We're Broken
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: Heroes
Genre: Romance
Rating: T
Language: English
Summery: Can Gabriel and Elle save one another? Sometimes the answer hurts.
Spoilers: 3x09 "It's Coming" through 3x13 "Dual"

A/N: These five vignettes will continue the series. Perhaps later I'll add more inspired by Volume Four.

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We're Broken

Her Tale:

I'm broken. Seriously, I have a crush on my father's killer.

Okay, so it's a tad understandable since I had a crush on him before. I guess it's understandable. I've never had what you would call a normal psyche, so I'm a little unversed on interpersonal relationships.

But it strikes even me as strange that I want to sleep with the guy who remorselessly tore my father's head off.

Okay, he's a little remorseful now. It's like that show Angel with David Boreanaz, who is hot, as a vampire with a soul. It's kind of appropriate metaphor now that I think about it. He sucks things out of people, making them all bloody and not alive. Then, he pisses off the wrong person (on Angel is a bunch of gypsies or something; for him it was me) and then he felt all remorseful for the evil crap he did.

It's also a good metaphor, because like David Boreanaz, Gabriel is also hot.

Oh, Lordy, I'm broken.

: : :

His Tale:

I'm broken. No, really, I figured it out. I'm completely insane.

It's not new news. I was insane before. I must be more insane now.

I'm starting to fall for the woman who made me a killer. She swept in, saved my life, opened up my heart, and then she stomped on it and made me a killer.

Oh, and she shoved enough electricity in my body to power New York for four days. And it hurt. A lot. And I've been shot, fallen off a building, and been stabbed through the chest. And again, aforementioned stomped-on heart.

See? Broken.

I'm a rational guy, except for the serial killer bit. It's true that she's the first woman who I've been able to sympathize with sinceā€¦ well, a while. I'm not what you would call someone in touch with my emotions. Even for a guy. I've known the love of exactly two people, both of whom were my mother. But I've never thought about how something would make someone feel, never listened to someone's pain, never really tackled this tricky subject of empathy.

Until Elle. Until I was locked in a room with her. I'd never had to face a victim before. They all died, except for Claire, and I didn't stick around to chat. I'd never had to face a victim's family before, either. Well, Claire's daddy was rightly mad at me, to put it lightly, but he's always mad at me, so I hardly noticed.

She made it easy, I could feel her pain. Literally; it was coursing through my body like lightning. Make that as lightning. What saved me was her face. I'd seen that face before. That look of terror and pain and anger and despair. She looked at me like that when my resolve broke and I sliced off Trevor Zeitlan's head.

To put it in words I like better, I understood her.

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Thank You:

I'm definitely broken. I just made love to my father's killer.

He laid a kiss on her head and held her tighter under the covers.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You're not supposed to thank people for sex. At least I don't think you are. They never do on TV."

"No, for bringing me back."


"When you came back to me in New York, after Trevor, you told me that if I ever came to you, you'd bring back Gabriel. You did."


"You electrocuted me. Not the first time. Or the other time. That other other time where you nearly blew up Primatech. It brought me back. It brought me to my mother, who told me I didn't have to be a killer. That I could resist the hunger."

"Can you not talk about your mother when we're all naked and post-coital?"

"Yeah, they don't do that on TV either, do they?"

"Uh-uh. You're the Gabriel I remember from New York."

"I'll never be him again. But I guess I'm pretty close."

"So, in other words, you are thanking me for sex."

"I guess. I'd be glad to show some more gratitude."

"See, that's how the people on TV act."

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We're broken now. Both of us.

I broke her. I held her down and took my finger and sliced a line into her skull.

I didn't finish I couldn't. I'd like to say that it was because all I needed to do was kill her, not expose her brain. I had her sparks already. But I'd be lying. I loved her and my crumbling conscience wouldn't let me finish. But 'halfway' broke enough arteries that it was too late anyway.

For her. For my conscience.

I told her there was no Gabriel without his angel. And I was right. When Elle was thrust back into my life, I could be Gabriel. I could empathize. I could feel. I could love.

But it wasn't enough.

I lost my parents. And I lost Elle. She lied to me. Assuming she knew the truth. Assuming she wasn't lied to. Assuming she didn't lie because she thought that's what I need to hear.

So I cut my lifeline.

No angel, no Gabriel.

I'm Sylar. And I'm broken. And God forgive me, but I kind of like it.

: : :

He's Breaking Me:

I broke him. Stabbed him in the back of the head with a shard of glass.

And being a murderer shouldn't feel good. No matter what he did to me. No matter how long he tormented me. No matter the pile of bodies he left in his trail tracking me down.

I broke him and he might be breaking me.

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A/N: When I merged these stories, I lost some of the reviews. Sorry, I still have your kind words stored on my e-mail account.

Started 11/24/2008. Finished 5/1/2009.