"Nostalgia" (Eden, Sylar)
Title: Nostalgia, a Sylar/Eden fic for sarahetc.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to NBC and Tim Kring.
Characters: Sylar, Eden
Word Count: 593
Spoilers: "Fallout"
Pairing: Sylar/Eden
Summary: A long time ago, a girl named Sarah Ellis was in love.
Author's note: Yeah, so I wrote this, typed it up, read it through and realised I’d made a big stupid oversight. So, uh, just pretend they never once saw one another when she was living next door to Chandra. >.>
~
He hadn’t reacted to the light snapping on, but remained sitting on the starched cell bed, eerily relaxed, his back turned towards her. He was taller than she remembered. Broader, too, so that the white cotton shirt was taut across his back. Maybe his face would be different as well. Maybe she’d mistaken it in the dark at Union Wells. Maybe hearing the name again had made her assume…
She shook her head, and forced confidence into her voice. It was harder than persuasion.
“Gabriel?”
But her voice still shook, to her dismay.
He stirred, and her stomach leapt like a salmon.
“That’s not my name.”
His voice was quiet, but the many hidden microphones carried it easily through the window. It was also familiar, and that more than anything was what sent the thrill quivering down Eden’s spine.
She stepped closer to the glass, and all but whispered: “What is your name?”
“Sylar.” Louder, decisive.
She’d expected that, she’d been told he would say it, but it was still a disappointment. That, though, just made her more determined that he would acknowledge her. Eden stepped forwards again, so close now that she was resting her forehead against the thick, cool glass.
“What about mine?”
Now at last he looked at her, twisting his body around, dark eyes eating into her as if he was grasping for something more than visual information. (It wouldn’t work, not now. The Haitian was just behind the door. Neither of them had any power here.) Then he snorted dismissively, perhaps a little angrily, and returned his gaze to the far wall.
“I don’t know you.”
He might as well have rolled up those sterile cotton sleeves and punched her in the stomach. It was his face! It was! Slightly longer, even more handsome, disfigured by a superior smile, but unmistakably him.
Eyes half-closed, the corners of her mouth dragging down, she gave him a name she hadn’t used in a long time.
“You don’t remember Sarah Ellis?”
He was very still for a few seconds, and she wondered if he had even heard her.
Then he turned again, but faster, further, sliding off the bed and moving towards her in one fluid, clockwork movement. He was studying her again, his deep brown eyes ticking over her face, only a few inches behind the separating glass.
Then those same eyes widened.
“You cut your hair,” he said at last.
“You look older,” she told him, smiling, her eyes full of prickling heat.
“You don’t.”
Her hands were on the window, as if sheer force of will could break her through it, and slowly - she would almost have called it tentatively, if she hadn’t known what he was - he raised his own large craftsman’s hands to meet them.
Minutes passed like seconds.
But she did know, didn’t she? She did know what he was - what he’d become.
And a sick feeling was beginning to rot away the edges of the happiness.
“You kill people,” she said quietly. Neither of them moved.
“Yes.” It wasn’t a confession, or an apology or even a boast. He merely said it as a statement of fact.
The warmth was attacking her eyes again, but this time it was scalding.
“Gabriel…”
“That’s not my name.”
He moved away - she impulsively pressed against the glass before pulling herself back - and sat on the edge of his bed, gazing at her seriously with his too-familiar eyes.
“Not any more.”
She didn’t let herself cry.
But it was a long time before Eden could walk away.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to NBC and Tim Kring.
Characters: Sylar, Eden
Word Count: 593
Spoilers: "Fallout"
Pairing: Sylar/Eden
Summary: A long time ago, a girl named Sarah Ellis was in love.
Author's note: Yeah, so I wrote this, typed it up, read it through and realised I’d made a big stupid oversight. So, uh, just pretend they never once saw one another when she was living next door to Chandra. >.>
~
He hadn’t reacted to the light snapping on, but remained sitting on the starched cell bed, eerily relaxed, his back turned towards her. He was taller than she remembered. Broader, too, so that the white cotton shirt was taut across his back. Maybe his face would be different as well. Maybe she’d mistaken it in the dark at Union Wells. Maybe hearing the name again had made her assume…
She shook her head, and forced confidence into her voice. It was harder than persuasion.
“Gabriel?”
But her voice still shook, to her dismay.
He stirred, and her stomach leapt like a salmon.
“That’s not my name.”
His voice was quiet, but the many hidden microphones carried it easily through the window. It was also familiar, and that more than anything was what sent the thrill quivering down Eden’s spine.
She stepped closer to the glass, and all but whispered: “What is your name?”
“Sylar.” Louder, decisive.
She’d expected that, she’d been told he would say it, but it was still a disappointment. That, though, just made her more determined that he would acknowledge her. Eden stepped forwards again, so close now that she was resting her forehead against the thick, cool glass.
“What about mine?”
Now at last he looked at her, twisting his body around, dark eyes eating into her as if he was grasping for something more than visual information. (It wouldn’t work, not now. The Haitian was just behind the door. Neither of them had any power here.) Then he snorted dismissively, perhaps a little angrily, and returned his gaze to the far wall.
“I don’t know you.”
He might as well have rolled up those sterile cotton sleeves and punched her in the stomach. It was his face! It was! Slightly longer, even more handsome, disfigured by a superior smile, but unmistakably him.
Eyes half-closed, the corners of her mouth dragging down, she gave him a name she hadn’t used in a long time.
“You don’t remember Sarah Ellis?”
He was very still for a few seconds, and she wondered if he had even heard her.
Then he turned again, but faster, further, sliding off the bed and moving towards her in one fluid, clockwork movement. He was studying her again, his deep brown eyes ticking over her face, only a few inches behind the separating glass.
Then those same eyes widened.
“You cut your hair,” he said at last.
“You look older,” she told him, smiling, her eyes full of prickling heat.
“You don’t.”
Her hands were on the window, as if sheer force of will could break her through it, and slowly - she would almost have called it tentatively, if she hadn’t known what he was - he raised his own large craftsman’s hands to meet them.
Minutes passed like seconds.
But she did know, didn’t she? She did know what he was - what he’d become.
And a sick feeling was beginning to rot away the edges of the happiness.
“You kill people,” she said quietly. Neither of them moved.
“Yes.” It wasn’t a confession, or an apology or even a boast. He merely said it as a statement of fact.
The warmth was attacking her eyes again, but this time it was scalding.
“Gabriel…”
“That’s not my name.”
He moved away - she impulsively pressed against the glass before pulling herself back - and sat on the edge of his bed, gazing at her seriously with his too-familiar eyes.
“Not any more.”
She didn’t let herself cry.
But it was a long time before Eden could walk away.