Welcome To Now


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Scene Title Welcome To Now
Synopsis A clock is returned to the correct time. A hunt begins as a painting is close to being realized.
Date November 1, 2008

Siann Hall: Gabriel's Apartment

When he hears the scratch of a lock being opened and accessed, Sylar doesn't look up. He has no reason to believe it to be anyone other than Gillian, and he's used to, now, the sound of the way she breathes - everyone is distinctive, sometimes even the barest wisps of their voice caught up in a sigh, a gasp. All the way from his bedroom, where he is buttoning up a shirt, hair combed neatly, and reading glasses placed on the wrecked little dresser. He's dressed in what could now count as his usual black, besides the dark blue jeans, his watch strapped around one wrist.

He picks up his glasses and takes these with, moving into the main room to greeting the girl who is technically his ward. "Back so soon?" he asks, sliding the glasses onto his face as she enters. He'd known she'd gone to pawn off some of her old things for money, but seems like a fast errand if she's back already.

The ward has had an eye-opening experience. The hat that Gillian had worn outside is gone from her head, leaving her hair straggly and warm. The dried blood has all been showered away, leaving only a makeshift bandage around her forehead. The rest of her body is covered in a black duster that's far too long for her short body— her shoes threaten to step on the edges. A few times while she moved up the stairs, she had. Not to far from where she's standing at the door, dropped onto a table at the side, is a motorcycle helmet, black, with red lines.

"Been gone over a day," she says hoarsely, voice shaken, pained, glancing up to see him. And then shifting her arm to look at her watch, the one he repaired. It's not at the right time— in fact it's more than a couple hours off. Not exactly a day, it would seem. There's so many small cuts and bruises on her body that she can't even feel all of them. "I ran into… Peter Petrelli. Both of them. I think… he sent me back to yesterday."

His gaze is first caught by the bandages. Then, towards the helmet, noting easily the presence of something strange within the bare apartment and then lastly, his eyes land on her watch. That shouldn't be the thing to bother him the most, but it is, and he crosses the room in a few long strides, a hand reaching out to gently taking her wrist so he can see, thumb brushing over the face of it as he observes the hour it ticks by. Darker brown eyes meet hers at what she has to say. "You saw both of them?" Sylar asks, a little flatly, and backs up a few steps, leading her further into their apartment. "What happened, he hurt you?" Considering all they've talked about, the surprise in his voice perhaps shouldn't be there, but it is.

"I was in the… pawn shop," Gillian says, letting the torn and tattered backpack fall from her shoulder. "Got cash for my jewelry, but it— I felt something— like someone was there— it happened occassionally in the library and stuff— didn't always cause a problem, you know?" She's shaking a little as he checks her watch, hands shivering. There's fine cuts on her wrist, arms, hands— a broken fingernail. Those didn't need to be bandaged, they sealed over on their own, more or less. "But I saw one of the suits— the blond man that was with him in the apartment. I took the money and left— but the pawn shop— it exploded. There was this guy— homeless guy. Screaming, yelling. And he was fighting the agent Peter— the suit one." She shivers a few more times, trying to pull the duster closer around her. "This other— version— it seemed to fall out of him when he electricuted himself. Power lines fell. I don't know how it happened but it… I shot him. And the bullet just came out."

The watch is loosened from her wrist, Sylar holding it by the wrist band. Then, he moves past her, briskly opening the door just to stop and listen. Straining to hear, for a good few seconds, before leaning back inside again, locking the door behind them both and putting a hand on Gillian's back, guiding her further inside. He can't help but cast a glance towards the window, too. He'd prefer to ambush Peter on his own time, thanks, and who knows who followed her back here? "And then what happened?" he urges of the girl, not really recognising, despite all the obvious symptoms, her distress. Injury, yes, but he doesn't think to take the pain away, too interested in her story.

"He tried to— he strangled me, without even touching me," Gillian says, moving further inside. It's fairly easy to tell from the state of her heartbeat, her breathing, that she's in a state of shock. Even with the time she's had to rest, and calm down, she's still scared. Horrified even. "I tried to stop him, I really did." She's almost pleading, as if she needs him to believe her in this. "I shot at them. Both of them. The suit one first… but I missed… and then the naked one and— he healed. How are you going to fight someone who doesn't stay hurt? You can't do that. I was so afraid I was going to die, and then this car came out of nowhere— it him, knocked him away— I think Agent Assface threw it at him. I'm not sure, but he— he saved me." She has to sit down now, though she ends up sitting right on the floor, the coat falling open. Her clothes are dirty, torn, blooded. Bandages on her arms and legs, peeking under clothes. "And he was apologizing and trying to get me out of there and I was so scared he asked me where I wanted to be. Wilkens was the first place I thought of— and he touched my hand and I just— appeared there. But it was Halloween. There were kids in costumes and…"

Went back in time. Time travel. Is it just temporal manipulation, days and hours at a time, or years, or maybe even— Sylar startles when Gillian all but collapses to sit on the floor, a flash of cold irritation crossing his features. He doesn't want to be Gabriel Wilkens right now, he wants to know what happened, and— the watch ticks out of time in his hand, enhanced hearing only making it bother him more. Deftly, he slips it into his pocket, muffling it, and takes off his glasses. A little more awkwardly than Gillian, he lowers himself down to sit with her, long legs folded haphazard. "Peter can stay hurt," he promises her. "I'll make him stay hurt." For the first time since her initial appearance, Sylar looks her over, noting the bandages, the blood stains. "One of them tried to kill you, the other tried to save you?"

There's slow breaths, Gillian's not really expecting comfort so much as… well… safety. And the assurance that Peter can stay hurt if he makes it happen gives her what she needed. She glances down at her torn and tattered clothes. "Yeah— one of them— the one in the suit. He jumped in front of me— the guy he was fighting, he was so loud. Screaming so loud he blew out the window, parts of the street even. That's— that's where most my cuts came from. It was so loud my ears were still ringing." She reaches up to put her hand against her ear, as if in memory of it. "He jumped in front of me. I was reaching for a taser— the other suit guy had one— and a gun to. I took the taser. It only had one shot, and I shot the screaming guy." She shivers visibly again. "He kept telling me to leave, the original one— telling me to get out before the people he worked with showed up." She suddenly glances back to the door. "I'm safe here, right? The other one won't come after me?"

Homeless men with super powers. That'd just be convenient. No one misses a homeless guy, really. "You're safe, Gillian, everything's going to be fine," Sylar recites, a hand out to touch her arm. "It doesn't sound like he was trying to hunt you, sounds like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The duplicate, the one that attacked you - do you know why? Did he say anything?" Two opposing copies of Peter - that would explain why they're fighting - but how did he…? Must be another power, Peter wasn't like Sylar, didn't control it, own it. But if he knows about Gillian… Sylar's hand unconsciously, possessively clenched around the woman's arm.

"I tried to shoot him," Gillian explains, looking down toward the hand that clinches at her arm. It hurts, but at the same time, he's protecting her, so she grits her teeth and bares it for the moment. "He's going to destroy the world, both of them. If— I thought I could help. Stop them before they caused too much damage and… I'm sorry. It's— I really thought I could help. He pulled the gun out of my hand and then strangled me from afar— he asked me how I knew he would destroy the world. I don't know what he did. I didn't tell him anything, but he knew about the painting."

Two very different ways of reacting to a gunshot, certainly. Sylar's grip only lessens from her arm unconsciously, preoccupied with listening, and finally drawing away, leaving faint red marks behind on her skin. "He must have used one of his powers to figure it out," he explains, and gives a slight shrug for Gillian's benefit. He doesn't know the sheer amount of talents Petrelli has up his sleeves - he can only hope he has more, or at least, uses his with more intelligence. "He has many. But one bullet in the right place could be all it took. No one can heal from everything. You had to try." He takes out her watch again, looking down at it. After a moment, the hands start to move faster than they should be, until they spin into the correct position. Sylar brings the watch up to listen, again, out of the old habit, before holding it out for her, satisfied. "Welcome to now," he says, not without a little irony.

Welcome to now. The watch handed back to her is taken, held in her hand, looked at. It's not too long after she left the apartment. Gillian doesn't know when the fight happened, but it could be happening right this moment. She takes in a slow breath, shakingly trying to put the watch back on her wrist, not quite succeeding. She may need assistance. As she fumbles with it, she says, "I need to learn. How to control it. I could feel all of them pulling on me— I was so exhausted when it was over— If I'm going to help you… I need to figure out how to focus it. Do you think you can teach me?"

Sylar's gaze tracks the progression of the timepiece he just aligned, and can't help but reach out and help her secure it to her wrist. "I can teach you," he says, with quiet confidence. "I have the best control over what I can do, so we know it won't go wrong for either of us." The strap secured, he pulls his hands away again, and gets to his feet, offering a hand to her to help her up.

Taking the hand, Gillian notices the difference, the way it makes her feel. Not as wild or forced— a mild draw. Her hand doesn't glow this time. "I'm too tired today," she says reluctantly. "And I hurt all over. Maybe I can— maybe tomorrow. I don't know how long you have— the two of them— the new one especially. His hair's longer, he's got facial hair. He's so… mean." It's hard to explain him any other way. "I just need something to eat— some sleep— and then we can start training tomorrow, maybe." None of the wounds look bad enough that she won't get better on her own, but as the panic settles, exhaustion rises up.

There's a silence, and it's slightly frosty, Sylar glancing towards where the painting he'd created just that morning is resting. How long do they have? Who knows. It takes him a moment, but he manages to force back the childish urge to go train this nownownow, putting on a small smile for her, the other hand that had been holding his glasses now replacing them back onto his face. "Of course, you have a whole day to sleep off," he says, releasing her hand. "I should see if the Peter duplicate is leaving a trail— I'll be careful, he won't even know I'm looking."

"You look different without your glasses," Gillian says absently, looking up at him just as he's replaced them. She has time to rest, and she starts to draw away from him, back on her feet, unsteady as they may be. "I was at the pawn shop on…" She describes the street, the location. "There were sirens— I guess his people were arriving already. Be careful, Gabriel." She sounds genuinely worried, concerned, holding onto his hand a little longer than is needed.

"I will be," Sylar says, that same smile to fixed in place. Without a sound, his form suddenly dissolves into transparency - not total invisibility, his outline, his shape can be seen, but it's better than nothing. The effect actually travels into Gillian's own hand, colours changing to that of its surroundings, before Sylar releases her and slowly, her skin tone swirls back into place like ink dropped into water. "I'll be back tonight," the wraith-like creature that was Sylar assures her, the sound of footsteps moving towards the door, a coat being taken off a hook.

"I'll be here," Gillian says, looking down at her hand, the watch resting back in its rightful place, at it's rightful time, and watches his outline make way toward the door— the coat taken off the hook. She'll watch him until he vanishes outside the door— at least what little she can make out. The footsteps, the movements.

The coat is pulled on— and not a moment later, all that black fabric becomes equally ethereal. The door opens, shut sharply, and presumably, Gillian is alone in the room once again.

And now she'll never know if he's in the room at all. Watching. Except for the feeling in the back of her head, the tickle. Gillian closes her eyes, waits to feel him go out of range. Only when he has does she move towards the kitchen. Food. Now.

November 1st: Yesterday is Today
Previously in this storyline…
Die Me, Dichotomy

Next in this storyline…
Remonstrance and Requital

November 1st: Chatter by the Water Cooler
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