[identity profile] racheltherunner.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] hh_mirror


It had been a bad week. That was a pretty good way to put it. What made it all ten times worse, though, was that I'd been denied my usual ways of coping. I couldn't leave, couldn't ignore everyone and bang around in my kitchen, I couldn't even go on runs for fear of leaving the camp and the demon coming after Peter while I was gone. I was frustrated - by way more than just the demon - and I had energy to burn like you would not believe.

Oh, yeah. And I was pissed. But even I wasn't stupid enough to try to take down a demon. Which left me with way too much aggression and nowhere to put it. Peter needed me, so I shoved everything I was feeling deep down until, eventually, it had to explode. Peter had gone out earlier that day, Claude trailing (invisibly and unknown to Peter) behind him. Excellent.

I left a note saying I'd gone for a walk. Then, grabbing my splat gun and a bag containing several amulets and the machete I'd gotten from Dean, I headed out the door. What? It was a run. Recovering stolen merchandise. I'd even planned for it. Had steps and everything.

Arriving at my destination, I kicked open the door, my eyes scanning the room. Step one - check.

Sylar was sitting in a chair, headphones in, unaware. Two steps from the door, my fist connected with his jaw. Step two - check.

See? Going great.

Grinning ferociously, I aimed my splat gun at his head. "Hey, fuckface. You have something I need back."

Oh, this was going to work out swell.

Date: 2007-08-30 10:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mmm-brainz.livejournal.com
There was probably something unhealthy in how much pride he took, hearing that strange sort of sound bubbling up from her throat. Fear. Pain. Something. Whatever it was, it was something most decidedly Not Happy, and paired with the pounding, staccato rhythm her heart was beating out against her ribcage, this was the closest thing to a kid in a candy store that he got. "And you're the, what, witch who fights out her problems with a practical stranger while, where's the husband? Away?" he murmured, eyebrows raising. As if he had to ask - he could pick out Peter's heartbeat anywhere, illuminated amongst the others. Up on that statue again. "What a pair we make."

Almost as if prompted by that, his own words, his hand flashed forward, at a near impossible speed, long fingers spindling forward and wrapping almost entirely around her throat. A nice squeeze and a push forward and she was lifted off of him, easily. He braced a hand against the floor, sitting upright and staring Rachel's eyes down, with a pair of needling ones of his own.

"Just because you're on top... doesn't mean you're in control," he whispered in a hush, leaning in so close that his breath was ghosting against her face. "How easy it would be to snap you like a twig."

Date: 2007-08-30 11:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mmm-brainz.livejournal.com
Ooh, touchy. A smirk was automatically drawing up Sylar's lips when she shot back at him. The little witch was sensitive around the Peter topic, then, huh? Maybe a bit ginger around Sylar? Considering, well, last time, Peter had ended up dead. Probably wouldn't be the last time it happened either. She loved that stupid man, didn't she? God, of all people... It was almost disgusting. Not that he had much time to dwell on the topic, because of... Because...

What was... What was that?

Yes, he was rendered virtually immobile. Who wouldn't be? It was so random. One minute, they'd been fighting. A lull, in which the banter had taken over, but... fighting. And then... She'd kissed him. She'd kissed him. Nobody did that. 'Nobody' meaning not since middle school. Not since that damned girl, kissing the nerdy little kid with the tuna sandwiches, the one who wore the sweater vests every day. On a dare. And now...

She was heading towards the door. Sylar was back on his feet, almost as seamlessly as if the air had lifted him back up, senses finally returning to him. No. She couldn't do that. His own fingers grasped at her hair again, jerking back hard, not even bothering with telekinesis this time. Head bent back against his shoulder, throat bared and in the perfect position to just slit, so pretty, right there, he bared his teeth, eyes flashing with ire.

"Why would you do that?" he managed to grate out in a snarl, knuckles whitening against the fire red of her hair, he was gripping so hard. Volume quickly rising, his eyes widened to her, dangerous widths. "Why," another tug, "would you EVER," he was gritting his teeth, almost loud enough to hear, even to normal ears, "DO THAT?"

She shouldn't have done that. She shouldn't have done that. "Some false illusion of grandeur, creating the caricature of intimacy," he was murmuring wildly to himself, as his other hand grasped at the side of her head, nails digging into her scalp. "SHOULDN'T HAVE."

It was only a sharp twist of his hands to hear that sickening 'pop' of her vertebrae disconnecting.

Date: 2007-08-30 11:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mmm-brainz.livejournal.com
He'd heard her first. Freakish, sensitive hearing automatically snagging onto the sound of vertebrae popping back into the place, the cry from Rachel's throat as bone ground against bone. The no-kill rule. Of course it would do that, to automatically correct whatever error had occurred in Rachel's biology, to keep her from death. He'd done the same thing, after Susan had thrown him in the lake. Ten minutes of coughing up water after spending half the afternoon underwater. No death. It was miraculous.

It also meant that she couldn't die, however. The thought honestly hadn't occurred to him until it had actually taken place.

One of his hands grasped at her fist, twisting hard, almost enough to dislocate her shoulder. "What was that? What was that?" he automatically barked out, through gritted teeth, and, God, he would have loved for her to just stay dead. "What about you? Why would you do that? Kiss me. Do that to somebody you obvious weren't interested in! You didn't care. Why would you do that?" Telekinetic fingers snagged into the back of her shirt, jerking her backwards, hard, into the counter. "Is this some kind of sick game?" They called him twisted.

Date: 2007-08-31 12:05 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mmm-brainz.livejournal.com
It was a kiss, and weren't things like that supposed to... mean something? Anything? Or were they just that? No, it wasn't like they'd fucked and she'd left him for somebody else or something, but for someone who had shared his most intimate moments with his mother - other than those days on the road with Mohinder, but... well, the whole 'Mohinder finding out that Sylar killed his parents' thing was probably a bit of a damper on any bond they might have created - it was most certainly a lot. For someone capable of so much, naivety was rampant on the subject of anything broaching upon intimacy, with Sylar.

...Nice eyes? She was delirious. Blood loss had sent her into shock, and he was probably well on his way to following suit. He could have been imagining this whole thing, right now. All of this could be entirely fantastical means, layers of psychosis created by an oxygen-starved mind. None of this meant anything.

Except for the machete. Maybe. ...Ow.

Sylar had barely gotten time to grit out any manner of response. One minute, he was standing. The next, two feet of steel were jammed straight into that notch in his shoulder. Near fatal, on most people. A few inches to the right... Damn. The force of the machete jarring into his shoulder sent him reeling, sprawling against a nearby chair, nails snagging onto the fabric as a sharp gasp was jerked free from his throat.

Goddamn, this was going to smart in the morning.

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