(no subject)
this is cracked out on levels that i don't think i've ever managed before. technically, it's like: chris/sylar, mohinder/zach, peter/bangs, and then (after all of that) chris/zach. so, yeah. there's some s1 heroes spoilers floating around and a blatant disregard for the Timeline of Power Acquistion and everyone's generally acting like a douchebag to one another. you know, the fun stuff. also: chris pine =/= jack coleman. this is an obvious fact. (warnings infidelity.)
i could be your man
chris/zach, pg13, 2833 words
He looks like Zach and he’s acting sort of batshit insane like Zach sometimes (usually) does, but the whole moving-random-objects-in-a-destructive-manner-with-his-mind thing is new and he’s calling Chris, ‘Noah’, and long strings of curse words at an alarming frequency. So, Chris is going to assume that this probably isn’t Zach. Zach’s usually not walking around with that much blood on him, anyways.
“You’re not Noah,” not-Zach says after about ten minutes of constantly referring to Chris as such. That’s okay, though; lots of people make mistakes. But then his eyes are flashing and he’s walking like, straight up to Chris, the demand in his voice making him seem that much crazier, asking: “What can you do?” And, even though he is not grabbing Chris by the front of his shirt, Chris puts his hands up on instinct because that’s what they do in the movies and Chris is in the movies, so. Yes.
Chris swallows down his terror and tries to think of an appropriate response to a question like that. “I act,” he says and his voice has not ratcheted up any number of octaves much less, like, eight. That’s probably not even possible. This has not-Zach pursing his lips together in the same adorable way Zach does when Chris decides to do that one more thing to please him (like he can’t believe anyone that stupid actually exists) and watching Chris very, very carefully.
He spends a little too much time staring at Chris’s forehead for him to feel completely comfortable, which - granted - is a little creepy, but refreshingly normal on the Creepy Scale; something he has been internally attuned to since Lindsay Lohan. Not-Zach just looks really fucking confused.
“You can’t do anything,” he says and steps back from Chris. “Where am I?” He looks around in a panic. And Chris, who doesn’t have the best mental filter, spits out: “What do you mean I can’t do anything?” with a little too much vehemence to be considered anything other than narcissistic.
Not-Zach stops mid-panic and strides right back up to Chris. “You’re not special.” And, ow, okay (and okay, ow). “You’re nothing like me.” The menagerie of blood stains he’s outfitted in definitely suggests that much. Chris doesn’t kill people in the literal sense; only a few times, figuratively, with his attractiveness (and half of that was John Cho, although circumstances), but his agent had already warned him about that maybe-possibly-probably happening.
And, yes, Chris is kind of outraged about all of this, but: “Who are you?” is still the prevailing question here. The ‘not-Zach’ tag is getting tired. Well, Chris is getting tired. And confused. He kind of just wants to wash this version of Zach up and give him a hat because if Zach-Zach is not coming back, this guy is pretty much the First Best Thing and Chris could be okay with that if he dropped (some of) the crazy.
“Sylar. And you’re not Noah Bennet from any past or future lifetime, are you?” Chris should say that, yes, he is Noah Bennet because he must be badass to make some whacko that looks like Zach and has telekinesis freak out, but then another lamp or Hustler may be thrown at his face and JJ told him not to chance things like that. Face-things.
Chris considers the question one more time and decides to avoid the lamp-in-the-face scenario. He feels it’s a good choice. “No. But, man, sweet name.” ‘Sylar’ is a total villain name. All the way. ‘Nero’ actually sort of sucks in comparison. He should suggest this to JJ with a nice 24-pack of Diet Coke for weight. Yes, yes.
Sylar flinches. But then he’s giving Chris this manic smile that is endearing in its own special way when he realises that, unlike everyone else, Chris is not kidding. “Oh, and people always sound just so scared when they say it. That, and disdainful. It’s good. It works.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks down at his feet, toeing Zach’s living room carpet. (Whatever, it’s not like Zach’s here to flail and break out his whole cleaning arsenal from Ajax to Vim.) It’s like Sylar’s embarrassed or something.
“No, it definitely does. I mean, I would be intangibly freaked out if all of a sudden I turned around and like, Sylar was there and I said that, too. Just like that: Sylar. Has anyone ever done that to you? I mean, assuming that you do kill people and all. You do, right?”
Sylar laughs. The more Chris stares at Sylar, the more like Zach he seems to be when, in actuality, that laugh is probably the product of a super-fucked up childhood and a lot of axe-wielding, but Chris can’t be sure. And, once again, Sylar is right back up in Chris’s personal space only this time his hands are on Chris’s hips. Chris always manages to say the smoothest of things. And, hey, it’s not infidelity if he looks like Zach, right?
Because, yeah, “You know it,” is coming out of Sylar’s mouth and it’s pretty fantastic against his. The blood is still weird, though. In an ostentatious way.
Zach thinks he might be dead. And then he realises that, no, he’s in some soft of fucked up hostage situation. Which may actually be worse. If this is Eric Bana again Zach is going to be pissed. However, this place is just full of maps and textbooks and theories or whatever. (Not coffee-scented candles and champagne in an ice bucket or in a Paramount trailer that wasn’t Chris’s. Although, Zach would be wary of that, too. Bana could have been using a front. Chris would let him.)
Then two guys who are neither Bana (score!) or Chris (damn), but two attractive in-their-own-way guys, are coming out of nowhere and this is getting kind of sexy. If a twin wanting-you-dead look is a sexy. Necrophilia is never okay.
“Mohinder, are you sure he’s going to be all right like this? Without the IV?” the one-with-the-bangs asks. And when did life actually get this dramatic? An IV? Really? What for? Is this a method of questioning used by CSI: Abridged? Like, what the fuck. If Zach’s going to continue to think honestly, he does not deserve the look Bangs gives him, not at all.
Mohinder, with super-perfect skin off-set by blue tones, leans forward and catches Zach’s gaze. “I think he’ll be all right. Won’t you, Mr. Sylar?” And wait, hold up. No rearranged version of Zach’s name can create ‘Sylar’. Truthfully, Zach’s always feared this, mistaken identity, but usually only when applied to not being able to score free drinks with his face. This is just getting worse and worse.
“Quinto,” he says with plenty of emphasis. “My last name is Quinto. Zachary. Zach.” Bangs makes an over-exaggerated yeah, right face and seriously, this guy can shove it. “Why am I tied to a chair?” Zach mentally reminds himself to take this off of his and Chris’s Things I’d Like You to Do to Me list. Like, stat.
Bangs cuts him a real even look (or what Bangs probably thinks is even). “Because you try to kill anything that moves and possesses even the smallest semblance of power?” He turns to Mohinder, confused. “Is this some new thing he’s started doing? Playing dumb?” See, if people were always talking to Zach like this then, yes, he probably would be an absolute killing machine like Bangs is suggesting he is. Christian Bale-style and just as professional.
“Since when? Because the fucked-up eyebrows I had for the last few months would make me easy to pick out of a line-up if there were witnesses. And besides, no one is scared of a man with a bowl cut unless it’s for his dignity.” Zach does not kill people. He does not know people who kill other people. He just doesn’t. And Paramount wouldn’t let him. “And who the fuck are you?”
Bangs mouths, “Is it all of the gene-shifting?” at Mohinder and, seriously, Zachary Quinto wants answers now. Mohinder evaluates the situation, hand under his chin, with even more Bangs commentary: “You’re seriously going to believe this psychopath?” and it’s said with enough disbelief to make Zach think that Mohinder has believed this psychopath once before. Natch.
Zach growls out his who-the-motherfuck-are-you? question again because Bangs seemed to have missed it the first time and then Mohinder is saying: “Well, he obviously looks like Sylar and he obviously sounds like Sylar. He does use that specific tone of voice quite often.” And despite all of this (absolutely all of this), Zach does pick up on the unsaid, the implied which is kind of hot. Zach knows that, bar none, almost everything he does is hot.
Bangs looks offended and slightly effeminate. “Peter. Peter Petrelli.” Zach blanks him. “You tried to take apart my skull. You pinned Mohinder to the ceiling with pieces of glass. All in this apartment!” Zach would have to have been crazy to do that. Or two people. Zach’s banking on two people. And Peter needs to stop flailing his arms like, yesterday.
“Well, Peter, instead of complaining about it and bringing up unpleasant memories, why don’t you read Zach’s mind and tell us what he does know.” Peter must be a complete tool to forget that he could do something like that and the way Mohinder says it it's as if he’s trying to tap into the Largest Patience Reserve on Earth. Zach, in counterpoint, is trying to calculate how hard he’ll be able to bite Peter’s hand when he swings it this way again.
Peter huffs and then leans in just a little too fucking close, thank you (and, even if he is cute, the Tool Factor is just so off-putting because he surpasses even Chris, oh my god). He pulls back looking like he’s just been kicked which, unfortunately, was not Zach’s doing. “He’s clean. There’s just a lot of Star Trek and some guy named Chris Pine in there. Can’t do anything, though.”
“Then where did he come from?” Mohinder asks this in a way that suggests he is definitely not expecting Peter to actually be able to answer him. He leans up against the desk and, jesus, that’s sort of distracting.
And, oh, that was a question directed at Zach. “LA. With that guy. Chris Pine. That’s where I was last. Before I ended up here. With you.” Zach looks around the room. “You guys.” Peter doesn’t look convinced. “I’m serious. I don’t have any idea as to what you think I’m supposed to be able to do.” It takes a self-confident and self-understood individual to admit: “I probably can’t do it.” Zach really just wants to leave.
“So, what you’re saying is that you don’t have telekinesis, cryokinesis, super-hearing, or that thing you had first. Uh, fuck, what is it? Intuitive aptitude. And you’re not radioactive.” Peter throws his hands up into the air. “Right, okay.” Zach likes that Peter seems beyond-repair frustrated and has disappeared. Wait, what?
Zach watches as Mohinder picks something up off of his desk and hurls it in the general vicinity of the kitchen. It’s a stapler. Peter comes right back into sight, rubbing at his forehead and making unconvincing pained faces. Zach’s probably-misplaced crush on Mohinder is getting a little out of control.
So, Peter is also invisible. All right. That’s not too important. “There’s someone who looks like me who can do all of that? Awesome, man.” So, if this Sylar guy is that badass then that means that Zach must be that badass.
Peter says, “No, you’re not,” and Zach responds with: “Oh, yes I am,” because he must have done something right to have Mohinder’s super-soft hands untying him. Zach presses out the wrinkles in his cardigan and pants before standing up. He turns to Mohinder. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re devastatingly attractive?”
Chris can go fuck himself if he thinks Zach’s going to pass this up.
The first thing Chris says to Zach is: “He looked like you. Therefore: not cheating.” He’s kind of shirtless and red all over. Just kind of.
Zach actually looks really excited about this. “You met him? Did he have all of the powers Peter said he would have?” Zach looks down at the broken lamp by his feet. “Oh, he so does. And he looked like me, right? Was it mind-blowing? You have to say it was mind-blowing.”
“Who’s Peter?” Chris asks absently. And then: “Zach, he kills people. With his mind. And he can undress you. With his mind.” Chris scratches at what he believes might be a burn in the shape of Sylar’s hand on his neck. “He’s probably insane, but the sex was amazing. A paradigm of you, really.”
It’s exactly at this moment that Chris realises that Zach isn’t wearing a hat anymore and, what’s more astonishing, is that his cardigan is done up completely wrong. He only has one question: “Did he look like me?”
And Zach says, “Chris, I thought you were working on your complex,” but he doesn’t really care. “No, not at all. But, he was gorgeous and I think he might have a crush on Sylar which happened to work out very well for me. I think Peter might have been there too, but the fucker’s invisible, so. No confirmation.”
“Huh,” Chris says. “So, the fabric of time or something was ripped and we both got laid.” He and Zach consider this for a moment. “Awesome.” And then they do their five-part high-five for situations like this which, in it of itself, is awesome.
And that is all well and commendable, but it can only be so cool for so long if only two people know about it. Which is why Zach says, “We should call someone about this,” and Chris enthusiastically nods along.
And then Chris’s face changes, thinking. “After Victory Sex.”
Zach has always understood logic like this so well. He’s already got himself up against Chris biting at, yes, what-are-probably-burn-marks dotted across the other side of Chris’s collarbone, only breaking to answer with: “Yes, after Victory Sex.”
“I was sleeping,” Karl says. And no, he definitely wasn’t as it’s about eleven-thirty at night and Karl will stay up until about two just to watch ten minutes of Skinemax. “You’ve gone and woken everyone up.”
“No, we haven’t. And besides: time-travelling sex, Karl…” Chris starts.
Zach looks away, trying not to acknowledge just how passive-aggressive Karl-hanging-up-on-Chris really was. Not Zach, though. He didn’t technically hang up on Zach.
“Jerk,” Chris says, staring down at the phone with what can really only be referred to as a glower.
“‘Tosser’,” Zach says. “I believe the word you’re looking for, Chris, is ‘tosser’.”
And even that’s not right.
They bait John for longer than either of them expect to. He’s even making appropriate listening noises! And whispering sort of secretively into the receiver which makes it seems as if he’s in awe when, in reality, it’s probably because of his wife and son. Zach will never not count a win as a win.
Zach manages to get out the entire story, even the detail about that thing Chris did with his tongue during Victory Sex (because John is still that guy who guests stars on TV shows and makes liberal use of their stripper poles). Zach’s actually pretty proud. People don’t hang up on him.
And then Zach has to stop feeling so pleased with himself and start listening again because John’s saying, “Okay, I love you guys,” which is a very nice compliment, but he sort of kills it in the water when he adds: “But, seriously, never call here again.”
Chris and Zach share a look. There is no way in fuck they’re calling Zoe. Chris really values his face. Oh, and Zach’s, too.
John may have listened, but his reaction was not satisfactory. So, they call Anton. And see, Anton really does appreciate telekinesis and cryokinesis and that first power Sylar had. He even asks all of the right questions, too. (Like: Was it totally mind-blowing? Was his skin really was that soft? Invisible voyeurism really is pretty high up there on the Creepy Scale, yeah? All in his earnest little voice.)
When they’re done on the phone with Anton and it’s one-thirty in the morning and they each feel about thirteen-percent more validated, Zach says, “We should send that kid a fruit basket.”
Chris nods. “I wish we could send fruit baskets to parallel universes.” He looks really saddened by the fact that they can’t. “If Sylar were here, he could probably do it.”
And this gets Chris thinking. Maybe radioactive material could make Zach that way. Or, maybe they could figure out a string system of some sort to make it seem as if Zach could take Chris’s shirt off with his mind. It could work. He already has the crazy. Murderous intent and superpowers are just a stone’s throw away!
i could be your man
chris/zach, pg13, 2833 words
He looks like Zach and he’s acting sort of batshit insane like Zach sometimes (usually) does, but the whole moving-random-objects-in-a-destructive-manner-with-his-mind thing is new and he’s calling Chris, ‘Noah’, and long strings of curse words at an alarming frequency. So, Chris is going to assume that this probably isn’t Zach. Zach’s usually not walking around with that much blood on him, anyways.
“You’re not Noah,” not-Zach says after about ten minutes of constantly referring to Chris as such. That’s okay, though; lots of people make mistakes. But then his eyes are flashing and he’s walking like, straight up to Chris, the demand in his voice making him seem that much crazier, asking: “What can you do?” And, even though he is not grabbing Chris by the front of his shirt, Chris puts his hands up on instinct because that’s what they do in the movies and Chris is in the movies, so. Yes.
Chris swallows down his terror and tries to think of an appropriate response to a question like that. “I act,” he says and his voice has not ratcheted up any number of octaves much less, like, eight. That’s probably not even possible. This has not-Zach pursing his lips together in the same adorable way Zach does when Chris decides to do that one more thing to please him (like he can’t believe anyone that stupid actually exists) and watching Chris very, very carefully.
He spends a little too much time staring at Chris’s forehead for him to feel completely comfortable, which - granted - is a little creepy, but refreshingly normal on the Creepy Scale; something he has been internally attuned to since Lindsay Lohan. Not-Zach just looks really fucking confused.
“You can’t do anything,” he says and steps back from Chris. “Where am I?” He looks around in a panic. And Chris, who doesn’t have the best mental filter, spits out: “What do you mean I can’t do anything?” with a little too much vehemence to be considered anything other than narcissistic.
Not-Zach stops mid-panic and strides right back up to Chris. “You’re not special.” And, ow, okay (and okay, ow). “You’re nothing like me.” The menagerie of blood stains he’s outfitted in definitely suggests that much. Chris doesn’t kill people in the literal sense; only a few times, figuratively, with his attractiveness (and half of that was John Cho, although circumstances), but his agent had already warned him about that maybe-possibly-probably happening.
And, yes, Chris is kind of outraged about all of this, but: “Who are you?” is still the prevailing question here. The ‘not-Zach’ tag is getting tired. Well, Chris is getting tired. And confused. He kind of just wants to wash this version of Zach up and give him a hat because if Zach-Zach is not coming back, this guy is pretty much the First Best Thing and Chris could be okay with that if he dropped (some of) the crazy.
“Sylar. And you’re not Noah Bennet from any past or future lifetime, are you?” Chris should say that, yes, he is Noah Bennet because he must be badass to make some whacko that looks like Zach and has telekinesis freak out, but then another lamp or Hustler may be thrown at his face and JJ told him not to chance things like that. Face-things.
Chris considers the question one more time and decides to avoid the lamp-in-the-face scenario. He feels it’s a good choice. “No. But, man, sweet name.” ‘Sylar’ is a total villain name. All the way. ‘Nero’ actually sort of sucks in comparison. He should suggest this to JJ with a nice 24-pack of Diet Coke for weight. Yes, yes.
Sylar flinches. But then he’s giving Chris this manic smile that is endearing in its own special way when he realises that, unlike everyone else, Chris is not kidding. “Oh, and people always sound just so scared when they say it. That, and disdainful. It’s good. It works.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks down at his feet, toeing Zach’s living room carpet. (Whatever, it’s not like Zach’s here to flail and break out his whole cleaning arsenal from Ajax to Vim.) It’s like Sylar’s embarrassed or something.
“No, it definitely does. I mean, I would be intangibly freaked out if all of a sudden I turned around and like, Sylar was there and I said that, too. Just like that: Sylar. Has anyone ever done that to you? I mean, assuming that you do kill people and all. You do, right?”
Sylar laughs. The more Chris stares at Sylar, the more like Zach he seems to be when, in actuality, that laugh is probably the product of a super-fucked up childhood and a lot of axe-wielding, but Chris can’t be sure. And, once again, Sylar is right back up in Chris’s personal space only this time his hands are on Chris’s hips. Chris always manages to say the smoothest of things. And, hey, it’s not infidelity if he looks like Zach, right?
Because, yeah, “You know it,” is coming out of Sylar’s mouth and it’s pretty fantastic against his. The blood is still weird, though. In an ostentatious way.
Zach thinks he might be dead. And then he realises that, no, he’s in some soft of fucked up hostage situation. Which may actually be worse. If this is Eric Bana again Zach is going to be pissed. However, this place is just full of maps and textbooks and theories or whatever. (Not coffee-scented candles and champagne in an ice bucket or in a Paramount trailer that wasn’t Chris’s. Although, Zach would be wary of that, too. Bana could have been using a front. Chris would let him.)
Then two guys who are neither Bana (score!) or Chris (damn), but two attractive in-their-own-way guys, are coming out of nowhere and this is getting kind of sexy. If a twin wanting-you-dead look is a sexy. Necrophilia is never okay.
“Mohinder, are you sure he’s going to be all right like this? Without the IV?” the one-with-the-bangs asks. And when did life actually get this dramatic? An IV? Really? What for? Is this a method of questioning used by CSI: Abridged? Like, what the fuck. If Zach’s going to continue to think honestly, he does not deserve the look Bangs gives him, not at all.
Mohinder, with super-perfect skin off-set by blue tones, leans forward and catches Zach’s gaze. “I think he’ll be all right. Won’t you, Mr. Sylar?” And wait, hold up. No rearranged version of Zach’s name can create ‘Sylar’. Truthfully, Zach’s always feared this, mistaken identity, but usually only when applied to not being able to score free drinks with his face. This is just getting worse and worse.
“Quinto,” he says with plenty of emphasis. “My last name is Quinto. Zachary. Zach.” Bangs makes an over-exaggerated yeah, right face and seriously, this guy can shove it. “Why am I tied to a chair?” Zach mentally reminds himself to take this off of his and Chris’s Things I’d Like You to Do to Me list. Like, stat.
Bangs cuts him a real even look (or what Bangs probably thinks is even). “Because you try to kill anything that moves and possesses even the smallest semblance of power?” He turns to Mohinder, confused. “Is this some new thing he’s started doing? Playing dumb?” See, if people were always talking to Zach like this then, yes, he probably would be an absolute killing machine like Bangs is suggesting he is. Christian Bale-style and just as professional.
“Since when? Because the fucked-up eyebrows I had for the last few months would make me easy to pick out of a line-up if there were witnesses. And besides, no one is scared of a man with a bowl cut unless it’s for his dignity.” Zach does not kill people. He does not know people who kill other people. He just doesn’t. And Paramount wouldn’t let him. “And who the fuck are you?”
Bangs mouths, “Is it all of the gene-shifting?” at Mohinder and, seriously, Zachary Quinto wants answers now. Mohinder evaluates the situation, hand under his chin, with even more Bangs commentary: “You’re seriously going to believe this psychopath?” and it’s said with enough disbelief to make Zach think that Mohinder has believed this psychopath once before. Natch.
Zach growls out his who-the-motherfuck-are-you? question again because Bangs seemed to have missed it the first time and then Mohinder is saying: “Well, he obviously looks like Sylar and he obviously sounds like Sylar. He does use that specific tone of voice quite often.” And despite all of this (absolutely all of this), Zach does pick up on the unsaid, the implied which is kind of hot. Zach knows that, bar none, almost everything he does is hot.
Bangs looks offended and slightly effeminate. “Peter. Peter Petrelli.” Zach blanks him. “You tried to take apart my skull. You pinned Mohinder to the ceiling with pieces of glass. All in this apartment!” Zach would have to have been crazy to do that. Or two people. Zach’s banking on two people. And Peter needs to stop flailing his arms like, yesterday.
“Well, Peter, instead of complaining about it and bringing up unpleasant memories, why don’t you read Zach’s mind and tell us what he does know.” Peter must be a complete tool to forget that he could do something like that and the way Mohinder says it it's as if he’s trying to tap into the Largest Patience Reserve on Earth. Zach, in counterpoint, is trying to calculate how hard he’ll be able to bite Peter’s hand when he swings it this way again.
Peter huffs and then leans in just a little too fucking close, thank you (and, even if he is cute, the Tool Factor is just so off-putting because he surpasses even Chris, oh my god). He pulls back looking like he’s just been kicked which, unfortunately, was not Zach’s doing. “He’s clean. There’s just a lot of Star Trek and some guy named Chris Pine in there. Can’t do anything, though.”
“Then where did he come from?” Mohinder asks this in a way that suggests he is definitely not expecting Peter to actually be able to answer him. He leans up against the desk and, jesus, that’s sort of distracting.
And, oh, that was a question directed at Zach. “LA. With that guy. Chris Pine. That’s where I was last. Before I ended up here. With you.” Zach looks around the room. “You guys.” Peter doesn’t look convinced. “I’m serious. I don’t have any idea as to what you think I’m supposed to be able to do.” It takes a self-confident and self-understood individual to admit: “I probably can’t do it.” Zach really just wants to leave.
“So, what you’re saying is that you don’t have telekinesis, cryokinesis, super-hearing, or that thing you had first. Uh, fuck, what is it? Intuitive aptitude. And you’re not radioactive.” Peter throws his hands up into the air. “Right, okay.” Zach likes that Peter seems beyond-repair frustrated and has disappeared. Wait, what?
Zach watches as Mohinder picks something up off of his desk and hurls it in the general vicinity of the kitchen. It’s a stapler. Peter comes right back into sight, rubbing at his forehead and making unconvincing pained faces. Zach’s probably-misplaced crush on Mohinder is getting a little out of control.
So, Peter is also invisible. All right. That’s not too important. “There’s someone who looks like me who can do all of that? Awesome, man.” So, if this Sylar guy is that badass then that means that Zach must be that badass.
Peter says, “No, you’re not,” and Zach responds with: “Oh, yes I am,” because he must have done something right to have Mohinder’s super-soft hands untying him. Zach presses out the wrinkles in his cardigan and pants before standing up. He turns to Mohinder. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re devastatingly attractive?”
Chris can go fuck himself if he thinks Zach’s going to pass this up.
The first thing Chris says to Zach is: “He looked like you. Therefore: not cheating.” He’s kind of shirtless and red all over. Just kind of.
Zach actually looks really excited about this. “You met him? Did he have all of the powers Peter said he would have?” Zach looks down at the broken lamp by his feet. “Oh, he so does. And he looked like me, right? Was it mind-blowing? You have to say it was mind-blowing.”
“Who’s Peter?” Chris asks absently. And then: “Zach, he kills people. With his mind. And he can undress you. With his mind.” Chris scratches at what he believes might be a burn in the shape of Sylar’s hand on his neck. “He’s probably insane, but the sex was amazing. A paradigm of you, really.”
It’s exactly at this moment that Chris realises that Zach isn’t wearing a hat anymore and, what’s more astonishing, is that his cardigan is done up completely wrong. He only has one question: “Did he look like me?”
And Zach says, “Chris, I thought you were working on your complex,” but he doesn’t really care. “No, not at all. But, he was gorgeous and I think he might have a crush on Sylar which happened to work out very well for me. I think Peter might have been there too, but the fucker’s invisible, so. No confirmation.”
“Huh,” Chris says. “So, the fabric of time or something was ripped and we both got laid.” He and Zach consider this for a moment. “Awesome.” And then they do their five-part high-five for situations like this which, in it of itself, is awesome.
And that is all well and commendable, but it can only be so cool for so long if only two people know about it. Which is why Zach says, “We should call someone about this,” and Chris enthusiastically nods along.
And then Chris’s face changes, thinking. “After Victory Sex.”
Zach has always understood logic like this so well. He’s already got himself up against Chris biting at, yes, what-are-probably-burn-marks dotted across the other side of Chris’s collarbone, only breaking to answer with: “Yes, after Victory Sex.”
“I was sleeping,” Karl says. And no, he definitely wasn’t as it’s about eleven-thirty at night and Karl will stay up until about two just to watch ten minutes of Skinemax. “You’ve gone and woken everyone up.”
“No, we haven’t. And besides: time-travelling sex, Karl…” Chris starts.
Zach looks away, trying not to acknowledge just how passive-aggressive Karl-hanging-up-on-Chris really was. Not Zach, though. He didn’t technically hang up on Zach.
“Jerk,” Chris says, staring down at the phone with what can really only be referred to as a glower.
“‘Tosser’,” Zach says. “I believe the word you’re looking for, Chris, is ‘tosser’.”
And even that’s not right.
They bait John for longer than either of them expect to. He’s even making appropriate listening noises! And whispering sort of secretively into the receiver which makes it seems as if he’s in awe when, in reality, it’s probably because of his wife and son. Zach will never not count a win as a win.
Zach manages to get out the entire story, even the detail about that thing Chris did with his tongue during Victory Sex (because John is still that guy who guests stars on TV shows and makes liberal use of their stripper poles). Zach’s actually pretty proud. People don’t hang up on him.
And then Zach has to stop feeling so pleased with himself and start listening again because John’s saying, “Okay, I love you guys,” which is a very nice compliment, but he sort of kills it in the water when he adds: “But, seriously, never call here again.”
Chris and Zach share a look. There is no way in fuck they’re calling Zoe. Chris really values his face. Oh, and Zach’s, too.
John may have listened, but his reaction was not satisfactory. So, they call Anton. And see, Anton really does appreciate telekinesis and cryokinesis and that first power Sylar had. He even asks all of the right questions, too. (Like: Was it totally mind-blowing? Was his skin really was that soft? Invisible voyeurism really is pretty high up there on the Creepy Scale, yeah? All in his earnest little voice.)
When they’re done on the phone with Anton and it’s one-thirty in the morning and they each feel about thirteen-percent more validated, Zach says, “We should send that kid a fruit basket.”
Chris nods. “I wish we could send fruit baskets to parallel universes.” He looks really saddened by the fact that they can’t. “If Sylar were here, he could probably do it.”
And this gets Chris thinking. Maybe radioactive material could make Zach that way. Or, maybe they could figure out a string system of some sort to make it seem as if Zach could take Chris’s shirt off with his mind. It could work. He already has the crazy. Murderous intent and superpowers are just a stone’s throw away!