Mirror In The Mask
Summary: It's been a long road for Sylar. The hiding and and pretending has been worth it, in many ways. But if only things had happened differently.
Notes: Future fic of ficcy goodness. Anyone who saw 'Five Years Gone/String Theory' knows this had to be written. Chock full of slash. Unbetaed, enjoy.
He can clearly remember the day he made that pact with Mohinder. To always stick together, solidarity in the best interest of the human race, no matter what the cost. Sylar wishes he'd been able to say it with his own voice, not the smarmy, grating tones of the late Nathan Petrelli. He tells himself that this is his revenge, to use Mohinder's knowledge for his own purposes, and that there is no other reason for Sylar to keep him close by. But the part of him that is loathe to admit the truth knows better than that.
He dreams about it, sometimes. That he never had to hide behind the visage of Nathan Petrelli, that his rise to power came from a sort of natural order, that destiny demanded that he take his place as a crown jewel of humankind. Without these deceitful games (although he does deceit so very well), mankind bows before him, whether they want to or not. And Mohinder sits at his right hand, jaw set in that way that he always makes when he is concentrating on genetic codes or whatever the hell it is he researches. It's a look of stalwart determination and desire, a fire in his eyes that keeps him pushing forward amidst the chaos of the world. Sylar likes that look, more than he will ever admit to himself.
He walks up to Mohinder, who has turned his back on him in a moment of doubt. It will be temporary, Sylar knows, for he is a persuasive speaker. He acquired that quirk from Nathan; just as he acquires superpowers, he acquires the ability to mimic their essence and personality. Sylar recalls the way Nathan used to grasp his brother's shoulder as a sign of his trust, as a sign of their bond. Sylar uses that gesture freely with Mohinder, adding his own dimension to it. He's persuasive, but there's a slight edge to his touch. He wants Mohinder to feel that edge that is so wholly himself, all Sylar and no Nathan.
Five long years he has waited. For five years he has tamed and coaxed Mohinder into doing what he wants. It's like cultivation in a way. Sylar and cultivation are two words that should not go together, but sacrifices have to be made. It would have happened sooner, were it not for this illusion he is keeping up. He has to be careful this time, wants to be careful. He imagines that Mohinder knows the truth, that his widening eyes and surprised gasp is evidence of his realization of who the man before him really is. But as he leans against Mohinder's warm skin and trails his (fucking Nathan's) lips from his ear to his lips, he wishes things could be different. In spite of his complete and utter rise to power, Sylar still wishes it had happened differently.
But the world is what it is, and he takes what he can from the life he has built around himself.