(no subject)
Title: Define Dangerous
Characters: Sylar, Claire.
Spoilers: Up to Season 2.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2304
Chapter: 14/?
Previously: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13
Summary: While escaping the Company, Sylar meets up with someone from his past. Together, they must piece together some semblance of normality after years of captivity. Future AU.
Author Notes: Merry Christmas! I hope no one got a Kensei sword under the tree and then proceeded to accidentally slice their finger open on it.. cause I did.. and it freakin' hurts typing now.
“Gabriel.” A faint sound broke the cocoon of silence and safety, intruding into the blackness to reach for him and drag him out. It had no right to do that, no right to take the last precious moments of his pain-free existence away. It had no right but there it was on the edge of his awareness, taunting him. Sylar eluded its grasp, crawling further into unconsciousness to hide from what he only vaguely knew was waiting out there. It called to him a second time, growing more impatient. “Wake up, Gabriel.”
Sylar refused again, wrapped up in his attempt to put the night's events in order. Sleepiness and numbing pain confused the order and reason of things.. There was a gun, this much he remembered. No, not a gun, a taser. And Mohinder.. but was Mohinder before or after the gun.. he wasn't sure. Couldn't be sure of anything right now. He moaned lethargically.
“Gabriel!”
His eyes snapped open, bodily sensations flooding back to him in rapid succession. The rope that held his arms tied above his head and tethered to the ceiling jerked, making him sway on his tiptoes. His chest rose and fell, a scream stuck in his throat as he was thrust back into the waking world. He couldn't scream, he quickly reminded himself and shut his mouth. Not here. It would only amuse his captors.
The pain in his arms from being held in that position, with all his weight hanging on his wrists, made him stop struggling. Each jerk of the rope pulled on his arms so he remained as still as possible, blinking away the fogginess as he narrowed his eyes at the only other man in this abandoned warehouse. “You. You're the bastard that shot me with that taser gun!”
“Watch your language, Gabriel. We'll have no power plays here.” The older gentleman replied, standing up from his chair. Clasping his hands together, he continued with practiced refinement. “But you are correct. I am Mr. Prescott, co-facilitator of Primatech's Import Department. And you are--” He snatched up a thick manila folder from off a nearby table. Rifling through the papers, Prescott spouted out known information in an effort to unnerve his captive. “Gabriel Gray. Born May 29, 1977 in Brooklyn, New York to Virginia and Glen Gray. You are a single child, no brothers, no sisters, no friends. Your parents divorced when you were fifteen. At the age of 29, you met a man named Chandra Suresh who helped you to discover your ability of Intuitive Aptitude--”
“I've heard this before. Lived it not so long ago too. So, unless you have any new information for me about me, let's just end this here.” Sylar raised himself on his toes, needing release from the tightness of the rope. It was leaving burn marks around his wrists, pulling at the skin. Nevertheless, he forced a bored yawn.
Prescott abruptly punched him across the face, interrupting Sylar's show of yawning. Sylar's lip cracked open and a thin trail of blood rolled down his chin. Showing no surprise at the act, Sylar only laughed for all his ruined plans. He watched as Prescott pondered over his sanity, laughing was probably not the first thing his other captives did when they woke up. Sylar would always be different though.
Careful not to spill the folder of notes the company kept on Sylar, the man continued. “All these years of living within the company's walls and you still have not learned how to keep your mouth shut. It's a pity.” His eyes traveled up to the ropes that held Sylar bound and in his control. “You wouldn't be here in this predicament if you learned to follow orders.”
“Does it really matter if I'm stuck here or in some cell down in Primatech?” Sylar glanced at the ceiling, wondering how much wiggling it would take to undo his bonds. He sighed; it was no use. If the ropes wouldn't budge, they would only yank his arms out of their sockets if he struggled too much. That would be a step in a very wrong and painful direction. If only he could access his powers but while the rest of his body seemed to wake up again, his powers still lay dormant. “This 'predicament' only stems from the fact that you people refuse to leave me alone.”
“Do you really think we should do that and risk the liability to the rest of the world's population?” Prescott was circling him like a vulture waiting to pick his bones apart. He opened the folder once again, reading off a list of names. “Brian Davis. Chandra Suresh. Charlie Andrews. Zane Taylor. Dale Smither. Isaac Mendez. Ted Sprague..”
Sylar closed his eyes, memories of each of the murders coming into his mind's eye. Those moments were highlights of his life. The carefully planned out attack, the screaming, the way the victims looked when they breathed their last breath. It was almost orgasmic.
Prescott's fists balled up. Things were beginning to get personal, which was just as well. Sylar knew that people made their biggest slip ups when things were taken to a more intimate level. “And countless others.. including several of my close associates in Odessa only days ago.. all of these people are dead. Because of you. And you think you can get off with a warning? We only do what we do so that we can protect ordinary citizens from monsters such as you.”
Even though so much pleasure came from those acts, defending himself in front of Prescott would not work. Sylar changed his tactic, fighting philosophy with his own convictions. “What about Claire, then? What did she do to deserve your treatment?”
Prescott finished his circle around Sylar, coming to stand right in front of him. He made a note in Sylar's case files, having heard something that peeked his interest. “Emotional empathy. That's surprising, given your past history of egotism and conceit. Is that another trick you picked up from someone? The ability to actually have feelings, to care?”
Sylar shut his mouth, afraid he may have said too much. Primatech didn't know of Claire's whereabouts or that she was with him. Not until he spoke and blew the whole thing. Things were getting personal; he was slipping up. He shut his eyes, whispering an apology to the girl in his head.
As much as Sylar was pained to admit that a company employee possessed any brainpower, Prescott was most assuredly right. He was caring about people, about her. Damn. Perhaps it really was an ability he'd stolen from one of the dead or a trick his own mind was playing on him.
He opened his eyes once more, murder in his gaze as he spoke with deadly accuracy. He knew what Prescott was thinking. Sylar wouldn't stand for it. “Don't you even think of touching her.”
Prescott only laughed at him, amused by this false show of strength. They both knew there wasn't anything Sylar could do to stop the company from doing what it wanted. If Claire was what they wanted, they would do anything to lock her up in one of their little, claustrophobic prisons. Sylar fought against his binds again, new rage pushing him to act. His little rebellion only resulted in sharp pain shooting up through his arms. Sylar winced but the ropes held tight.
Sylar's voice lowered, growing all the more serious, “My powers aren't going to be gone forever. When they come back, I'm going to kill you like I did to all those others. And, if you so much as think of going after Claire before I get them back, your death will be a slow one.”
“You're not getting your powers back, Gabriel. Not until Primatech's through with you.” Prescott smiled, in on a secret he had not shared yet. “You've been noticing a lack of abilities I presume, or else you would have been able to get out of that rather ridiculously easy trap we set for you last night. It's the long-term effects of the Cybexeine in your system. You had been taking that for four years prior to your escape, correct?”
Sylar grit his teeth and nodded, wordlessly. A stupid move on his part but he agreed to play along with the company back when he was in their care. It was only supposed to be for a few days, until he could figure out how to get out of there. Then days turned to weeks, weeks to months and years. They'd been breaking him down, little by little. It was his own fault for submitting like that and he hated himself for it.
“This drug, the Cybexeine, kept your powers from emerging as it killed off those connections in your brain. It was part of your treatment plan, in order to keep you under control. Unfortunately, stopping the drug does not mean you will automatically get your powers back because its withdrawal can be erratic. Most often you'll have short bursts of abilities during withdrawal, until they stop completely and forever.”
This whole interrogation was designed to terrify him but the company had not yet pushed him over that line yet. Not until Prescott gave him that last bit of news. Everything special about him was wrapped up in his powers. Without them, he would be plain old Gabriel for the rest of his life, the clumsy watchmaker's son. He sagged in his bonds, the physical agony of placing more weight on his wrists not even able to touch the new emotional anguish. “So, that's it.. I'm going to be.. normal?”
“Not necessarily.” Prescott went to retrieve a vial from his bag, filled with a red liquid. He passed it in front of Sylar's face, letting the other man see it. “We've developed this other drug, Troflexim. It strengthens the pathways in the brain that are connected to special abilities. We've used it to bring out natural abilities in the kids of enhanced humans; those we think might one day exhibit their own. Our scientists believe it will help to fix what the other drug broke. You could have your powers back, Gabriel.”
The vial of medicine suddenly became a thing of vital importance. Sylar was unable to turn his eyes away from it. Meat in front of a starving dog, this offered the last chance at salvation and the return to his previous life. Prescott seemed to enjoy playing with it in front of him, teasing him with the cure. Sylar blinked, forcing himself to turn away. He frowned, knowing this next part of the conversation would hold no joy for him. “I know you're not going to give it to me out of the kindness of your heart. What do you want me to do in order to get my reward?”
“You've been protecting a girl, which is quite unlike you considering the report the company psychologist put in your files. We need Claire Bennett back in our custody.” He shrugged, the situation so simple to him. “All we are asking you to do is live up to your true nature. Stop trying to save her. Give up the girl; get the prize. It's your choice.”
Sylar glanced back at the vial, letting it nearly hypnotize him. It was right there in front of him, the answer to his problems. Everything he'd always loved about himself was sheer inches away from his grasp. His abilities could be cured by that medicine, the beautiful bubbling red liquid would enter his veins, course through his mind, fix him up and they'd get him on his feet again. The company wouldn't be able to touch him after that, nobody would.
Then, he thought of Claire and his promise to her. He knew where to find Peter now. He could get her there and she would be safe again. Primatech already did enough damage to her in the past. She had nightmares; he'd woken up a few times to her whimpering during the few nights they'd spent together. He would watch her until she settled back down again, hating Primatech all the while.
If she reentered their captivity, Claire would lose whatever was left of her and never be able to put herself back together again. No matter how much he wanted that cure, his own stupid protective urge refused to yield. “Get another lackey. I don't work for you.”
Prescott nodded, obviously prepared for this possibility. “Let's set this aside for now then.” He placed the vial on the table, only a few feet away from Sylar, well within his eyesight. It taunted him, keeping its secrets of special abilities and immense power hidden from his mind. “I'll come back in a little while and we'll see if you haven't changed your mind by then.”
With the trap laid and the bait set, Prescott walked away and dialed a number on his cell phone. Sylar wished he could make out what he was talking about or to whom. It might have aided him in his escape. It was most likely Primatech, discussing their plans for Sylar with their top field employee. Once upon a time, he would have easily picked up on their conversation but those powers were lost to him now.
He growled, anger seizing every part of him, as he carefully watched the medicine sitting on the table so unassumingly making him lose his willpower. He worked at the knots around his wrists, seeing if any of them would loosen and give him a little space to slip his hands through. After struggling for a few minutes, Sylar sighed and eyed the vial. As stubborn as Sylar could be, this temptation was going to take a restraint he wasn't sure he possessed.
..to be continued..
Characters: Sylar, Claire.
Spoilers: Up to Season 2.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2304
Chapter: 14/?
Previously: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13
Summary: While escaping the Company, Sylar meets up with someone from his past. Together, they must piece together some semblance of normality after years of captivity. Future AU.
Author Notes: Merry Christmas! I hope no one got a Kensei sword under the tree and then proceeded to accidentally slice their finger open on it.. cause I did.. and it freakin' hurts typing now.
“Gabriel.” A faint sound broke the cocoon of silence and safety, intruding into the blackness to reach for him and drag him out. It had no right to do that, no right to take the last precious moments of his pain-free existence away. It had no right but there it was on the edge of his awareness, taunting him. Sylar eluded its grasp, crawling further into unconsciousness to hide from what he only vaguely knew was waiting out there. It called to him a second time, growing more impatient. “Wake up, Gabriel.”
Sylar refused again, wrapped up in his attempt to put the night's events in order. Sleepiness and numbing pain confused the order and reason of things.. There was a gun, this much he remembered. No, not a gun, a taser. And Mohinder.. but was Mohinder before or after the gun.. he wasn't sure. Couldn't be sure of anything right now. He moaned lethargically.
“Gabriel!”
His eyes snapped open, bodily sensations flooding back to him in rapid succession. The rope that held his arms tied above his head and tethered to the ceiling jerked, making him sway on his tiptoes. His chest rose and fell, a scream stuck in his throat as he was thrust back into the waking world. He couldn't scream, he quickly reminded himself and shut his mouth. Not here. It would only amuse his captors.
The pain in his arms from being held in that position, with all his weight hanging on his wrists, made him stop struggling. Each jerk of the rope pulled on his arms so he remained as still as possible, blinking away the fogginess as he narrowed his eyes at the only other man in this abandoned warehouse. “You. You're the bastard that shot me with that taser gun!”
“Watch your language, Gabriel. We'll have no power plays here.” The older gentleman replied, standing up from his chair. Clasping his hands together, he continued with practiced refinement. “But you are correct. I am Mr. Prescott, co-facilitator of Primatech's Import Department. And you are--” He snatched up a thick manila folder from off a nearby table. Rifling through the papers, Prescott spouted out known information in an effort to unnerve his captive. “Gabriel Gray. Born May 29, 1977 in Brooklyn, New York to Virginia and Glen Gray. You are a single child, no brothers, no sisters, no friends. Your parents divorced when you were fifteen. At the age of 29, you met a man named Chandra Suresh who helped you to discover your ability of Intuitive Aptitude--”
“I've heard this before. Lived it not so long ago too. So, unless you have any new information for me about me, let's just end this here.” Sylar raised himself on his toes, needing release from the tightness of the rope. It was leaving burn marks around his wrists, pulling at the skin. Nevertheless, he forced a bored yawn.
Prescott abruptly punched him across the face, interrupting Sylar's show of yawning. Sylar's lip cracked open and a thin trail of blood rolled down his chin. Showing no surprise at the act, Sylar only laughed for all his ruined plans. He watched as Prescott pondered over his sanity, laughing was probably not the first thing his other captives did when they woke up. Sylar would always be different though.
Careful not to spill the folder of notes the company kept on Sylar, the man continued. “All these years of living within the company's walls and you still have not learned how to keep your mouth shut. It's a pity.” His eyes traveled up to the ropes that held Sylar bound and in his control. “You wouldn't be here in this predicament if you learned to follow orders.”
“Does it really matter if I'm stuck here or in some cell down in Primatech?” Sylar glanced at the ceiling, wondering how much wiggling it would take to undo his bonds. He sighed; it was no use. If the ropes wouldn't budge, they would only yank his arms out of their sockets if he struggled too much. That would be a step in a very wrong and painful direction. If only he could access his powers but while the rest of his body seemed to wake up again, his powers still lay dormant. “This 'predicament' only stems from the fact that you people refuse to leave me alone.”
“Do you really think we should do that and risk the liability to the rest of the world's population?” Prescott was circling him like a vulture waiting to pick his bones apart. He opened the folder once again, reading off a list of names. “Brian Davis. Chandra Suresh. Charlie Andrews. Zane Taylor. Dale Smither. Isaac Mendez. Ted Sprague..”
Sylar closed his eyes, memories of each of the murders coming into his mind's eye. Those moments were highlights of his life. The carefully planned out attack, the screaming, the way the victims looked when they breathed their last breath. It was almost orgasmic.
Prescott's fists balled up. Things were beginning to get personal, which was just as well. Sylar knew that people made their biggest slip ups when things were taken to a more intimate level. “And countless others.. including several of my close associates in Odessa only days ago.. all of these people are dead. Because of you. And you think you can get off with a warning? We only do what we do so that we can protect ordinary citizens from monsters such as you.”
Even though so much pleasure came from those acts, defending himself in front of Prescott would not work. Sylar changed his tactic, fighting philosophy with his own convictions. “What about Claire, then? What did she do to deserve your treatment?”
Prescott finished his circle around Sylar, coming to stand right in front of him. He made a note in Sylar's case files, having heard something that peeked his interest. “Emotional empathy. That's surprising, given your past history of egotism and conceit. Is that another trick you picked up from someone? The ability to actually have feelings, to care?”
Sylar shut his mouth, afraid he may have said too much. Primatech didn't know of Claire's whereabouts or that she was with him. Not until he spoke and blew the whole thing. Things were getting personal; he was slipping up. He shut his eyes, whispering an apology to the girl in his head.
As much as Sylar was pained to admit that a company employee possessed any brainpower, Prescott was most assuredly right. He was caring about people, about her. Damn. Perhaps it really was an ability he'd stolen from one of the dead or a trick his own mind was playing on him.
He opened his eyes once more, murder in his gaze as he spoke with deadly accuracy. He knew what Prescott was thinking. Sylar wouldn't stand for it. “Don't you even think of touching her.”
Prescott only laughed at him, amused by this false show of strength. They both knew there wasn't anything Sylar could do to stop the company from doing what it wanted. If Claire was what they wanted, they would do anything to lock her up in one of their little, claustrophobic prisons. Sylar fought against his binds again, new rage pushing him to act. His little rebellion only resulted in sharp pain shooting up through his arms. Sylar winced but the ropes held tight.
Sylar's voice lowered, growing all the more serious, “My powers aren't going to be gone forever. When they come back, I'm going to kill you like I did to all those others. And, if you so much as think of going after Claire before I get them back, your death will be a slow one.”
“You're not getting your powers back, Gabriel. Not until Primatech's through with you.” Prescott smiled, in on a secret he had not shared yet. “You've been noticing a lack of abilities I presume, or else you would have been able to get out of that rather ridiculously easy trap we set for you last night. It's the long-term effects of the Cybexeine in your system. You had been taking that for four years prior to your escape, correct?”
Sylar grit his teeth and nodded, wordlessly. A stupid move on his part but he agreed to play along with the company back when he was in their care. It was only supposed to be for a few days, until he could figure out how to get out of there. Then days turned to weeks, weeks to months and years. They'd been breaking him down, little by little. It was his own fault for submitting like that and he hated himself for it.
“This drug, the Cybexeine, kept your powers from emerging as it killed off those connections in your brain. It was part of your treatment plan, in order to keep you under control. Unfortunately, stopping the drug does not mean you will automatically get your powers back because its withdrawal can be erratic. Most often you'll have short bursts of abilities during withdrawal, until they stop completely and forever.”
This whole interrogation was designed to terrify him but the company had not yet pushed him over that line yet. Not until Prescott gave him that last bit of news. Everything special about him was wrapped up in his powers. Without them, he would be plain old Gabriel for the rest of his life, the clumsy watchmaker's son. He sagged in his bonds, the physical agony of placing more weight on his wrists not even able to touch the new emotional anguish. “So, that's it.. I'm going to be.. normal?”
“Not necessarily.” Prescott went to retrieve a vial from his bag, filled with a red liquid. He passed it in front of Sylar's face, letting the other man see it. “We've developed this other drug, Troflexim. It strengthens the pathways in the brain that are connected to special abilities. We've used it to bring out natural abilities in the kids of enhanced humans; those we think might one day exhibit their own. Our scientists believe it will help to fix what the other drug broke. You could have your powers back, Gabriel.”
The vial of medicine suddenly became a thing of vital importance. Sylar was unable to turn his eyes away from it. Meat in front of a starving dog, this offered the last chance at salvation and the return to his previous life. Prescott seemed to enjoy playing with it in front of him, teasing him with the cure. Sylar blinked, forcing himself to turn away. He frowned, knowing this next part of the conversation would hold no joy for him. “I know you're not going to give it to me out of the kindness of your heart. What do you want me to do in order to get my reward?”
“You've been protecting a girl, which is quite unlike you considering the report the company psychologist put in your files. We need Claire Bennett back in our custody.” He shrugged, the situation so simple to him. “All we are asking you to do is live up to your true nature. Stop trying to save her. Give up the girl; get the prize. It's your choice.”
Sylar glanced back at the vial, letting it nearly hypnotize him. It was right there in front of him, the answer to his problems. Everything he'd always loved about himself was sheer inches away from his grasp. His abilities could be cured by that medicine, the beautiful bubbling red liquid would enter his veins, course through his mind, fix him up and they'd get him on his feet again. The company wouldn't be able to touch him after that, nobody would.
Then, he thought of Claire and his promise to her. He knew where to find Peter now. He could get her there and she would be safe again. Primatech already did enough damage to her in the past. She had nightmares; he'd woken up a few times to her whimpering during the few nights they'd spent together. He would watch her until she settled back down again, hating Primatech all the while.
If she reentered their captivity, Claire would lose whatever was left of her and never be able to put herself back together again. No matter how much he wanted that cure, his own stupid protective urge refused to yield. “Get another lackey. I don't work for you.”
Prescott nodded, obviously prepared for this possibility. “Let's set this aside for now then.” He placed the vial on the table, only a few feet away from Sylar, well within his eyesight. It taunted him, keeping its secrets of special abilities and immense power hidden from his mind. “I'll come back in a little while and we'll see if you haven't changed your mind by then.”
With the trap laid and the bait set, Prescott walked away and dialed a number on his cell phone. Sylar wished he could make out what he was talking about or to whom. It might have aided him in his escape. It was most likely Primatech, discussing their plans for Sylar with their top field employee. Once upon a time, he would have easily picked up on their conversation but those powers were lost to him now.
He growled, anger seizing every part of him, as he carefully watched the medicine sitting on the table so unassumingly making him lose his willpower. He worked at the knots around his wrists, seeing if any of them would loosen and give him a little space to slip his hands through. After struggling for a few minutes, Sylar sighed and eyed the vial. As stubborn as Sylar could be, this temptation was going to take a restraint he wasn't sure he possessed.
..to be continued..