fic: Of Another Time
Title: Of Another Time
Pairing/Characters: Sylar/Elle (implied), Peter
Rating: PG
Summary: Too much time has passed and Sylar finds a piece of his past.
Spoilers; Um, there might be spoilers if you hadn't seen the first half of Volume 3
A/N: written for drabble challenge #14 at sylelle_chall, not beta-ed so any and all mistakes are mine
It had begun with a fresh rose, one single rose. It lay on the floor, untouched and unwanted.
Slowly, he loses track of time, loses track of the number of visits. The pile of roses grows with the dead and dried ones on the bottom of the pile. Petals are scattered haphazardly, silently moving with the small breeze generated by his moving about the room. Everything in the place is untouched, remaining the way it had been when the occupant had last lived there.
It's become something of a relic now. A symbol of another time.
---
There's someone waiting for him the next time he visits, a single rose that falls from his hand when he sees the visitor.
"What are you doing here?"
A crooked smile appears, though there's nothing warm about the smile. "You come here often."
"Get out."
Peter leans back in the chair he's been sitting in, though not that he hard far to go since it was a stiff wooden chair. "It wasn't hard to track you down. Thought you'd want some company."
"Obviously, I don't. Now leave."
"Or what? You'll make me? Send me flying through the door? Other idle threats that you've made continuously over the past...," he trails off as he exaggerates looking at his watch. "Past 125 years?"
"Just because you saved me once a long time ago doesn't mean we're friends."
"As if I'd be friends with someone that ended up murdering my entire family."
"Peter, leave. Now."
"Fine." Peter stands up, a wry look crossing his face. He walks towards the door but when he reaches Sylar, he shoves something in the other man's hands. "I found this...and it seemed like something you might want."
Sylar looks down and sees that he's been given a small leather bound book. "What the hell is this?" His voice is sharp, almost like he knows the book might as well be Pandora's box. Ready to release something even he wasn't willing to see should he open it.
Peter smirks as he leans against the doorframe. "You and I can't grow old. We're stuck this way for eternity. In a way, we're stuck in a certain time, not belonging here. We belong to a different generation. Remember everybody that's gone now? At least, a certain someone that's been gone for a long time?" His eyes narrow as his voice gets darker. "I might have loved her too, you know."
And with that, he turns and leaves, a small whoosh sounding as he uses his superspeed to leave the apartment.
---
Time passes but it's not even a blip on his radar. His back aches as he sits in the uncomfortable chair vacated by Peter but the ache in his back is dull compared to the growing ache that's in his heart.
He thumbs through the book in his hands, quickly realizing it's a journal of some sort. His eyes scan over the lines of writing, each word burying itself deep within his brain. If he focuses enough, he can almost hear the author's voice coming through loud and clear. But then he'll snap and realize that it's just him, alone. As always.
---
Truth was, he read every word in her voice. He could read her impatience, her anger, her fear in all that was jotted down in half print and half cursive writing. And he didn't feel so alone. Not when, if he closed his eyes, he could picture her in the room with him. Her long blonde hair done up in a no nonsense ponytail, her blue eyes snapping, and an unreadable expression on her face.
The last time he had seen her was when he killed her. Killed her out of some mistaken fear that he'd never change. She had haunted his dreams for several weeks afterward and even when she faded from his dreams, she was always still a part of him. The blue sparks that became his second go to power behind telekinesis was proof of that.
But time moved on and so had he. Became a traveler, never staying in a place longer than a few weeks. No ties, no boundaries, just freedom. He had kept this old apartment in New York as a reminder. A reminder of his beginnings and how far he had come.
He comes back to visit the apartment every now and then. He knows it's foolish to return, knowing that she wouldn't suddenly be alive again and waiting for him there. But some deep part of him that hadn't been driven to madness by the greed that engineered his every move in those early days still wishes she'd be there. So he returns, a rose in hand each time, a small token as if to begin apologizing.
---
So I said "but you are special, Gabriel" and honestly, I couldn't even believe that came out of my mouth. And specially not the way I said it. I'd be awesome in Hollywood. Daddy's little actress, that's me.
But here's the weird thing and I'd rather die before anyone here found out. Gabriel...he wasn't so bad, you know? Dorky but cute in that mama's boy way. And there's a teeny tiny possibility I felt bad lying to Gabriel's face but whatever. I gotta get him to kill but maybe I'll get to have a little fun with him first. He doesn't look like he's been with many girls...if any at all. But he's into me, I know that. I spent too much time around here in hell the Company to know when guys are into me.
He almost slams the book shut and throws it across the room. His lips curl up slightly in disgust but it wasn't directed at her, it was more at himself. He knew what she was and he wasn't surprised by what he read. Hell, he'd lived it,didn't he?
She had come over that night, dressed in some slacks and a flowery shirt. Acted like she liked him and even suggested they go out later after dinner. But then that guy, Trevor, entered the picture and it all went to hell.
And he still fell in love with her anyway.
---
When he gets to the last page, he immediately freezes. There's a handwritten note from Peter, dated with the current date. One sentence, five words. They change his life and he rushes out of the apartment. The journal falls to the floor, landing next to the roses, and the journal staying open at that last page.
It ends with the journal on the floor, next to the pile of roses. They remain there on the floor, slowly gathering dust, waiting for Sylar to return.
Pairing/Characters: Sylar/Elle (implied), Peter
Rating: PG
Summary: Too much time has passed and Sylar finds a piece of his past.
Spoilers; Um, there might be spoilers if you hadn't seen the first half of Volume 3
A/N: written for drabble challenge #14 at sylelle_chall, not beta-ed so any and all mistakes are mine
It had begun with a fresh rose, one single rose. It lay on the floor, untouched and unwanted.
Slowly, he loses track of time, loses track of the number of visits. The pile of roses grows with the dead and dried ones on the bottom of the pile. Petals are scattered haphazardly, silently moving with the small breeze generated by his moving about the room. Everything in the place is untouched, remaining the way it had been when the occupant had last lived there.
It's become something of a relic now. A symbol of another time.
---
There's someone waiting for him the next time he visits, a single rose that falls from his hand when he sees the visitor.
"What are you doing here?"
A crooked smile appears, though there's nothing warm about the smile. "You come here often."
"Get out."
Peter leans back in the chair he's been sitting in, though not that he hard far to go since it was a stiff wooden chair. "It wasn't hard to track you down. Thought you'd want some company."
"Obviously, I don't. Now leave."
"Or what? You'll make me? Send me flying through the door? Other idle threats that you've made continuously over the past...," he trails off as he exaggerates looking at his watch. "Past 125 years?"
"Just because you saved me once a long time ago doesn't mean we're friends."
"As if I'd be friends with someone that ended up murdering my entire family."
"Peter, leave. Now."
"Fine." Peter stands up, a wry look crossing his face. He walks towards the door but when he reaches Sylar, he shoves something in the other man's hands. "I found this...and it seemed like something you might want."
Sylar looks down and sees that he's been given a small leather bound book. "What the hell is this?" His voice is sharp, almost like he knows the book might as well be Pandora's box. Ready to release something even he wasn't willing to see should he open it.
Peter smirks as he leans against the doorframe. "You and I can't grow old. We're stuck this way for eternity. In a way, we're stuck in a certain time, not belonging here. We belong to a different generation. Remember everybody that's gone now? At least, a certain someone that's been gone for a long time?" His eyes narrow as his voice gets darker. "I might have loved her too, you know."
And with that, he turns and leaves, a small whoosh sounding as he uses his superspeed to leave the apartment.
---
Time passes but it's not even a blip on his radar. His back aches as he sits in the uncomfortable chair vacated by Peter but the ache in his back is dull compared to the growing ache that's in his heart.
He thumbs through the book in his hands, quickly realizing it's a journal of some sort. His eyes scan over the lines of writing, each word burying itself deep within his brain. If he focuses enough, he can almost hear the author's voice coming through loud and clear. But then he'll snap and realize that it's just him, alone. As always.
---
Truth was, he read every word in her voice. He could read her impatience, her anger, her fear in all that was jotted down in half print and half cursive writing. And he didn't feel so alone. Not when, if he closed his eyes, he could picture her in the room with him. Her long blonde hair done up in a no nonsense ponytail, her blue eyes snapping, and an unreadable expression on her face.
The last time he had seen her was when he killed her. Killed her out of some mistaken fear that he'd never change. She had haunted his dreams for several weeks afterward and even when she faded from his dreams, she was always still a part of him. The blue sparks that became his second go to power behind telekinesis was proof of that.
But time moved on and so had he. Became a traveler, never staying in a place longer than a few weeks. No ties, no boundaries, just freedom. He had kept this old apartment in New York as a reminder. A reminder of his beginnings and how far he had come.
He comes back to visit the apartment every now and then. He knows it's foolish to return, knowing that she wouldn't suddenly be alive again and waiting for him there. But some deep part of him that hadn't been driven to madness by the greed that engineered his every move in those early days still wishes she'd be there. So he returns, a rose in hand each time, a small token as if to begin apologizing.
---
So I said "but you are special, Gabriel" and honestly, I couldn't even believe that came out of my mouth. And specially not the way I said it. I'd be awesome in Hollywood. Daddy's little actress, that's me.
But here's the weird thing and I'd rather die before anyone here found out. Gabriel...he wasn't so bad, you know? Dorky but cute in that mama's boy way. And there's a teeny tiny possibility I felt bad lying to Gabriel's face but whatever. I gotta get him to kill but maybe I'll get to have a little fun with him first. He doesn't look like he's been with many girls...if any at all. But he's into me, I know that. I spent too much time around here in hell the Company to know when guys are into me.
He almost slams the book shut and throws it across the room. His lips curl up slightly in disgust but it wasn't directed at her, it was more at himself. He knew what she was and he wasn't surprised by what he read. Hell, he'd lived it,didn't he?
She had come over that night, dressed in some slacks and a flowery shirt. Acted like she liked him and even suggested they go out later after dinner. But then that guy, Trevor, entered the picture and it all went to hell.
And he still fell in love with her anyway.
---
When he gets to the last page, he immediately freezes. There's a handwritten note from Peter, dated with the current date. One sentence, five words. They change his life and he rushes out of the apartment. The journal falls to the floor, landing next to the roses, and the journal staying open at that last page.
It ends with the journal on the floor, next to the pile of roses. They remain there on the floor, slowly gathering dust, waiting for Sylar to return.