1910 Ezekiel Drive, Seattle, WA

[watchmakers_son]

Crossing into another world feels no different from crossing into his own. It's late afternoon, the sun hanging low in the sky but not truly setting yet; water keeps dripping from his clothes as he steps onto the porch and lets the back door of Frank Black's house swing closed.

For whatever reason, they've painted it a garishly bright yellow. Sylar eyes the outer wall, then skates his fingers over the doorframe as he pauses, listening for --

There. Childishly high sobs from around the corner.

With a smile, he lifts his fingers away and begins to follow them.

Comments

[myloveisblue]

At first glance, there's nothing at all unusual about the dark-haired woman standing on the sidewalk across the street, watching the yellow house.

Except that now, of course, she's watching him too.

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar trails his fingers along the curve of the porch railing, streaking it with water; a subaudible hiss lingers over short, irregular stretches as it evaporates into steam. Jordan's cries disappear within seconds as her mother hauls her inside, but he keeps his head tilted an inch anyway to wait, to see.

It's when he catches something else entirely that he lifts his head -- and his fingers drift to a halt as his eyes widen.

[myloveisblue]

She smiles.



That's all. She doesn't wave, nor does she call out, nor approach. She just stands there watching him, with that tiny smile on her face.

It's almost as though she's waiting for something.

[watchmakers_son]

It's edged

tick

sharply, the sound of her. It peaks, but too fast; it subsides, but too far. And throughout it all there's an unfamiliar susurrus like radio static -- unfamiliar, and twisting strangely into uneasiness the longer he stares.

Sylar pulls his hand away from the rail, swallowing. Through the walls, he can still hear Jordan crying.

"Who are you?"

It's spoken no louder than if she were standing right next to him.

[myloveisblue]

Her smile widens.

...I heard the voice of the beast say...

"Come and see."

...and I looked, and behold...

She tips her head back, inviting him to cross over to her.

Her eyes don't leave his.

[watchmakers_son]

The dampness of his hair and clothes itches; Sylar, without thinking, scrapes three curled fingers underneath the fringe plastered to his forehead, brushing it aside.

He doesn't look away, either.

Step. Step. They're carefully measured, exacting as the beat of a heart, and carry him down the front stairs. His hand reaches for the rail again and veers away a second later.

(It isn't merely the agent and his daughter who are special here. Or so it seems.)

The wary, searching scrutiny stays through the entire walk across the street, and intensifies when he pauses several yards away, like an animal instinctively balking at an unknown sight.

[myloveisblue]

"If you just stop like that, they're going to notice you."

There's no one on the street besides them.

She doesn't appear to care.

"I don't think that's what you want."

[watchmakers_son]

One corner of Sylar's mouth twitches into a faint half-smile. It disappears, and as he carefully flexes his fingers, he steps up onto the sidewalk.

"I can't know you," he says in a low, distant murmur as he keeps studying her. "Do you know me?"

[myloveisblue]

"Can't you?"

She studies him in return, and she doesn't blink.

A few seconds pass, and then she nods toward the yellow house.

"He's not there, you know."

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar's smile returns, and flashes wider this time.

"He's not the only one I'm concerned with."

[myloveisblue]

"But you are concerned with him," she counters.



"She's very upset."

[watchmakers_son]

He turns one wrist over to scratch at the inside of it, just below the sleeve of his coat.

"I told her something she didn't want to hear," he says, very mildly. "Children so rarely react well when they learn the truth."

[myloveisblue]

"Not only children."

The dark joy in the laughter hidden underneath her simple words is still disturbingly clear.

She's already turning away from him, looking up the quiet Seattle street.

"Come on."

[watchmakers_son]

And like a flint sparking, the wariness flares bright in his unnaturally steady stare again.

He never stopped hearing those off-kilter edges to her.

"Why?"

[myloveisblue]

"Because you're not going to interfere."

One blink and he'll miss it: the first moment she's turned away from him, and the next she's facing him again, her own unwavering look as brightly cold and challenging as that of a serpent.

The tiny smile is back, too.

"But all the same, I think you might be able to help."

[watchmakers_son]

The quickness to her movement is startling; Sylar does not flinch, but both hands instantly turn palm-out, anticipating. Another heartbeat passes, and when nothing else comes, he lifts his chin.

"And who are you," he says, very softly, "to tell me that?" Sylar angles a quick glance to the yellow house, then back to the woman, curling both hands shut into fists. "Are there things that you want from them as well?"

[myloveisblue]

"I'm not what you think I am."

She's still smiling, and doesn't look worried or threatened by his stance.

"It's a shame Frank can't introduce us. What would he tell me about you, I wonder?"

[watchmakers_son]

There's a curious flicker to Sylar's expression at the name Frank: interest, perhaps faint surprise.

It's just that, however; no more than a flicker.

"You wouldn't know what I think you are," he tells her, as calm as a teacher correcting a slow student. Sylar cants his head. "And what he'd tell you about me, I doubt you'd believe."

A considering pause, as his focus sharpens anew.

"Or would you," he murmurs.

[myloveisblue]

"Wouldn't I?"

As he focuses more closely on her, her smile widens once more, and this time it's tinged with a hint of triumph.

(come and see)

Everything about her is suddenly shifting (tall short dark pale a man a woman human inhuman Legion) and blurred, and it's hard to see her clearly in the (dark light unlight hidden shadows twisting) afternoon sunlight here on this empty street.

She smiles again (white teeth like knives) and remains still, watching him and waiting.

[watchmakers_son]

To call it "seeing" is out of little more than convenience: it's more like patterns falling into place, order suddenly and sharply becoming clear, all of it alight in all the ways it should or should not be. It's sound -- or something like it -- accompanying it, fine-tuning the differences.

That's how it works.

How it has never worked is as strongly and patently visual as this, more like triggering Isaac's gift on a blank canvas than anything else. Sylar can hear and see the horrifying wrongness ticking away beneath her, far louder than he could before, but he sees it, too, for just a split-second.

He stumbles back a step, gasping.

[myloveisblue]

"Nothing's wrong, is there?"

She blinks. Once.


Everything else remains quiet. There hasn't even been a single car driving by.

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar forces his mouth closed and swallows, once. His eyes are still too wide; he holds himself very still, acutely aware of the remaining distance between them.

When he speaks, there's a slight hoarseness to his voice. (And more than a slight anger, heated by resentment.) "What is it you want?"

[myloveisblue]

"I could ask you the same thing. In fact--"

This time, her smile is almost enchantingly sweet.


Almost.

"--why don't we talk about that? I think there may be a way for us to both get what we want."

[watchmakers_son]

The instinctive response would be to refuse. Sharing and cooperation, it must be said, are not Sylar's strong points.

That was before the flicker of something immense, and something far more dangerous than he wishes to contemplate.

His jaw tightens, but after another moment's consideration, he nods, curtly, and casts another quick glance at Frank's house before following her.

[myloveisblue]

"Don't worry. They're not going anywhere." She doesn't spare a single look for the yellow house or its occupants.

Distinct satisfaction is clear just the same.

"Frank won't be home tonight, either," she adds. "He's very busy right now."


"Which means we have time."