watchmakers_son | January 2007

The next time he opens his eyes, Sylar's face to face with the silent thunderclap of a star going nova.

He freezes. Blinks once. Lifts his hand, cautious and slow, without stepping back. The sleeve of his thin cotton shirt slides back an inch as he presses light fingertips to the Observation Window; it's like touching a sheet of ice, and narrow white circles of fog instantly appear around his fingers.

It's disorientingly quiet.

He's standing up, though, he realizes. And nothing hurts.

Thoughtful, Sylar brushes his fingers through the condensation. It squeaks faintly as the patterns warp and streak away. As he turns around, the lights flicker above him, and for half an instant

the floor's just as cold, there are bars across the window, there is --

When they steady again, it's far too bright, and the walls...he doesn't think they were that pale.

He can't be sure.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

gonna_live

Kaylee wasn't there before, either.

She stands with her hands loose at her sides, lips parted in surprise -- as though she isn't expecting to see Sylar.

Why should she expect to see Sylar?

From:

watchmakers_son

It's hard to -- focus isn't the right word. But it's too quiet.

She may as well have been there the whole time.

Sylar touches his left forearm, the residual cold sending up a wash of goosebumps, and shakes his head as if trying to dislodge something. "Have I been gone long?" he asks, vaguely.

From:

gonna_live

"You're not Simon."

Kaylee shakes her head, slowly, back and forth. Her hair, long and loose around her shoulders, looks as though it ought to rustle softly. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't.

She looks lost. "You was supposed to be him."

From:

watchmakers_son

"I'm certain he's otherwise occupied."

This time, it's a light tap to his chest. The muscles twinge, but only faintly.

"Last I saw him..." He swallows, frowning in thought as his gaze drifts to the floor. It stays there for a moment, then, suddenly, snaps back up to Kaylee.

"When did you see him?"

From:

gonna_live

Kaylee flinches.

"We got -- got separated. He was supposed -- we were gonna meet here...?"

As though Sylar knows, one way or another. But he was supposed to be Simon.

From:

watchmakers_son

"Separated," repeats Sylar. His eyes narrow.

You shouldn't have said that to her.

He continues, very low, "Meet here and do what, Kaylee?"

From:

gonna_live

She flushes, a little -- a low-level blush, that's all -- and doesn't reply.

From:

watchmakers_son

Sylar studies her before he takes a step closer. It's an unnatural movement, toe to heel, and he pauses for a second with his full weight on the ball of his foot before he brings his heel down, slowly.

As soon as he does, he gasps and shoots out a hand toward the closest table.

The wood veneer is damp with fresh condensation.

From:

gonna_live

Kaylee nearly mirrors the movement.

A step forward (heel to toe), the same hand (looks opposite) shooting out toward Sylar.

It's concern.

(It's care.)

From:

watchmakers_son

Instinctively, his other arm starts to wrap around his stomach --

The rising pain cuts off, and he stops, breathing hard. Several more seconds drift past before Sylar takes his hand away from the table.

(His arm, though, stays at his stomach.)

"You're helping him." There's just enough of a lift to the last word to take most of the accusatory edge off.

Most of it.

From:

gonna_live

Now Kaylee looks confused.

And hurt.

"He wouldn't let me." She looks away. "I can't."

From:

watchmakers_son

It's not a flicker from the overhead lights this time; it's one from the window, as Sylar turns his head to catch it. He can't see his reflection.

Easing his arm away from his stomach, he returns his attention to Kaylee. "I wouldn't think that would stop you," he murmurs. "Does he want to take all the glory, then?"

Just like before.

(No. That was Peter. (That was your delusion.) Wasn't it?)

From:

gonna_live

Kaylee's hands tighten at her sides.

Small:

"I don't work. Remember?"

"He don't want me involved."

From:

watchmakers_son

"Then why meet you here at all?"

It's sudden and vicious, and the look he shoots her is pure scorn.

"Does he think he can fix you, too?"

From:

gonna_live

She shrinks back into herself, even more. "He's supposed to do it. It's his job. It's what he was born to do." It sounds like an apology.

From:

watchmakers_son

"It's a shame he's not better at it." Flatly.

Sylar ventures another step; there's no pain this time, but he finds he can't move very far. Something pulls at his ankles for an instant before vanishing.

"I'd be careful of trusting your husband, Kaylee." And that's very soft. "And his work."

From:

gonna_live

Confusion washes over Kaylee's face

(look out, kid, it's something you did)

along with disappointment.

Then uncertainty.

"Then who'll put me back together?"

From:

watchmakers_son

Silence.

In every applicable sense of the word.

"Maybe there isn't anything left," he says, but it's strangely devoid of cruelty -- and just as uncertain as Kaylee's expression. Sylar tilts his head, fingers ghosting over his abdomen again. "I can't hear you. Or see you. You sound like the dead."

From:

gonna_live

She presses her fingertips to her lips, as though trying to keep something in.

A long moment passes.

When her hand moves --

It doesn't fall away, but it's still not a controlled movement. There's force to it. Something Kaylee can't seem to control.

In a burst: "You could be anything you want. The special one. You could be anything. If you wanted, you could be president."

From:

watchmakers_son

It's become difficult to remember. There is fog, always that damned fog, and nearly everything fractures apart like glass when he does manage to find it.

Some things, though, are more resilient.

Sylar jerks as if stung, stumbling backward a step with his eyes wide. Then, almost instantaneously, he catches himself on a chair back, and his eyes darken as he bares his teeth.

"Who told you that?" he snarls.

Flicker; tick go the lights.

From:

gonna_live

"Simon."

She casts a nervous glance over her shoulder.

"Peter. One or the other. Both. I get -- I get confused, and -- "

" -- you're all the same -- "

From:

watchmakers_son

"How would they know?" Furious, he lets go of the chair and slams his open hands against it. It rattles forward. "And my name. How would they know that, too?"

All of them the same. How can that mean anything?

From:

gonna_live

Kaylee puts up her hands, as though this is a stickup.

"Gabriel -- "

"Everybody knows."

From:

watchmakers_son

"What?"

Flicker. Tick. Sylar looks up at the lights.

He turns back to Kaylee as the floor and walls shadow around them, a familiar, painful pressure building in his chest all the while. The light wobbles again, and in the heartbeat space between one bolt of illumination and the next --

the tile floor echoes, and the white and green walls are lit too bright; behind Kaylee is a man in a white coat with a stethoscope coiled around his neck like a snake, behind him is someone --

Flicker.

Tick.

It's gone.