FIC: If You Were the Last Man on Earth: Book One (2/4)
Title: If You Were the Last Man on Earth
Book One: Winter (2/4)
Author: seraphtrevs
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: R
Word count: This part: 3,600
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Spoiler alert: up through the end of season 2
Summary: AU - It's been a year and a half since the Shanti virus dropped and devastated the planet. After refusing to conduct inhumane experiments in the search for a cure, Mohinder is made into an unwilling test subject by his former colleagues. When Mohinder thinks that things can't get any worse, he is unexpectedly rescued by Sylar, who has plans that include world domination, ultimate power, and domestic bliss. Mohinder isn't sure he's better off.
A/N: Book One is COMPLETE - I will be posting parts every Wednesday and Saturday, to avoid spam and give me some time to put the finishing touches on Book Two and complete Book Three.
Once again, thanks to my beta, the lovely and talented marenpaisley.
Previous Part:
Chapter One: A Dubious Rescue, An Improbable Savior, and The Subtle Pleasures of Accurate Time-Keeping
They stopped at a rest and service station a few miles down the freeway. The silence and stillness of the world post-virus still surprised Mohinder; places like this should be noisy, with tired truckers smoking and chatting with their colleagues as they stretched their legs, and children shouting and laughing and stuffing greasy fries into their mouths while their parents refilled the tank and bought cheap souvenirs from the gift shop. He and Sylar had stopped at one of these places on their trip together, before he realized who Sylar really was. Mohinder had never been to a rest stop before. It was a very American experience, and he had been charmed by the tackiness of it all. Sylar had just seemed annoyed and anxious to move on. They had reached Dale Smither’s garage that afternoon, and she was dead the next day.
“I’m going to refuel and try to find some clothes for you,” Sylar said. “Is there anything else you need?”
“I’ll just go with you,” he said quickly. He couldn’t believe that he actually felt safer with Sylar, but the thought of being left alone in the dark made his heart pound.
“Why are you afraid? It’s not like there’s anybody left alive to hurt you,” Sylar pointed out. “Besides, you’re not exactly steady on your feet right now, and you’re nearly naked and barefoot.”
Mohinder couldn’t argue with that. He sighed. “What time is it?”
“Six forty seven and nineteen seconds,” Sylar said. “Ten minutes after the last time you asked me. Why is it so important?”
Mohinder wanted to explain the horror of the room he’d been locked in, and how disorienting it had been to not know the date, or time, or even whether it was night or day. He wanted to tell him how it had felt like he had been thrust out of time and space and trapped in one long, fluorescent-lit moment with no beginning and no end, and how he had started to wonder whether he was alive or dead, and how he thought that if only he knew the time, he could be sure that he was still anchored in reality. But when he opened his mouth, he found he couldn’t put it into words. “It comforts me,” he said instead. “It makes me feel…safe.” He felt like an idiot.
Sylar considered Mohinder very carefully for a moment, then took his watch off and fastened it around Mohinder’s wrist. “Is that better?”
It was, actually. “Yes.”
“I’ll leave the lights on. I’ll only be gone ten minutes - fifteen minutes max. Relax.” He got out of the hummer and started walking towards the station, but then he turned back and knocked on Mohinder’s window. He rolled it down.
“You do know that if you attempt to get away, I’ll hunt you down and make you regret you ever tried, right?”
“Yes, I figured that was implied.”
“Good, then.” He walked off again.
Mohinder eyed the steering wheel and considered his options. On the one hand, in risky situations, he generally preferred to take his chances if there was even a small possibility that he could succeed. On the other hand, his policy of risk-taking hadn’t panned out very well for him lately. Also, he was more than sure that Sylar could and would carry out his threat. More than anything, though, he simply felt too tired to try.
He managed to wrestle off his soiled hospital gown and threw it out the window, then curled up in his blankets as much as he could. He was freezing. Of course, he’d been cold ever since he’d been imprisoned. It was a strange sort of chill that seemed to emanate from inside him, no matter what the temperature was. The fact that it was winter and he had no clothes on made it even worse. He also hurt everywhere. His arms and legs tingled as if he’d been sitting on them, and he felt like a giant fist was squeezing his head in time with his heart beat. The nausea had subsided somewhat, but he still felt an all-over queasiness.
He raised his hand to look at the watch. It was a very handsome timepiece, both sturdy and elegant. Upon looking more closely, he noticed that it said “SYLAR” on its face. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He held it up to his ear, listening to the second hand tick on industriously; the noise soothed him. He folded his hand next to his head, lay against the window, and shut his eyes.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, the door had been opened and he was falling towards the ground. He winced in expectation of hitting the pavement, but the impact never came.
“Sorry,” Sylar said. “You didn’t hit your head, did you?”
“No,” said Mohinder as he floated inches from the ground. Being held telepathically was an odd feeling. It didn’t so much feel as though he was weightless; it was more like being encased in a gentle cushion of air. Sylar made a small motion with his hand, and Mohinder began to float upright into a standing position. He tried to grab the blankets, but his fingers refused to cooperate and they ended up falling to the ground, leaving Mohinder floating naked in the cold. He wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously. “Well? Did you find anything for me to wear?”
Sylar just stared at him with a very odd expression on his face. Mohinder noticed that there was a sweatsuit hanging in the air beside Sylar as if on an invisible hanger. He made a grab for it, but it was just out of his reach. “Can I have it, then?” Sylar just continued to stare at him. “What?” he snapped.
“You’re so thin,” Sylar said.
“Yes, well, that’s generally what happens when you’re put on a forced liquid diet.” Mohinder looked down at himself, and even he was shocked at how emaciated he had become. His ribcage protruded out like a pair of monstrous wings, and the curve of his ribs looked so sharp that he half expected they would break through his skin if he made any sudden movements. His folded arms did nothing to obstruct Sylar’s view. He felt worse than naked - almost as if he were a corpse already and he was standing there split from navel to throat, awaiting autopsy. “Sylar, I am freezing, so if you could just - oh!” He nearly jumped out of his skin when Sylar placed his hands on his sides. They were so warm. “What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of the cold,” Sylar said. A gentle heat began to radiate through him from where Sylar was touching him, flowing deeper into him until he could feel it in his bones. He still hurt, but the deep chill inside him started to melt away. “Is that better?” he asked.
Yes. “I hope that isn’t radiation,” he said instead.
“No. This is something else. I can raise the body temperature of myself and others. Not a particularly interesting power, but useful in the cold.”
Mohinder narrowed his eyes. “Exactly how many powers do you have?”
“You know,” Sylar said. “I think it might be more fun if I had you guess.”
Mohinder did some mental calculation. “There were six people who were murdered on my father’s original list. Before our little road trip, you had telekinesis, obviously. And you either froze Molly’s father or acquired that ability from him, so cryokenesis. That leaves four that I don’t know about from that batch. Then after I met you, you acquired metallic melting and super-hearing from Zane Taylor and Dale Smither, respectively. Precognition from Isaac Mendez. And radioactivity from Ted Sprague. Plus this ability to control body temperature, which I’m guessing was one of the four you had previous to meeting me. So that’s ten.”
Sylar grinned. “No. Think higher.”
“Higher? You didn’t take my laptop, and besides, everyone started dying shortly after our last encounter - how would you have had the time or ability to acquire more?”
“I have an eidetic memory. I didn’t have to take your laptop - I memorized all the files while I was waiting for you. It was easy pickings after that.”
“You’re disgusting,” Mohinder said.
“They would have been dead soon anyway,” Sylar pointed out.
“Oh, so that makes your murder of them somehow justified,” Mohinder said, but Sylar wasn’t listening to him anymore.
Sylar ran a finger along a rib. “Poor Mohinder. Always the tool for someone else’s machinations.” He looked angry all of a sudden. “I should have made them suffer more for what they did to you,” he said fiercely.
Mohinder wasn’t sure what to say to that. He considered pointing out that Sylar didn’t seem overwhelmingly concerned with his physical well-being the last few times they’d crossed paths, but one look at Sylar’s expression made him decide that it might not be a good idea.
Sylar slowly stepped in closer, as if he was afraid Mohinder might run away, which was ridiculous since Sylar’s telekinetic grip on him prevented him from moving much at all. He slid his hands from Mohinder’s hips to his back, then slowly up his spine. Mohinder tried and failed to suppress a gasp. Sylar leaned his temple against Mohinder’s; his breath came hot and fast in his ear. He closed the last few centimeters between them and suddenly, a few formerly fuzzy aspects of Sylar’s motivations in rescuing him snapped into alarming focus.
“Sylar - that’s - thank you, that’s much better, but I’m awfully tired and would like to sit down - in fact I’m quite light-headed, so if you would please just - ”
“’You do not choose your destiny. It chooses you,’” Sylar said lowly in his ear. “‘And those who knew you before fate took you by the hand cannot understand the depth of the changes inside. They cannot fathom how much you stand to lose in failure. But you are the instrument of a flawless design, and all of life may hang in the balance. A hero learns quickly who can comprehend and who merely stands in your way.’”
The words sounded vaguely familiar. “Wait - I wrote that!” he said. “In my journal! Did you - did you break into my apartment and steal my journals?!”
“I didn’t have to steal them. I just read them. I just told you I have an eidetic memory.”
It was a rather stupid thing to get upset over considering the circumstances, but the enormity of the unfairness of the whole situation he found himself in was almost too much for him to contemplate all at once, so his mind grabbed onto this small injustice and refused to let go. “I can’t believe you broke into my apartment and sat around memorizing my personal, private thoughts - why would you do that? I mean, other than to subject me to yet another humiliating invasion of my privacy?”
“I’m interested in you, Mohinder,” Sylar said. He let his hands slide down again until they rested just above his hips. “I want to know what makes you…tick. And when I read those words, I knew that you understood me. That you were the only one who ever could. Destiny chose you for me. You may not know it yet, but you will.” He nuzzled against Mohinder. “I like the way your hair smells.”
At that point, Mohinder snapped. There were limits to what a person could endure, and having one’s hair smelled by a serial killer while naked in the parking lot of a truck stop in the middle of winter was definitely one of them. He brought his hands up and shoved Sylar as hard as he could (which, admittedly, was not very hard). It took Sylar by surprise, apparently, because he stumbled backwards an inch or so.
“I have had it. I have lost everyone I’ve ever cared for - hell, I’ve lost nearly everyone I’ve ever met. I have been imprisoned, beaten, drugged, and experimented on, and I’m tired, so if you’re going to rape me, could you please wait to do it until we’re somewhere near a bed so that I can at least lie down first?”
Sylar blinked. “I’m not going to rape you.”
“Oh, of course not. And that’s just a banana in your pocket, right?”
The lighting was very poor, but Mohinder could have sworn that Sylar was blushing. He reached out and gripped Mohinder’s arms, and the fear Mohinder had temporarily forgotten came back in a sudden rush. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Mohinder thought. Provoking an amorous serial killer was not a move that would help him avoid bodily harm. But Sylar simply lifted him up and back into the hummer. He handed Mohinder the shirt and trousers.
“Do you need help getting those on?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine.” Mohinder quickly pulled them on.
“You can be very annoying sometimes, Mohinder,” Sylar said. Mohinder couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
Sylar walked around to the other side of the hummer and got in. He pulled out of the rest area, and they resumed their journey. He wouldn’t look at Mohinder; he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the road. He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
Well. This was an interesting and terrifying turn of events. Mohinder wondered what sort of bizarre moral system Sylar operated under that was fine with killing innocent people and removing their brains, but drew the line at sexual assault. Oddly enough, he believed Sylar; his virtue was probably safe. He was so giddy with fear that he almost giggled. The whole situation was so absurd.
After a few minutes, Sylar passed a bag over to Mohinder. “There’s a bottle of water and Tylenol in there. Take some - I know you’re in a lot of pain. And stop looking at me like that,” he snapped. “I said I wasn’t going to hurt you. Your heartbeat is giving me a headache.”
Mohinder breathed in deeply and tried to calm down. He took out the Tylenol bottle and tapped out two pills into his palm, then he shook out two more. He opened the bottle of water and took a careful sip, hoping that he’d be able to keep it down.
When he looked back over at Sylar, he seemed to have calmed down. “I didn’t know that you would be in such a bad state,” Sylar said eventually. “I would have been more prepared. I’ll get you something stronger for your pain at the next pharmacy we come across.”
“Thank you,” Mohinder said before he could stop himself.
Mohinder stared out the window. It was still early yet, but he could see the stars with remarkable clarity. He imagined that the sky would only get clearer as the last remnants of the industrial age collapsed, and eventually smog would be only an unpleasant memory. “May I ask you something?” Mohinder said.
“Sure.”
“You said you didn’t know that I was being held captive, but you did know where I was. If I had been willingly working with them, would you have taken me by force?”
“But you weren’t,” Sylar said.
That isn’t an answer, Mohinder thought, but he decided not to press the issue. He already knew the answer, anyway. “Where are we going?” he asked instead.
“A little town called Piedmont. It’s small and out of the way. I doubt that the military can spare anyone to follow us, but still, better safe than sorry. I figured we can lay low for a while; it would give you time to recover, and in a few months, the remaining vestiges of the government will collapse.”
“And then what?”
Sylar smiled. “And then we start recreating the world.” Sylar placed a hand on his knee, and the soothing warmth began to flow through him again. “You should get some rest.” In spite of himself, his eyelids started to get heavy. He took one last look at the watch. It was seven o’clock exactly. He sighed, leaned his head up against the window, and fell asleep.
******
Mohinder woke up to Sylar gently shaking his shoulder. “Wake up,” he said. “We’re here.”
He reluctantly opened his eyes. He checked his watch. It was a little past one in the morning. “Do you think you can walk?” Sylar asked.
“No,” he said. He actually felt worse than before. Every part of his body ached twice as badly, and the chill had returned with a vengeance. His teeth started to chatter.
Sylar got out of the hummer and walked around to Mohinder’s side. “You don’t look so good, doctor,” he said. “Let’s get you inside.” He lifted Mohinder out of the hummer and walked quickly towards the large house in front of them. Mohinder rested his head on Sylar’s chest. He smelled slightly sweaty, but not unpleasantly so. The fabric of his army jacket scratched against his face.
By the time Sylar reached the house, he was nearly running. The door swung open and he sprinted up the stairs, then turned right into a bedroom and laid Mohinder on the bed, then turned on the lamp beside the bed.
“How is there electricity?” Mohinder asked.
“I’ve hooked the house up to an electric generator. But it’s not important now; I’ll explain everything later. I’ll be right back,” he said. “Don’t move.” As if he could.
Through the haze of his pain, Mohinder examined the room. The walls were covered in the most hideous floral wallpaper he’d ever seen. Just looking at it made his headache worse. In addition to the bed, there was a frouffy armchair, a white wicker love seat, and a small brown dresser with a mirror in the room. The carpet was an ugly shade of blue.
Sylar retuned, carrying a bag. He reached in it and pulled out the water bottle and Tylenol he’d given Mohinder earlier. He helped Mohinder into a sitting position and put two pills in his mouth, then brought the water bottle to his lips.
“You can’t be getting sick,” he said, his tone almost accusatory. “I thought you said you were immune!”
“I thought I was!” Mohinder shot back. He retched, but managed to keep the pills down.
Sylar got up and started pacing. “No, this isn’t happening,” he said. His voice quivered slightly in growing panic. “This isn’t a part of my plan!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry that my death would interrupt your plans,” Mohinder said. He thought for a moment. A spasm overtook him, and suddenly he longed for his small white room back at the base with an intensity that frightened him.
He considered that desire very carefully. “I think I might be in withdrawal,” he said.
Sylar stopped pacing. “Really?”
“If I had been infected with the virus, it would have had to have happened sometime between when you broke me out and now, and no strain that I know of manifests symptoms that quickly after infection. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that a fast-acting strain that I’m not immune to has developed, but it seems unlikely.”
“What did they give you?”
“I don’t know. They kept me heavily sedated, especially recently.” Sylar had taken him around one o’clock pm, so it had been about twelve hours. Was that long enough for withdrawal symptoms to start kicking in? He wasn’t sure when they had last dosed him. Maybe it was being made worse by shock and the fact that his physical condition was so poor.
Sylar sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. “Okay, addiction. I can deal with that. I just need to do some reading.”
“You’ll do some reading,” Mohinder said. “Oh, well, I feel better already.”
Sylar smiled and brushed a curl back from Mohinder’s face. “I’m a very quick study. And I can go raid a hospital and get whatever I need. I’ll take care of you, Mohinder.”
Mohinder’s entire body was now covered in a cold sweat, and his shivering was growing rapidly worse. “Cold,” he said through chattering teeth.
Sylar stood up and walked to the other side of the bed, then climbed in. Mohinder gasped from the sudden, searing heat of Sylar’s body against his back. “Shhh,” Sylar said. “It’s all right.”
No, it is most definitely not all right, Mohinder thought, and laughed weakly, which set off another series of spasms. After a few minutes, the fit passed, leaving Mohinder gasping and exhausted. Sweat dripped into his eyes; he blinked rapidly, which caused tears to leak out and down his cheeks. Sylar wiped the wetness away with his hand.
“I can’t do this,” Mohinder moaned, as if this was something he could reject.
Sylar shushed him again. “You don’t have a choice. Stop trying to fight it and just give in and let it pass. Let go. Rest.” He lifted Mohinder’s right hand and looked at the watch. “It’s one oh eight and fifty-seven seconds,” he said, his lips pressed against Mohinder’s ear. “Fifty-eight, fifty-nine…one oh nine and one…two… three…”
With the amount of pain he was in and how much his mind was reeling, he thought that sleep would be impossible. But the warmth of the arms around him, and the steady pulse of the body behind him, and the quiet voice murmuring the time in his ear, pulled Mohinder into sleep.
Bride of the A/N: The excerpt from Mohinder's "journal" is one of his monologues from "Nothing to Hide." I like thinking that he sits around writing purple prose between experiments. :P
Chapter 3!
Book One: Winter (2/4)
Author: seraphtrevs
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: R
Word count: This part: 3,600
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Spoiler alert: up through the end of season 2
Summary: AU - It's been a year and a half since the Shanti virus dropped and devastated the planet. After refusing to conduct inhumane experiments in the search for a cure, Mohinder is made into an unwilling test subject by his former colleagues. When Mohinder thinks that things can't get any worse, he is unexpectedly rescued by Sylar, who has plans that include world domination, ultimate power, and domestic bliss. Mohinder isn't sure he's better off.
A/N: Book One is COMPLETE - I will be posting parts every Wednesday and Saturday, to avoid spam and give me some time to put the finishing touches on Book Two and complete Book Three.
Once again, thanks to my beta, the lovely and talented marenpaisley.
Previous Part:
Chapter One: A Dubious Rescue, An Improbable Savior, and The Subtle Pleasures of Accurate Time-Keeping
They stopped at a rest and service station a few miles down the freeway. The silence and stillness of the world post-virus still surprised Mohinder; places like this should be noisy, with tired truckers smoking and chatting with their colleagues as they stretched their legs, and children shouting and laughing and stuffing greasy fries into their mouths while their parents refilled the tank and bought cheap souvenirs from the gift shop. He and Sylar had stopped at one of these places on their trip together, before he realized who Sylar really was. Mohinder had never been to a rest stop before. It was a very American experience, and he had been charmed by the tackiness of it all. Sylar had just seemed annoyed and anxious to move on. They had reached Dale Smither’s garage that afternoon, and she was dead the next day.
“I’m going to refuel and try to find some clothes for you,” Sylar said. “Is there anything else you need?”
“I’ll just go with you,” he said quickly. He couldn’t believe that he actually felt safer with Sylar, but the thought of being left alone in the dark made his heart pound.
“Why are you afraid? It’s not like there’s anybody left alive to hurt you,” Sylar pointed out. “Besides, you’re not exactly steady on your feet right now, and you’re nearly naked and barefoot.”
Mohinder couldn’t argue with that. He sighed. “What time is it?”
“Six forty seven and nineteen seconds,” Sylar said. “Ten minutes after the last time you asked me. Why is it so important?”
Mohinder wanted to explain the horror of the room he’d been locked in, and how disorienting it had been to not know the date, or time, or even whether it was night or day. He wanted to tell him how it had felt like he had been thrust out of time and space and trapped in one long, fluorescent-lit moment with no beginning and no end, and how he had started to wonder whether he was alive or dead, and how he thought that if only he knew the time, he could be sure that he was still anchored in reality. But when he opened his mouth, he found he couldn’t put it into words. “It comforts me,” he said instead. “It makes me feel…safe.” He felt like an idiot.
Sylar considered Mohinder very carefully for a moment, then took his watch off and fastened it around Mohinder’s wrist. “Is that better?”
It was, actually. “Yes.”
“I’ll leave the lights on. I’ll only be gone ten minutes - fifteen minutes max. Relax.” He got out of the hummer and started walking towards the station, but then he turned back and knocked on Mohinder’s window. He rolled it down.
“You do know that if you attempt to get away, I’ll hunt you down and make you regret you ever tried, right?”
“Yes, I figured that was implied.”
“Good, then.” He walked off again.
Mohinder eyed the steering wheel and considered his options. On the one hand, in risky situations, he generally preferred to take his chances if there was even a small possibility that he could succeed. On the other hand, his policy of risk-taking hadn’t panned out very well for him lately. Also, he was more than sure that Sylar could and would carry out his threat. More than anything, though, he simply felt too tired to try.
He managed to wrestle off his soiled hospital gown and threw it out the window, then curled up in his blankets as much as he could. He was freezing. Of course, he’d been cold ever since he’d been imprisoned. It was a strange sort of chill that seemed to emanate from inside him, no matter what the temperature was. The fact that it was winter and he had no clothes on made it even worse. He also hurt everywhere. His arms and legs tingled as if he’d been sitting on them, and he felt like a giant fist was squeezing his head in time with his heart beat. The nausea had subsided somewhat, but he still felt an all-over queasiness.
He raised his hand to look at the watch. It was a very handsome timepiece, both sturdy and elegant. Upon looking more closely, he noticed that it said “SYLAR” on its face. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He held it up to his ear, listening to the second hand tick on industriously; the noise soothed him. He folded his hand next to his head, lay against the window, and shut his eyes.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, the door had been opened and he was falling towards the ground. He winced in expectation of hitting the pavement, but the impact never came.
“Sorry,” Sylar said. “You didn’t hit your head, did you?”
“No,” said Mohinder as he floated inches from the ground. Being held telepathically was an odd feeling. It didn’t so much feel as though he was weightless; it was more like being encased in a gentle cushion of air. Sylar made a small motion with his hand, and Mohinder began to float upright into a standing position. He tried to grab the blankets, but his fingers refused to cooperate and they ended up falling to the ground, leaving Mohinder floating naked in the cold. He wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously. “Well? Did you find anything for me to wear?”
Sylar just stared at him with a very odd expression on his face. Mohinder noticed that there was a sweatsuit hanging in the air beside Sylar as if on an invisible hanger. He made a grab for it, but it was just out of his reach. “Can I have it, then?” Sylar just continued to stare at him. “What?” he snapped.
“You’re so thin,” Sylar said.
“Yes, well, that’s generally what happens when you’re put on a forced liquid diet.” Mohinder looked down at himself, and even he was shocked at how emaciated he had become. His ribcage protruded out like a pair of monstrous wings, and the curve of his ribs looked so sharp that he half expected they would break through his skin if he made any sudden movements. His folded arms did nothing to obstruct Sylar’s view. He felt worse than naked - almost as if he were a corpse already and he was standing there split from navel to throat, awaiting autopsy. “Sylar, I am freezing, so if you could just - oh!” He nearly jumped out of his skin when Sylar placed his hands on his sides. They were so warm. “What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of the cold,” Sylar said. A gentle heat began to radiate through him from where Sylar was touching him, flowing deeper into him until he could feel it in his bones. He still hurt, but the deep chill inside him started to melt away. “Is that better?” he asked.
Yes. “I hope that isn’t radiation,” he said instead.
“No. This is something else. I can raise the body temperature of myself and others. Not a particularly interesting power, but useful in the cold.”
Mohinder narrowed his eyes. “Exactly how many powers do you have?”
“You know,” Sylar said. “I think it might be more fun if I had you guess.”
Mohinder did some mental calculation. “There were six people who were murdered on my father’s original list. Before our little road trip, you had telekinesis, obviously. And you either froze Molly’s father or acquired that ability from him, so cryokenesis. That leaves four that I don’t know about from that batch. Then after I met you, you acquired metallic melting and super-hearing from Zane Taylor and Dale Smither, respectively. Precognition from Isaac Mendez. And radioactivity from Ted Sprague. Plus this ability to control body temperature, which I’m guessing was one of the four you had previous to meeting me. So that’s ten.”
Sylar grinned. “No. Think higher.”
“Higher? You didn’t take my laptop, and besides, everyone started dying shortly after our last encounter - how would you have had the time or ability to acquire more?”
“I have an eidetic memory. I didn’t have to take your laptop - I memorized all the files while I was waiting for you. It was easy pickings after that.”
“You’re disgusting,” Mohinder said.
“They would have been dead soon anyway,” Sylar pointed out.
“Oh, so that makes your murder of them somehow justified,” Mohinder said, but Sylar wasn’t listening to him anymore.
Sylar ran a finger along a rib. “Poor Mohinder. Always the tool for someone else’s machinations.” He looked angry all of a sudden. “I should have made them suffer more for what they did to you,” he said fiercely.
Mohinder wasn’t sure what to say to that. He considered pointing out that Sylar didn’t seem overwhelmingly concerned with his physical well-being the last few times they’d crossed paths, but one look at Sylar’s expression made him decide that it might not be a good idea.
Sylar slowly stepped in closer, as if he was afraid Mohinder might run away, which was ridiculous since Sylar’s telekinetic grip on him prevented him from moving much at all. He slid his hands from Mohinder’s hips to his back, then slowly up his spine. Mohinder tried and failed to suppress a gasp. Sylar leaned his temple against Mohinder’s; his breath came hot and fast in his ear. He closed the last few centimeters between them and suddenly, a few formerly fuzzy aspects of Sylar’s motivations in rescuing him snapped into alarming focus.
“Sylar - that’s - thank you, that’s much better, but I’m awfully tired and would like to sit down - in fact I’m quite light-headed, so if you would please just - ”
“’You do not choose your destiny. It chooses you,’” Sylar said lowly in his ear. “‘And those who knew you before fate took you by the hand cannot understand the depth of the changes inside. They cannot fathom how much you stand to lose in failure. But you are the instrument of a flawless design, and all of life may hang in the balance. A hero learns quickly who can comprehend and who merely stands in your way.’”
The words sounded vaguely familiar. “Wait - I wrote that!” he said. “In my journal! Did you - did you break into my apartment and steal my journals?!”
“I didn’t have to steal them. I just read them. I just told you I have an eidetic memory.”
It was a rather stupid thing to get upset over considering the circumstances, but the enormity of the unfairness of the whole situation he found himself in was almost too much for him to contemplate all at once, so his mind grabbed onto this small injustice and refused to let go. “I can’t believe you broke into my apartment and sat around memorizing my personal, private thoughts - why would you do that? I mean, other than to subject me to yet another humiliating invasion of my privacy?”
“I’m interested in you, Mohinder,” Sylar said. He let his hands slide down again until they rested just above his hips. “I want to know what makes you…tick. And when I read those words, I knew that you understood me. That you were the only one who ever could. Destiny chose you for me. You may not know it yet, but you will.” He nuzzled against Mohinder. “I like the way your hair smells.”
At that point, Mohinder snapped. There were limits to what a person could endure, and having one’s hair smelled by a serial killer while naked in the parking lot of a truck stop in the middle of winter was definitely one of them. He brought his hands up and shoved Sylar as hard as he could (which, admittedly, was not very hard). It took Sylar by surprise, apparently, because he stumbled backwards an inch or so.
“I have had it. I have lost everyone I’ve ever cared for - hell, I’ve lost nearly everyone I’ve ever met. I have been imprisoned, beaten, drugged, and experimented on, and I’m tired, so if you’re going to rape me, could you please wait to do it until we’re somewhere near a bed so that I can at least lie down first?”
Sylar blinked. “I’m not going to rape you.”
“Oh, of course not. And that’s just a banana in your pocket, right?”
The lighting was very poor, but Mohinder could have sworn that Sylar was blushing. He reached out and gripped Mohinder’s arms, and the fear Mohinder had temporarily forgotten came back in a sudden rush. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Mohinder thought. Provoking an amorous serial killer was not a move that would help him avoid bodily harm. But Sylar simply lifted him up and back into the hummer. He handed Mohinder the shirt and trousers.
“Do you need help getting those on?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine.” Mohinder quickly pulled them on.
“You can be very annoying sometimes, Mohinder,” Sylar said. Mohinder couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
Sylar walked around to the other side of the hummer and got in. He pulled out of the rest area, and they resumed their journey. He wouldn’t look at Mohinder; he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the road. He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
Well. This was an interesting and terrifying turn of events. Mohinder wondered what sort of bizarre moral system Sylar operated under that was fine with killing innocent people and removing their brains, but drew the line at sexual assault. Oddly enough, he believed Sylar; his virtue was probably safe. He was so giddy with fear that he almost giggled. The whole situation was so absurd.
After a few minutes, Sylar passed a bag over to Mohinder. “There’s a bottle of water and Tylenol in there. Take some - I know you’re in a lot of pain. And stop looking at me like that,” he snapped. “I said I wasn’t going to hurt you. Your heartbeat is giving me a headache.”
Mohinder breathed in deeply and tried to calm down. He took out the Tylenol bottle and tapped out two pills into his palm, then he shook out two more. He opened the bottle of water and took a careful sip, hoping that he’d be able to keep it down.
When he looked back over at Sylar, he seemed to have calmed down. “I didn’t know that you would be in such a bad state,” Sylar said eventually. “I would have been more prepared. I’ll get you something stronger for your pain at the next pharmacy we come across.”
“Thank you,” Mohinder said before he could stop himself.
Mohinder stared out the window. It was still early yet, but he could see the stars with remarkable clarity. He imagined that the sky would only get clearer as the last remnants of the industrial age collapsed, and eventually smog would be only an unpleasant memory. “May I ask you something?” Mohinder said.
“Sure.”
“You said you didn’t know that I was being held captive, but you did know where I was. If I had been willingly working with them, would you have taken me by force?”
“But you weren’t,” Sylar said.
That isn’t an answer, Mohinder thought, but he decided not to press the issue. He already knew the answer, anyway. “Where are we going?” he asked instead.
“A little town called Piedmont. It’s small and out of the way. I doubt that the military can spare anyone to follow us, but still, better safe than sorry. I figured we can lay low for a while; it would give you time to recover, and in a few months, the remaining vestiges of the government will collapse.”
“And then what?”
Sylar smiled. “And then we start recreating the world.” Sylar placed a hand on his knee, and the soothing warmth began to flow through him again. “You should get some rest.” In spite of himself, his eyelids started to get heavy. He took one last look at the watch. It was seven o’clock exactly. He sighed, leaned his head up against the window, and fell asleep.
******
Mohinder woke up to Sylar gently shaking his shoulder. “Wake up,” he said. “We’re here.”
He reluctantly opened his eyes. He checked his watch. It was a little past one in the morning. “Do you think you can walk?” Sylar asked.
“No,” he said. He actually felt worse than before. Every part of his body ached twice as badly, and the chill had returned with a vengeance. His teeth started to chatter.
Sylar got out of the hummer and walked around to Mohinder’s side. “You don’t look so good, doctor,” he said. “Let’s get you inside.” He lifted Mohinder out of the hummer and walked quickly towards the large house in front of them. Mohinder rested his head on Sylar’s chest. He smelled slightly sweaty, but not unpleasantly so. The fabric of his army jacket scratched against his face.
By the time Sylar reached the house, he was nearly running. The door swung open and he sprinted up the stairs, then turned right into a bedroom and laid Mohinder on the bed, then turned on the lamp beside the bed.
“How is there electricity?” Mohinder asked.
“I’ve hooked the house up to an electric generator. But it’s not important now; I’ll explain everything later. I’ll be right back,” he said. “Don’t move.” As if he could.
Through the haze of his pain, Mohinder examined the room. The walls were covered in the most hideous floral wallpaper he’d ever seen. Just looking at it made his headache worse. In addition to the bed, there was a frouffy armchair, a white wicker love seat, and a small brown dresser with a mirror in the room. The carpet was an ugly shade of blue.
Sylar retuned, carrying a bag. He reached in it and pulled out the water bottle and Tylenol he’d given Mohinder earlier. He helped Mohinder into a sitting position and put two pills in his mouth, then brought the water bottle to his lips.
“You can’t be getting sick,” he said, his tone almost accusatory. “I thought you said you were immune!”
“I thought I was!” Mohinder shot back. He retched, but managed to keep the pills down.
Sylar got up and started pacing. “No, this isn’t happening,” he said. His voice quivered slightly in growing panic. “This isn’t a part of my plan!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry that my death would interrupt your plans,” Mohinder said. He thought for a moment. A spasm overtook him, and suddenly he longed for his small white room back at the base with an intensity that frightened him.
He considered that desire very carefully. “I think I might be in withdrawal,” he said.
Sylar stopped pacing. “Really?”
“If I had been infected with the virus, it would have had to have happened sometime between when you broke me out and now, and no strain that I know of manifests symptoms that quickly after infection. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that a fast-acting strain that I’m not immune to has developed, but it seems unlikely.”
“What did they give you?”
“I don’t know. They kept me heavily sedated, especially recently.” Sylar had taken him around one o’clock pm, so it had been about twelve hours. Was that long enough for withdrawal symptoms to start kicking in? He wasn’t sure when they had last dosed him. Maybe it was being made worse by shock and the fact that his physical condition was so poor.
Sylar sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. “Okay, addiction. I can deal with that. I just need to do some reading.”
“You’ll do some reading,” Mohinder said. “Oh, well, I feel better already.”
Sylar smiled and brushed a curl back from Mohinder’s face. “I’m a very quick study. And I can go raid a hospital and get whatever I need. I’ll take care of you, Mohinder.”
Mohinder’s entire body was now covered in a cold sweat, and his shivering was growing rapidly worse. “Cold,” he said through chattering teeth.
Sylar stood up and walked to the other side of the bed, then climbed in. Mohinder gasped from the sudden, searing heat of Sylar’s body against his back. “Shhh,” Sylar said. “It’s all right.”
No, it is most definitely not all right, Mohinder thought, and laughed weakly, which set off another series of spasms. After a few minutes, the fit passed, leaving Mohinder gasping and exhausted. Sweat dripped into his eyes; he blinked rapidly, which caused tears to leak out and down his cheeks. Sylar wiped the wetness away with his hand.
“I can’t do this,” Mohinder moaned, as if this was something he could reject.
Sylar shushed him again. “You don’t have a choice. Stop trying to fight it and just give in and let it pass. Let go. Rest.” He lifted Mohinder’s right hand and looked at the watch. “It’s one oh eight and fifty-seven seconds,” he said, his lips pressed against Mohinder’s ear. “Fifty-eight, fifty-nine…one oh nine and one…two… three…”
With the amount of pain he was in and how much his mind was reeling, he thought that sleep would be impossible. But the warmth of the arms around him, and the steady pulse of the body behind him, and the quiet voice murmuring the time in his ear, pulled Mohinder into sleep.
Bride of the A/N: The excerpt from Mohinder's "journal" is one of his monologues from "Nothing to Hide." I like thinking that he sits around writing purple prose between experiments. :P
Chapter 3!