Sylar

I don't need you crowding up my space
I just want to get inside you
You can't believe the heart you save
Giving something away


Standing in front of the mirror, back to the glass and head turned to one side, he could only follow half the length of the vicious slash that ran the back of his skull. If he had a hand mirror, he was sure he'd be able to see it all, but this place was a punishment, not the Ritz-Carlton, their captors seeing fit to bring them only the bare necessities, and so he wasn't holding his breath that one would magically appear. It was annoying to say the least, but there wasn't much he could do about it -- the wound needed to be cleaned regardless of whether or not he could see it.

Sighing, he turned back to the mirror, reaching for the iodine and the cotton balls that had shown up with the first aid kit the first night they were here. Dressing his wound would be so much easier if he hadn't all but told Mohinder to screw off, unable to swallow his pride for long enough for him to help. Not that he planned on suddenly changing his mind. This wouldn't be the first time he'd had to patch himself up, nor was he stupid enough to think it would be the last, given that he was without Claire's ability for the time being, and he didn't need Suresh's pity or his charity. He refused to owe anyone anything. Not ever again.

That in mind, he grit his teeth, poured a bit of the iodine on one of the cotton balls, and turned back so that he could see the line of stitches again. Pushing his hair out of the way, he pressed the medicine to his skin with a hiss and tried to think about other things -- namely how the hell he was going to get out of here without his abilities -- as he followed the length of the cut with fingers and cotton. And as much as he hated to admit it, in that instant of focusing on other, more important things, he knew that he was going to need help if he planned on escaping.

On the edge of cursing his luck, still unwilling to compromise, something delicious occurred to him.

Both Mohinder and Claire had suggested that they needed to work together to get out of here. Both Mohinder and Claire had trusted him at one point -- trusted Zane; trusted Nathan -- caught in the web of lies he wove so well. Maybe if he was careful and could give up enough of himself to seem to genuinely be on their side, he could get them to trust him again. It would be a lie, of course, just like last time, and he'd leave them here the second he thought he could escape without them, but they wouldn't know until it was too late. They never did. It was how Mohinder had gotten to see the view of his apartment from the ceiling; it was how Claire got stuck in that hotel room with him and Nathan had ended up dead in the first place.

A cruel smile twisted the corners of his lips, caught out of the corners of his eyes, and he turned back to the mirror slowly. He stood there for a moment, watching his reflection, pleased, and then in an impressive display of violence, he was shoving the iodine and box of cotton balls off of the counter with a snarled swear. In the other room and immediately, he could hear someone get up from their bed to come in and check on him, and he forced the smirk from his face, painting over it with easily summoned rage.

He'd start by getting them to fix him and go from there. It wasn't compromise -- wasn't pity -- if he was the one tugging on their heartstrings.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 642 (without lyrics)

He's not sure how long he lays there, listening to the rain come down outside and the sound of Matt snoring, before he realizes he's laying there. Matt's asleep, and as tied to the other man's consciousness as he is, he shouldn't be here -- not physically, at least. He should be trapped in Matt's dreams, forging them into nightmares, but here he is, in his and Janice's room in Los Angeles. He can feel the bedspread under his fingers and the lingering warmth from where the little woman was laying until just a few minutes ago, rather than the numb disconnect he's suffered as of late, cut off from his sense of touch when he lost his body. He's here, and Matt's --

He sits up, reaching out to poke the cop in the shoulder, the gesture both a test and a way to get him to stop snoring if he's wrong and Matt's still the physical presence here, and his fingers slide right through him. Like trying to touch a ghost conjured by a projector. Like trying to touch someone on the wrong side of their divide of physical and mental. Like Matt's, all the times he's tried to touch -- punch, throttle, whatever -- him. He's here, honestly, truly here, and it sends a shudder of exhilaration rocketing up his spine and a smile to his lips. It's not what he wants in full, not his body, but it's a start.

Rocking back on the bed, he lets the headboard dig into his shoulders and soaks in the discomfort. "You've just taken over Matt Parkman's body -- " He doesn't need a mirror to tell that much; missing height and the shadows of his hands in the near dark are enough to clue him in. " -- what are you going to do next?"

( Matt keeps right on snoring, not that he's surprised, and his grin grows just a bit. )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1297
Note: Contains spoilers for Heroes 4x07 (Strange Attractors) but left uncut since it's been about a month since it aired. I figured I'd warn anyway, though, just in case people were behind.