Heroes fic: Ties

[gaiafaye]

The meme fics are progressing pretty well! But I've been on the verge of finishing this forever and I needed to get it done.

Title: Ties
Series: Heroes
Pairing: Mylar
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Just some violence, and Sylar being... Sylar.
Summary: Matt's mental manipulation of Sylar only holds up for so long.
A/N: Takes place after Volume 4.



When Mohinder regains awareness, he smells smoke. His comprehension doesn't extend far beyond this fact, beyond the knowledge that smoke is bad, that it means danger, that he should get out of here. He struggles to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is his lap. He's sitting in a cushioned leather chair. His arms hang over the sides, and he feels a familiar pressure against his chest that keeps him from tumbling to the floor. For a moment he thinks the same pressure holds his chin to his chest, but when he tries to lift his head he finds he just can't support the weight.

The hot air is stifling. He can hear a telltale crackle, but he doesn't see flame. He manages to turn his head toward the sound and sees a flickering orange light beneath the nearby door. He hears other noises beyond the door, beyond the walls: far-off sirens, shouts, crashes. But in the same room, he hears a mere slapping noise.

He finally manages to lift his head and winces as the room insists on turning, dragging his eyesight. He blinks and jerks his head, forcing it all to slow to a stop. When the walls and furnishing settle, he recognizes the office kept for Nathan at the new Company. In front of him, past the overturned desk and through a haze of smoke, crouches a dark-haired man in a gray suit. He goes through the bottom drawers of a filing cabinet against the wall. He flings a folder to his left, and the contents swirl out and scatter across the carpet. The next file goes to his right, neatly slapping on top of a small stack of more.

Nathan?

Mohinder coughs, trying to rid himself of the bitter, arid flavor of smoke. Nathan lifts his head and looks over his shoulder.

No.

Not Nathan, Mohinder remembers. Not Nathan at all.

Nathan is dead. Matt lied to him.

Mohinder had been typing up a report when he heard a ruckus on the stairs coming down to the lab. Moments later, Bennett and Matt crashed through the door, dragging Nathan by his arms. Nathan's hands sparked erratically, and Bennet yelled for Mohinder to get a sedative. Mohinder didn't at first, shocked not only by Nathan's apparent new ability but by the way he screamed. Bennett shoved Mohinder and repeated his order. Nathan ranted on and on about how something wasn't right, about memories he shouldn't have and memories he should, about how everyone was lying to him, about how they wouldn't let him figure out what was happening. Matt sweated heavily in concentration trying to calm him down, though of course Mohinder's strength made it easy for him to grab Nathan's arm and look for a vein.

When Nathan saw Mohinder holding the needle, he fell silent. He looked at Mohinder intently, like something had just come to him, and Mohinder hesitated. Nathan's hands had stopped sparking, but Bennet insisted Mohinder continue the injection. Mohinder waited. Nathan still stared, eyes going wide, blank. Matt yelled then, saying he needed to be sure Nathan would stay calm. And as Mohinder asked why, what they were doing, Nathan spoke.

"Doctor..." he breathed. And the look on his face-- the smirk, the quirk of his brows-- was disturbingly familiar. He cocked his head. "The needle's getting repetitive."

Sylar shivered through Nathan's skin, hands exploding with blue lightning and sending Matt and Bennett flying.

There aren't many clear memories beyond that. Mohinder can recall the panicked trill of the alarm, the hectic confession from Matt, the rush of ungifted staff evacuating the building, the chaotic swirl of powers from Company specials to keep innocents safe and bring down a man they thought had been dead for months. Mohinder wants to reaffirm that death as solid fact, but he can barely move, and not just from the pressure holding him to the chair. There was an explosion in all the chaos, a confrontation between Sylar, Mohinder, Matt, and a number of other specials. He's not sure if it was Sylar who caused the blast or someone else; he only has the faint recollection of being blown through a wall. Perhaps two.

(Even in his precarious situation, Mohinder wryly considers it a new milestone in the catalogue of ways he's been knocked unconscious.)

Sylar's attention has already returned to the filing cabinet, which Mohinder remembers contains files on all the specials contacted or investigated so far. He groans and again struggles to move.

Sylar stands and kicks the drawer shut. He turns to Mohinder, shaking his head. "The people you ally yourself with, Doctor. They make strange choices."

Allies? With Bennet? Angela Petrelli? Mohinder would hardly call them allies. But Matt, yes. Matt, at whose side he'd stood as Daphne's heart flatlined. Matt, to whom he'd given a place to stay when he and Janice separated, when the two men formed a bond through caring for Molly. Matt, whose blood had pulsed through the cracks between his fingers that night in Kirby Plaza, the first time Sylar was supposed to have died. How could Matt do this?

"But I understand why," Sylar says. "I understand everything."

Mohinder's eyes start to tear and he coughs again. "Could you let me suffocate instead of boring me to death?" he rasps.

His chair lurches and speeds backward into the window. The glass smashes apart, and bits spray against the back of his neck. Sylar approaches and casts his hand at the top pane, and it shatters as well, allowing smoke to stream outside.

"Shut up!" Sylar erupts, and Mohinder is taken aback. He expected a snarky "Is that better?" but by the anger on Sylar's face, it appears the killer is not in his usual smug humor.

"I've lost sight of everything!" Sylar rants. "No matter what I gain, it's never enough, and when I search, I still find nothing. Nothing but pathetic old men and attention-starved children and people who are never coming back!"

Mohinder has absolutely no idea what Sylar is talking about, but he stays quiet and gathers his resurging strength. He's still only held down by his chest. He lets his arms hang and keeps his eyes hooded. The pain in his head dissipates.

"Nathan Petrelli had everything to the point where he couldn't even throw it away on bribes and affairs and cowardice!" Sylar spat. "And I had everything too, long enough to know how much I wanted it, but it still wasn't mine!" He throws his hand to the side-- the filing cabinet heaves across the room and lodges into the opposite wall.

Finally, Mohinder starts to wonder, since he isn't dead yet, why Sylar brought him up here.

"If I can just get what I need, I can get back on track," Sylar says, and who knows if he's even talking to Mohinder anymore. "Back to where destiny calls, to my purpose..." He trails off, staring blankly at nothing. Mohinder thinks he hears someone calling his name and glances at the door.

"We need to get back to Montana," Sylar says. His hands twitch like he needs something to crush. He looks at Mohinder as if he's supposed to understand.

"That's not exactly close," Mohinder says.

"No." Sylar looms over the chair and his twitching fingers dig into the arms. "Back to where we were when we met, when I realized you were meant to continue where your father couldn't."

Mohinder knows it's not the right answer, but he gets a little spark of pleasure out of being obnoxiously obtuse. "Virginia?"

"Not physically," Sylar snaps impatiently. "We've lost the connection, cut the string. You remember being on the road, the sense of purpose, the knowledge that we were embarking on a journey that would change everything, change the world. We talked about it. And we talked about our lives, about loneliness."

Mohinder is sure he's not hearing correctly, that the effects of the explosion are scattering Sylar's words and putting them back together wrong. "That... None of that was real," he says hoarsely.

"Of course it was," Sylar insists, like he too thinks Mohinder's mind is jumbled. "We had a connection."

"What... You were strange and nice and I thought I could talk to you, and then I found out you were a murderer."

"God!" Sylar slams the chair back into the window frame; Mohinder hears leftover glass shards fall as he totters in his seat. "All you can think about is mortality when I'm offering you the opposite!"

"What are you talking about?!" Mohinder wonders how much the forced shift into Nathan muddled Sylar's brain.

"I started to think that Claire and I... it made sense. We both have the gift of immortality, our lives keep crossing..."

It's a grossly tidied up version of events, Mohinder thinks, but he bites his tongue and tests the force of the telekinesis pinning him down. He breathes in slowly, deeply, inflating his chest despite the smoke traveling over his head. There is some give as Sylar's focus wanders.

"I thought it was all clear-cut, but as Nathan I remembered. I remembered what it felt like to be... content. And I realized I haven't felt that way since..." Sylar's tongue darts out nervously. "I had no one growing up, no one but my mother, and in the end I couldn't make her happy. But then there was you." Hearing this confession is awkward to begin with, but watching Sylar's gaze focus more and more on him makes Mohinder's stomach twist. "One simple display of power made you ecstatic. Not about the scientific applications, like with your father, but that such an ability was even possible.

"And then we did talk, about childhood and school and, God, even politics, philosophy. It was like I already knew you, like I was meant to know you. You remember," Sylar finishes, his expression urgent.

"That wasn't you," Mohinder rasps. "That was 'Zane.'"

"It wasn't all Zane!" Sylar snaps. "I was there. I was still there.." Hands still on the chair arms, he bends down again, his face just an inch away from Mohinder's. "I meant what I said at the motel. You and me. But somehow I missed what destiny showed me at the start, who would really follow me into eternity."

"You are mad!" Mohinder exclaims. "With you? And into eternity! I'm going to die, in case you've forgotten." It feels like he's foisting Sylar off on Claire when he says it, and he doesn't mean to, but he doesn't understand what the killer is getting at.

"No, no, I can change all that," Sylar says, and he smiles, and it frightens Mohinder more than Sylar has managed in a long time. The pressure on his chest increases tenfold. "If there are people who can absorb abilities and people who can take them, then why wouldn't there be someone who can transfer them to other people? Once I acquire that, everything will be as it should."

Mohinder shakes his head rapidly. "No," he chokes through the pressure. "You can't do that."

Sylar's hands come up and the best Mohinder can do is press his head into the back of the chair. Sylar carefully holds his face. "When I was with you those few days, it was the first time in a long time I felt important outside my ability. But how is that possible, to be satisfied outside of such an incredible gift, unless--"

"Destiny," Mohinder finishes mockingly.

"Don't tell me you didn't feel it. I could tell how much you enjoyed our talks, how lonely you were on your own, in that tiny little apartment with only the roaches, with no one returning your calls."

"Oh, yes, woe is little old me in the human condition," Mohinder growls.

Sylar is not so gentle anymore. He grabs tightly onto Mohinder's head, and it hurts. He moves even closer, their faces a breath apart, and if Sylar tries to kiss him Mohinder swears to God he will bite the lunatic's tongue off.

"It all came back to me, finally, when I saw you and that damn needle," Sylar says quietly. "I saw you and everything fell into place. What else could that mean?"

It's like some cinematic declaration of love-- gone completely insane.

"Do you think I'm just going to follow you out of here like a lapdog?" Mohinder snarls. "If you're even entertaining the idea that I could... could feel the remotest affection--"

"Not now, but you will." Sylar draws back a little and tucks a lock of hair behind Mohinder's ear. "It will come together, and then you'll see." The corner of his mouth quirks up. "I think you, Nathan, and now I know that you're capable of things you never imagined."

Mohinder wants to smash Sylar's head through the polished wood of Nathan's desk. "Unlike you, I feel real remorse and regret constantly, not just when it will earn me a new mommy."

Sylar ignores the slight. "Oh, do you? Then what are you doing here, Mohinder?"

Mohinder scowls. "You brought me--"

"With the Company," Sylar interrupts pointedly. "What is a man who claims to be dedicated to learning from his 'mistakes' doing with an organization that once injected people with a deadly virus?"

"This isn't the same!" Mohinder protests. "An organization like this is necessary. People like you need to be contained, and everyone else needs to know they're not alone. The old Company lost sight of that, but--"

"You believe this new Company will be all sunshine and daisies? That they'll only help people? Maybe. Until Bennet decides someone innocent is too dangerous for their own good. Until 'Mommy' decides to train specials worthy of Level Five like attack dogs. Until that fat cop decides to forgo judge and jury and dole out mindwarping punishment. Until you're asked to do a little testing, harmless at first, then more invasive, and then for the 'greater good,' and you'll only be too happy to follow along, a 'lapdog' to the cause." Sylar smirks. "Did you really not know, Doctor? What your friends did?"

"I looked surprised, didn't I?" Mohinder snaps back. "If I knew, I would have assassinated 'Nathan' weeks ago."

The other man laughs. "Would you have?"

Mohinder can't help but feel indignant. "I pulled the trigger."

"Oh, but that's just it," Sylar says. "You pulled the trigger on me. You really think you could have killed a father, son, brother, surrogate as he was?"

Mohinder thinks of Bennet's head snapping around, pulling his body to the concrete, and Claire screaming like the blood from her father's eye socket was her own insides spilling out.

"Or..." Sylar leans down to whisper in his ear. "Would you have drawn me out? Made me remember so you could taste real vengeance? So you could watch my light die?" Mohinder tries to turn his head away, but Sylar's lips follow. "I think so. You can be so calculating, so self-righteous. You're too bloodthirsty to have killed me when I was brainwashed."

"Shut up."

"A lot like me."

Mohinder snaps his head back to the side, trying to smash his temple into Sylar's, but the other man pulls back just in time. "You're insane," Mohinder spits. "It's Claire one day, now me the next."

Sylar grins. "Oh, Mohinder. That's the whole point: it's always been you. Claire will be there too, I know, but you can't deny your part."

"I would rather die a lonely, miserable old man than spend eternity with you," Mohinder hisses.

"That's not up to you," Sylar promises, and then he whispers, his voice affectionate and assuring and horrible, "You will be so perfect once I fix you."

There's a spraying sound outside the door, and fire extinguisher gust shoots beneath it into the room. "Mohinder!" shouts a voice. Matt.

"I'm in here!" Mohinder yells.

Sylar turns away and scoops up the pile of files on the floor. "I'll be back for you," he says in a last lingering moment of eye contact. Then with a flick of his wrist, Mohinder's chair rolls out of the way and Sylar climbs out the window.

Mohinder remains pressed tightly to his seat for a few long moments. Then the pressure disappears and he catapults forward onto the floor. The door crashes open. With a fire extinguisher in one hand, Matt pulls Mohinder to his feet with the other. "Come on!" he shouts. "This place isn't going to last!"

Mohinder throws himself to the window. No fire escape, just a straight drop to the sidewalk, yet Sylar is nowhere in sight among the watching crowd and emergency vehicles.

"Hello!" Matt yells, grabbing his arm. "Towering inferno?!"

He pulls Mohinder out into the hall, where flames lick the walls. They charge through the smoke and heat to the clear fire exit and before long they're outside, ushered by firemen behind a barricade.

"Took you long enough," Mohinder says over the noise around them.

"I'm telepathic, not fireproof." Matt sets a hand on his shoulder, looking worried. "What happened in there?"

Mohinder jerks away and walks off, saying nothing. Now out of danger, now that his thoughts have gone back to what Matt has done, Mohinder wants to avoid the temptation to let his strength loose. He weaves his way past flashing lights and scurrying emergency workers, searching for space to breathe. Matt does not follow.

He reaches the edge of the chaos and clasps his hands together on the top of his head, breathing deeply. He feels no better; the air is tainted with smoke, and the noise and lights do nothing to calm his racing thoughts. He feels an urge to leave, but he knows Sylar is out there now. Sylar could be anywhere. And Sylar wants him.

Mohinder thinks back to his travels with "Zane," to when Sylar called him before the confrontation in Kirby Plaza, to the energy between them when Sylar came to him for a cure, to what he couldn't even consider just minutes ago with Sylar giving him no room to breathe. But now he has to acknowledge that he has always felt some strange tie between them, some combination of regret, blood, and bad luck.

Leave it to Sylar to consider it romance.

Already Mohinder feels the monumental effect of Sylar's declaration on his life, on the way he thinks, on the plans he'll make, precautions and second glances, but at the same time it's so bizarre he can't help but laugh helplessly. He stops when he sees the specials mingling in the crowd. It's difficult enough coping with the danger on his own life; knowing that these other people are marked emphasizes how little of this situation is in his control. It seems ludicrous that just hours ago he felt reasonably secure.

He spots Bennet sitting in the back of an ambulance. His glasses are missing, and he tries to fend off a paramedic and talk to his daughter at the same time. Mohinder didn't know Claire was visiting. Evidently she put herself in the middle of the fight or helped rescue people from the building-- her clothes are ragged and charred. Mohinder can't see her expression as she faces Bennet, who gestures desperately. When his mouth stops moving, he reaches out to her, but she turns her back on him and walks away. Bennett stops fighting his treatment.

Claire fights her way to the fringes of the cacophony, her eyes on the ground, looking just as eager to escape as Mohinder feels. Now with a closer look he's not sure it's fair to say her clothes are charred, as there's not much left of them. Her skin, while sooty, is otherwise unblemished. She wraps her arms around herself, perhaps out of comfort or maybe just to attempt to cover what the remnants of her shirt don't.

She looks up and realizes he's there. "Hey," she says quietly.

"Hey," Mohinder replies as he takes off his lab coat. He hands it to her and she thanks him, hurriedly slipping it on.

"You know," she says, watching the firefighters rush around the building, "I think this is the fourth raging fire I've seen in the last two years." She affects a bored sigh. "It's getting not so impressive."

Mohinder smiles wryly. "Routine disaster."

Her lips quirk up. "I really thought... I wouldn't have to worry about him."

"Sylar or your father?" Mohinder asks after a beat.

She looks at the ground. She wraps the coat tighter around herself. Mohinder puts an arm around her shoulder, and she turns into him, looping one arm around his waist.

"This... this sucks," she says suddenly, laughing bitterly.

Mohinder lets out his own brief laugh at the casual understatement. It is always strange to remember how young she still is, when she could very well live forever. Even almost twenty years her senior, he is not sure how he could handle that knowledge, and his smile fades as he remembers Sylar's promise that soon he will have that guarantee.

"I don't know what to do," Claire says. She goes on before Mohinder says anything. "My dad and Angela, they're always the ones who know what's going on, they always know what to do, but... we can't trust them."

They fall back into silence. Claire does not let go of him, and Mohinder is happy to comfort her. When she speaks again, her thoughts are clear.

"We have to do it without them. We have to find him."

Mohinder knows her "we" isn't just the two of them, that it includes Peter and whoever else will separate from the new Company, but he thinks of Sylar's words all the same, of the promise to lock the three of them together. And suddenly he feels the connection Sylar swore upon as determination flares in Claire's eyes and stirs his own imperative to put the past to rest.

He thought he had a choice once, years ago, when he found the hidden files of the dream-walking boy in his father's desk. Mohinder asked Sanjog about his destiny, and the boy smiled, a child amused at the plain truth an adult wishes to ignore.

Today, Mohinder well knows there is no choice other than pursuit.