(Heroes/Lost) sugar pills in snowfall for xover_exchange
Title: sugar pills in snowfall
Author: angeldylan628
Fandoms: Heroes/Lost
Characters Kate Austen, Aaron Littleton; Mohinder Suresh, Sylar, Molly Walker
Pairings: Kate/Mohinder, Kate/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,935
Spoilers: None really past early Season Two for Heroes. Spoilers for “What Kate Did” & “Eggtown” for Lost.
Warnings: Mentions of Sylar doing what Sylar does which would clearly squick some people.
Disclaimer: Lost and Heroes belong to their respective creators.
A/N: Thank you to my roommate and best friend, Andy, for betaing this.
Summary: It’s the repetition that kills them.
It starts with a fight. A bad one. The type that’s ugly in its silence. Cold shoulders and hushed accusations and looks that could melt ice. It’s a quiet blowout because they can’t wake Aaron or Molly (the kids - not their own, but ones they can still bicker over - still protect).
They fight, and they break-up (or at least that’s what they’ll keep calling it though it never sticks). Kate leaves without thinking it through because that’s just what she does, and Mohinder watches her go, curling his fingers into fists but afraid to stop her simply out of habit.
This is what he does.
He channels his anger into sorting through tattered folders from his father’s top drawer. He makes tea and checks on Molly and Aaron twice to make sure they are blissfully naïve to the tornado that has once again ripped through their family while they sleep. He turns on the TV and listens to reruns of Law and Order, while he watches the bright red numbers on the bedroom clock turn, wondering how long it will take before they all blur together and he can stop counting the hours until she comes back. Until he stops thinking about where she is and what she’s doing when he knows the answers will be written all over her face when she returns - shame and hurt and regret framing her face.
And then he’ll want to save her again.
It’s the repetition that kills them.
---
When Kate leaves, she goes across town to a shoddy apartment building home to drug addicts and gang members (not that Kate could ever judge). No one looks twice when she enters and takes the jittery elevator up three floors to a one bedroom apartment - number 316 (let’s call it irony). She doesn’t have to knock. The door slowly creaks open on its own accord - taking a page out of all those horror movies. Her mother’s voice whispers in her head, that’s what this is.
Kate stands in the doorway watching how he takes his time before he faces her, before his lips quirk and he feels the satisfaction he doesn’t deserve coursing through his veins. Sylar tilts his head to the left so he can study her. She doesn’t bend under this kind of scrutiny. It helps that he is across the room, out of reach, though she supposes with his powers that’s just a lie she needs to tell herself.
She tries not to tremble when he finally approaches, twisting the fallen curl on her forehead before tucking it behind her ear. She feels the tip of his index finger drag against her temple and she remembers the pictures, wonders briefly if she will ever be one of them. A file in Mohinder’s top desk drawer - a fallen chess piece. Most of the time, she can convince herself she’s safe. Still she cannot forget his hands are stained red.
It’s easy to slice open heads and pin people to walls. It takes real talent to break someone from the inside out. A slow death built on emotional and mental destruction. Each time he leaves her a little more broken than she was before. And she keeps coming back as if this is her penance.
He takes her to the roof, and they sit with their feet dangling over the edge. He stays close to her, invading her personal space so that her pulse stays quick, and he can sense her fear refusing to fade. She dangles the bag she brought with her in front of him, and he takes it. They eat stolen ice cream (don’t ask him how he knows she stole it) and watch the blur of cars below.
It’s so cliché he thinks he would like to push her off the roof just to regain some dignity, but he can’t bring himself to do so.
This is the problem with her. She’s ugly inside like him. He knows that about her. It’s why he likes to torment her. Why he lets her come here and sit with him, doing mundane things and not talking about anything. He knows it breaks Mohinder’s heart and in turn, breaks hers. He knows it makes her hurt to be here. He also knows that if he keeps letting her come back, he’ll start to care.
This is what women like her do to men like him. They weave their way inside and make men like Sylar hate who they are and want to change. He knows this well, but until he’s able to turn her away or throw her off this roof, he won’t be able to avoid it. He’s not sure that will ever happen.
When he reaches behind her for the spare spoon, his fingers actually dare to tremble when he decides enough is enough. The prospective nightmares flash through his head and he makes himself stop. He doesn’t like this whole foresight thing.
“How’s Aaron?” he asks.
Her frown is enough to satisfy the urge to kill.
For now. Forever
---
It’s somewhere past three when Kate gets home. The apartment is pitch black and she has to tiptoe carefully around the toys and books that lie haphazardly on the floor. She pours herself a glass of orange juice in the dark, afraid if she turns on the kitchen light she’ll wake someone and they’ll see her hands still shaking. Her hands itch for the vodka. No one would know.
She leans against the counter and takes in what she can in the dark. Aaron’s favorite toy - the blue and green truck with the broken back wheel - is staring at her from the living room couch. Kate thinks that maybe she and Mohinder never really break-up because she never actually takes Aaron with her. Somehow the thought of ripping him away from Molly seems barbaric in the middle of the night.
She tells herself that of course because she can’t admit that she doesn’t want to leave - that she does what she does because she’s stuck in a pattern she may never be able to break. Or maybe it’s the ugly truth that Aaron will always be disposable.
Maybe she wants what she cannot ever have, and she’ll keep stringing along both ends of the spectrum until they blur together and prove a point.
She finishes her drink and leaves the glass near the sink. The little bit of moonlight out tonight trickles through the window and against the glass. She reaches out and sees her hands are no longer swallowed by darkness. She wants to jump on the counter and sit there.
She makes her way to the bedroom, peeling off layers of clothes as she goes, but refusing to leave them where they’re shed. She gathers them in her arms and dumps them in a pile near the hamper. She refuses to look at the bed.
He doesn’t stir though he’s wide awake. He’s facing her when she tiptoes to their bed, sits on the very edge. His eyes trace the vulnerable curve of her spine, the way she hunches over, curls into herself. She pulls her boots and he’s tempted to reach out and touch her when she takes in a deep breath and her whole body shakes.
She lies down very still. He can hear her trying to control her breathing. She’ll take a deep breath and hold it for five seconds before letting it out in a rush. She’s still above the covers and he can see the goose bumps on her arms through the moonlight peaking through their bedroom window.
He moves then - pulling the covers from around them and throwing them gently over her figure. He tries to keep from touching her directly but his fingers graze her shoulder and he feels her fall apart then. She cannot cry or sob. She is too far gone for tears that can purge and cleanse the emptiness she’s feeling. Instead she trembles and shakes and clutches to the hand that holds her shoulder.
Mohinder is a man who gets taken advantage of all the time. He’s the type who believes the worst in people, but who cannot stop hoping that he’ll find the good there too to prove him wrong. With Kate, he knows what she is.
Mohinder saw it - the flash in her eyes when she first met Sylar. It was the look of a killer, someone who had taken a life in cold blood and knew how to rationalize it anyways. She saw Sylar for who he was in a way that Mohinder never could. It scared him. It still does to this day.
He knows she is probably a villain. She finds comfort in men like Sylar because they’re evil too. She thinks that if she can find compassion for him, her sins count for less. He also knows though that she wants to believe she can be good too - that one day she’ll wake up and stop fighting him just because it’s what her mother taught her to do.
He wants to believe that too.
He hooks his arm around her waist and pulls her close to him. His legs maneuver between hers and he starts to feel the tension drain from her body.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. His grip tightens on her, and he wishes that would always be enough. He wishes she truly meant it.
He debates leaving it there, using silence to convey acceptance, but the words spill out before he can stop them.
“I try not to judge you,” he starts and then winces internally because it sounds all wrong.
He elaborates. “I try not to think about what you’re doing every time you walk away from this family. I figure if I try hard enough it will stop happening.” She is silent when he finishes and there’s enough courage left in him to attempt to elicit a response. “Am I wrong to think that?”
She waits to say anything. She knows he can tell she will answer him eventually because he can feel her pulse increasing. He used to tell her that whenever she felt cornered, it showed itself vividly.
“I don’t know,” she manages to breath out, and it’s the closest to the truth she’s ever gotten. She hears Sawyer’s voice in the back of her head. “Someone once told me tigers don’t change their stripes.”
“They do. Change takes time. Years, decades, centuries, even.”
“Spoken like a true evolutionist.” This of course could be the heart of the problem. He sees the world as a place where people grow and adapt, and she sees it as a way for people to keep repeating their mistakes. “You don’t have centuries.”
“I don’t want you to change, Katherine.” It reads as I don’t know what I want, and that really is something Kate can understand.
Kate doesn’t know what to say so she keeps quiet. She turns her head so she can look into Mohinder’s eyes and reaches up to kiss him, soft and sweet. That sort of embrace is something she saves only for him.
His eyes close. “You came back.” Maybe that’s all that matters.
He settles down beside her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She waits until his breathing evens out, watches the birch tree cast a shadow on the wall and attempts to make it all better.
“I always will,” she whispers.
And of course, it’s all a lie, but she can pretend for a little while longer, until the darkness inside her destroys all of three of them.
It’s the repetition that kills them.
-END-
Author: angeldylan628
Fandoms: Heroes/Lost
Characters Kate Austen, Aaron Littleton; Mohinder Suresh, Sylar, Molly Walker
Pairings: Kate/Mohinder, Kate/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,935
Spoilers: None really past early Season Two for Heroes. Spoilers for “What Kate Did” & “Eggtown” for Lost.
Warnings: Mentions of Sylar doing what Sylar does which would clearly squick some people.
Disclaimer: Lost and Heroes belong to their respective creators.
A/N: Thank you to my roommate and best friend, Andy, for betaing this.
Summary: It’s the repetition that kills them.
It starts with a fight. A bad one. The type that’s ugly in its silence. Cold shoulders and hushed accusations and looks that could melt ice. It’s a quiet blowout because they can’t wake Aaron or Molly (the kids - not their own, but ones they can still bicker over - still protect).
They fight, and they break-up (or at least that’s what they’ll keep calling it though it never sticks). Kate leaves without thinking it through because that’s just what she does, and Mohinder watches her go, curling his fingers into fists but afraid to stop her simply out of habit.
This is what he does.
He channels his anger into sorting through tattered folders from his father’s top drawer. He makes tea and checks on Molly and Aaron twice to make sure they are blissfully naïve to the tornado that has once again ripped through their family while they sleep. He turns on the TV and listens to reruns of Law and Order, while he watches the bright red numbers on the bedroom clock turn, wondering how long it will take before they all blur together and he can stop counting the hours until she comes back. Until he stops thinking about where she is and what she’s doing when he knows the answers will be written all over her face when she returns - shame and hurt and regret framing her face.
And then he’ll want to save her again.
It’s the repetition that kills them.
---
When Kate leaves, she goes across town to a shoddy apartment building home to drug addicts and gang members (not that Kate could ever judge). No one looks twice when she enters and takes the jittery elevator up three floors to a one bedroom apartment - number 316 (let’s call it irony). She doesn’t have to knock. The door slowly creaks open on its own accord - taking a page out of all those horror movies. Her mother’s voice whispers in her head, that’s what this is.
Kate stands in the doorway watching how he takes his time before he faces her, before his lips quirk and he feels the satisfaction he doesn’t deserve coursing through his veins. Sylar tilts his head to the left so he can study her. She doesn’t bend under this kind of scrutiny. It helps that he is across the room, out of reach, though she supposes with his powers that’s just a lie she needs to tell herself.
She tries not to tremble when he finally approaches, twisting the fallen curl on her forehead before tucking it behind her ear. She feels the tip of his index finger drag against her temple and she remembers the pictures, wonders briefly if she will ever be one of them. A file in Mohinder’s top desk drawer - a fallen chess piece. Most of the time, she can convince herself she’s safe. Still she cannot forget his hands are stained red.
It’s easy to slice open heads and pin people to walls. It takes real talent to break someone from the inside out. A slow death built on emotional and mental destruction. Each time he leaves her a little more broken than she was before. And she keeps coming back as if this is her penance.
He takes her to the roof, and they sit with their feet dangling over the edge. He stays close to her, invading her personal space so that her pulse stays quick, and he can sense her fear refusing to fade. She dangles the bag she brought with her in front of him, and he takes it. They eat stolen ice cream (don’t ask him how he knows she stole it) and watch the blur of cars below.
It’s so cliché he thinks he would like to push her off the roof just to regain some dignity, but he can’t bring himself to do so.
This is the problem with her. She’s ugly inside like him. He knows that about her. It’s why he likes to torment her. Why he lets her come here and sit with him, doing mundane things and not talking about anything. He knows it breaks Mohinder’s heart and in turn, breaks hers. He knows it makes her hurt to be here. He also knows that if he keeps letting her come back, he’ll start to care.
This is what women like her do to men like him. They weave their way inside and make men like Sylar hate who they are and want to change. He knows this well, but until he’s able to turn her away or throw her off this roof, he won’t be able to avoid it. He’s not sure that will ever happen.
When he reaches behind her for the spare spoon, his fingers actually dare to tremble when he decides enough is enough. The prospective nightmares flash through his head and he makes himself stop. He doesn’t like this whole foresight thing.
“How’s Aaron?” he asks.
Her frown is enough to satisfy the urge to kill.
For now. Forever
---
It’s somewhere past three when Kate gets home. The apartment is pitch black and she has to tiptoe carefully around the toys and books that lie haphazardly on the floor. She pours herself a glass of orange juice in the dark, afraid if she turns on the kitchen light she’ll wake someone and they’ll see her hands still shaking. Her hands itch for the vodka. No one would know.
She leans against the counter and takes in what she can in the dark. Aaron’s favorite toy - the blue and green truck with the broken back wheel - is staring at her from the living room couch. Kate thinks that maybe she and Mohinder never really break-up because she never actually takes Aaron with her. Somehow the thought of ripping him away from Molly seems barbaric in the middle of the night.
She tells herself that of course because she can’t admit that she doesn’t want to leave - that she does what she does because she’s stuck in a pattern she may never be able to break. Or maybe it’s the ugly truth that Aaron will always be disposable.
Maybe she wants what she cannot ever have, and she’ll keep stringing along both ends of the spectrum until they blur together and prove a point.
She finishes her drink and leaves the glass near the sink. The little bit of moonlight out tonight trickles through the window and against the glass. She reaches out and sees her hands are no longer swallowed by darkness. She wants to jump on the counter and sit there.
She makes her way to the bedroom, peeling off layers of clothes as she goes, but refusing to leave them where they’re shed. She gathers them in her arms and dumps them in a pile near the hamper. She refuses to look at the bed.
He doesn’t stir though he’s wide awake. He’s facing her when she tiptoes to their bed, sits on the very edge. His eyes trace the vulnerable curve of her spine, the way she hunches over, curls into herself. She pulls her boots and he’s tempted to reach out and touch her when she takes in a deep breath and her whole body shakes.
She lies down very still. He can hear her trying to control her breathing. She’ll take a deep breath and hold it for five seconds before letting it out in a rush. She’s still above the covers and he can see the goose bumps on her arms through the moonlight peaking through their bedroom window.
He moves then - pulling the covers from around them and throwing them gently over her figure. He tries to keep from touching her directly but his fingers graze her shoulder and he feels her fall apart then. She cannot cry or sob. She is too far gone for tears that can purge and cleanse the emptiness she’s feeling. Instead she trembles and shakes and clutches to the hand that holds her shoulder.
Mohinder is a man who gets taken advantage of all the time. He’s the type who believes the worst in people, but who cannot stop hoping that he’ll find the good there too to prove him wrong. With Kate, he knows what she is.
Mohinder saw it - the flash in her eyes when she first met Sylar. It was the look of a killer, someone who had taken a life in cold blood and knew how to rationalize it anyways. She saw Sylar for who he was in a way that Mohinder never could. It scared him. It still does to this day.
He knows she is probably a villain. She finds comfort in men like Sylar because they’re evil too. She thinks that if she can find compassion for him, her sins count for less. He also knows though that she wants to believe she can be good too - that one day she’ll wake up and stop fighting him just because it’s what her mother taught her to do.
He wants to believe that too.
He hooks his arm around her waist and pulls her close to him. His legs maneuver between hers and he starts to feel the tension drain from her body.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. His grip tightens on her, and he wishes that would always be enough. He wishes she truly meant it.
He debates leaving it there, using silence to convey acceptance, but the words spill out before he can stop them.
“I try not to judge you,” he starts and then winces internally because it sounds all wrong.
He elaborates. “I try not to think about what you’re doing every time you walk away from this family. I figure if I try hard enough it will stop happening.” She is silent when he finishes and there’s enough courage left in him to attempt to elicit a response. “Am I wrong to think that?”
She waits to say anything. She knows he can tell she will answer him eventually because he can feel her pulse increasing. He used to tell her that whenever she felt cornered, it showed itself vividly.
“I don’t know,” she manages to breath out, and it’s the closest to the truth she’s ever gotten. She hears Sawyer’s voice in the back of her head. “Someone once told me tigers don’t change their stripes.”
“They do. Change takes time. Years, decades, centuries, even.”
“Spoken like a true evolutionist.” This of course could be the heart of the problem. He sees the world as a place where people grow and adapt, and she sees it as a way for people to keep repeating their mistakes. “You don’t have centuries.”
“I don’t want you to change, Katherine.” It reads as I don’t know what I want, and that really is something Kate can understand.
Kate doesn’t know what to say so she keeps quiet. She turns her head so she can look into Mohinder’s eyes and reaches up to kiss him, soft and sweet. That sort of embrace is something she saves only for him.
His eyes close. “You came back.” Maybe that’s all that matters.
He settles down beside her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She waits until his breathing evens out, watches the birch tree cast a shadow on the wall and attempts to make it all better.
“I always will,” she whispers.
And of course, it’s all a lie, but she can pretend for a little while longer, until the darkness inside her destroys all of three of them.
It’s the repetition that kills them.
-END-