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

[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."

[watchmakers_son]

"Some," he agrees; there's no inflection to the word.

Enough to take care of one of them, at least.

His voice stays neutral, devoid of even curiosity, when he continues, "What did you have in mind?"

[myloveisblue]

"More than you think. There are plans for him."

Silence descends, hanging about the two of them like a shroud as they walk slowly up the street. It's not until there is a line of trees and shrubs between them and the yellow house that she stops.


"There's something about you."


She's smiling again.

[watchmakers_son]

His own smile is small and draws taut at the corners, but there is still, nevertheless, some pride to it.

"I'm sure you're familiar with people like me," he tells her. "If you know Frank and his daughter."

[myloveisblue]

Her unblinking glance fixes on his smile, and a glint of satisfaction flashes.

...the wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not
seek after God: God is not in all his thoughts...

"They're very special people, the two of them."

[watchmakers_son]

"Yes," he agrees placidly, the smile growing. Sylar inclines his head slightly. "So am I."

A brief pause to consider.

"Well -- not in the same way. But you get my meaning. Don't you."

[myloveisblue]

"Of course I do."

Nothing about her wavers.

"He resists. He doesn't want to be everything that he could become. But you're not like that, are you?"

[watchmakers_son]

This is more familiar now; it's like finding firm ground in the midst of a swamp. Sylar is still mindful of the woman, and the power she must hold, but to be acknowledged in turn after he has acknowledged her...

Much of the wariness and uncertainty is fading fast as the smile flashes into a grin, quick and sharp.

"No," he says to her. "I'm not like that at all."

[myloveisblue]

She smiles back at him.


"Good."


Her pleasure is real.

[watchmakers_son]

When the pause that follows continues without interruption, his eyebrows lift, very slightly.

"And is that your plan for him?" he asks. "The one in which I'm..." The next is very near a sing-song. "Not meant to interfere?"

[myloveisblue]

She laughs.

Not mockingly so, though. Instead, her laughter is low in her throat and filled with sly, delighted satisfaction.


"What's your name?"

[watchmakers_son]

The sidestep to his question doesn't go unnoticed; his gaze, as unwavering and unblinking as hers, darkens for a moment.

There's no indication of it when he speaks.

"Sylar." Tipping his head an inch in the other direction, he adds, "And yours?"

(To think that any name she'd give would be her true name, with what he saw. In asking, there is no true fear, but there is a small uptick of apprehension that is quickly noticed and just as swiftly extinguished.)

[myloveisblue]

"Sylar." The single word is tasted as she speaks it; savored, even, and then she smiles. "If you get the chance, you should really tell Frank that you met Lucy Butler. I think you'd find he'd be very interested."

"But in the meantime-- do you want to interfere?"

She lowers her voice, confiding,

"I hope not, because I'd much rather have help instead. Especially from someone like you."

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar scoffs, quietly.

"I'd much rather see them dead," he murmurs -- very nearly hisses -- as, without taking his eyes from Lucy, he jerks his head back toward the house. "People like the agent, the ones who resist, the blind; that's only fitting for them. If he can't see now what makes you think he ever will?"

The scorn becomes more pronounced. "And he's very resolute. Set in his beliefs."

All the same, his focus remains keen, interested.

[myloveisblue]

Lucy's answering smile appears at first glance to be sweet.

"I'm very good at teaching people what I want them to learn."

It stretches her lips, but doesn't reach her eyes.

A beat.

"Why would you think he's entitled to anything as easy as death?"

[watchmakers_son]

"Why would you think the death I'd give him would be easy?" he counters.

It's as he said to Jordan: your daddy's a liar.

Quick deaths are for those who have nothing to offer him beyond their talents.