Splice of Life: Reality Evolution

It's nice. Matt thinks its nice at least. Chopping cilantro is about as normal as you can get. He's got the wine chilling and cooking broiling in the oven. Mozzarella cheese is waiting to be chopped up with tomato and tossed in Italian dressing by the time Sylar gets there, wearing the face of Matt's supposed girlfriend.

He's a romantic. Matt can't help it. They rarely do this but with Sylar out of sorts and having nearly died -- okay. He did die -- all that he wants to do is cement whatever part of this was 'them.'

From:

heroslayer

"It smells great," she (he) tells him once she's inside and stretched on Matt's couch. The statement is something of a lie, though, not that there's anything wrong with Matt's cooking. It's more she can feel the high fading, the individual scents of cilantro and cheese and cooking meat not as sharp, not as distinctive as they should be. She'll need more blood and soon, she tells herself, then dismisses it, wanting to enjoy the last of what power she's pulled from Mohinder.

She doesn't get to. Over the course of dinner, her thoughts become more and more disjointed, focus hard to come by, and when she does manage to piece her thoughts together for a few seconds, they dance around Mohinder like a fairy ring. She wants to go to him, right now and without regard for Matt, to consume his power quite literally, and that want burns in her chest, making it hard to breathe. By the time dinner is over, she's trembling faintly, and it's all only getting worse with every passing moment. It may not be what's become her feeding time just yet, but with as little as Mohinder gave her the other night, her body has burned through it and desperately needs more.

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Matt frowns the first time blue eyes turn brown and by the time he brings out dessert -- Sylar's favourite -- and it doesn't even get sniffed at he knows something it wrong. Matt takes her hand and drags her into the bathroom.

"Cut the illusion bullshit out." Matt knows he's under survallience too. But he also knows he's destroyed the camera in here because seriously? He shuts the door for emphasis though as sets Sylar on the sink.

Shit.

"What did you take? How long have you been taking it?!"

He's kicking himself for not realizing his lover has become an addict.

From:

heroslayer

It hurts to shift back. It shouldn't, not when as far as he remembers, it's just an illusion cloaks himself in rather than a physical change, but it does. It's agony and he groans lowly as his own face snaps back into place, practically squirming on the counter and definitely gasping for air, unable to catch his breath. It hurts still. Everything hurts and it's getting progressively worse.

"Suresh's blood," he chokes out. "It's -- he -- I need to get to him. I need more."

Edited Date: 2011-12-21 04:03 pm (UTC)

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His BLOOD. Standing, Matt runs a hand down his face and turns towards Sylar again before he turns on the taps and runs a washcloth under cold water. "I don't think you're going any where, buddy. Stay still."

He's never done this before. Not once, not since Sylsr revealed himself to Matt all those years ago.

Sylar is strong. Matt is stronger. His ability has grown so immensely that he's never actually questioned the reason that he's been partnered with the Haitian. He knows why.

Tilting his head, he wills Sylar to sleep. They have something good here. He's not letting Suresh fuck it up. Leaving Sylar in the bathtub, Matt checks the time and his gun. Ten hours until sunrise.

Mohinder won't live to see another night.

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Back at the office, Matt flicks off the security monitors and sends out an overwhelming mass command to ignore this blatant breech of security. He watches the guard in charge of keeping an eye on such things closely for a moment, checking and double checking that it worked and the Haitian didn't happen to be in the building, as would have been his luck, and then lets himself into Mohinder's cell.

He doesn't bother with the gun just yet, figuring he'll be able to influence Mohinder without it. He must be weak from not eating and even if he's not, Matt has the strength of his conviction to fuel him and his ability. Mohinder will do what he tells him, when he tells him this time. His life and his lover depend on it.

"Get up," he orders, forcing himself into Mohinder's thoughts. "We're gonna go for a walk."

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Mohinder's not asleep. His hand stills on the back of the cat's neck as he hears the door to his cell open. He sits up when he realizes who's there. The time is just after two if the watch on Matt's wrist is to be believed.

The Indian settles his eyes on the other man and then looks away. "I use to have the biggest crush on you," he says softly, setting the cat aside so that he could get up. "You reminded me of Paul, a man I had dated while I was in University. But you never looked at me. Not once. It's fine, no need to look surprised."

He's been waiting for this. Mohinder's posture is relatively straight.

"You're not under orders. Why do you want me dead?"

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He's beyond angry that his powers don't work, even with all his righteous fury, and if his jaw was steel before, it's dimamond now, his face and posture so tense it's terrifying. He reaches for his gun. Telepathy may not be all that effective here, but bullets sure as hell are. He's seen that one first hand.

"Because I can't stand the thought of seeing him become an addict. I mean, you have any idea what you were doing to him? How strung out he was? How much pain you put him through when it started wearing off?" He shakes his head. "He's better off without you, but I know him. I know what he's like and I know that if he's going to get over you, he's gonna need help. Which, unfortunately, means putting you out of the picture."

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Mohinder doesn't even flinch. He just stares Matt down with a set jaw. "I didn't turn him into an addict. He's always been one. He wants to devour everything. Every power. Every person. It will never get easy. When the rest of you lot are dead, you'll be all that's left. And he'll take your power too."

He moves towards the door and looks back at Matt. As soon as they're in the hall, he's going to make a run for it. He doesn't want to kill Matt but he might have to.

"I never asked for this."

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"You wanna know why it was so easy to believe he was dead? Because he hasn't actually killed anyone in three years. He could've killed me dozens of times before he trusted me with who he was under there. He could have killed the Haitian. He could have killed a lot of people, but he didn't! He was getting better! And then you did … whatever the hell you did to him the night you killed him. So yeah, I'm blaming you and I think I've got a pretty good reason to."

He flips the safety off of his gun and points it at Mohinder. "Out into the hallway. Any fast moves and I drop you." He pauses, smiling rather unpleasantly, and adds, "And I've got more than one clip this time."

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Talk about good luck! Peter nods at Hiro as they head up the stairs. The cameras are out. It's not a power failure. But it's fishy enough to lend him to want to investigate. He hasn't seen his brother in three years and breaking into the science compound on the grounds of the former white house is not how Peter imagined coming out of hiding.

But if it's true, if Hiro's sources are right and the President wants to wipe them all out, he's got to stop him.

"I'll head downstairs," he tells his friend. "The Haitian isn't here. We should have no trouble."

Should is the operative word.

He's not expecting to run into Matt and Mohinder.

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Matt spots Peter first, appearing from around the corner and over Mohinder's shoulder, and his jaw drops. He stares at him for what will later likely feel like forever, as if he's seen a ghost -- and, honestly, that's not too far from the truth, since Peter supposedly died in the wasteland he made of Manhattan -- then jerks his gun up sharply. He takes one shot at Peter, not really expecting it to hit its mark if it really is him, then another at Mohinder as he lowers it to set him in his sights again.

"Anyone else wanna come back from the dead?" he demands of no one in particular as he tries to get a handle on the clusterfuck his life is becoming.

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"Jesus!" Peter stops the bullet, both bullets, easily and swipes the gun from his hand. "What the hell, Matt?!"

His brother saved him for THIS of all things? What's happened to the people here? What's happened to the world outside of Las Vegas? Peter has come to accept the insanity there, but really--

"What's going on?!"

A good question to ask, seeing as how Mohinder's next to him. He's never seen the professor move so fast!

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Peter's a bad guy, a terrorist -- no better than Hiro, even if he hasn't seen the both of them together just yet for that to become less assumption and more fact. He's the one that destroyed Kirby Plaza, and while Sylar's face was all over the news for it, it's Peter's head that should be on a plate. Doubly so, maybe, since the explosion didn't truly claim his life.

Regardless of all that, though, Matt still sees fit to warn him. "Get away from him, Peter. Unless you wanna end up a walking bottomless beer special."

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"An endless WHAT--" Peter puts himself between Mohinder and Matt. He's got no idea of the danger. His blood, like Sylar's is utterly unique. The scent is almost too much and he finds himself hanging back. He doesn't want to hurt Peter, not now that he knows he's alive.

Holding out his hand, he strides towards Matt and waits for an explanation. It's just enough distraction for Mohinder to run.

Sylar is President. He must be close by-- Yes. Yes he can feel him!

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Matt pushes past him, swearing, and breaks into a run, trying futilely to catch up with Mohinder. He stops when he reaches the stairs, not sure if the Indian went up or down -- logic dictates down, but who knows if Mohinder can fly or turn into a bat or whatever, so logic may not apply here -- but he's not out for the count just yet. He reaches out en mass, touching everyone in the building as he did when he ordered them to ignore the suddenly lax security, and turns them hostile. If they find Mohinder, they'll stop him if they can.

He tries not to think about the fact that he may very well be out of the building already.

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Mohinder stands outside by the oak tree, eyes closed and just trying to feel along the bond for signs of Sylar. He catches his dreams and the unnatural sleep and pushes straight into them without realizing that he even can.

"Wake up. You have to let me in"

From:

heroslayer

Sylar's dream space is confused and wrong, somehow, for more than the fact that it's like looking through a kaleidoscope, his office in the city superimposed over Manhattan's skyline, superimposed over something else. Something green and sharp and twisted.

He doesn't seem to notice, though. He just turns around and looks at him, his brow furrowing. "How did you -- this isn't -- what?"

He's understandably addled, both from withdrawal and from Matt forcing him in here.

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Mohinder picks his way around broken glass to stand in front of Sylar-As-Zane. It's creepy. He tries to ignore how off putting all of this is, though.

"Your boyfriend is trying to kill me. I need you to let me."

From:

heroslayer

He settles, just barely, and the area around them seems to settle a touch, too. Staring too long at the sky or the ground or anything really is still enough to make one nauseated, but there seems to be a little more cohesion to everything now, though it's hard to say how.

"I'm not sure I can. I'm not sure I can wake up." He pauses, shaking his head. "He should have been able to do that, you know. Get inside my head like this."

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Mohinder frowns openly. "His power is the strongest there is. He can make us do or say or even think any way he wants us to. He's just trying to protect you, which is admirable, but I'd like to survive the day. You have to try to trick him. You have to-- maybe there's a work around. Just give me permission to enter your home!"

From:

heroslayer

"Mine is his," he says cryptically, frowning back. "It shouldn't be possible."

He sits down in the glass, though it doesn't seem to cut him. If anything, it shies away from where he touches or almost touches it. That alone is a comfort somehow. "But whatever. I'll try. We did this once before, I think. I think I remember being trapped here once before, but it wasn't like this."

The glass on the ground flickers briefly, threatening to disappear to be consumed by the parts of this place that are New York, then settle again. It's a shame he likely won't remember this when he wakes up. If he wakes up.

Edited Date: 2011-12-21 09:06 pm (UTC)

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