Gabriel Gray (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
watchmakers_son) wrote2008-03-12 08:19 pm
watchmakers_son) wrote2008-03-12 08:19 pm
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.
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.
no subject
Sylar doesn't move -- can't move, wouldn't be able to move even if the restraints weren't tightening to the point that his fingertips burn with pins and needles.
(It's the back of his neck that hurts now, a sting widening to an ache widening to true pain that draws his breath up short.)
If the other woman was a figment then (everything) this must be too -- he shuts his eyes and yanks his head away from her touch, slamming it against the floor with a muted crack.
And he still can't speak.
no subject
Because they are in the hospital once again, and Gabriel is restrained in his bed.
"They say--the doctors--" She gulps and looks away. "You hurt yourself. Again. So you have to..."
"My poor boy." But she doesn't reach out again. "My poor, poor boy."
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But in the blur, he thinks he sees her.
"Mom -- "
It's gone, into the surrounding smears of gray and white and yellow, and he leans his head back, stomach heaving, as he shuts his eyes.
Not real, he thinks. Not real.