|To Kill Again
Author: Squeeka Cuomo PM
It wasn’t until the mug refused to move that Gabriel Gray noticed the lack of ticking in his brain. Kindred SpoilersRated: Fiction T - English - Drama - Sylar/Gabriel G. & Candice W. - Words: 1,907 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 1 - Published: 10-26-07 - Status: Complete - id: 3857258
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
To Kill Again
A monsters fight to survive…
Searing through his chest, the pain seemed to be strangling his lungs, depriving him of the precious oxygen he so desperately needed. The man longed to grab the table and breathe deeply, filling his starving lungs. However, one ragged gasp had nearly ripped Sylar's chest apart. The pain alone had been enough to make him long for the island illusion.
The sand and sun had been a cute trick, but it was nothing more than a distraction. A way to keep him locked up like some lab rat, unable to answer the call of evolution.
Commanding his ribs to stay in place as he fought to breath, the watchmaker gripped the edges of the tiny table. The beach may have been paradise, but Sylar would settle for nothing less than the reality of the situation. Forcing "Michelle" to show him what was really going on had been his only hope of escape.
The waves and palm trees may have been the by-product of the woman's extraordinary ability, but the heat that threatened to suffocate him was very real. Blossoming around his hairline and above his upper lip, a thick layer of sweat was quickly soaking into the beige linen that he had been dressed in. The effort of breathing without jarring his ribs was doing nothing more than encouraging the heat exhaustion slowly creeping over his traumatized body. Despite the lure of temporary pain relief, Sylar wasn't about to ignore what had been calling him ever since his hostess had so foolishly flaunted her spectacular ability.
Ignoring the confines of what could only be described as an abandoned medical shack, Sylar ignored the lack of homey comforts. Instead he focused all of his energy, physical and mental, on the mug before him.
Only a few feet away, the smooth white ceramic cup seemed to be taunting him. Yes, he could have reached out and threw it against the barren wall like he longed to do. But movements such as those were sure to make his stitches worse. And so, he trained his soft brown eyes on the mug, his true intentions masked by chocolate irises.
Even though it was turned away from him, Sylar could see the other side of the coffee cup in his mind. Could see the ridiculous yellow happy face smiling under the pedantic headline 'Have a nice day.' Sitting in the middle of nowhere, with a mug telling him what kind of day to have, Sylar felt his blood begin to boil. Burning him from the inside out, the thick crimson liquid began to course through his veins more quickly as his heart began to beat in anxious anticipation.
Breathing as deeply through his nose as his aching chest would allow, the pungent smell of stale sweat filled the man's nose, fueling his desire for escape. Uncurling his left hand, Sylar clenched his teeth against the stench of his own perspiration and the pain lacing itself through his lungs.
While the stab wound in his chest kept his body in a state of constant pain, the fact that he needed help, needed support, hurt worse. The move from the metal slab that was his bed to the small table a few minutes ago had been exhausting, and he'd been forced to cling to his so-called savior like a small child. The moment she'd helped him into the metal chair he'd released her body, seeking comfort in the edges of the table. Closing his hands over the sides instead of around her shoulders, he felt slightly less dependant on her care. He felt ever so slightly like his old self again.
Releasing his grip from the countertop, his fingers were surprisingly steady. Even the pain in his chest seemed to be easing slightly. Deep down, he knew that it was only temporary, less the result of Michelle's care and more the by-product of the endorphins pumping through his veins.
The pain would return eventually that was for sure but he was done with being helpless.
Sylar was ready to take matters into his own hands.
Placing his left hand on the white Formica tabletop, he curved his long fingers into a 'c', as if he were holding onto an invisible glass. Focusing all of his anger and pain on the ceramic object, Sylar commanded the white mug, with its ridiculous yellow smiley face, to come to him.
It wasn't until the mug refused to move that Gabriel Gray noticed the lack of ticking in his brain.
… and live to kill again. - Linderman
The anger pulsing through his veins quickly subsided. The sudden absence of feeling gave way to an animalistic hunger that Sylar hadn't felt since he'd looked into the eyes of Brian Davis. Even the ferocious pain that had been ripping through his body seemed to subside as a vision of himself at the height of power appeared in the shack.
The mirror image of himself was only there for a few seconds, but it was enough to stir the desire resting deep within the man.
He didn't want Michelle or whatever her name was. No, he wanted what she had. He wanted the power that she didn't…
Gingerly pushing himself off of the metal chair, Sylar barely registered what the woman before him was saying. Catching a few words here and there, the man found it amusing that she thought she would be able to help him by making it "fun". He found her delusion, that they would be some sort of team, to be hysterical. There was only one way that the shape shifter would be able to help him, and Sylar highly doubted that the woman would be up for that.
Looking down at the woman, Sylar searched her eyes, attempting to find the broken piece. He'd found her ability easily. A power that strong was not easily hidden. But looking into her eyes, the man found something else as well. And it was something that he hadn't expected.
It was the lust in the red head's gaze that caused Sylar to consider her for a moment longer than was necessary. Normally, even with the most beautiful of women, he would approach them with a telekinetic precision. Wanting nothing more than to see the telltale blood slipping slowly down their foreheads he would point an ominous finger and be done with them.
But Michelle… Michelle wanted him.
Whether she simply wanted to help him restore her power or for some other… reason, Sylar didn't know. He also didn't care. All that mattered was the gift that he would very soon be taking from her.
Smiling gently, Sylar could almost feel the lust in the woman's pale irises turn to hope and excitement. Like a cat with a mouse, he let the desire he was feeling for her ability flood his own gaze. Very soon he would have what he wanted. And so would she. She would, after all, be helping him. Be a part of him.
"I underestimated you."
Reaching out with his left hand, Sylar pushed Michelle's red hair out of her eyes with a gentleness he had once reserved for his precious timepieces. Curling his dexterous fingers around the back of her skull, the man watched as the woman's expression changed from one of lust to something much more tender. As the crimson strands slipped over his hand, Sylar found the woman, and all of her optimism, repulsive.
So easily swayed, Michelle wasn't worth his time. Had it not been for the faulty gear ticking away in her brain, he would have just left her. She, with her doe eyes and hopes of a united future, was not even worth murdering.
But as it was… Michelle had what he desired. She had what was rightfully his, and he was not about to let her keep it.
"You really are extraordinary." Sliding his palm down to the back of her soft neck, the words came out as a caress. Leaning forward, the man inhaled the woman's scent, trying to hear the ticking of the broken piece. Caught up in the seductive promise of more power, Sylar leaned in, a breath away from kissing his savior. Never quite touching the woman, his lips hovered over her milky skin. This close, he could feel the power emanating from her, and he wanted it.
Reaching down with his right hand, Sylar closed his fingers around the ceramic mug he'd been trying to move earlier. Feeling the cool glass press against his palm, the man thought about the yellow smiley face and how it wanted him to "Have a nice day." Before it seemed as if the sunny circle with its two eyes and perpetually upturned mouth was mocking him. But now, it seemed as if he were going to have a very nice day after all. And the mug would play a major role in that.
Tearing his eyes away from the woman before him, Sylar dropped his gaze. Examining the long slender digits of his right hand as they grasped the mug greedily, he felt his heartbeat change. Instead of the quick fluttering of determination from moments before, the organ was beating with a slow and steady rhythm that seemed full of contentment.
Whispering into her ear once again, an animalistic rumble filed his voice. Deep and sensual, the tone hid his own murderous lust. "Just like me."
With one swift motion, Sylar swung the white mug at the woman's head. The force of the blow vibrated through his body, making the stitches in his chest ache. Shattering on contact he felt the jagged edges of the larger shards sink into her scalp. The crimson blood that began to seep from the wounds mixed with her auburn locks, forming a sticky mat. It wasn't the same as seeing his victims' blood trickle down their forehead. But it was a start. What was left of the handle was still clutched in his palm, broken and splattered with the woman's blood.
As Michelle's body crashed to the floor with a harsh thud, the watchmaker stood over her trembling body. Gasping for breaths as if that would be enough to save her pathetic life, Michelle stayed on the floor, too afraid to move. Carefully turning her head to look at the man, she seemed to be pleading for her life without uttering a single word. The look in the shape shifter's eyes had turned from lust to terror in the space of an instant. Her eyes were silently begging him to spare her life.
If the woman had been attractive before, it was nothing compared to how she looked now. And Sylar would always remember the sight of her pale eyes filled with pleading terror. There was something to telekinetic precision. But there was something to giving into one's desire as well.
Squeeka Cuomo's Notes
- The Linderman quote that I used is taken from the beginning of the episode ".07".
- The few lines of dialogue in this fic are taken from the episode "Kindred".
- Katie, thank you doesn't even begin to cover it. You amaze me and are such a great friend. Thank you so much for everything. :duck: