Trapped
Title: Trapped
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Mohinder/Sylar (pre-slash)
Rating: PG
Summary: "Sylar was right. There was no possible way this could be the end. He had no idea what was coming, but there was one thing Mohinder was sure of. This? Was just the beginning."
Spoilers: 3x01
Author's notes: Written for the prompt "Trapped" from piping_hot's Sketchy Mylar Prompt Challenge.
He had not expected to cry. What he was doing, it was for the best. Sylar was back, and that meant time was short. She was not even his daughter, he should not have had a problem sending her away on that aeroplane. England was a long way away, safe, and he had friends there. Friends who would keep him informed, reassure him Molly was okay.
Still, it had not been a pleasant experience. He did not know if - no, when - he would see the girl who was as good as his own child again. He had not been able to find the right words to say to her, either, and Matt's absence had been painfully obvious. But the cop was refusing to answer his phone, and time really had been of the essence. He could not have waited for the other man any longer... Molly needed to be moved to safety.
He knew all these facts, deep down. Knew he was doing the right thing, that this did not mean her involvement in his life was over, but that did not stop the tears coming once Molly was past passport control, out of his sight and reach. He had been strong enough to not let her see him upset, but she was gone now.
He did, at least, have the presence of mind to move away from the crowded main terminal of the airport, locating the nearest public restroom and ducking through the door. Hiding himself away in the nearest cubicle, only then did Mohinder allow himself to shed tears, release a few small sobs. He missed her already, that was the truth of it, no matter how many practical arguments there were to tell him he had done the correct thing. None of them helped. She was still his little girl, and she was still gone.
But he could not let himself dwell. He had that woman still to deal with, back at his apartment. She had travelled all the way from South America to find him, and in him a way to remove her power, and he had no answers for her. His research had not shown up even the slightest hint that what she was asking was even possible. He needed to go back to her, tell her that he appreciated all she had done to find him, but that he could regrettably offer no assistance. And then? Then he could finally go home.
Mohinder used the back of his hand to rub his eyes dry, before unlocking the cubicle door and stepping out... right into another man. He barely had time to register why he seemed so familiar before he was telekinetically slammed straight back into the cubicle. Sylar followed, grin speaking more malice than words ever could, eyes both dark and alight at once.
It was a tight fit, two grown men in the small cubicle, and the sound of Sylar locking the door again with his mind did not help. Mohinder was well and truly trapped, caught between the killer's body and the toilet, porcelain bowl pressing against the back of his knees. The cubicle partitions reached the ceiling, no chance of escape that way, and he knew far better than to scream. Sylar would have him silenced before he could make a sound.
"Fancy meeting you here," Sylar was the first to speak, whole face still wickedly alight.
"What... what are you doing here?" Mohinder demanded, straight back, already panicking. If he was here to board Molly's flight, if he had somehow found out where the girl had gone...
"I need to get to California. I have plans." And something about the way he said it? Mohinder knew he was not lying. Whilst that did not still his concerns much - Sylar only had one sort of plan, after all - he was at least happy in the knowledge that Molly was still safe.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head, eyes defiant, glaring at the man looming over him. "Why are you here, then? Don't you have a flight to catch?"
Sylar grinned, a teasing lilt to his voice as he replied. "Oh, Mohinder. You know I can't resist you. Here I was, waiting for my flight, and then I see you. Heading in here. I could hear your breathing, your heart. Heard you were upset."
"So you came to rub it in my face?" Mohinder kept up that defiant glare, one hand slowly moving downwards to delve in his pocket. He had his apartment keys there, and if he could just get them in his fist... he only needed to daze Sylar long enough to get around him and break the telekinetic hold on the cubicle's lock.
The swing was unexpected, but Sylar was fast. His hand raised to grip Mohinder's fist in a mental grasp, the keys that protruded from between the geneticist's fingers stopping long short of their target. With a small nod of his head, as one might give to an opponent in a game of chess who had made a particularly good move, he let his mind focus on those keys, bending the metal in a show of his power. When he became bored of that party trick, the same ability tugged the keys from the Indian's hand and dropped them back into his pocket.
"Now, less of that. Maybe I was here because I was concerned?"
Mohinder laughed humorlessly. He didn't believe that, not for a moment. Sylar, however, seemed not to be concerned by this obvious lack of trust in him. Reaching out, he laid one finger to Mohinder's cheek, the touch surprisingly tender. Mohinder's only response was to recoil, to twist his features into a show of revulsion.
"What are you doing? Get off me!"
"You made me whole again, Mohinder. No one else could do that. Just you. I spared your life once, and now you've given me back mine. Don't you think that makes us equal? Above these petty squabbles?"
Mohinder could only stare, dazed and amazed. Yet again, there was something about Sylar's tone. Some hint of sincerity. He knew without explaining, for the second time in this encounter, that Sylar was telling only the truth. "Get off me," was all he could respond, twisting himself away from that hand that was still trying to caress his cheek. "Whatever you want, I'm not interested!"
He could scarcely believe it, but something almost akin to pain flashed across Sylar's features then, just for a moment. At least, that was what he thought he saw. But then the killer's wicked composure was regained, and that twisted smile was back in place.
"Fine. But this isn't the end, Mohinder. You think about this." His hand slipped away from the dark skin of Mohinder's cheek, instead grasping his shoulder in a firm grip. One step forward was all he needed for their bodies to be pressed flush together, and a slight dip of his head left his lips brushing against the geneticist's ear. "This isn't the end."
And then, Sylar pulled back. Inclined his head slightly, in a parting gesture. Turned his back, opened the lock, and walked away without a second glance. Mohinder followed, a moment later, too shocked even to be relieved that there was nobody else in the restroom to notice the two of them exiting the same cubicle. Standing by the row of sinks, he stared at the door to the terminal, swinging shut behind the killer. He was stunned. No, stunned was not a strong enough word. To be found by Sylar, and to be left with nothing to show for it beyond a bent set of keys?
Sylar was right. There was no possible way this could be the end. He had no idea what was coming, but there was one thing Mohinder was sure of. This? Was just the beginning.
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Mohinder/Sylar (pre-slash)
Rating: PG
Summary: "Sylar was right. There was no possible way this could be the end. He had no idea what was coming, but there was one thing Mohinder was sure of. This? Was just the beginning."
Spoilers: 3x01
Author's notes: Written for the prompt "Trapped" from piping_hot's Sketchy Mylar Prompt Challenge.
He had not expected to cry. What he was doing, it was for the best. Sylar was back, and that meant time was short. She was not even his daughter, he should not have had a problem sending her away on that aeroplane. England was a long way away, safe, and he had friends there. Friends who would keep him informed, reassure him Molly was okay.
Still, it had not been a pleasant experience. He did not know if - no, when - he would see the girl who was as good as his own child again. He had not been able to find the right words to say to her, either, and Matt's absence had been painfully obvious. But the cop was refusing to answer his phone, and time really had been of the essence. He could not have waited for the other man any longer... Molly needed to be moved to safety.
He knew all these facts, deep down. Knew he was doing the right thing, that this did not mean her involvement in his life was over, but that did not stop the tears coming once Molly was past passport control, out of his sight and reach. He had been strong enough to not let her see him upset, but she was gone now.
He did, at least, have the presence of mind to move away from the crowded main terminal of the airport, locating the nearest public restroom and ducking through the door. Hiding himself away in the nearest cubicle, only then did Mohinder allow himself to shed tears, release a few small sobs. He missed her already, that was the truth of it, no matter how many practical arguments there were to tell him he had done the correct thing. None of them helped. She was still his little girl, and she was still gone.
But he could not let himself dwell. He had that woman still to deal with, back at his apartment. She had travelled all the way from South America to find him, and in him a way to remove her power, and he had no answers for her. His research had not shown up even the slightest hint that what she was asking was even possible. He needed to go back to her, tell her that he appreciated all she had done to find him, but that he could regrettably offer no assistance. And then? Then he could finally go home.
Mohinder used the back of his hand to rub his eyes dry, before unlocking the cubicle door and stepping out... right into another man. He barely had time to register why he seemed so familiar before he was telekinetically slammed straight back into the cubicle. Sylar followed, grin speaking more malice than words ever could, eyes both dark and alight at once.
It was a tight fit, two grown men in the small cubicle, and the sound of Sylar locking the door again with his mind did not help. Mohinder was well and truly trapped, caught between the killer's body and the toilet, porcelain bowl pressing against the back of his knees. The cubicle partitions reached the ceiling, no chance of escape that way, and he knew far better than to scream. Sylar would have him silenced before he could make a sound.
"Fancy meeting you here," Sylar was the first to speak, whole face still wickedly alight.
"What... what are you doing here?" Mohinder demanded, straight back, already panicking. If he was here to board Molly's flight, if he had somehow found out where the girl had gone...
"I need to get to California. I have plans." And something about the way he said it? Mohinder knew he was not lying. Whilst that did not still his concerns much - Sylar only had one sort of plan, after all - he was at least happy in the knowledge that Molly was still safe.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head, eyes defiant, glaring at the man looming over him. "Why are you here, then? Don't you have a flight to catch?"
Sylar grinned, a teasing lilt to his voice as he replied. "Oh, Mohinder. You know I can't resist you. Here I was, waiting for my flight, and then I see you. Heading in here. I could hear your breathing, your heart. Heard you were upset."
"So you came to rub it in my face?" Mohinder kept up that defiant glare, one hand slowly moving downwards to delve in his pocket. He had his apartment keys there, and if he could just get them in his fist... he only needed to daze Sylar long enough to get around him and break the telekinetic hold on the cubicle's lock.
The swing was unexpected, but Sylar was fast. His hand raised to grip Mohinder's fist in a mental grasp, the keys that protruded from between the geneticist's fingers stopping long short of their target. With a small nod of his head, as one might give to an opponent in a game of chess who had made a particularly good move, he let his mind focus on those keys, bending the metal in a show of his power. When he became bored of that party trick, the same ability tugged the keys from the Indian's hand and dropped them back into his pocket.
"Now, less of that. Maybe I was here because I was concerned?"
Mohinder laughed humorlessly. He didn't believe that, not for a moment. Sylar, however, seemed not to be concerned by this obvious lack of trust in him. Reaching out, he laid one finger to Mohinder's cheek, the touch surprisingly tender. Mohinder's only response was to recoil, to twist his features into a show of revulsion.
"What are you doing? Get off me!"
"You made me whole again, Mohinder. No one else could do that. Just you. I spared your life once, and now you've given me back mine. Don't you think that makes us equal? Above these petty squabbles?"
Mohinder could only stare, dazed and amazed. Yet again, there was something about Sylar's tone. Some hint of sincerity. He knew without explaining, for the second time in this encounter, that Sylar was telling only the truth. "Get off me," was all he could respond, twisting himself away from that hand that was still trying to caress his cheek. "Whatever you want, I'm not interested!"
He could scarcely believe it, but something almost akin to pain flashed across Sylar's features then, just for a moment. At least, that was what he thought he saw. But then the killer's wicked composure was regained, and that twisted smile was back in place.
"Fine. But this isn't the end, Mohinder. You think about this." His hand slipped away from the dark skin of Mohinder's cheek, instead grasping his shoulder in a firm grip. One step forward was all he needed for their bodies to be pressed flush together, and a slight dip of his head left his lips brushing against the geneticist's ear. "This isn't the end."
And then, Sylar pulled back. Inclined his head slightly, in a parting gesture. Turned his back, opened the lock, and walked away without a second glance. Mohinder followed, a moment later, too shocked even to be relieved that there was nobody else in the restroom to notice the two of them exiting the same cubicle. Standing by the row of sinks, he stared at the door to the terminal, swinging shut behind the killer. He was stunned. No, stunned was not a strong enough word. To be found by Sylar, and to be left with nothing to show for it beyond a bent set of keys?
Sylar was right. There was no possible way this could be the end. He had no idea what was coming, but there was one thing Mohinder was sure of. This? Was just the beginning.