Sylar let out a sigh of contentment as he allowed himself to fall backwards onto the old battered couch. Telekinesis, Liquefaction, Induced Radioactivity, Super Hearing, Cryokinesis, Eidetic Memory, the list went on and they were all back. Every single one of his powers had returned and was working normally. There were only two he hadn't tested yet. One required additional materials, and the other… well better now than never, he supposed.

If the common misconception had been true, and Sylar gained his powers by eating brains rather than basically only needing to study them in order to see how they worked, then Candice's power would most likely be beyond him. But he hadn't forgotten what he'd seen, what he'd done. Even if he'd been unable to summon her powers then, now…

"Japan." He muttered with amusement, remembering his jailer's boasting. He closed his eyes and pictured what he knew of it the best: cherry-blossom trees, Mount Fuji and traditional Japanese architecture. Grasping the image firmly in his mind he pushed, ever so slightly, and opened his eyes.

He was sitting on the grass in the midst of a field of cherry trees, the bright blue sky framing Mt. Fuji in all its grandeur. He grinned in triumph and the image flickered, wavering a bit between the illusion and the reality. No matter, all it would take was a bit of practice and he'd be flawless in the use of this power, just like all the others.

That left just one power left untested. He could assume that, like all the others, it was functioning perfectly well; but Sylar was nothing if not methodical and the idea of leaving an unknown, even though there was no reason to believe his assumption was incorrect, bothered him. So instead of relaxing he rose to his feet and surveyed the room carefully.

Not wanting to draw unwanted attention to himself with his powers mostly untested and his enemies now aware of his general location, Sylar had decided against finding a local motel and had instead broken into a nearby apartment. The lone resident unfortunate enough to be at home taking a bath when Sylar had broken in was now floating dead in a mixture of bathwater and his own blood. It had been a pleasure-less kill, as Sylar had no interest in the middle-aged bachelor. He'd simply slit the man's throat and closed the bathroom door. He wouldn't linger long enough for any cleanup to be necessary.

The living room was sparsely decorated with the usual boring trappings of a mediocre life. Sylar paid little attention to it. He found what he was looking for quickly enough, a pencil and some paper. Not as appealing as paint and canvas, but it would serve.

Sylar sat himself down at the kitchen table, pencil in hand, and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

When the trance broke a short time later Sylar opened his eyes once more and stared down at the page before him, his eyes darkening and his lips pressing into a thin line as he took in the face staring back at him from the page. For that was all it was, just a face.

Mohinder Suresh, a look of fear and confusion etched into his eyes, his dark curls hanging limp as if wet. His broken nose still evident, thought the bandage was gone. Not far in the future at all then. Though he couldn't quite explain how, Sylar knew right away that it would be his own face reflected in those stunned eyes. He knew this, and it sent a jolt of anger down his spine.

Growling audibly, Sylar flung the pad of paper, the drawing, the pencil, and all the other detritus left sitting on the table into the wall with a combination of physical and telekinetic strength.

What the hell did he need Mohinder for anymore anyway? He was cured, wasn't he? His powers back, several targets already clearly in mind. He had no need for the List. No reason to see the damned doctor at all! Except –

NO!

Something inside him reared up and roared with anger. He flew to his feet, hardly aware that he'd splintered both the wooden table and chair, sending them hurling in hundreds of jagged pieces into the walls.

Mohinder had betrayed him, would have killed him today if he'd had the chance. Any lingering feelings Sylar might have felt after his time masquerading as Zane Taylor had been burned and purged months ago. It had been an infuriating weakness to begin with! His heart was a black, useless thing and whatever remnants had been touched by that achingly beautiful face had been systematically and ruthlessly destroyed.

Mohinder.

The name called up painful memories of weakness. Of a pointless search for redemption. Sylar didn't want to be saved, no longer searched for salvation! He was doing what was right, what was necessary. Following his purpose, thisevolutionary imperative.

Mohinder.

He had brought this weakness on. Had sent a wave of uncertainty flooding through to Sylar's very core.

It was infuriating, revolting! If he ever saw Suresh again it would only be to kill him and rid Sylar of this newly reborn agony. In fact - Sylar grabbed his coat, flung open the apartment door and stalked out into the hallway - that was exactly what he was going to do!

-------------

The last two days had been a painful, tiring cyclone of events for Mohinder. It had started with the phone call from Sylar and only gotten worse from there. The brief reprieve after Elle's rescue had been the calm before the storm. He, Molly and Maya were all alive and blessedly unhurt, but after the mortal danger was over it had been time to deal with the repercussions.

Bob, it turned out, was infuriatingly unsympathetic. Mohinder didn't know if Elle had gotten the praise she was so clearly craving, but being responsible for curing Sylar and losing two vials of the vaccine in the processes had certainly won Mohinder no favours.

Aside from feeling horrible about Niki (who he learned only a few hours ago had died in an explosion), Mohinder couldn't feel bad about doing what he'd had to in order to save Molly's life. In fact he was more angry with Bob for not understanding, but then no one thought clearly where Sylar was involved. Especially since Sylar must have been injected by the Company, which meant that Bob was ultimately responsible for the whole event in the first place.

So after a long and sleepless night in which Sylar's face kept intruding, leaving Mohinder feeling decidedly unnerved, he'd made it his priority to ignore Bob and reassure himself that Molly was ok.

Being back in the clutches of the Company certainly wasn't what either of them wanted, but Molly was physically unhurt. Psychologically, well she'd witnessed worse when her own parents had been killed. He'd spent several hours talking to her, comforting her and assuring her that he'd have them both out of there soon. She was coping rather well, considering. She missed Matt and said as much several times, but the news from Texas had been… unnerving. Mohinder hadn't gotten all of the details, but apparently Nathan Petrelli had been shot. His status, unfortunately, was unknown. Matt was fine but not coming home any time soon. This made Molly understandably upset, but she consoled herself by finding him with her power, knowing where he was and that he was alright.

Maya had been taken into the Company's ward. They'd talked a few times, some about her powers though mostly about Sylar. He felt sorry for her, as well as quite a lot of empathy. They'd both been played for fools by the man and had each lost something dear to them. Maya's twin brother had been murdered, as had Mohinder's father, though oddly it wasn't his father's death that stung as strongly anymore. He couldn't explain why, but it was the deceit, the memories of Zane… Still, Mohinder hadn't felt comfortable talking with a relative stranger about that. Not when he hadn't told a single other soul the most intimate of hurts. Fortunately the conversation hadn't required details.

Maya's powers, being what they were, meant that the company would be keeping her under wraps for the foreseeable future. Since she didn't want to hurt anyone they were going to work with her on controlling her power, but Mohinder felt sorry for her. No matter what they might say, he didn't think she'd be seeing the outside world until a safe method for suppressing these abilities was created, and that day might never come.

Still, he had more pressing issues to deal with at the moment and moral dilemmas concerning both the Company and deadly South American girls would have to wait.

After long hours of contemplation, Mohinder had finally decided that it would be best to move and not stay in his father's old apartment any longer. Partially there was concern that, if he so chose, Sylar could return there again. Mohinder didn't think the serial killer would return for his sake, but he couldn't put Molly in danger again. Matt either for that matter.

So he'd left Molly, temporarily, with the Company and headed back to his home to start packing. He'd been offered protection in the form of Elle or one of the other gifted but Mohinder had turned it down. For starters he didn't expect Sylar to show up again, especially so soon after his narrow escape. Privately, however, he didn't want to put anyone else in danger. Just in case. With his powers back Sylar was easily a match for anyone the Company could offer as protection and Mohinder wouldn't be responsible for leading another helpless lamb into the murderer's lupine jaws.

He'd also turned down the offered gun. Sylar had run off with his old one, and privately Mohinder was glad to be rid of it. The fact that Bennet was now back among the living didn't do much to assuage Mohinder's guilt over having shot him in the first place. No matter that he'd been about to kill Bob at the time, it was still murder. He'd pulled the trigger, driven the bullet into Noah Bennet's skull, and right in front of his daughter no less.

So it was really an easy decision to make, refusing the gun. Guns were useless against Sylar anyway.

With a long sigh he turned his key in the lock and stepped, for what might be one of the last times, into his father's old apartment.

-------------

It hadn't taken long for Sylar to make his way back to Mohinder's apartment. The walk had cooled his temper somewhat. As such, he refrained from blowing the door off its hinges and instead used his power to easily open the lock and let himself in.

With his arrival this time not hampered by annoyances like babysitters, kids and clingy women, Sylar found himself drinking the familiar surroundings in with a renewed appreciation. Memories of long talks with Chandra Suresh, discovering his potential, his purpose in life, surfaced unbidden. Only to be quickly swamped by more recent memories of working with Mohinder and the way it all fell apart.

So much had changed in a few short months. Photos now graced several surfaces; pictures of Mohinder, Molly Walker and Parkman. Seeing the latter now filled him with an odd sort of anger, mingled with confusion. The mind-reader was, most unfortunately, not around (his power was oh so tempting), but his presence in the photos combined with certain items scattered around the rooms seemed to indicate that he lived here too.

Sylar frowned in annoyance as that anger rose closer to the surface. He didn't know why, but the idea of the two living together made his fingers itch with the need to wrap themselves around Parkman's neck.

His aimless wanderings screeched to an abrupt halt as that realization hit home. Why should he care who Mohinder decided to play house with?

He gripped his forehead as his stomach suddenly decided to do a cartwheel, fingers digging painfully into his scalp. This confusion, this uncertainty struck him like a dagger to the skull. It was a flaw! An imperfection that had to be fixed like one of his broken clocks. It was wrong, and the ticking of his thoughts would drive him mad if he didn't fix it soon.

As the hours crawled by with, not-so-surprisingly, no sign of Mohinder or anyone else, Sylar was alone with nothing but his thoughts and they had revolted. His own mind was betraying him in the most cruel of fashions.

Memories persisted in flashing through his mind's eye. Opening Zane Taylor's door to see Mohinder standing there, so unlike the photos Chandra had shown him. They didn't do him justice at all. The odds that they would meet like that, so incredible, so unlikely that it felt almost like destiny. Mohinder had been so easy to fool into thinking Sylar was Zane and not his murderer. It had been so revoltingly easy to pull on that mask, to use his memories of his life as Gabriel to hide the killer beneath.

At first he had justified it by telling himself he was just biding his time before he could make a more educated decision on what to do. Then it was simply a way to get his hands on the List. He'd craved it with every fiber in his body, and yet… he'd known the deception couldn't last, known that all he had to do was kill the geneticist and take it. What he hadn't considered was that traveling around with Mohinder had not only led him easily to his prey, but had been surprisingly entertaining. It had felt right, natural. Conversations about genetics, evolution, and even all manner of random inane topics had been oddly pleasant on that road trip. It was like similar discussions with Chandra only different in a way that Sylar still couldn't put his finger on, a concept so foreign it eluded him, infuriated him.

Gabriel might have understood, but Gabriel was dead and buried. Sylar could use him as a mask, but that was all that remained and he was proud of it.

-------------

Time crawled by as Sylar wavered between rage and existential agony, each fueling the other on. He never once thought about changing his mind and leaving. To even contemplate such a thing would be like admitting defeat and the very idea disgusted him.

So instead he waited, senses alert even if his mind was distracted. Sleep had seemed impossible, but even he could only stay awake so long, and eventually he was forced to let himself succumb to unconsciousness. Not, however, before making sure he'd hear and be woken by anything even remotely resembling footsteps.

When the telltale steps, followed by the scratching of a key in the lock, finally came Sylar's sensitive hearing picked it up right away, jolting him out of sleep. He blinked a few times, his mind still cloudy after being so rudely awakened. He was lying, much to his amusement, on Mohinder's bed. So that when the front door opened he was still quite concealed. He must have been more exhausted then he'd thought when he'd passed out, however, as his body was loathe shake off the paralysis of sleep.

Not a problem.

Fabricating complex and highly detailed illusions might be a touch beyond his grasp at the moment, having done very little practicing, but making Mohinder's bed appear empty was as easy as breathing. Not that he had anything at all to be worried about upon being discovered, but Sylar would rather it be on his terms, once he'd decided precisely what he wanted to do.

The sound of the approaching heartbeat and was strikingly familiar, and so it was no surprise when Mohinder himself absently shoved the bedroom door open. He was looking rather the worse for wear as he grabbed a towel from a drawer and, just as quickly as he had arrived, disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of the shower roaring to life followed quite shortly thereafter, causing Sylar to wince a little before he dialed back his sensitive hearing.

Confident he wouldn't be heard, Sylar pushed himself out of bed with a chuckle. Too easy by far.

-------------

Mohinder wasn't sure how long he stood with his eyes closed under the scalding torrent, letting the jets of water massage away all the tension he'd been holding in since first receiving that terrifying phone call. When he eventually surfaced for air the small room was heavy with steam, every surface beaded with moisture, but he finally felt somewhat human again. It was with great reluctance that he toweled himself dry and left the soothing warmth to pull on some clean clothes, but at least he felt somewhat more ready to face reality. All he needed now was a strong dose of caffeine.

When Mohinder first put his hand on the bedroom doorknob he though he caught a whiff of Chai and barely contained a chuckle of laughter. He must be tired indeed if he was so desperate for tea that he was catching whiffs of its scent before it was even made. It was only as the door swung open and his eyes landed on the two steaming green mugs that the reality of the situation descended on his mildly befuddled brain.

He froze in place, hand still gripping the doorknob. His feet stupidly unwilling to move as his eyes darted over to the man sitting at the table, chair obliquely facing the door. It was like an odd sort of echo of just two days ago, Sylar even had the same seemingly-pleasant smile plastered on.

"Hello again Dr. Suresh," Sylar spoke in his most disarmingly charming tone. "Please, sit down, you must be tired."

Mohinder found his body once more obeying him and straightened up but didn't move any closer. Sylar's words might be polite, but the look on his eyes said quite plainly that his intentions were otherwise. Of course they were.

"Why are you here?" Mohinder managed, still refusing to place himself any closer to the murder sitting in his kitchen, acting like a welcome guest.

Sylar's smile faded somewhat, as if he had expected Mohinder to jump when told. Perhaps he did.

"So rude, Mohinder." He chided in mock exasperation, "I said, sit." The bedroom door ripped itself out of Mohinder's hand to slam shut while at the same time the other chair slid out from the table. The amount of threat the man could convey in one syllable was impressive enough, but the casual display of newly-returned power was what finally did it. Mohinder gulped reflexively, though he tried to hide it, and grudgingly obeyed. He kept his stance tall, tried to move as if he was perfectly at ease, but he knew the sound of his racing heart was betraying him even as he did so.

Sylar seemed pleased enough at any rate and picked up his own mug, taking a sip of the steaming liquid before meeting Mohinder's gaze once again. "So much better when I make it." He taunted as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes surveying Mohinder from head to toe in a way that made him feel oddly exposed. "No secret ingredients."

The cup in front of Mohinder nudged itself forward and reluctantly he picked it up and drank a bit. At least the taste and soothing warmth were comforting and familiar. Sylar probably expected him to be reluctant, especially after the less than subtle allusions to past events, but Mohinder decided that poisoning was really the least of his worries at this point.

Irritatingly, Sylar seemed more pleased then anything else. Unwittingly, Sylar's words about trust issues flashed through Mohinder's mind. As the silence stretched on with Sylar merely sitting there, sipping his own tea with that smile still dancing on his lips, Mohinder reached for something, anything to say that might bring the moment back from the surreal.

"I see your powers are back." Mohinder observed lamely.

"Oh yes, your cure was quite satisfactory." Sylar replied, still far too amused, seemingly intent on this polite little façade. "I haven't felt this good since, oh- I don't know- the last time I was here?"

Mohinder twitched, just a little, trying very hard not to glance up at the ceiling.

"Well before we were so rudely interrupted, at any rate." Sylar shot out of his chair in one fluid, unnatural movement and turned to stroll around the room. "Of course things here have changed quite a bit since then, haven't they?" He quirked an eyebrow and glanced back in Mohinder's direction. Relaxed, enjoying himself.

"You still haven't told me why you're here." Mohinder bit out, irritation laced with just a touch of curiosity. He couldn't help it, this whole situation didn't make any sense. "I don't have the list, if that's what you're after."

Sylar waved a hand dismissively, "why would I need your list when I still have everyone at Kirby Plaza to deal with?" He replied evenly, finally straying from the constant amusement. His left hand strayed absently towards his abdomen, his gaze momentarily distant before he seemed to shake himself out of the world of memories with a shrug.

"I must say I was quite surprised to learn about your new roommates." He continued on, his tone reverting to the one Mohinder automatically associated with Sylar. The one that simply oozed danger with every syllable. In a way it was both more and less unnerving then amusement of a just moment ago. Sylar rested his hands on the back of the chair he had just vacated and leaned forward, eyes boring down on Mohinder. "Tell me is it just that you're both oh-so concerned about the little orphan? Or are you fucking the mind-reader?"

Mohinder felt himself being pinned to his chair not by telekinesis, but by the pure ferocity in those last words. The accusation, the barely contained rage. For several seconds he just stared back up at the serial killer, his mouth moving but no sound coming out.

"You- you've got to be-" No, take that back, as much as Mohinder might suddenly want it to be, Sylar's entire being radiated a menacing seriousness. This was no joke. "Its nothing like- why- why are you even asking me this?" He stammered out, his brain half-frozen in shock.

He didn't have a chance to kick it back into gear. Sylar narrowed his eyes before taking a long stride forward. Mohinder reacted on instinct, bolting to his feet and stumbling backwards, clumsily getting tangled up in the chair as his body faltered and his mind was suddenly sticky with dread, like tar clogging up his gears.

Sylar started to raise a hand when suddenly the front door slammed open with a tearing and splintering of wood. Mohinder tripped, falling backwards over the chair, his head smacking against the unyielding kitchen floor, his vision bursting into white stars of light.

A staccato of gunfire sliced through the air, too many shots for the dazed man to count. The bangs echoed into a long moment of silence, followed by the almost musical tinkling of a barrage of bullets clattering harmlessly to the ground.

"Oh you should not have done that." Sylar's voice was calm, dangerous. Mohinder blinked away the stars, trying to stop the world from spinning. The sound of multiple bodies being viciously slammed into the closest surface was achingly familiar, and Mohinder forced himself to sit up, tried to say something, anything to stop what he knew would be coming next but only managed to groan feebly.

Blue light seared painfully across his slowly returning vision, but the cry of pain this time was much closer. Though his eyes watered, Mohinder forced them open, dragged himself to his knees despite the dizziness and sudden threat of nausea.

Sylar staggered back from the unexpected blow. Three men with guns were pinned to the walls, but standing in the doorway now was Elle, her hands crackling with electricity. She paused after the first blow hit, a fatal mistake.

Sylar grunted with the unpleasant sensation of having being hit with a bolt of electricity, but wasted no time on the pain. In an instant his mind was wrapped around Elle's throat, cutting off her oxygen, eliciting a strangled yelp from the blonde. She hurled another bolt at the villain but this time he was ready, countering it with a blast of ice from his left hand.

His mental grip slipped on the gunmen, as the two higher up fell with a crash to the ground, but their weapons were already far beyond their reach. Now Elle's hands went to her neck as her struggle for air became more desperate, coherent thought slipping away into panic.

Sylar used his power to yank her closer, his head tilting to the side in what looked like curiosity. Elle tried to fire off another attack as she shook her legs violently, fighting with everything she had, but Sylar kept her arms pinned to her side, palms facing away from him. Mohinder realized in his daze that she could only fire her power from an open palm. She was helpless.

Sylar raised his right hand now, pointing one finger. Mohinder's breath caught at the far too familiar gesture and suddenly Elle's screams ripped through the air as her skull began to open in a smooth bloody line.

In desperation Mohinder found his voice again.

"SYLAR NO!" He screamed, pushing himself to his feet only to immediately regret the decision as his world spun yet again.

He didn't know what he expected to happen, but suddenly Elle's haunting screams subsided into loud, wet sobbing. Somewhere in the back of his mind Mohinder detachedly realized that Sylar must have released his grip on her throat so that he could hear her screams. The killer paused, turning slightly to rest his gaze on Mohinder.

The geneticist was leaning against the fridge, trying to find his balance, to stop from losing the contents of his stomach.

"Please…" he managed, "please, no."

Sylar frowned, his eyes flitting between the sobbing woman before him and Mohinder's pleading gaze. Finally he settled on Suresh, cocking his head to the other side. "Tell me Mohinder, would you trade your life for hers?"

Mohinder gulped, but the answer was easy, he'd already made this decision.

I won't be responsible for any more deaths.

"Yes." He replied with as much conviction as he could muster, forcing himself to stand straighter, face death without fear. A lie, an impossibility, but that wouldn't change his answer.

Sylar seemed to ponder this for a long moment, his eyes flicking once or twice back towards Elle with clear, undisguised longing. Finally, however, he tore his gaze away and settled on Mohinder, his features transforming into a wolfish grin.

Before Mohinder could blink Sylar was behind him, left arm wrapped around the shorter man's shoulders, pressing their bodies together. "I accept." He whispered huskily, his warm breath tickling Mohinder's ear, causing an involuntary shudder.

Mohinder closed his eyes as Sylar brought his right arm around, his hand slipping delicately under Mohinder's dark curls. A gentle finger ran partway across Mohinder's forehead, followed by a sharp but shockingly mild pain. No worse then being scratched by a fingernail.

After only a short distance it stopped. Without warning Mohinder found himself whirled around, body still pressed uncomfortable against Sylar's staring up into the taller man's eyes. Sylar's hand threaded Mohinder's hair, grasping the back of his head, keeping it in place as he leaned forward and ran his tongue, hot and wet, along the barely bleeding scratch.

Mohinder's breath caught in his lungs, he didn't even try to move away, he was too stunned to do anything but just stand there.

Sylar licked his lips, now ever so lightly stained with Mohinder's blood. He lowered them to Mohinder's ear once more, "see you soon, Mohinder." He breathed just barely loud enough to hear, and suddenly Mohinder found himself free and alone.

Sylar had vanished.