log, complete

[makes-you-tick.livejournal.com]

When; Early Wednesday morning
Rating; R for some serious violence of the torture variety. Hey, it's Sylar. What did you really expect?
Characters; Sylar (makes_you_tick) and Faith Lehane (thesecondslayer)
Summary; Sylar's hurting, and that generally means other people end up hurting a lot more.
Log;

He'd waited too long for this, and he knew it. A stay of execution, because he didn't really have the heart. But it had to be done.

So when he was certain that there weren't any curses that night, and when he had checked to make sure as he could that both Claire and Peter were up and keeping an eye on the Network, he followed the route that he knew Faith always took. And when she hit one of the few low-traffic shortcuts she took, he descended. He caught her and held her still with telekinesis.

"It's time," he said, stepping towards her. The smile on his face did not match the tone of his voice.


She half-expected this, after the dream. After what happened after the dream. Not like he didn't tell her. Not like she didn't know.

She's not sure if the feeling in her belly is anticipation or dread, but her smile's the same, either way; dangerous and sharp edged, just like the knife in her hand. (His knife, which makes sense in that fucked up way her English teacher liked to talk about before she just stopped going to class. Symmetry, or something.)

"What, you ready for the serious talk? Get all our feelings out?" The immobility isn't like in his dream, it sends the sick feeling inside tipping towards panic. She can't move, just like any set of chains. It makes her breath come a little faster. "Come on, Gabe, this is a two player game. Wanna loosen up on the ropes?"


He walks up looking just as relaxed as when he'd be getting ready to make dinner, or when he'd be cleaning on the weekends. He smirks at her and takes her chin between two fingers. "This is my sort of game now, Faith. We're not sparring, I'm not going to hold back. I'm not going to 'last ten minutes', because I don't need to. And if you were anywhere near my level, it wouldn't matter. Illyria could break through the TK, you know. It was rough on her, but bless her little shriveled-up demon heart, she gave me a run for my money. You?"

He flattened out his palm, facing it at her, watching as she slammed back into the nearest wall. He held her up there, flattened. "I was always holding back. But yeah, maybe getting all my 'feelings' out would be a good idea. I've got a lot of hurt to work through. You see, my girlfriend and sponsor ran out on me while I was having a rough time of it."


That casual touch is infuriating, and Faith tries to hold onto that instead of the fear. If she could jerk her face away she would-- and the straining in her neck muscles, the way her teeth grit, proves she's trying her hardest-- but she settles on glaring. It only intensifies when he mentions Illyria. "This have a point, or are you just going to jerk off over Blues Clues all ni--"


Her breath is forced out of her in a rush as her back hits the wall, cutting off the end of her sentence. It takes her a moment to answer, and when she does, her voice is hoarse. "Great, you got more power than me. I'm happy for you." She pulls against the invisible chains again, fine trembling running through her body and she strains each muscle. It's not even a concentrated effort anymore; more a desperate, instinctive fight for freedom. "And that's not how it went down. But hey, you wanna cry like a little bitch some more, don't let me stop you. I got nothing but time."


"Oh, and how did it go down, Faith? Why don't you tell me?" Despite the relaxed tone to his voice, his eyes are too bright in the low light of this alleyway. "And hey, why don't I make it worth my while. Every time you lie, I'll break something. Go on, Faith, tell me what actually happened."


You're the guy pulling the strings, you tell me." Her fear is almost tangible, an acrid scent filling the alleyway. "Come on, this is the big moment. You wanna spoil it by giving me all the best lines?"

She's stalling, now. Not lying, not yet, but close enough for government work.


Sylar looks at her with an exasperated expression, then twitches an index finger to the right. This causes Faith's right pinky finger to be bent back. Another twitch and it snaps right in the middle. "Oh, did I mention that stalling will also result in me breaking things? Good thing I'm starting with the pinkies, right?" He wiggles his own, just to demonstrate.


His voice is suddenly dangerous as he continues, low and shaking just a touch. "Now, tell me exactly what you did to me, Faith."


Faith holds back a scream as her finger snaps, just barely; instead she whines, high in her throat like a hurt animal. Her muscles all golax for a moment before seizing up again, tighter than before. "Fuck." Her voice is thick with tears, but the gaze she raises back upis mutinous.

"Changing the rules in the middle of the game's cheating, babe." Stalling, again.


"Don't you remember? When we first met, I told you I tended to cheat. You seemed to find it charming." He twitches his index finger again- this time, her entire left arm gets pulled out in front of her, so she can watch the left pinky finger get pulled back, then snapped in half again.

He gives her a moment for the pain to fade. He's interrogated people before. He'd like to think he was pretty decent at it. And there are just a few things he wants to hear from Faith's mouth, but it might be awhile before that happens. He shoves down the hope that she won't take too long and tries to just enjoy the feeling of finally using the power as it comes to him again. It sours in his mouth.

"There are two hundred and six bones in the body, Faith. We could be at this all night. All I want you to do is clear things up for me. What actually happened, when you picked up and ran away from me. Don't you want to set the record straight, if I've gotten it so wrong?"


"Yeah, well. Nobody ever said I'm the braintrust, here." She watches the finger slowly pull back and break with an echoing crack with morbid fascination. She doesn't scream, this time; she can see the break coming, and all Sylar gets is a quiet, pained grunt. "You know, gotta say, I'm feeling wicked disappointed here. I can break a couple fingers falling wrong in training. This is all you got? Angelus had more painful lovetaps. Pretty sure Wes could do me better."

It's stupid to goad him like this. He hates Angelus, more than he hates Angel. And Wesley's always been a sore spot. Only thing worse is--

She drags her gaze back up from her hands, meets his. "Hell, Eddie did it better already." Oh yeah, there's the look she wanted. Laughing recklessly (wildly) she grins. "You remember that one, right? Guess you just can't measure up."

The lie tastes just like that prissy Scotch Wesley likes, burning all the way down to her belly.


"Oh, there's a lie. Let's see- I'd like to leave you mobile, just in case you wise up before we get too far along. Ah, yes, my favorite." He twitches his finger again, and something in her torso snaps, upper right side. "Ribs."


He gives her another moment, and takes that time to check his device, then toss it to the ground. It bounces just a little, eventually coming to a stop on the asphalt. Then he's walking towards her, stepping into her personal space. With how high he has her against the wall, they're pretty much face-to-face. "You really do a professional's job of making things hard on yourself, don't you? But I can see the effort you're putting into it- the three of them at once? You should've saved someone to hit me with later." He chuckles and shakes his head. "Then again, you never did plan terribly well. Now--"


Electricity runs over his hands, small bolts of it separating to zap her face and shoulders. "They say confession is good for the soul. For you? It might just keep you alive long enough to do something about your current situation. So go on, give it a try- I'll even get it started for you. 'I left Sylar because....'"


The rib makes Faith groan, biting back the louder yell fighting its way from behind her teeth. "Real nice of you, babe." She coughs, sagging against his hold when that burns through her chest. "Let me down, I'll give you a kiss for it."

The break helps, lets her focus in on the rough brick irritating her back, the steady painful throb in both her hands. They're close enough to kiss, now, and Faith's tongue darts out, wetting cracked lips. "Said let me down first. Come on, it's like you're not hearing me." She can't help the instinctive flinch at his words; the first rule of having a death wish is you don't talk about having a death wish.

"Got no idea what you mean." This time the lie tastes like ashes.

His trick with the electricity finally gets a yell; it's hoarse and angry, and not a scream. Not yet.

"Wicked kinky, Gabe." She raises her face again, tossing the hair out of her eyes as much as she's able. (He pushed it out of the way in their dream, gentle and regretful, and he said something but she can't make the words come back.) "But fine, here, 'I left Sylar because he's a whiny little bitch. Happy now?"

Lie.


Nothing about his expression changes. He's still smiling, but there's just something about it that gets more dangerous- like a storm cloud darkening at the edge of the horizon. Maybe it's in how long he pauses before doing anything else.

"Oh, fine," he says, heaving a sigh. "I doubt you're going much of anywhere at this point, even if you should. But you lied, again, so let me think...mm. Fifth metatarsal?" With a wave of his hand, he snaps the bone on the outside right of her foot in half. He also completely lets go of the telekinetic grip, with the hope she'll fall right on it. "Want to give that answer another try, Faith?"


Faith smiles back, right up until the point something in her foot snaps; Sylar gets his scream then, and another one that trails off into a whimper when she lands on the foot coming down, her eyes wide and a little glassy.

She has to lean back against the alley wall for support, one arm wrapped protectively around her middle, hunched in a little at the pain even as it makes her rib ache. "Could have just said freaking foot." The griping rings hollow, her voice more exhausted than anything hotter.

"You tell me what you want to hear, and I'll think about it."

And she lied lied twice before, but the game doesn't include calling herself out.


Of course, she doesn't need to. Sylar was waiting until she put most of her weight on her other foot, but now that she is, he snaps the same bone there, without so much as the fanfare of a finger twitch.

"Oh, how about some variation on how you failed me, how you failed yourself. Something about betrayal and cowardice and how I wasted my time because you're not worth it, and you know it." He's unamused now, his voice shaking with the effort he's taking to keep from directly yelling at her. "I'm sure you can fill in the details from there."


She crumples against the wall like a puppet with its strings cut, slamming a fist into the brick hard enough to break pieces off. "Shit." The word is low and vicious, soaked in tears and thicker, warmer things. Redder things, blacker things. "Changing the rules on me again?"


Her laughter after his little speech is distinctly unamused, bitter and full of sharp edges. "You want Wes' rabid dog speech? I got that one in my back pocket. Seems about right for this whole scene. Real crowd pleaser." He's losing that amused calm, letting the teeth show. Good enough, because that means it ends sooner rather than later. "Could throw something in about how I'm worthless whore, too, if that's what gets you off now. Like I said, your show."

---> Continued here