum made from my blood. And we're going to have to continue to give you power suppressants for a little while, just in case. But I'm going to make sure you get better.″
Mohinder wasn't as thrilled about the prospect as Sylar had hoped. ″Why?″ he said.
″Because I love you,″ Sylar said. Well, that wasn't quite true yet. But it could be true. It might as well be true. And wasn't that just as good?
Mohinder stared at him for a minute, and then he started laughing. It started as a quiet giggle; he slapped his hand over his mouth as if he were trying to contain it, but the laughter only got worse, and soon his whole body was shaking with it.
Sylar waited patiently for the worst of it to be over. ″I'm serious,″ he said.
The last bit of giggles finally died down. He looked very closely at Sylar's expression. ″Oh my God,″ he said. ″I really think you are.″ And then he started laughing again, although not quite as hard. Sylar tried not to take it personally - he was insane, after all.
″And I want you to come home with me,″ he said, when Mohinder was finished.
″Because you love me.″
″Yes.″
Mohinder thought for a moment. ″My mutation - you say it hasn't been cured. So what happened before, when I -″ He stopped talking suddenly. He closed his eyes and swallowed, then continued, ″When I did what I did. It could happen again.″
″Not if you keep getting the proper treatment.″
″But you could stop me if I lost control again, couldn't you?″ Mohinder said.
″I could,″ Sylar said. ″So will you come home with me, then?″
Mohinder put his head in his hands. He nodded.
Sylar pulled Mohinder's hands away from his face. ″Was that a yes?″
″Yes,″ Mohinder said quietly.
Sylar smiled. ″You won't regret it,″ he said to him, but Mohinder was gone again, his gaze back on the wall.
Sylar stood up. He caught his own reflection in the two-way mirror and paused to consider it: the slicked-back hair, the black suit, the neat tie. This is what Gabriel Petrelli looks like, he thought, and felt very pleased with himself. Mohinder’s reflection was not quite as satisfying, but he could change that. He could change anything.
Onto Chapter Two!
Author: Seraphtrevs ( My Fic Masterlist)
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: R
Genre: Tragicomedy
Word Count: (this part) ~3600
Warnings: Contains depictions of characters suffering from mental illness
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Summary: Sequel to Down To This. Company man Sylar has brought a superpowered (and psychotic) Mohinder to the Primatech facility in Hartsdale for treatment. After some finagling, he manages to get himself put in charge of Mohinder's recovery. With Mohinder by his side, Sylar hopes to live his newly minted dream of being Gabriel Petrelli, a Good Guy with a nice house in the suburbs, a loving partner, and a (relatively) honest job. Changing his identity, however, is proving to be much more difficult than he originally assumed, particularly when the people around him refuse to let him forget about his past.
A/N: This fic is a Volume 3 AU. In order to avoid dragging the narrative down with exposition, I've written an introduction that explains what happened in this universe versus canon.
Fair warning: this is a WIP. I've finished five of the eight chapters, and I'll be posting one chapter a week in order to allow myself time to complete the rest. Aaaaaand it's gotten away from me and is definitely more than eight chapters at this point.
Prologue
″Be what you would seem to be - or, if you'd like it put more simply - never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise."
- Lewis Carrol
Something terrible had happened to Gabriel Gray.
Gabriel didn't know what it was. Sylar didn't, either; that wasn't his job. The Will knew - the Will knew everything, and it parceled out bits of knowledge on a need-to-know basis. Because Sylar's job was to get Gabriel the things he needed, it wasn't really necessary for him to be bogged down with useless facts. They all had their places, like gears in a watch, and the most important thing was to keep them all moving.
Whatever had happened had left Gabriel with a searing need that ate at him constantly, and a crippling inability to do anything about it. That's where Sylar came in. For instance, when Gabriel was ten, a boy in his neighborhood had stolen some coins he'd bought for his collection. The boy was older and bigger than he was, and there was nothing Gabriel could do about it. Sylar, of course, was nowhere near that helpless. That night, when the boy was walking home from whatever mischief he'd been up to, Sylar pulled him into an ally and beat him with a baseball bat until the boy gave them back to him. Afterward, when Gabriel came to, he was perplexed by the blood on his hands - but he'd been happy to have his coins back. That was the way it always was - Gabriel needed, and Sylar provided. He didn't mind the arrangement. He actually never thought about it; he didn't think about a lot of things.
It had only started to bother him when the whole abilities fiasco had started. Before Chandra Suresh arrived, Gabriel didn't realize that his intuitive aptitude was a special ability. Why would he? Bodies feel hunger when they need energy, but no one considered eating a skill. It was the same with his need to know how things work; learning was something he did to satisfy a ravenous curiosity. He tried to deny it sometimes, because it often got him into trouble. To understand how things worked, he needed to take them apart, and that wasn't something that other people understood. Teachers punished him; his mother beat him. They always thought he was breaking things to be bad, but he wasn't. He was just taking a look. Gabriel would put it off as long as he could; he would lie awake at night with tears running down his cheeks, shaking with the need to know the secret workings of the things that surrounded him. Eventually Sylar would have to take over and smash something just so Gabriel could have an excuse to put it back together again.
When Chandra arrived, Gabriel's need became even deeper. Before, Sylar's appearances were only occasional, but the need Chandra awakened in Gabriel was so all-consuming that Sylar was aware nearly all of the time, twinning Gabriel's consciousness. Gabriel needed to be special, and it was up to Sylar to figure out how. And he did; it was unfortunately messy, as the things Sylar did often were. Gabriel was ecstatic at first, zipping things around the room with his new telekinetic powers and preening for Chandra. Gabriel convinced himself for a while that he'd just spontaneously developed telekinesis, but deep down, he knew that wasn't true, just as Chandra knew that things weren't what they seemed.
It was the ingratitude that bothered him the most. Gabriel and Chandra were so giddy with triumph, until they started to learn how that triumph was really achieved. And they both were horrified by it, like people who suddenly connected slaughtered cows with the nice steak dinners they enjoyed. Gabriel first blamed Chandra, acting as if this deep, ravishing hunger hadn't always existed in him, and then Gabriel had the nerve to blame him. In all of his existence, Sylar had only once ever taken something for himself - a name, when he had killed Brian Davis. He'd given Gabriel everything else. And now that Sylar had finally achieved for Gabriel his deepest heart's desire, how did he react? He blubbered like a child, scrawled pleas for forgiveness all over his walls, and finally tried to kill himself - along with the rest of them, the selfish little shit.
Fortunately, Elle had saved the body, but there was already unfathomable damage to the gears that made up Gabriel Gray. The Will struggled to keep them together, but nearly all of the parts were broken or breaking. And then Elle betrayed Gabriel, and it all fell apart. Gabriel was gone. The Will stopped functioning shortly afterward. One by one, the gears stopped moving, and finally, only Sylar was left.
He tried to keep it simple, and kept acquiring as he was supposed to. Because he was no one, it was easy to become anyone, so he took on the roles of repair men and delivery boys, survey takers and door-to-door salesmen, each identity lasting long enough to get him close enough to his victims. There was nothing holding him back now; he was free to take as much as he wanted, and he no longer had to share. The power was intoxicating, and for a while, he thought it was enough. But gradually, he began to become aware of the many empty places inside him, and he found himself stretching to fill them. He was tired of feeding a hunger that could never be sated. He wanted to stop wanting.
He had to be someone new.
Chapter One
″So is he ready now?″ Sylar asked. He stared at Mohinder through the observational glass. He seemed better. The first week after Sylar had brought him to the Hartsdale facility, he'd been a mess, literally climbing the walls and screaming for them to release him. He'd finally smashed out of his holding cell; when they attempted to recapture him, he'd scuttled up the wall and stuck himself into a corner on the ceiling. They'd had to tranquilize him with a dart gun and pry him down with a broom. Now, for the most part, he sat quietly on his bed and stared at the wall in front of him. His scales had even started to clear up.
Dr. Riceman, the current head physician at the Hartsdale facility, flipped through his chart. ″Well - there's no doubt his condition has improved since he's been brought in. He seems to be responding well to treatment. But is he well enough to leave the facility? No.″
″Oh, come on,″ Sylar said. ″He hasn't had a fit in days!″
The doctor looked at him pointedly over his glasses. ″That would be because he's nearly catatonic.″
At that moment, Mohinder lifted his foot up. He held it there until the slipper fell off of it, then lowered it to the ground again.
″There!″ Sylar said triumphantly. ″He moved!″
Angela fidgeted thoughtfully with her pearls. ″Is he likely to become dangerous again?″ she asked the doctor.
He looked through his chart again. He took a deep breath in, then let it out slowly. After a few moments, he finally said, ″If he's kept on the proper medication, and he comes in once a week for the transfusions, then maybe not. But that's a big 'maybe;' I still wouldn't recommend removing him from the facility. Until we can figure out a way of removing his abilities permanently, there's no telling what may happen. I don't know what he did to himself, but if you hadn't gotten him in here when you did, his genetic structure would have altered to the point where he wouldn't even be human anymore.″
″What do you mean?″ Sylar asked.
″The serum he injected himself with has, somehow, activated genes that are usually dormant in human DNA. He hasn't given himself super-abilities, exactly - he's given himself the normal abilities of creatures in our evolutionary past. Hence the spider webs and who knows what else. Without treatment, there's a very real chance he'd become some sort of - well, monster, for lack of a better word.″
″But he's okay now,″ Sylar said.
″Define 'okay,'″ the doctor said. ″There's also his psychiatric issues to consider. He was dangerously violent when you brought him in; that seems to have abated when we started the treatments to suppress his abilities, but he hasn't been here long enough for me to determine whether or not he'll become dangerous again. He's hallucinating, doesn't appear to be cognizant of where he is half the time, and he has periods of catatonia.″ The doctor paused for a moment and gave them both nervous looks. He looked as though he had wanted to say something, thought better of it, and finally changed his mind again. He took a deep breath and began to speak in a rush. ″And he's not the only one who has these sort of problems. Nearly everyone who comes through here has some sort of psychological dysfunction. I can only begin to speculate as to why, but I'm not a psychiatrist. I'm trying my best, but there's only so much I can do - ″
″Thank you for your analysis,″ Angela said. ″You may leave us now.″
″I can't treat these people properly,″ he said, steaming ahead. ″These people are all sick and dangerous, and I can't justify releasing any of them, least of all Dr. Suresh. It isn't ethical.″
″'Ethical?'″ Angela said. ″That's very interesting. I don't seem to recall you being overly concerned with ethics before, given the multiple malpractice suits that had been filed against you when I found you. And you also didn't seem consumed with ethical outrage when I made those problems of yours disappear. If you have a problem with my decisions, you're more than welcome to resign. I wonder - what are the statutes of limitations on what you've done? ″
The doctor's whole face flushed red, from his bearded cheeks to his balding forehead. ″That won't be necessary. I defer to you, of course.″ He walked towards the door, but paused before he went through it. ″You should at least hire an actual psychiatrist,″ he said quickly. He left the room.
Angela sighed once he was gone. ″He's probably right,″ she said. ″About hiring a psychiatrist.″
″So can I take him home now?″ Sylar asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. When Angela didn't answer right away, he said, ″We had a deal. I killed your husband, saved Peter and got rid of Pinehearst. And in return, you said I could have whatever I wanted. And this is what I want.″
″I still need him,″ she said. ″He was able to develop a formula to give people abilities completely on his own. It's flawed, yes, but he's our best bet to duplicate the formula that was stolen. Given a little time and support, he might even be able to improve upon it.″
″I can fix him,″ Sylar said.
″Really.″ She sounded skeptical.
″I can,″ he said. ″Maybe I could suck the powers out of him.″
At that, Angela flinched slightly. Sylar didn't understand why - she was the one who told him to kill her husband. She never said anything about not taking a peek inside his head while he was at it.
″Didn't you hear the doctor? His abilities would turn you into a monster. And we've talked about this already,″ she said. ″We agreed - no more abilities.″
It was true - they had agreed on that. The doctors had said something about how his DNA reshaped itself with every ability he took, and that if he continued to take on abilities, his genetic structure would become dangerously unstable. But he didn't appreciate being spoken to like one of her minions. ″Surely one more wouldn't hurt,″ he said, allowing just the hint of threat into his voice.
She turned from him abruptly. When she spoke again, her voice was shaky. ″Your father always said that. One more, one more - it was always just one more. But it never stopped. And with every power he took, I would lose another little piece of him, until the man I married was simply gone, and there was a monster in his place. Nathan was old enough to protect himself, but you were just a child - only two years old when it started getting bad...and then there was Peter. He was an infant, completely helpless...″ She turned around; there were tears in her eyes. ″I couldn't protect the both of you at the same time. That's why I had to give you up. Even then you were strong - but not strong enough to defend yourself from him. From what he'd become.″ She let out a tiny sob into a handkerchief she'd produced from somewhere. ″One more. I can't go through that again, I can't...″
″Oh, Mother,″ Sylar said. He felt tears of his own pricking behind his eyes. ″I'm sorry. Please don't cry.″
She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. ″If you love me, you must swear to me that you won't.″
″I swear I won't take on any more powers,″ he said.
The handkerchief vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared. ″That's my boy,″ she said, smiling. ″Always good to his mother. Come give me a kiss.″
Sylar kissed her obediently on the cheek. ″I love you, Mother.″
″I know you do,″ she said. ″Now, about Suresh.″ She looked through the observational glass again, her fingers drifting over her pearls again as she pursed her lips in thought. ″I suppose we're not having a lot of luck with him here. If you think you can make him functional again, you can have him. And if you succeed, I want you to bring him to work for us. You can do what you like with him otherwise.″
″Thank you, Mother,″ he said.
″I'll tell the staff to get his things ready. Do you want to take him home yourself, or shall I have them drop him off?″
″No, I'll take him. And I think I'll go talk to him for a minute.″
″He hasn't spoken a coherent word in a week, you know,″ she said.
″I'm pretty sure I can get through to him.″
Angela shrugged. ″If you say so. I'll leave you to it, then. And remember, Gabriel - I'm counting on you.″
″I know. I won't let you down.″
She gave him a sharp smile and left the room.
Sylar spent a few more minutes gazing at Mohinder through the glass. He was not in good shape. The more monstrous aspects of Mohinder's transformation had begun to fade, but so had his vitality. Whatever he'd done to himself before had made him strong, and very robust in many interesting ways. Now, he seemed deflated; his muscles had withered, and he seemed very small and fragile. His hair had changed from lustrous curls to stiff, straw-like tangles. There was a dullness about him that was very uncharacteristic. They may have stopped the mutations, but he was still a broken thing.
That was all right. Sylar had always been good at fixing things. When he was a child (or, rather, when Gabriel was a child - Sylar had never been one himself), he used to go through dumpsters and fish out appliances and electronics that people had thoughtlessly thrown away. There was almost never anything seriously wrong with them, but they'd been thrown away like garbage by people too impatient to take a few moments to find out what was wrong. They just didn't care. But he cared, and he could always make them work again.
Sylar opened the door to the cell; Mohinder didn't even look up. He was still staring straight ahead, as if there were something fascinating stuck on the wall in front of him. There wasn't, as far as Sylar could tell. He wondered what Mohinder saw there, or if he was seeing anything at all.
He walked slowly over to him, trying his best not to startle him. He crouched down in front of the bed and looked him in the eye. It was true that he hadn't spoken to anyone in awhile, but as far as Sylar could tell, no one had been trying particularly hard. Everyone was frightened (and not without reason); the staff usually gave him his medicines and ran out of the room as quickly as possible. But Sylar had noticed that Mohinder always obediently swallowed his pills, so he was at least somewhat aware of what was happening. He just seemed...distracted. All Sylar needed to do was make ignoring him not an option; fortunately, that was something Sylar was very good at.
He leaned in closer, and Mohinder flinched; it was almost imperceptible (and probably would be to anyone other than him - Sylar always seemed to pick up on things that other people missed). Mohinder was in there, somewhere, and not as far away as he seemed. He sat there with him, holding his gaze, until finally, Mohinder's eyes began to refocus. ″Hello, Mohinder,″ he said.
Mohinder blinked. ″Sylar?″ he said.
Sylar smiled and leaned back. That had been easier than he'd expected. ″I prefer 'Gabriel' now, but yes, it's me. How are you feeling?″
Mohinder looked at him suspiciously. He raised his hands up slowly, then leaned forward and put them on Sylar's face. He felt around for a moment before lowering them again. ″Just checking,″ he mumbled.
″Checking for what?″
″To see if you're here.″
″Do you know where 'here' is?″
″Right now?″ He looked around the room. ″Hartsdale,″ he said finally. ″The Hartsdale facility.″
″That's right,″ he said, taking his hand in his own. ″Do you remember how you got here?″
Mohinder's brow furrowed. ″I was at my lab in New York,″ he said slowly. ″And then you showed up and we fought. And then - ″ Mohinder jerked his hand from Sylar's grip. ″I don't remember.″
″I brought you here, after we...″ Sylar wasn't sure if Mohinder remembered the sex they'd had while he was under the influence of his own chaotic abilities; he decided this would be a bad time to address it. ″...after we finished fighting. Your mutation started getting worse. The doctors said that your genetic structure was unstable, and they didn't know what to do. But then I thought of something - if your DNA was damaged somehow, maybe the blood of someone with healing abilities would repair it. So they developed a serum from my blood, and they started giving you transfusions. And it worked.″
Sylar waited for Mohinder to thank him, but Mohinder didn't say anything. ″I was the one who thought of it,″ he said again. ″Me. And it was my blood we used.″ Mohinder remained silent. ″My own life's blood, drawn from my very veins -″
″Then why am I still scaly?″ Mohinder interrupted. He held up his hand and pointed at the smooth, subtle brown marks on his skin.
″Well,″ Sylar said. ″It mostly worked. But whatever you did to yourself continuously destabilizes your genetic structure, so you need regular infusions of the serum made from my blood. And we're going to have to continue to give you power suppressants for a little while, just in case. But I'm going to make sure you get better.″
Mohinder wasn't as thrilled about the prospect as Sylar had hoped. ″Why?″ he said.
″Because I love you,″ Sylar said. Well, that wasn't quite true yet. But it could be true. It might as well be true. And wasn't that just as good?
Mohinder stared at him for a minute, and then he started laughing. It started as a quiet giggle; he slapped his hand over his mouth as if he were trying to contain it, but the laughter only got worse, and soon his whole body was shaking with it.
Sylar waited patiently for the worst of it to be over. ″I'm serious,″ he said.
The last bit of giggles finally died down. He looked very closely at Sylar's expression. ″Oh my God,″ he said. ″I really think you are.″ And then he started laughing again, although not quite as hard. Sylar tried not to take it personally - he was insane, after all.
″And I want you to come home with me,″ he said, when Mohinder was finished.
″Because you love me.″
″Yes.″
Mohinder thought for a moment. ″My mutation - you say it hasn't been cured. So what happened before, when I -″ He stopped talking suddenly. He closed his eyes and swallowed, then continued, ″When I did what I did. It could happen again.″
″Not if you keep getting the proper treatment.″
″But you could stop me if I lost control again, couldn't you?″ Mohinder said.
″I could,″ Sylar said. ″So will you come home with me, then?″
Mohinder put his head in his hands. He nodded.
Sylar pulled Mohinder's hands away from his face. ″Was that a yes?″
″Yes,″ Mohinder said quietly.
Sylar smiled. ″You won't regret it,″ he said to him, but Mohinder was gone again, his gaze back on the wall.
Sylar stood up. He caught his own reflection in the two-way mirror and paused to consider it: the slicked-back hair, the black suit, the neat tie. This is what Gabriel Petrelli looks like, he thought, and felt very pleased with himself. Mohinder’s reflection was not quite as satisfying, but he could change that. He could change anything.
Onto Chapter Two!