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When he wakes up -- is lucid again, as the dark-haired man who's removing his IV calls it -- the restraints are gone.
A mild concussion from self-inflicted head trauma, is what else he calls it. They removed the restraints once Sylar had calmed down; this is a hospital, after all, not a prison. You haven't been back with us for some time, he adds as Sylar carefully settles a hand over his abdomen, pressing lightly, and grimaces.
It hurts a bit less than it used to, though. It's healing.
How long? he asks, and receives no response.
Later, he falls asleep, to no dreams, and wakes up again to the silent, flickering fluorescent light. The cycle repeats itself three more times.
A second doctor mentions during one of his visits, in tones of pleasant surprise, that it's good to see the lucidity persist for this long. So many months have passed lately with no change.
On the fourth day, with effort, Sylar is able to work through the pain enough to sit up, his hands braced behind him to keep himself upright.
January 27 2008, 19:36:12 UTC 4 years ago
And if Sylar should happen to look up at the rectangle of blue sky and bars, he'd see a Raven, bright-eyed and curious, peering at him.
Mocking cawing (laughter) cannot be far behind.
January 27 2008, 22:41:06 UTC 4 years ago
He doesn't know how long.
Sylar meets the animal's eyes, gaze hardening to a glare. Uncountable minutes pass before he starts to move -- the shoes are by his bed, he cannot be so weak as to --
Except, as always, the pain yanks him up short with a gasp, and he falls back.
It takes much longer to push himself upright again, chest and back and head screaming their protests the entire time. By the time he's done, the bird is gone.
And when he turns away from the window, Sylar's vision abruptly reels as the blood leaves his face.
January 27 2008, 22:42:35 UTC 4 years ago
(It's hard to tell whether she's praying or trying to keep herself together.)
Virginia's gaze, fixed on his face, is comprised of equal parts fear and hope.
January 27 2008, 22:43:15 UTC 4 years ago
Mom. It's soundless; it would be horrified, shaking. Sylar moves his head back and forth in denial.
(He doesn't know what's -- )
January 27 2008, 23:02:56 UTC 4 years ago
It's barely a breath of sound, this prayer that's sighed out like thanksgiving or plea or both together.
She doesn't move, doesn't reach out -- it's almost as though she can't quite believe what she's seeing.
"...Gabriel?"
January 27 2008, 23:20:39 UTC 4 years ago
He forces his mouth closed. Swallows. The sheets are trembling under his fingers.
Hoarsely, "You're not real. I've seen things I shouldn't. You're not real, you're not here."
January 27 2008, 23:33:55 UTC 4 years ago
The thin slice on one cheek is vividly scarlet in contrast to her pallor.
Of course, in the next instant, it isn't there at all.
"How can you say such horrible things? It's me, Gabriel, it's your mother--"
She takes a ragged breath, and her voice is trembling when she tells him,
"It's only that you've been so sick, that's all it is."
January 27 2008, 23:56:32 UTC 4 years ago
The breath runs out. As his diaphragm contracts, he winces, loudly, and almost slips flat again; Sylar squeezes his eyes closed and keeps them closed.
It's far softer, and shakier, when he repeats himself. "You're not here."
January 28 2008, 00:13:30 UTC 4 years ago
There's a fine trembling in her fingers as they brush against his arm, not unlike the light touch of a butterfly.
(Such a small thing; such an enormous thing. It's said that the flutter of a butterfly's wings can change the world.)
Virginia's hand is ice-cold.
January 28 2008, 00:24:30 UTC 4 years ago
He doesn't move his arm away.
"I killed you." Slowly, as if trying to puzzle his way through it. "By accident. It was an accident. How can you...?"
This isn't Milliways. Even if it was -- how could he tell?
January 28 2008, 00:37:05 UTC 4 years ago
(It's the kind of certainty he's heard before.)
The look in her eyes, though; it's the look of a trapped and fragile creature, watching the predator's final approach.
A snowflake falls from the empty air, shining with cold brilliance against her brown hair.
Then another.
January 28 2008, 01:43:10 UTC 4 years ago
They're not his doing. He would know. (Wouldn't he?)
You're sick.
I don't know what's real.
"You said," he tells her, without inflection and without looking away from the snowflakes, "that I wasn't your Gabriel. When I saw you."
January 28 2008, 01:59:59 UTC 4 years ago
Her shaking voice firms as she latches onto the idea with the same desperate strength that's becoming evident in the slowly tightening grip on his arm.
Her smile is as brittle and fragile as the curve of a glass globe.
"Everything's going to be all right now, Gabriel. You'll see. I'll take care of you, and you'll get better, and then--"
It's snowing harder now. Virginia doesn't seem to notice.
January 28 2008, 02:25:51 UTC 4 years ago
What Sylar does notice: it's colder than it should be. He can feel his skin prickle as it tightens into goosebumps, and he shivers, pulling back as he continues to stare at the snow.
"I did what you asked of me." The shock ebbs, by a degree, and lets the smallest edges of his anger surface. "You wanted me to be important. Didn't you. And then, once I was..."
He drops his gaze, locks eyes with her. "You called me monster. You were afraid."
January 28 2008, 02:38:17 UTC 4 years ago
Maybe that's why Virginia's eyes don't reflect the light as they should. They're too flat, doll's eyes, glassy and fixed on him without wavering.
"Of course I did. You were so special... you could have been anything."
January 28 2008, 03:02:27 UTC 4 years ago
When he looks at his mother, and sees
(Nothing.)
the ashy pallor to her face, the spot just beneath his heart knots up and pulls tight.
"Mom -- "
January 28 2008, 03:18:46 UTC 4 years ago
(The light flickers again, and as it does the walls of the hospital room seem to glisten, reflecting the intermittent illumination.
They almost look ... curved.)
Her fingertips are damp, and leave red trails on his face-- marks as red as the crimson flower that, with the pressure of her hand now gone, begins to blossom bloodily on her sweater, over her heart.
January 28 2008, 03:36:11 UTC 4 years ago
He scrambles away, clumsy and too slow and beginning to shiver harder.
"I didn't mean to," he pleads. "Mom. Please. It was an accident."
It feels like the bed's pitching underneath him, like something caught in a tide.
January 28 2008, 03:55:14 UTC 4 years ago
Her hold on his arm remains firm, anchoring him.
(She's too small, too frail, to be this strong. Isn't she?)
Her other hand slips from his cheek and comes to rest over the stab wound left by Hiro's sword.
"I know how it hurts."
A beat (but how long? there are no clocks in this room), and she reassures him, softly, sadly,
"Don't worry. Soon it'll be over, and you won't feel a thing."
January 28 2008, 04:16:34 UTC 4 years ago
This isn't real. This isn't real.
(He doesn't know that.)
Seized up and dizzy with panic, he can't move as the lights flicker again, as more of the snow lands in tiny cold drops and sends the blood on his chest running out into thin pink streaks.
January 28 2008, 04:32:56 UTC 4 years ago
Or perhaps even to breathe, as the air thickens around him. It could be terror that's robbing him of his breath, of course.
(Or it could be something else.)
Virginia is smiling fondly as she watches him, waiting; fondly, protectively, and almost possessively, as she'd once looked at a picture of a much younger Gabriel, trapped like an insect in a bubble of amber.
January 28 2008, 04:50:41 UTC 4 years ago
The pain's swimming back up; so is a sudden, acute nausea that grabs hold and makes him buckle against the bed. Black spots seep across his eyes.
"Please."
And then there's no breath left to say anything else.
January 28 2008, 05:05:55 UTC 4 years ago
As he jerks, gasping under the cold weight of (guilt) Virginia's hand, the room itself stutters with the unevenness of Sylar's heartbeat.
(TICK)