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:

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.

From:

gonna_live

"Everybody knows, Gabriel," Kaylee repeats, with something very like pity. "You didn't know they did?"

From:

watchmakers_son

He shakes his head, mutely at first. It's not acknowledgment; it's denial, and at his sides, his hands tighten.

"How?"

From:

gonna_live

"We talk."

Slowly, her hands drop.

"You left us alive. We talk. And we know."

From:

watchmakers_son

It isn't just his hands any longer: Sylar's shoulders pull taut as his jaw clenches to match. Several seconds go by before they loosen.

When he smiles, in a quick flash of teeth, it looks far more like one animal facing down another.

"And you say you still want to be fixed, too. Don't you," he whispers, and with no further warning, he lunges.

From:

gonna_live

His hands make it around her throat.

The floor moves.

Kaylee, choking, stumbles back.

The floor moves.

Shakes. Quakes.

They're on the floor. There's screaming. The sound of breaking glass. Wind.

Nature, they say, abhors a vacuum.

From:

killitwithfire

Water summons wind.

Wind makes fire dance.

Or at least, it makes fiery hair dance.

"--the hell," Axel mutters crossly .

From:

watchmakers_son

The lights are gone.

It's freezing, and as the wind howls, Sylar lets go, instinctively covering the back of his head as he plants his elbows on the floor.

BOOM.

That doesn't last. The entire bar shakes under the shockwave of an exploding star, and he jerks his head up, palms slamming wide and flat against the (tile) wood. Glass fragments glitter all around him.

Axel's hard to miss.

"Did you do this?" he demands.

From:

killitwithfire

"Please," Axel snorts. "Like I'd cause this much collateral?"

His head tilts contemptuously.

From:

watchmakers_son

Cautiously, he pushes himself to his knees, squinting against the blinding rush of air.

There's a gaping hole in the Observation Window. It's half plugged by debris, broken chairs and tables and bottles.

(And at least two bodies.)

The lights slam back on and color everything a bright, washed-out green before dimming again. Sylar trails his fingertips over the floor, brushing aside a few bits of glass.

"It shouldn't have been able to do that." Almost desperate. "I know."

He doesn't.

From:

killitwithfire

"Are you sure?" Axel asks, grinning toothily.

"It touches the Void."

From:

watchmakers_son

"No. It's -- "

He frowns, struggling to remember.

"You said something about it. About why that doesn't matter."

From:

killitwithfire

"The Void? Of course it matters; it's nothing. You'd have to be crazy to think otherwise."

There are still teeth in his grin, brilliant white, and too straight.

From:

watchmakers_son

The window's not broken; it's just that someone's drawn a shade across it.

Blink. Gone.

"That isn't what I meant," he snaps, and winces as the sharp intake of breath pulls oddly. It takes him a minute before he can slowly clamber to his feet.

The glass crunches in sharp spikes of noise.

From:

killitwithfire

It sounds like the barriers of broken worlds.

"Are you sure?"

From:

watchmakers_son

"Yes."

A pause. Another breath. He passes one hand over his eyes, tries to focus on Axel, as the wind tangles his hair.

"Wasn't I?"

He can't think.

From:

killitwithfire

Axel starts pacing, slowly, his feet making no more sound than they ever have.

"You're asking me? That's a new one, Sylar."

From:

watchmakers_son

Sylar's back goes rigid, and he stares at Axel.

Softly, almost wonderingly: "You don't know my name."

It's the first time he's been called Sylar in...he doesn't know how long. However long he's been here. Longer.

From:

killitwithfire

A thin, thin smile.

"What makes you think that?"

Slowly, the pacing continues.

From:

watchmakers_son

His own smile, faint as it is, disappears. When he backs up a step, there's another loud crunch.

(The resistance under his feet was stronger that time, like cracking bone.)

"Why call me that, then?"

From:

killitwithfire

"Would you rather I call you Gabriel, Gabriel?"

Axel's steps move smoothly to keep a perfect circle around Sylar.

"I could do that, y'know. If you'd rather."

His grin has teeth in it again, and there are shadows over his eyes, stark and sharp, and he stops pacing, directly behind Sylar.

From:

watchmakers_son

"No."

The pressure at his ankles is back; Sylar can't turn around, can't step away.

"That isn't -- " He swallows. The wind has died down, but not the cold, and there is still enough of a breeze to send his hair into his eyes. "It's Sylar. My name is Sylar."

From:

killitwithfire

"S-Y-L-A-R, right?"

Axel laughs.

"Or is it G-A-B-R-I-E-L?"

From:

watchmakers_son

"That isn't my name," he grates out, each word sticking in his mouth.

The lights extinguish.

In the dark, the faint pinprick light of the stars suddenly flares a bright yellow.