Messiah Complex For Two


kinney_icon.gif AKA sonny_icon.gif AND ALSO teo_icon.gif

Scene Title Messiah Complex For Two
Synopsis An additional side order to go with all the relatively normal relationship stresses. Doctor Batman makes overtures of joining Phoenix. Phoenix feels like an asshole for considering it.
Date February 26, 2009

Filatov's Clinic — Small Room

With a cot in it, if only temporarily.

There's an Italian kid in the bed, off-white ivory linens thin over his bare torso though the closed window blinds provide most of the obstruction from prying eyes and the heat turned up in the clinic room staves off the worst of the cold. There isn't a lot in the room. A table, a closet, one corner ceded to storage clutter, no visible personal effects, so many temporary or forgotten articles. He's supposed to fit right in. Camoflaged, overlooked.

Teodoro's shaven head is balanced very neatly and precisely in the middle of the pillow just like a faberge egg on its display pillow, except that in place of intricate filigree and artistically arranged pigments, his face is still a motley mess of bruises and scabs at odds with the distinct lack of major swelling or structural damage. He gets hit in the face a lot, though; there seems to be the remote possibility he was sent through a window or something, perhaps.

More unusual by far are the weals of stitches healing over all the visible parts of the rest of him, arms, shoulders, the black thread zigging in neatly intervaled bars, forming seals on the skin that are already — if only barely — watertight, sutures laid in by a practiced if not surgical hand and mortared perhaps by a preternatural gift or two.

None of which would be Teo's, unless he lied before or something changed recently.

His right eyelids split open, ceding a crescent slice of lucent, ice-bright iris and a pupil struggling between radii to find something to focus on. There's a stain on the ceiling that looks kind of like a wombat. Articulately, he coughs.

It took a lot for Sonny to find Teo. He would have sent word and asked for someone in the Ferrymen or Phoenix to report back where it not for Lucrezia's message about Teo and water. He didn't call her back to ask her how she knew or what exactly that means. He's dealt with enough Evolved abilities to have a general sense of what it might be.

Then, in the guise of Connor Kinney and a good deal of cash, he made his way over to Staten. Once there, he made contact with the Ferrymen and managed to locate Teo at Filatov's.

He stands at the threshold, backpack over his shoulder. He steps forward and lets the bag slide to the floor. A winter glove is tugged off and he reaches to touch the side of the young Italian's face. "Oh Teo. Why don't you let someone else be the hero sometime, huh? I hate to keep seeing you like this." That was as much to himself as the other. He doesn't know if he's conscious.

Conscious is relative. Teo isn't sure he's exactly crossed the border, either, given he's hearing and seeing things that don't correlate with his last memory, of being — somewhere in the Rookery, Eileen, Sylar, Colette, flying books, medical shelves, and an angry doctor with a gun all in hysterics around him.

"Ggh," he answers intelligently, pulling his other eye open in some vain effort to square Sonny's face into focus. "Wh… I w'sn'…" One of his own hands folds up, balancing awkwardly between his elbow and rough fingertips like a new fawn, before it makes an optimistic leap toward Sonny's cheek. It ends up making it about a quarter of the way, slithering to an ungainly stop over the good Doctor's forearm instead.

"I wasn'," he repeats, coherently. His breath smells like mint; somebody's courtesy. "Had 'n acc'dent. You're… yer not s'posed to be there." He blinks rapidly. Proceeds to sit up, which may or may not be wise, depending on which of the young men who are available for comment one asks.

"Shhh, shh…" Sonny puts out a hand and very, very gently guides him back down again. "Here, relax…just…" His hand raises and brushes against Teo's cheek. "I'm going to fix up some of these, okay? Just…it shouldn't hurt very much."

The eye has him the most troubled, so he takes care of that first. It's only a small cut that happened in a bad place, so there's a little bit of stinging and bleeding at the new cut on his arm. He bends down and digs into his bag, then gently swabs and bandages up the new cut.

The doc looks around, then pulls a stool up close to Teo's bed. "There. Better? We'll get you out of here soon, at least to a Ferrymen safehouse. This place…gives me bad vibes." A small smile. This is a more intimate version of his usual bedside manner. He's good at covering up his worry. The edge of the blanket is tugged back and gentle fingers explore the other injuries, seeking out other serious ones that he could move to less critical areas.

Most of the wounds on Teo's torso are shallower, from what Sonny can tell; though there were two aligned neatly between the spars of his ribs, there's no palpable damage to the lungs underneath, only bruises on the bones themselves that make his breathing sound like a kicked engine, an unrealized whimper undercurrent to every inhale.

His arms and legs are a different story, some of the cuts pressed harrowingly close to arteries and major veins, though the worst of those seem to have been repaired. There might be a cut on his butt somewhere, but Teo seems disinclined to get up and squirm out of his shorts now that his initial effort to get up was repelled. His head winds up planted right back in the pillow again, eyes blinking uncomfortably in the light.

His toes curl when Sonny shifts a cut away from the line of his femoral and around to his outer-thigh and a pointless spasm goes through his fingers, dimly acknowledging the new sting in his arm. "'S cold," he whispers first, complaining facetiously first. His throat moves afterward. "You shouldn'a come."

Sonny does what he can to move the external injuries out towards the skin where they're easier to treat and will heal faster. Not to mention less painful, though the actual transfer process stings and pricks. He works meticulously and with a high degree of focus, pausing between injury shifts to tend to the new cuts and bruises that appear.

"Oh, I couldn't stay away. I couldn't let you have all the fun, hmm?" He chuckles, but it's meant to reassure Teo rather than an expression of his own honest emotion. "Do…you want to tell me what happened?" It really is a question. He's always told Teo that he won't ask questions about what he does. It's safer. But then, it would have also been safer for him if he'd stayed in Manhattan.

Blegh. Teo's mouth is dry. His hands flip around like fish, either gesturing to inform his boyfriend that he's being dumb or out of flinching protest to the sensation of his skin and its sundry injuries eroding; alternately, he's ticklish and Sonny's grip on his foot, moving his knee up, the better to reach the skin behind his calf. Docility is a learned trait for him, and his concentration isn't at its best.

It might be more for distractions than any kind of need to share or progression of logic that he answers, haltingly, a mumbling rasp. His lips are pressed together, wavering between a smile and an equally petty grimace. "J'ss some crime boss trying t' send a message. Think I— we—" It would be hard to explain who we were. Teo conveniently forgets that he wouldn't have, anyway, "scared him. Asking qu—" another cough, low in his throat. "Questions.

"Wrong place, wrong time. 'S all."

"You have a knack for that," says Sonny. It's half longsuffering, half fond, with a dash of worry thrown in. Now that most of the more serious injuries have been moved, the doc draws the blanket up over Teo and reaches into his bag for a bottle of water. "Did they give you any meds? Here, sit up and have a drink." He holds the water up close to Teo's mouth. He'll let the other decide whether he wants to hold it himself or trust the doc to tip some in to his mouth.

He gives Teo a long, watchful look, his lips set into a thin line, his gaze firm and serious. "I want to help. Whatever it is you're here to do, I want to help you. Because I know you're stubborn and if your job isn't done, you're not going to leave. And I'm not going home without you."

Fortunately for Teo, he's secure enough in his masculinity to be good with letting somebody else do the work. "Mmhuh. Pain p'lls." He bends his neck up to get his mouth aligned toward the bottle; rumbles annoyance when some mineral water spills anyway, flecking his skin with clear blobs, sending the line of his neck and shoulder seizing up instantly into goosebumps. The drink is so welcome that he fails entirely to notice Sonny giving him a Significant Look. When he actually makes his ultimatum, Teo is taken completely by surprise.

There's no elegance to it. Splutter, spray, and the back of his arm goes to his bruised mouth to stop his next swallow from reversing up through his nose or onto the newly smoothed linens. "Wh—" hack. He blinks, exhales a mist that's more liquid than vapor, and gets halfway upright, onto his elbow. Stares incredulously. "Are you fucking serious?"

"I am fucking serious," says Sonny. "I'm tired of coming in to pick up the pieces and patch things up, but otherwise sitting on my hands while you're out here risking your life. It tears me the hell up when I find you like this and I could've done something to prevent it." From the conviction in his voice, the doc's thought this through.

His eyes flick away, then back to settle on Teo. There's more than one stubborn Italian in the room. "Whatever it is you're doing over here, I can help. I have more control over my ability now. No one knows it's me, so my father's career and my own reputation is safe. That was the reason I never got more involved before. It was too hard to change my face, but that's not a problem now."

Okay. What. What is up with the attitude? Teo doesn't get it. He's supposed to be the great argumentor between the two of them. He had a sibling to practice with and is indigenous to Sicily besides. His face is all bent up in consternation, his brow now inverted away from simple surprise, complicated by frustration and his own overcapacious capacity for worry. Refreshingly, he even begins to turn red again, underneath the pastel palette of bruises overlaying his fair features.

Breathe in, breathe out. In, and out. He squeezes his eyes shut, wrenches them open again. Water slides down his arm and dabs a dark spot on the linens. "I'll — fucking — go home with you," he exhales, finally, pressing his gaze at Sonny's face. "Take a couple days off. That's fine. It makes sense. I can't…" take a punch like this, he thinks but doesn't say. "I'll ask Anne to take us. Okay?"

"Teo…" Sonny feels pangs of guilt. Like he's dropped a bomb. That's the way it seems to work. He thinks things are big, but they're small compared to the things in Teo's world. He turns and walks towards the door. After a little bit of looking around, he finds a heavy table and slides it in front. Then he paces to the window and draws the curtains closed tightly. There. It won't prevent superhuman interruption, but it should forestall a Three's Company moment.

That done, the face of Connor Kinney melds away, into the dark-skinned, curly-haired Italian of his true self. Then he walks back to Teo's bedside and kneels down so that they're eye to eye. He reaches out and gently brushes a hand over his porcupine head, surgeon's hands stroking gently. "I still want to help you," he says quietly. "I feel like…you're fighting a war by yourself. And you shouldn't have to."

The things in Teo's world aren't that big, and he knows it. His year with Phoenix and a full human lifespan would be equally within the limits of a single heartbeat of the Earth, and almost as insignificant in the timeline of modern civilization. None of that matters, particularly, because Abigail Beauchamp, Alexander Knight, and his precious, jealously guarded fistful of others matter to him.

Unhelpfully, Sonny's managed to insinuate himself into that coveted knot in his metaphorical palm. "'M not."

He turns his face away from the overhead glare of fluorescent ceiling panels, his inner-arm over his face, neither evades nor visibly responds to the touch to the bristly roof of his head. "'M not alone. There are all— there are a lot of fucking people. Some 'f them nearly died for —" his lips find a flat line. "There's just— there's nothing you can do that you can't do from or on Manhattan. Changing faces. You're being stupid."

"Tay…" Sonny slides his other hand along the curve of Teo's neck and cups his chin. "Hey," he tugs the other Italian's chin gently. "How would you feel if you were in my shoes, hmm? If you had to sit aside and not know what I was doing, but knew it was something that was most likely going to get me hurt, if not worse?"

The doc inhales through flared nostrils and lets his eyes drift closed. He's silent for a few minutes, happy to touch, to be reassured that the young man under his hands is still in one piece. "I…want to know what you're doing. I'm tired of not. I know I've always said it was for my own safety, but the truth is, it was easier not to know. Easy means detached."

Dulled, medicated, pain nevertheless still manages to reverberate through to where the Sicilian can feel it. The whole thing is giving him a headache. That's his excuse for covering his face up, anyway. Hard light does nothing for over-strained optic nerves.

Unfortunately, now Sonny is pulling at his head and bruises make clamping down a painful endeavor; he skews his hand away, blinks up at the good Doctor with what would have passed for a carefully neutral expression where he comes from. In New York, he just looks grim, the silent kind, meeting Sonny's eyes the same way he would meet a gauntlet: unwaveringly. It's all he can do, though. He doesn't have his brain together, can't find the words.

Salvatore wasn't supposed to get attached. Not like this.

Something about that look stings him. Sonny couldn't say why exactly, or what transpired here. Everything always works out in his head when he makes these plans, makes these decisions. But Teo has a marvellous talent for derailing all of it, whether it's for a break-up or for this. He withdraws slowly, averts his eyes. He stands and picks up his backpack. "I'll leave you some medication. I don't know what they have you on, and I don't trust it not to be laced with something. I'll…" he moves towards the door to shove the table out of the way. "…stay for a day or so, in case you need anything. Then I'll get back to Manhattan." He runs a hand through his hair as it transforms into the straight, brown lengths that belong to Connor Kinney.

By the time the table's legs are finished scraping and screeching out of the way of Sonny's escape route, there's an unsteady slap-slap of bare feet coming up behind him. Teo is wearing his blanket like a cape and his victory like it shames him. Which it does. Because it should. A naked arm bends around Sonny's waist, clumsy fingers rabbiting up the lapel of his coat, searching for and failing to find enough purchase to make his half-embrace strong. Instead, unavoidably, it's weak.

Warm, though. For all that Teodoro is always terrified of the cold, his metabolism and circulation make him a human furnace; comfortable to sleep beside in the winter, difficult to remain close to during the summer. "Where?" the monosyllable scratches out lackadaisically. He ends up leaning more of his weight onto Sonny's back than he had intended. "Where're you staying?"

Sonny's body stiffens with surprise at the contact, then he relaxes, shoulders dropping. He closes his eyes and sets his jaw. A hand snakes up to lay against Teo's cheek. "I don't know," he murmurs. "Wherever it looks the safest. I have enough money on me that I can buy my safety. For a night at least."

Then he starts to turn around, carefully, so that he doesn't unbalance the young Italian. "C'mon now, get back into bed." His bedside manner has clicked on again as a defese, a wall behind which to hide his own feelings for the sake of the patient. And Teo is a patient right now. He's not selfish enough to push the argument after the trauma he's clearly been through.

Fff. Teo could take it. He's Teo. If he isn't half the way to dead, he isn't doing his job right, and the only state to fight in is a bad state. Or something. Standing up, swaying, and holding onto his boyfriend constitutes all the bravado that he is physically and psychologically capable of right now.

When the doctor turns around, his patient fails entirely to get the hint; practically self-automated, his other arm slides around to finish the circle around Sonny's waist, leaving the panel of linen to skew haphazardly down his shoulder, threaten to fall. "Should stay with the Ferry," he replies unevenly, his nose underneath the other man's ear and eyes covered in hair about as smooth and dark as quality coffee. "That just throw money at it attitude's j'ss gonna get you in trouble."

"Someone might come in," murmurs Sonny. He reaches down and tugs the sheet up and around Teo, as much for heat as for the sake of modesty. But he doesn't pull away. He slides his arms around too, careful not to squeeze too hard and pop the various stitches. He closes his eyes and exhales a held breath.

"I could stay with the Ferrymen. But…I don't know if I have the energy to play Connor all the time. At least at a hotel, I could relax." A beat, "But…I suppose that's the better idea. It really is a mess over here isn't it? I had no idea," he murmurs, lips pressing gently at an unmarred bit of skin on Teo's neck. That's what happens. He sees reports like his father does. He rarely sees the real thing.

That's the way it is supposed to be. Teo's eyelids crease with the effort of not doing something, or of merely doing nothing. His stitches scratch at the undersides of Sonny's arms, coarse, sandpaper and the lines of his tall frame hold still, linen coccoon renewed and secured by his lover's hands and arms. "I've…" he swallows, audibly, and tilts his head to look at the door through one indifferent blue eye. Someone could come in. Maybe they could do him a favor and die shortly afterward. "'Ve lost about eight people these past month 'r so.

"Guess how many 'f them I managed to get back?" He is trying to explain, after a fashion. Either explain his objection, refusal, withholding, or in slow and difficult effort to withhold a little less. Maybe both.

Sonny is admittedly less edgy about the door now that he looks like Connor rather than himself. There's little risk in being outed in the guise of a fake person. "You…seem to walk around with all this weight on your shoulders, Tay. Who's putting it there? Is it you?" He squeezes very gently and angles his body in such a way that the young Italian can easily lean against him for support.

"I can take care of myself. M'a big boy. One way or another, I'm climbing down out of my castle. Whether that's helping you or giving speeches, or both, I'm going to be more involved. I'm going crazy on the sidelines here. I feel so…useless." And for a doctor with a dose of that oh-so-famous god complex, it's nearly unbearable.

That's the way it is supposed to be. Teo's eyelids crease with the effort of not doing something, or of merely doing nothing. His stitches scratch at the undersides of Sonny's arms, coarse, sandpaper and the lines of his tall frame hold still, linen coccoon renewed and secured by his lover's hands and arms. "I've…" he swallows, audibly, and tilts his head to look at the door through one indifferent blue eye. Someone could come in. Maybe they could do him a favor and die shortly afterward. "'Ve lost about eight people these past month 'r so.

"Guess how many 'f them I managed to get back?" He is trying to explain, after a fashion. Either explain his objection, refusal, withholding, or in slow and difficult effort to withhold a little less. Maybe both.

Sonny is admittedly less edgy about the door now that he looks like Connor rather than himself. There's little risk in being outed in the guise of a fake person. "You…seem to walk around with all this weight on your shoulders, Tay. Who's putting it there? Is it you?" He squeezes very gently and angles his body in such a way that the young Italian can easily lean against him for support.

"I can take care of myself. M'a big boy. One way or another, I'm climbing down out of my castle. Whether that's helping you or giving speeches, or both, I'm going to be more involved. I'm going crazy on the sidelines here. I feel so…useless." And for a doctor with a dose of that oh-so-famous god complex, it's nearly unbearable.

Standing up takes work. Teo permits himself to be lazy, tilting, partial repose, distinctly at odds with the young man that Sonny apparently thinks he is, not that he actually expects Sonny to think of it that way. "One," he answers, belatedly. "I got one 'f them back." And he's only known the vast majority of them for — six months; somehow, the insult of loss is larger than that, wrong size, wrong shape, and he can't tell whether that's a correct and proper function of accepting a some actual responsibility or because he's that Catholic kind of crazy.

Teo knows himself, but he's never particularly excelled at self-analysis. Salvatore's — Connor's — observations and queries elicit a scowl that the other man can feel on the side of his face more than he can see: disagreement. "'S a bad month for Phoenix. We're all like this," he mumbles, with a reasonable facsimile of conviction. "You don't want a part of it. You don't have the time. Wha' speeches?"

"I have a feeling that whatever you're doing with your time is more worthwhile than what I'm doing with mine," mutters Sonny. He exhales slowly and rests a gentle kiss on an unbruised portion of Teo's cheek. "Why don't you want me to help, Tay? It's gotta be more than just keeping me safe. My life isn't exactly danger-free. I feel like I get kidnapped and forced into doing a face-change at least once a month." Not quite that bad, but it does feel like it. There's been four in the past two or three months, one of which he can't remember, granted.

A slow breath. "This…Humanis First crap. Someone's gotta be the voice on the other side. People might listen to me."

Blah blah, woof woof. Words are hard. Befuddled by smooth hands and a lot of medicine, Teo occupies himself with accepting chaste kisses and hiding his head in the side of Sonny's throat for the time being, feeling the reverberation of the other man's voice and Adam's apple into his forehead and closed eye. He knows about the one Sonny can't remember. "'S different.

"Getting kidnapped and doing face-changes and put back where you started's one thing. Gett'n' shot in the face, drowned inna river, arrested, or maimed by quei figli di—" Losing English isn't the sign of a coherent and convincing argument, so he aborts briefly. The crook of his elbow tightens around Sonny's back. "You don't like making speeches. Tha'll be enough stuff to practice won' it? I mean, what d' you want to do over here? Learn t' throw a punch? Wire a bomb?"

Sonny gently rocks back and presses his weight against Teo to urge him back towards the bed. "I'm a decent actor and I can change faces on the fly. I'd be handy for infiltration. I could just grab the face of someone in passing and blend right in. And you're right…" He pulls back enough to look Teo in the eye, even if his own aren't their usual colour. "It is different. I'm a doctor, Teo. I can be here to patch up anyone who gets hurt right away. Instead of relying on a shady place like this." He squints around the room and wrinkles his nose.

On behalf of their drab surroundings, Teo feels a slight itch of defensiveness. He lets himself be walked backward, accidentally steps on the corner of his linen cape while he goes, but fortunately his wobbling step lacks the strength to peel it off. Below the slight itch of defensiveness there is enough raw neurosis to almost throw up.

Infiltration. It's probably worse that all the convenient powers and basic skill sets are there; makes it easier to overlook the horrifying logistics of sneaking in on anyone worth a deep espionage project, and all the things Sonny would see, have to know, and, and—

Teo's butt bumps into the bed and he sits on it, more by reflex and off-center of balance than by choice. He looks up, pallid eyes studying dark ones opposite. "Hey," he says, blank as if he had just thought of it, brain-mouth filter momentarily circumvented. Clumsily, he releases Sonny's waist and tugs at the sheet around his tattooed shoulders. "Would you even still like me 'f I wasn'…"

"…if you weren't a swashbuckling terrorist?" The edges of Sonny's lips twist upwards into a genuine, warm smile. "Baby, I'd want you if you were an accountant or an underwear model. Remember, I didn't really know what you were into when…" when the very odd and wandering path of their hookup began. "If I met you at one of my fancy-ass parties, I'd probably throw caution to the wind and drag you into the coat-check room." His tone is wry, deeply fond. His hand rubs over Teo's scratchy scalp.

He drops to his knees and rests his arms gently on Teo's. Like a dog. "This…" he says, to indicate Phoenix. "…is such a huge part of your life. And I don't know shit about it. I want to. 'Cause…and this…" he laughs a bit awkwardly. "…this is going to sound really sappy, but I wanna know you better. I don't know any of your friends. There's a whole chunk of the life of Teo Laudani that I'm blind to."

There's either some self-deception or a lie there, Teo thinks. If they'd met on similar terms at one of Sonny's fancy-ass parties, he'dve had to be thrown out, because he was drunk and being an unrepentant asshole so that's what a good host would do. Also his legs are too thin to pull off underwear model stuff. Possibly he's being too literal about this.

The fingers on top of his head make his mouth smile despite himself, eyes go drowsy. He pulls his cape closer and rubs his toes on Sonny's belly, through the fabric of clothing. "Kinna wish I was," Teo says, though appropos of which part probably remains unclear. He's talking about being an accountant. He turns the word sappy over in his head a few times. It sounds really something, but he doesn't think sappy is it.

"So." His throat moves, he rubs his eye like a sleepy tot, continues tumbling down the trend of not thinking because he can excuse it with just checking. "What. You want to join up?"

The funny thing is, Sonny saw Teo the asshole the first night they met, and he's made only rare appearances afterwards. Just like Sonny the vain bastard. It's up for debate whether that means they were being more or less like their real selves.

He rubs a hand over the side of Teo's thigh, careful to avoid spots where he saw stitches or bruises earlier. "Mmmmm…" he murmurs thoughtfully. "I'm not saying I want to get in firefights with the forces of evil, but…" He sits up a little so that they can meet eye to eye. His body language doesn't suit his face at the moment. "I want to help you do the shit you need to do. If you blow up my clinic, I'll have more time." A slow smile spreads. He still likes the idea of sticking a bomb up the ass of the symbol of his conformity to high society.

Long after analytical thought and practical paranoia desert Teodoro, guilt remains. He finds time to frown at himself for thinking, first and last and slices of apprehension and regret between, that Phoenix simply can't afford to turn down help right now.

Teo's choice of conceits keep him humble: the idea that he is a bastard makes him doubt, listen, think.

Though he is in no kind of state to do thinking right now, honestly. "J'ss do' want to take advantage of you," he announces, after a moment, turning away from that eerie disjunct of face and familiar posture. "'S not the kind of thing mos' people can just walk off later." Finally, he picks up his feet, starts to settle on the bed in a lumpy burrito roll of cheap cotton and shaven head. His skull hits pillow with an audible thump that probably isn't painless, and he twists his head, a lucent blue eye blinking out against the thing's fat folds. "'Ll see what Phoenix thinks 'n' let you know."

"If it works, tell them Kinney is a metamorph. That won't fool anyone who's met me, but it should at least stop every member from knowing what's up." Sonny tugs up the blankets and tucks them around Teo. Then he glances to the door, watches it for a moment and takes a deep breath. There's a ripple and when he looks back, his face has shifted to his own again. He leans in to kiss very gently, but not precisely chastely. He lets it linger for a moment, to taste the lips he's obviously missed. Regretfully, he draws back. "You get some sleep. I'll be back to check on you later. I'll see what I can do about getting you moved out of here to somewhere safer."
Activity In 1 String Theory 08:10 PM

With Eileen's pigeon hordes and some reasonably sympathetic shape or form of Sylar wandering around here, Teo isn't sure how all that much safer he could get. Still, he appreciates the more easily-advertised and accessible characteristics that sanctuary usually bears, knows his idea of danger is probably a little skewed, and also he isn't about to object verbally because his lover just employed one of the more tried and true methods of shutting him the Hell up.

There's a little snik of air pressure disengaging, a reluctant tilt back, jaw away, and the face peeking out of the pillow shows a big stupid boy-smile, white with mint. It won't last, but while it does, it is complete and unequivocal, heartfelt. "M'kay. Grazie, Sala."

If he knew some form of Sylar was anywhere near Teo, Sonny'd learn how to deform people at a distance really fast.

He can't help it. That stupid grin is contagious and he can't resist leaning in for another quick set of kisses. Every time he starts to draw back, he feels the urge to move in again. But a bang out front reminds him that someone could walk in at any moment. So he draws back and yet again morphs his face back into that of the disgraced doctor. He does linger long enough to squeeze the young Italian's hand. "I'll see you soon, okay?" And then he's gathering up his things and tugging open the door.

Under the sheet of linen, Teo curls a hand over his ribs; his eyes go half-mast, and he murmurs a second, final salutation before rolling his face deeper into his pillow. Worst case scenario goes something like one out of nine. The best…

Eggs, basket. Teo shuts his eyes.

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February 27th: Yellow Cage
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