Saviour

[takhallus]

Title : Saviour
Author : takhallus
Pairing : Mylar
Rating : PG
Wordcount : 1619
Warnings : None
Spoilers : Season 3 Episode 1 and all before
Disclaimer : Characters are not my own
A/N : For mission_insane prompt Hurt/Comfort : Fix Me

              

 

He stared at the brass door knob for five, maybe ten minutes before his hand went to it. Reflected in the curves of the dull bronze his face looked grotesque, deformed, monstrous. The battle over whether to come hadn’t been fought, he’d heard Noah Bennett talking on the phone about Suresh and his ‘problem’ from two corridors away, and he heard the tremor in his voice when he told the unknown caller ‘Might not last the night’.

The last time Sylar had seen Mohinder Suresh, the doctor had given him a vaccine, a cure for the Shanti virus. Now, every time his abilities manifested, he thought of his saviour. His saviour, whether he liked it or not.

The details he’d gleaned from Noah were sketchy. Something had happened to Mohinder, something to do with an injection he had given himself. And he was dying. Ironically the only person who might have been able to shed light on it was Suresh himself.

Sylar turned the knob, and as expected, found it locked. Before he knew it, the lock was dripping into a yellow puddle and the door sprung open. Under normal circumstances he would have unlocked the door telekinetically, but it seemed that ever since he heard that phone call his emotions were picking the powers for him. When an image of Mohinder injured had entered his head he’d blown all the lightbulbs in the corridor where he had been standing. He didn’t even remember the journey from the Company to Isaac’s old place.

Entering the loft, he paused to look at the signs of Mohinder’s presence, and found there were none. His books, his charts, his incomprehensible whiteboard equations, they were all gone. All that remained were scuffed up bits of graph paper marked with dusty footprints – the Company had cleaned up. The only sign that Mohinder was still there was that racing heartbeat, the ragged breaths, and fingertips moving in spasms against the bed sheets as fever raged in the doctor’s head. Sylar noted that there were only two heartbeats in the room. Where was Maya? 

He walked slowly towards the bed, screened from view by hastily pinned sheets. Looking to the door he pulled one of the emptied bookcases against it. He didn’t want to be disturbed.

Sylar pulled back the hanging sheet from the right side of Mohinder’s bed and stepped inside it. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Mohinder’s skin was pallid, his eye sockets darkened by comparison, and his black curls clung to his forehead with sweat. His bottom lip quivered, and his breath pulled in sharp drags as he twitched in the creaking cot. Instinctively, Sylar placed his hand on Mohinder’s shoulder, as if to steady him, but there was no reaction. Next to the doctor’s head was a hastily scribbled note. It simply said “Had to leave x Maya”. 

Had to leave because the Company said it was for the best, no doubt. Sylar knew that the next move was to bring Mohinder in, study him and whatever he injected himself with. Wait until he was dead and then carve him up like a test subject. Find the anti-bodies for the Shanti virus.

Beads of sweat were forming on Mohinder’s forehead again, and Sylar found his trembling hand lifting to cool it. As the moisture dissipated into freezing smoke the doctor visibly calmed and the fingers of his left hand went to curl round a hand that wasn’t there. Sylar slipped his hand under Mohinder’s and held it gently. In his fever he probably thought it was Maya playing nursemaid. Maybe it should be. 

He was all alone. They both were. Sylar knew he probably deserved it, but Mohinder didn’t. He was a great man, an intelligent man. A man who shouldn’t be alone and gasping for breath while others weaker were planning his fate. He was the only one who had bested him without using abilities, and Sylar had to admire that. He had used his cunning, his deductive skills to realise that he was not Zane Taylor. He had bided his time, made him feel like he had an ally, a replacement for the intellectual match he had with Chandra. Then he had let the sword fall, and had been seconds away from killing him. All that time he was fooled. 

Zane Taylor. The one version of Sylar that Mohinder actually seemed to like. He may have looked like Zane, but he was being Gabriel. Rudderless, insignificant Gabriel who would have sat fiddling with those tiny watch parts until his failing eyesight retired him. That night at the motel, after Sylar had acquired his new ability, he had sat in his room testing its limits. He had closed his eyes and breathed deeply trying to separate the sounds from the room next door, and had picked out a melody, a song which Mohinder was humming. It was an old song called ‘I See A Darkness’. How apt.

He had heard the next room’s door close and Mohinder’s footsteps move towards the forecourt. He had jumped up to follow, not quite knowing why, and opened his door slowly, seeing Mohinder at a drinks machine. Sylar had hummed the same old song as he approached his companion, and feigned surprise when he turned to look at him and smiled widely.

“That’s so strange, I was just thinking of that song”.

Sylar tipped his head with interest. “Really? That is strange.”

They had chit chatted at the drinks machine about not being able to sleep, needing a distraction. The tiny bar which served their motel and a smattering of houses thereabout had looked too tempting and before long they were sat, drinking a strong local beer called Snake’s Tail. Mohinder had commented that the beer’s logo was the ancient symbol of ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail, signifying the cyclical nature of the universe. Life from death. Creation from destruction. And Sylar had replied “Mohinder, you’re such a nerd”, leaving them both giggling like schoolgirls while the amused locals looked on.

Thinking back, that was the last time Sylar had been truly happy. The sense of satisfaction he felt when he added to his abilities,it wasn’t happiness. He wasn’t sure he believed in happiness anymore, but that night, making Mohinder laugh, forgetting what his purpose on the trip was, that was as close as he had been for a while. 

Mohinder began to shiver and Sylar pulled up the sheet which was covering him up the armpits. As he did he saw lesions on Mohinder’s chest, thick scabs where it almost looked like his flesh was falling off his bones. He quickly dropped the sheet and took a deep breath to prevent himself from vomiting. Had Mohinder done this to himself? The sight brought his original purpose to the forefront of his mind. Mohinder had saved him, returned his abilities. Now it was time to return the favour.

Sylar took the wrapped syringe from his inside pocket and held it, thinking. He had no idea whether this would work, but if he had the cheerleader’s power, then maybe his blood could do what hers did. If he was right, then just a vial of his blood could save Mohinder, and no-one would ever have to know.

He unwrapped the syringe, and made a fist with his left hand until his knuckles turned white. His right hand still tremored – if he got this wrong Mohinder might be as good as dead. He gently slid the needle into his arm and breathed with relief when the red poured into the syringe. Now for the tricky part.

Sylar took off his thick, black leather belt and pulled it tight around the top of Mohinder’s left arm. A vein popped up in his forearm, and holding his breath, Sylar eased the needle in and pushed down on the plunger. When all the blood was gone he tossed the needle to one side and used the edge of the bedsheet to stop the pinprick from bleeding. 

The five seconds it took for the blood to take effect seemed like an eternity. Eventually, the colour bloomed in Mohinder’s cheeks and his breathing regulated. Sylar lifted the sheet and saw the lesions disappear before his eyes. 

Smiling genuinely for the first time in months, Sylar stood to admire his handiwork. Feelings he would never truly reconcile led him to do two things before he left. He picked up the notepaper and pen that Maya had left, turned it over, and wrote. Then he leant in towards Mohinder and brushed his lips gently into a kiss.

Mohinder opened his eyes and a swirl of shadows, dark and light disoriented him. It took a moment for him to realise that there was no pain, and he looked hurriedly under the bed sheets at his chest which had been burning the last time has was conscious

He stared in amazement at his own flawless skin and swung his legs out of the moaning bed to look into the mirror. As he did a piece of paper floated to the floor, and Mohinder bent painlessly to pick it up.

“Had to leave x Maya” it said. He was about to screw the paper up when he noticed more writing faintly showing through from the other side. He turned it and let out a tiny sob as he realised the person responsible for his salvation. Memories of a bar room, a glance which lasted a fraction too long, and a hand on his leg when he and his companion had doubled over in laughter while beer bottles clinked on the shaking table. There, drawn on the paper, was the symbol of ouroboros.

 

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