takhallus

Mohinder knew where he would be. He turned into the park and walked towards the fountain, rehearsing his apology. Sylar could be hyper-sensitive when he wanted to be, but his rehabilitation had focused on distraction techniques, so every time he got angry at Mohinder he would walk out and indulge in one of them. Which one would it be, he wondered. The pebbles in the fountain? Watching the fish pond?

As he came up to the bench by the fountain, Mohinder got his answer. Feeding the squirrels was today’s technique. The once fearsome serial killer was sat, holding a peanut between his thumb and forefinger, patiently waiting as a timid gray squirrel edged closer and closer. Eventually the squirrel snatched the nut and ran off, giving Sylar a satisfied smile. Mohinder approached and sat at the other end of the bench, giving him some room.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was frustrated and it wasn’t your fault.”

Sylar said nothing, but held another peanut low, watching intently as a young squirrel hopped up bravely and took it, before darting up a nearby tree.

“It’s alright Mohinder. I understand.” Sylar sat back and put his hands in his pockets.

“Are you ready to come back yet?”

“Yes. I’m fine now.”

The two men stood and walked in silence back to their apartment. It had been a long road, but it was working. Slowly but surely, it was working.