Patience

Title: Patience
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2000 words
Set: Pre-“Parasite”
Genre: General/Drama
Pairing: Mohinder/Zane (Mohinder/Sylar, Mylar)
Songlist: Placebo, Bulletproof Cupid
Jem, 24
Summary: Sylar has none.
Warnings: The obvious. Slash. Voyeur!Sylar. Gratuitous overuse of the words “the geneticist” / “the scientist”. Ditto the word ‘doppelganger’ and every synonym possible of it.

A/N: I intended to write a Petrelli slash. I ended up writing a Mylar without a hint of Nathan or Peter in it. I swear, my brain works in weird, weird ways.

A/N 2: When does Mohinder show Sylar “The List”? This is potentially a little AUy for that kind of thing. Um, also: on the writing. It’s weirdly jerky. Guess that’s present tense for you. But hell, I need to write more. I really do, before I lose it all. So here we are – a jerky, but hopefully also kinda flowing, despite the contradiction, fanfic.

Sylar, Zane, Gabriel – none of them likes asking for directions.

So when Mohinder announces in an uncharacteristically depressed voice that they are officially lost, he has trouble concealing his displeasure.

Patience, he reminds himself.

As he shifts in his seat, practically ill with anticipation, Mohinder sighs and rests his head on the steering wheel.

“That’s it,” he announces in his crisp accent. “We haven’t got a hope in hell of finding this place. And even if we did, I don’t think the woman would even let us past the door!”

Zane feels nauseas; physically sick with eagerness. His hands are shaking in his lap.

Patience, Zane admonishes himself again, but Sylar is too much for him. He flings open the car door and staggers out.

Immediately, Mohinder jumps out after him, and the sound of the car door slamming, multiplied by a thousand, shatters through his concentration; he throws up once. By the time the scientist has reached him, he is wiping his mouth on a tissue he finds stuffed in Zane’s pocket, perfectly composed.

“Are you car sick?” Mohinder sounds incredulous, but Zane jumps on it.

“Y – yeah. Not usually, I’m just so…”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He touches Zane’s arm, briefly. The concern in his voice makes Sylar feel even more agitated. “Look, it’s only six o’clock, I’m sure we can find a chemist that’s still open and –”

“No! No, I – uh, I don’t take tablets. They give me a headache.”

Mohinder makes a frustrated sound at his stubbornness. “Well, you should have some water at least. You’re probably dehydrated –”

“I’m fine, Dr. Suresh.” Gabriel gives that shy, foolish smile and Mohinder softens visibly. “I’m just worried – we have to find her, before this Sylar person does…”

“Yes,” Mohinder agrees, opening the car door for him absently. “But I don’t think we’ll get any farther tonight. We should find a motel.”

Patience. Zane sits unmoving in the car seat until Mohinder turns on the engine.

“What if he goes there tonight?”

The scientist gives him a long look, and for a second, Sylar is terrified his anticipation is too extreme and has aroused suspicion. But then Mohinder squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, a strangle glint in his dark eyes.

“I am sorry. I know this must be killing you. But rest assured that I will do everything possible to protect not only you, but all others like you, from Sylar. And I have a theory that going to a motel right now might be a good idea.”

Zane grips the seat with his hands, nervous. “Theory?”

The car jolts forward, and Mohinder casts him an out-of-the-corner glance.

“Do you mind if I tell you later? Since I have absolutely no idea where we are going, it might be better if I concentrate.”

This kind of comment makes Sylar want to grab Suresh by the throat and pound his head against the window.

Patience.

His doppelganger grips the seat harder and waits.

It takes them about forty minutes to find a motel. It’s sometime around seven when they pull up, but Mohinder looks as though it’s the middle of the night and he’s just been rudely woken up. His eyes are more pronounced than usual, dark and large as he heaves his luggage out of the trunk. Zane sits in the car, unmoving, as Mohinder goes in to the reception area. The scientist comes back a moment later, looking relieved. Thankfully, there’s a vacancy, though in retrospect, Zane isn’t all that surprised, since this is the middle of nowhere. He climbs the stairs to the second floor two at a time and locks his things in his room before slipping into the adjacent one, where Mohinder is waiting with two tall glasses of water.

Zane sits down and takes a sip, eyes never leaving Mohinder’s.

“So. Um. I’m a little confused about why we’re here, instead of…”

His tone is overly cautious, but then again, everything about Zane screams social ineptitude. As for Gabriel; he is so disinterested is socializing he cannot even be called inept, and Sylar could manipulate someone with his eyes closed. Zane is the careful mix between them – blundering, making mistakes, repeating himself, but always inexorably maneuvering the conversation down the path he wishes.

Mohinder takes the bait. “Well, yes. I suppose I did promise I’d tell you.” He pauses before continuing; Zane observes him in silence.

“I believe Sylar may be following us.”

“What? All this time, we’ve been leading him to them?”

He sounds both angry and afraid; it’s the combination of Gabriel’s panic and Sylar’s sudden stirring of blood lust. Patience. “We have to do something!”

Mohinder’s voice sounds heavy with exhaustion when he finally answers.

“I think that for tonight, we should stay here. And that tomorrow we should leave. We absolutely cannot afford Sylar getting another victim. The list is getting shorter, Zane. For now, we will have to forsake Mrs. Lindley and focus on shaking Sylar off. Only when we are certain that he is not behind us, can we return to seeking her out. Now all we are doing is putting them in danger.”

“But…I mean, are you sure about this? Sylar’s following us?”

Mohinder has already turned his attention away – he’s delivered his speech, and he blindly expects Zane to follow him. Again, Sylar quashes an urge to kill the scientist right now. Patience.

“Fairly sure, yes.” The geneticist doesn’t even sound frightened, as if he realizes that Sylar cannot do anything to him yet…not yet.

“But then – we could be in danger.”

Mohinder chuckles, shaking his head. Patience, Sylar reminds himself. But the mantra is losing its effect.

“No. Sylar will hardly wish to eliminate the only person who has his hit list.” A mirthless little laugh. “And as for you, I do not believe he knows that you are special.”

“Could I – could I see that list?”

Mohinder gives him an odd look, a little frown wrinkling his forehead. “Of course,” he answers, surprising Zane. “Let me just get it.”

He does so, getting up and going through his luggage until he finds the file. After a moment, the scientist comes back to the tiny round table and gives it to Zane, pretending he cannot see how wrongly eager the man is. But Sylar knows; Sylar knows Zane is being obvious, and he cannot bring himself to care. The list. Finally. He grips it so hard the paper threatens to tear in his hands. He glances up at Mohinder, wordless with excitement – and wanting, childishly, impulsively, to share the feeling.

“Thank you,” he says suddenly, softly, and the way the syllables form in his mouth is reminiscent of Gabriel’s methodical way of thinking.

Mohinder returns his gaze with a smirk. “Of course. But I think you’ll find it’s incomplete.”
There’s a smash and the two tall glasses of water shatter on the floor. Zane sits unmoving, eyes wide and alarmed as the water begins to soak into the carpet, but Sylar has no such compunctions. The table is the next thing to fall over, and his alter-ego barely jumps up in time to avoid the wooden edge pinning his legs.
Patience?!

Staggering over the chair and gasping for breath, Zane fumbles at his arm, placing two fingers over the thudding pulse, and Sylar stops. The noise is what deters him, not the hand Zane has placed comfortingly on his wrist. Briefly, in some flash of extra-sensory pain, he wonders if his other is affected by the amplified hearing at all; apparently not, since he retains enough control to glance up at the geneticist.

Mohinder hasn’t said a word. He’s standing a little way away, staring. The spilled water is pooling around his shoes. From the expression on his face, it looks like the penny’s about to drop – or already has.
Sylar’s reaction is to kill him; Zane’s reaction is to kiss him.

Zane wins.

The idea is unthinkable. Sylar takes out his anger on Mohinder, hurting him as much as he can, forcing Zane’s grip on the scientist to become bruising as he backs him up against the wall, kissing him hard.

Sylar hides behind Zane’s eyes and waits for his chance.

In the meantime, however, he is forced to watch, dispassionately, as he traps Mohinder’s mouth yet again, pushing straggly curls away from that dark forehead as he does so.

The scientist doesn’t fight him. He stands rigidly, unreceptive but unresisting, eyes squeezed shut, and Sylar can’t help thinking that if only he had the power of persuasion right now, things would be more interesting.

Surprisingly, this lack of reaction doesn’t seem to bother Zane as much; he pulls Mohinder’s hips against his and speaks into his neck.

“Dr Suresh,” he begins quietly, and doesn’t continue. “Dr. Suresh,” he repeats instead, breathless and a little louder. “Mohinder?”

The scientist opens his eyes, finally. It distracts Zane, and Sylar struggles briefly for control before realizing that he, too, is becoming distracted.

Mohinder’s breathing is loud, some combination of fear and the tiniest bit of lust. Zane lets go of him in wonderment, and for some reason, Sylar does not act. With his counterpart, he listens. There are a thousand sounds caught in Mohinder’s breathing; it’s sharp and thin and underlain with a sob.

“God –”

Sylar smiles.

“Yes?”

He is feeling generous, now that he’s finally succeeded in shoving Zane into a remote corner of his mind. Unlike his doppelganger, he doesn’t have to worry about holding the scientist down physically; his powers will see to that. Even so, he’s pleasantly surprised when Mohinder doesn’t do anything stupid like try to run, even though Sylar’s given him enough space to try.

“Zane,” he says instead, panicky, “Zane –”

“I’d rather you didn’t call me that.”

Mohinder swallows, and Sylar quashes Zane’s urge to kiss his throat. If this has to happen, he, at least, will be the one in control.

“Sylar.”

The thrill he gets from hearing his name is a little like the blood lust he is so used to. He shoves it aside and blames it on Zane.

“Yes,” he answers, gently, indulgently, a predatory little smile on his face. “Yes.”

He takes a step closer, pinning him to the wall again, and Mohinder gasps.

“Stop, wait, please, please! Wait!”

For a moment, he pretends to consider it.

Patience, Zane begs.

Sylar has none.

A/N 2: Note to self: Sylar not actually real. Get out more often, watch Heroes less.

A/N 3: Is calling Zane Sylar’s ‘doppelganger’ un-canon of me? I don’t know, I just love the idea that they’re counterparts – if you go by the ‘Zane is an individual personality that can act independently’. Which I certainly do!