heroslayer | rp for humanmapquest: each man, when he is asleep, is in a world

He's more than a little reluctant to leave the loft, especially when he's only managed a few hours with Mohinder this time around, but it's part of the deal. He gets to try and coax Molly into talking to him in her dreams, sworn to pull out if she seems distressed at any time, and Mohinder goes home to keep an eye on her. To be there to reassure her it was only a bad dream, if this doesn't go as planned and she wakes up crying or screaming. He doesn't entirely like this plan, wanting Mohinder with him when he reaches out for her mind, but it was his idea in the first place, meant to assure the geneticist that he has no real malicious intent, and he's bound to it, now.

He walks home in silence, taking the long way, stalling, hating the fact that he's all but forced himself to try and make nice with the brat. His decision, his theory that it could be done, his want to try and reconsile the two halves of Mohinder's life, and he hates it. And he's not sure which is an after-effect of what the monster he hunted for Baileigh: the moment of weakness itself or his disgust at having to go through with it. One is, he's certain--it's so much easier to pin the blame on something else--but he can't tell which.

Either way, however, he takes his time getting ready for bed. He shaves, when he doesn't need to. Lounges around in his living room, checking his cell phone for messages every few minutes, hoping something will come up to get him out of this. Thumbs through a book, idly, only half paying attention to the words on the page. Nothing helps, though, and sooner rather than later, it's nearing midnight and he's out of time to do nothing if he plans on doing anything at all. It's now or never.

Sighing, pushing out of the chair he's been idling in for only God knows how long, and moves to the space he calls his bedroom, even though there are no doors to it. And stretching out on the bed, he takes a moment to get comfortable and clear his thoughts before reaching out for Molly's mind.

He knows what her thoughts feel like, even unconscious, having peeked at her surface thoughts out of boredom more than once while stalking her at school, so she's not hard to find. It's still strange, though, harder, but he can't tell if that has something to do with the distance--he's never tried this on someone so far before--or the fact that she's asleep. Either way, however, he manages, and with a final, slow breath, his consciousness bleeds out and he's asleep with her.

He comes awake somewhere else, jarringly.

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From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

Molly never sings when Mohinder and Matt are home. She hums, quietly, when she’s doing her chores, but she never admits to it being anything more than entertainment during something so boring. She doesn’t even sing when Claire babysits her, unless she’s off in her own little world, or Molly’s unaware that the older girl can hear her. However, in her dreams, she sometimes sits on the mahogany stool facing a small, wooden piano that’s covered with dust, like now. Since it’s a dream and rules need not apply, Molly doesn’t sneeze like she would in real life; she sits up straight, looks at the sheet music in front of her, and lets her fingers do the rest.

She’s better at the piano in her dreams than she is awake; her mother would play flawlessly, an ex-concert pianist in her youth, while Molly’s talent lay with her voice and her drawings. There was never anyone in her dreams, besides the hand-made stuffed rabbit her Nana stitched up for her a month before her birth. Robbit. Missing an eye, dirty, and colors faded but he was still something Molly loved—loves—so dearly. Something Molly misses so dearly. Like singing without feeling absolutely sad about it, like she hates her own higher voice to her mother’s deep, contralto with a timber that always makes Molly think of the jazz singers her Daddy listened to when she could find him.

The sheet music laid out was something Molly knows by heart. A personal song, her lullaby, which a melody she has to swallow down large lumps in her throat when she even thinks about it, less than actually hum it to herself. However, within the safety of her own mind, her tiny fingers make their way on the ivories as the melody of Hey Jude flows through the barren house. And despite herself, her voice usually follows by the time she heads into the third line of the first voice. It always does.

She’s too into her music to notice a disruption in her dream. She lets herself go, not afraid to be herself since it was only her imagination, and no Nightmare Man to dissolve her safe haven like smoke with his sadistic games that always leaves a person feeling so small and so wrong—broken. That’s neither here nor there as Molly loses herself in the music.

From:

heroslayer

Sylar takes a moment to orient himself, blinking, shaking his head as if to clear it. Were this his dream, and his subconscious unaware, he wouldn't be having a problem, but lucid dreaming or dream-walking, whichever, both in this case, always makes him have to take a minute. And after that moment passes, he shoots a long glance around the room, absorbing everything from the stuffed animals to the dusty piano before settling his eyes on Molly. He doesn't move, however; he's been thinking about this for weeks, but he has no idea what he wants to say or do.

Pressing his lips into an unhappy line, he starts to take a step forward only to stop short, shaking his head. He doesn't want to sneak up on her--and that's a real possibility, since she seems to be entirely unaware of his presence--nor does he want to be all that close when she finally realizes he's there. Less a chance of scaring her, that way.

So, he rocks back on his heels, content to watching her for a moment more, before gently, "Molly."

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

“Molly.”

So gentle and so soft that, for a moment’s time, Molly thinks it’s her father’s voice coaxing her awake, like the past year or two has been nothing short of a bad dream. She loves her life, even mixing the good with the bad, and wouldn’t trade her Dads for all the gold in the world but it stings like h-e-double-hockey-stick when she wakes up to reach out for her parents knowing full well they can’t reach back. So Molly abruptly stops her playing and spins around to face the voice as legs dangle from the wooden stool.

Her face falls when she realizes that the voice her heart leapt for wasn’t her father’s, but the one that has his power.

Boogeyman.

Snatching Robbit she holds him tightly to her chest and she stares at the man in front of her, feeling absolutely naked and vulnerable in front of him. He, who she doesn’t hate and is very aware of what he has done to her—yet no one can match Maury Parkman; that’s just a sad fact in Molly’s life—and her world, stands there with a face she can’t read, can’t even guess which notes are which and she’s been sight reading way before she read actual words.

Most of all, he has heard her sing, the most personal thing Molly has in her life that’s Molly’s, no one else’s. If he makes fun of her or hurts her piano, her mother’s piano, then she’ll very well cry. Loudly. She isn’t certain, but she’s fairly sure Robbit would cry, too, if he could.

Edited Date: 2009-01-31 04:59 am (UTC)

From:

heroslayer

He's silent for a moment, watching her. He doesn't look like a predator considering his next meal, though, nor does he look threatening in any way, really, taking great pains to keep his face neutral. He promised he wouldn't terrify her, and he's always been a man of his word, so he won't pick her apart with his eyes, no matter how much he wants to. He might not covet her ability anymore, and it helps that the ticking and the hunger aren't his constant companions here, but he still wonders how she works. Why she's so important to Mohinder, when she seems so small and so fragile.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he tells her, finally, and as if to attest to this, he still hasn't moved from the spot where he came in on her.

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

The temperature drops considerably, sending chills up and down Molly’s tiny spine. She’s only in her Disney Princess nightgown, minus the socks, and the nightgown is sleeveless providing no comfort to the draft that settles itself in the once barren living room of a house that’s seen Molly as a newborn, toddler and then a little girl following her father around the house while carrying Robbit every step of the way.

She is small and fragile, unlike him. She is easily broken and has been broken, only to be put together again with time, patience and love Molly remembers swearing up and down never experiencing again. Emotional scars is still healing and it’s going to take days, weeks and maybe even years for Molly to ever take the band-aids off, but she knows she’s going to be alright with the help of her heroes, Claire and Hiro along the way.

She considers pinching herself, forcing herself awake, and she also considers ignoring him in hopes her Boogeyman would go away. Instead, she asks questions, despite her mind telling her to shut up. “Why are you here, then?”

From:

heroslayer

He shrugs, lowering himself into a squat effortlessly, to put himself at eye level with her, arms resting on his knees.

"I wanted to talk to you," he answers, failing to point out that this was a dream, intentionally. He can't tell whether or not she already knows--it's hard to read her thoughts like this, even if it should be easier, since he's technically in her head--but if she doesn't? He figures he can use it to his advantage; if she thinks he's a figment of her imagination, it might be easier to get her to talk to him, after all.

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

Molly swallows a large lump in her throat. She isn’t going to cry and she is determined on not crying in front of him. She can cry afterwards, when he isn’t there anymore, but not when he can see her, laugh at her. Eyes were red, lining around her eyes were red, but no tears.

Instead, she stares at him, daring him to go on as her eyes stay wide open, not blinking once. If he wants to talk, then she allows it. She allows it because, in her mind, she has no concrete evidence that this isn’t reality or that it is. “Then talk,” she finally says, her voice stronger than she gives herself credit for. She’s stronger than she gives herself credit for, even without her stuffed animal snug tightly to her chest.

From:

heroslayer

He can't help but crack a small smile, amused by the fact that she daring to order him around. He murdered her parents--something he's not quite proud of, not anymore--and is sitting there holding a stuffed animal as if she thinks he's going to jump her at any moment and it will protect her from him. She's clearly still afraid of him, and she's practically giving him an ultimatum. Talk or get out. And he can't help but think of Mohinder, always afraid but still possessing in enough strength to talk back to him, when they were at odds.

He can see why Suresh is so fond of her, now.

Unable to banish the smile, he pops his shoulders in a shrug again. "I've been watching you for months," he says, not bothering to wait for a reaction to that, "but I don't want your ability. I owed Mohinder a favor--he saved my life, when I was very sick, and when people are nice to me, I try and be nice back--so I promised him I wouldn't hurt you and Parkman. And I know that people more frightening than me have tried to hurt you, too, so I've been keeping them away."

Or, well, he would be keeping them away if anyone would dare to show up and try anything. Thus far, though, he spends his days watching her being bored out of his mind because no one has bothered. Maybe it's because he and Adam demolished the better part of the Company, maybe he is really helping, even if he's never had to be reactive rather than proactive, but he still feels like keeping an eye on her is a waste of time, most days. He keeps at it, anyway, though.

Edited Date: 2009-01-31 07:01 pm (UTC)

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

He has murdered her parents, has tried to kill her, and he has used her to get what he wanted—she knows this. She also knows there’s a ton of other monsters lurking in the shadows, stalking the streets like lions waiting for the opportune moment to pounce their prey, that’s worse than he is. As he confesses that he’s her guardian angel within the shadows—quite literally!—due to an agreement he made with her adoptive father, Molly doesn’t stop the tears from leaking out of her eyes. Too many emotions with names she couldn’t articulate comes rushing at her like a dam.

One hand she’s happy that he’s being honest with her, truthful; telling her point blank what has been going on right under her nose without a stammer. The other hand, she’s confused—angry that she didn’t notice his presence, that she didn’t even bother to look. Angry, too, at the fact she needs protecting: monsters should exist in fairytales, not real life. But with Molly’s tale, monsters are real, as are heroes, and a tiny part of her—the part that punches bullies when they push her too far; the part that seeks vengeance on snotty, older boys who point blank tells her she’s ugly—wants desperately to no longer be the Princess hiding in the highest tower surrounded by dragons but someone that rescues the Princess and slays the dragon.

Nine year olds didn’t slay dragons; they go to school, make nice, and hide what they are until dismissal bell rings.

Being nine sucks.

And remembering his phrase tried to hurt you Molly immediately wants to contradict him. They did. The ones that “tried to hurt [her]” only left Noah Bennet, the man with the funny glasses who called her The Tracking System besides her given name. Doesn’t like the man, he dehumanized her, but he’s Claire’s father and that’s the only thing that keeps her from fearing him. Instead what comes out of her mouth is something she means, however odd it sounds on her tongue: “Thank you.” Phrased more as a question than an intended statement, her tiny bare feet dangle off the stool as she moves her body around, attempting to find comfort despite the situation.

From:

heroslayer

He makes a soft, accepting noise, pushing to his feet but slowly, so that he doesn't startle her. He's not sure exactly what he's supposed to do, now that he's crying--even if he wasn't what he was, he'd be uncertain--but he promised Mohinder he wouldn't terrorize her, so he supposes he should do something. And that in mind he raises his hands slowly, palms flat in defensive gesture, to show that he's not going to hurt her, before moving over to her, each step even and deliberate. If it seems he's frightening her, he'll stop.

"You're welcome," he answers. Then, after a lengthy pause and once he's settled closer to her, he reaches out haltingly to touch her hair, trying to be soothing. It worked with Claire a few nights before, after all. "I'm trying to change. It hasn't been easy, but ... " He makes a face, shaking his head a little. "You know Baileigh?"

He doesn't like being named hero, but he knows it helps his case, so he figures he might as well use it to his advantage. Assuming she knows who the Slayer is, anyway; he doubts just telling her that he helped a friend will help his case any. She probably thinks all of his friends are thieves and murderers, just like him.

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

She’s startled at first, wants to leap away and pinch herself over and over again until she wakes up. Then his hands touch her hair, something her mother did to calm her down while alive, and while it did comfort Molly marvelously the bittersweet aftertaste still makes tears flow down her cheeks.

He tells her he’s trying to change, and she can’t help but to ask, “You don’t wanna be the Boogeyman anymore?” It’s an absurd question to many but to Molly, it held merit. Eyes gaze up at him over-bright, blue and still filled with childlike wonder despite everything she’s seen.

Baileigh. Of course she knows Baileigh! She offered to let her borrow her Barbies during a philosophical discussion online. Molly nods; not blinking once as she finally musters enough courage inside her tiny form to look him straight in the eye. “She gave me a cell phone for Christmas.”

Molly named it.

From:

heroslayer

"I don't know what I want," he answers, honestly, still stroking his fingers through her hair.

He knows that he wants to keep his family safe, that he wants Mohinder with him, and that he's trying to keep the geneticist's double life from being too much of a problem for them, but beyond that? He still kills--the fact that he's here in the first place is more than proof of that--and he still thrives on being able to terrify people. He doesn't want to be called a hero, even if he's helping Peter stop a darker future from coming to pass. He's still running on his own agenda. But he knows, as much as he hates to admit it, that he's slowly letting himself come out of his self-imposed exile in the shadows. He feels. He's known guilt and been forgiven some of his sins. And it's all so damn confusing, so hard to tell much of anything, anymore, so he forces himself not to think about it.

Instead, he focuses on telling her about Baileigh. That, he understands. That was protecting what was his, an intensely selfish reaction and nothing more, even if people choose to see if differently. Even if he's trying to use it to coax her into seeing him differently.

"I saved her life, you know. Baileigh. A monster took her memory. I got it back for her."

Edited Date: 2009-02-01 02:40 am (UTC)

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

The shock she feels overrides any more sobs—despite tears that still flows down her rosy cheeks, anyways!—that comes out her mouth. Instead the quivering chin lands right on the floor, face gaping up at the man who just told her he didn’t want to be who he was—didn’t want to be the Boogeyman. And there he is, telling her that he saved someone’s life, rather than ending it.

“Was it a scary monster?”

From:

heroslayer

"It was." He nods, tilting his head to one side, hesitating, and then adds, "It wasn't an easy fight, either. It hurt me."

Not that he's trying to kill her confidence in him as a protector, but it's a fact, and he figures that can't hurt his case any. Not only did he save someone's life, but he did it at a cost to himself. That says something about him, he's sure.

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

“And you save my life by watching me, making sure no one hurts me again.” She says softly to herself, willing her mind to connect the two together.

It works a little bit since she’s now leaning into his touch, much like the times Matt or Mohinder comforted her, but her body still isn’t all the way relaxed. Still too many trust issues, even if she's secretly willing to forgive and let sleeping monsters lie like most nine year olds. He’s being honest with her, hasn’t tried to hurt her, and strays on certain topics that can unlock a can of worms.

Licking her lips she releases Robbit from her death grip, setting him more comfortably on her lap. “Did she thank you?”

From:

heroslayer

He huffs out a sigh of a laugh, lowering his eye, briefly, before returning them to her. Baileigh had asked what he'd wanted as a reward for helping to save her, and he'd told her all he wanted was a cake with his name on it. He'd only be half-serious, but still she'd delivered, and he found the whole thing amusing as hell; he hopes Molly finds it half as ridiculous. "She did. She even got me a cake with my name on it."

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

If anyone would've told Molly that she'd find her Boogeyman funny, better yet laugh at something he said, Molly would've thought they were on "under the influence"> and reply that they could happen--when the world ended.

The world is ending, then: Molly laughs. It bursts out of her like a dam that she can't stop, even if she wanted to. It is ridiculous--cute, endearing, even--but still ridiculous.

And it still makes Molly laugh so hard she falls off the wooden piano bench. When her bottom meets the hardwood floor, she still giggles, even when she winces at the stinging sensation that filled her backside.

"Was it chocolate?" She asks in between giggles.

Edited Date: 2009-02-01 03:29 am (UTC)

From:

heroslayer

"Vanilla," he corrects, still smiling, "with chocolate icing."

Then, he's offering her a hand to help her up off the floor. He'd do it telekinetically, but he doesn't want to press his luck, and unlike the dream he had that Mohinder invaded that taught him he could do this in the first place, he seems to have full control of his abilities, here. So, that in mind, lifting her off the floor shouldn't be that much of a problem--he has Mohinder's strength, and he's still riding a bit of a high, from Knox's ability and her initial fear of him.

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

Not that she weighs an awful lot. She's as fragil as a bird and nearly a tooth pick in size. When looking at her, some people probably thought she's malnourished or that her adoptive father's didn't feed her enough. Oh, they do, but Molly's metabolism runs sky high, still, thus--as her Daddy used to say--her stomach is a black hole.

She takes his hand without a thought, using some of her own stregnth to pull herself up to a standing position. "Thank you," she whispers shyly, ducking her head as blue eyes quickly look to the floor. He's being nice to her and she isn't sure how to respond besides blushing uncertainly. There's a lot of rocky things between them, her parents' murder for one, but like she's resolved in her head a thousand times, even hinting at it to Mohinder during their conversations, is that she could forgive him. That is, if he really did feel bad and wanted to change.

And he just told her he did, too.

"Thank you," is all she can say at the moment. She'll let him figure out as to what she's thanking him for, since Molly covertly has no idea.

Edited Date: 2009-02-01 03:47 am (UTC)

From:

heroslayer

He hums in agreement, watching her for a moment, before settling down on the piano bench. He shifts a bit, so that she can sit next to him if she feels like it, and then his eyes are on her again as he considers.

He'd been meaning to wait to tell her this was a dream until he'd been here a few times. Maybe that's cruel, but he'd figured it was the best way of going about things--that way, she'd think this was all in her head until she felt comfortable enough around him to know that this is actually happening. But she's laughed at him--with him--and she seems at ease enough, if not a little shy, and he's so tired of waiting. He wants both halves of Mohinder's life settled now and the only real way to do that is to tell her.

So, haltingly, he asks, "You know this is just a dream, right?"

He half-hopes she's perceptive enough to correct him, so that he doesn't have to do it himself and then explain why.

Edited Date: 2009-02-01 03:58 am (UTC)

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

Molly crinkles her nose in distaste: she knows better, and she's tired of the adults that surround her never giving her the benefit of the doubt that she's smarter than the average nine year old. Sometimes, in her point of view, she's smarter than the adults--not that she's going to parade her point of view around, because that's just rude.

Still. A child learns more by actions than what the parent says, and she's observed Mohinder enough to pick up on several of his traits but one overpowered the others: his snark. "And Santa Clause isn't overweight."

From:

heroslayer

He can't help but laugh at that, shaking his head. "You sound like Mohinder."

Well, for the most part, anyway. His geneticist probably would have picked something more adult or simply raised his eyebrows and looked at him dryly, but either way, the intent is the same, and it's as much as relief as it is strange. This is the second time he's thought she was too much like Mohinder for her own good, and he's not quite sure what to do with it.

"I'll have to ask him who his dietitian is," he decides on, finally, before skipping at beat, the smile that came with the laugh fading as he moves on to more serious topics. "If you know I'm really here, then I need to tell you something." A few things, really, but he plans on moving one step at a time.

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

She shouldn't be so surprised she sounded like Mohinder; she spends more time than any with her adoptive father's, that is, if they weren't at work or busy. Physically and emotionally, before she even knew Sylar existed, she was James' girl through-and-through. The only think she inherited from her mother was how she always put her hands on her hips, pursed her lips together, and a musical ear. Still, even when her mother's traits out shown her father's on those rare times, everyone said she was James' girl--not Libby's.

Now, looking back, she feels a tiny bit guilty. Maybe if she acted more like her mother, then Molly would be 100% certain that her mother knew how much she loved her--loves her still.

She sits next to him, then, Robbit in her lap, as she nods slowly. "What is it?"

From:

heroslayer

Sylar takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself both against his sudden nerves and what he knows is coming. He's never had much control over his empathy, and it's a pain in the ass even on the best days, anything even remotely negative nearly choking, but it's worse now. He's in her head and he's still unsteady when surrounded by the emotions of others--they're salt in the wound of the still-raw gashes left on his mental state by the demon he fought--and this is far from a happy topic. But he knows what he wants to bring up needs to be discussed. Just like he knew he and Mohinder needed to talk about Chandra, when they did, the way they did.

He lets the breath he'd taken in out on a sigh, not fully aware he'd been holding it in the first place, and although he wants to look away, he makes sure he holds her eyes. "Your parents," he manages. "About what happened to them. What I did to them. I want to apologize."

From:

humanmapquest.livejournal.com

And just like that, sobs shake Molly's tiny body violently. The thing she has wanted to hear him say for a very, very long time has just escaped his lips: he apologized, he's sorry, and most of all he means it. Her tears are bittersweet, because she's so, so very grateful to hear it from him than someone else, and she's also so very angry because she was there when it happened. She remembers flashes--a way of her mind protecting her, she rationalizes. And yet, not all was lost that day, since she still remembers invisible arms wrapping themselves around her, willing her to stay quiet and keep as calm as she could just a little while longer.

She misses her parents, missed them even before she knew they were 100% gone, but what carries her onward was those invisible arms she felt hiding in the room beneath the staircase. To this day, Molly still thinks it was God, because seconds after Matt came, proving the essence right.

After what seems like hours of sobbing, then minutes of hiccups, she speaks up. "Will my Mommy and Daddy be really mad if I forgive you? Because I really want to."