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]

"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.

[myloveisblue]

She laughs again, and this time her smile is real.

"I think you and I are going to get along very well, Sylar."

[watchmakers_son]

He shifts his stance, nearly infinitesimally; Sylar's feet draw perfectly even with one another as he settles his hands into his coat pockets. Still heavy with water -- if no longer enough to be dripping -- the fabric swings like a pendulum.

Similar agendas. The enemy of the enemy. Another small smile touches his own lips.

It may have to do, then, for now.

"Then I'll help you," he says.

[myloveisblue]

"I'm glad."

There's a car parked by the curb a few yards away from where they're standing. Lucy starts toward it.

"It'll be dark in a couple of hours."

[watchmakers_son]

At first, he does not move to follow: not until he notices that she's walking toward the trunk rather than the doors. "You don't plan to move before then."

It is, in part, a question. And -- Sylar turns his head suddenly, gaze dropping to the ground and unfocusing.

When he looks up at Lucy again, it's with a much more marked curiosity than before.

(It sounded creaky. Liquid. Faint, but...faint has become a relative term since meeting Dale Smither.)

[myloveisblue]

"Is there somewhere else you were planning to go?"

The latch clicks open.

There's not much inside the trunk. A few tools; a flashlight.

An unmarked white styrofoam cooler.

Lucy glances up at him.

"I hope you don't mind getting your hands dirty."

She's smiling again. Just a tiny smile, but it's there.

[watchmakers_son]

You mean besides straight to their house, to finish the matter as soon as possible? he thinks, but Sylar neither says nor gives any indication that he's thinking it.

Instead, he sweeps his gaze over the cooler in a quick, intent examination. When he turns an ear toward it, he can hear the same noise as before: louder, and with a clear point of origin this time.

"Not at all," he says calmly. In one sharp motion, his gaze shifts back to her; he doesn't turn his head. "I've done plenty of my own work before."

If it's meant as a jab, there's no sting behind it. Raven, Yrael; Sylar remembers well how some beings can react when provoked.

[myloveisblue]

There's no possible way she could know what he was thinking.


Of course not.


Her tiny smile broadens with something that might be read as approval.


"I bet you're very precise about it, too."

[watchmakers_son]

"Oh yes."

Sinuous, and very soft.

[myloveisblue]

"Oh yes," she echoes, still smiling. "Oh yes."

Lucy nods to the cooler.



"Go ahead."

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar doesn't break his gaze right away; it stays on Lucy for several more seconds without wavering.

Then...it's as she said. Sylar is very precise.

One movement: his eyes lock on the cooler. Another: he reaches down, fingers spread wide, and briefly twitches them wider when his hand is several inches above the lid.

There's a thin, squeaky scrape before it pulls free and leaps into his hand. When he sees what's inside, Sylar's head tilts further as he frowns.

It's not an expression of disgust. It's curiosity; contemplation.

[myloveisblue]

She looks pleased at this evidence of his ability, but it doesn't change the fact that she's waiting for his reaction.



To judge from her own expression as she watches him examine Fabricant's kidney with interest, Lucy Butler is anything but disappointed.

"It's very fresh."

She sounds absolutely certain, as well she should.

She'd been the one to remove it from its unfortunate host, after all.

(Without anesthetic.)

"It'll keep long enough for what we're going to do."

[watchmakers_son]

"Oh?" It's spoken distantly; Sylar touches the brim of the cooler, trailing his fingers along it in an absent gesture, and doesn't look up.

(It's not a broken part, but it is one removed from the whole. It's potential, in its own way. Promise.)

When Lucy begins to speak in kind, though, he does turn his attention back to her. Sylar listens closely, without objection.





Some time after that, the street's deserted again.