Participants:
| Scene Title | Now A Gentle Beast |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | … is how Felix describes the new and improved Sylar. Teo deliberately refrains from commenting, given his awareness about events not-yet-scened lolol accordion timeline sigh. |
| Date | March 18, 2009 |
St. Luke's Hospital is known for its high-quality care and its contributions to medical research. Its staff place an emphasis on compassion for and sensitivity to the needs of their patients and the communities they serve. In addition to nearby Columbia University, the hospital collaborates with several community groups, churches, and programs at local high schools. The associated Roosevelt Hospital offers a special wing of rooms and suites with more amenities than the standard hospital environment; they wouldn't seem out of place in a top-rated hotel. That said, a hospital is a hospital — every corridor and room still smells faintly of antiseptic.
Honestly, at the rate he's been going since he came back to New York, Fel should have a room of his own reserved. He all but does. AT the moment, he's lying in his hospital bed as the last rays of a spring evening slant in through his window. He's asleep, and it's peaceful, by the expression on his face. Of course, the IV of drugs isn't exactly detracting from this, by any stretch of the imagination. He's gaunt and weary, skin of his face slack with exhaustion, but there's none of that terrible translucence that's the evidence of a brush with Death.
A long-limbed shadow hangs over the edge of the bed, abruptly, cutting through the glare of the ceiling light with the fuzzily-defined edges of a young man's frame. Just looking. No touching. Promise.
Not even the floor, it seems: as much of a ghost as a terrorist is wont to be, his footfalls don't make much noise if any, circling around to the tray table at the foot of the bed. A rustle of paper on paper disrupts the slow air, fingers prying through charts, signed. He glances once at the doorway. Doesn't see the sentry: a good sign.
There are injuries it beggars the presiding doctor's imagination to describe. Laser beams. It's like practicing medicine in Metropolis. Fel makes a soft noise, opens an eye, blinks at Teo…..not apparently all that disturbed. If the kid intended mayhem, he'd've not been permitted to wake in the first place. "Teo," he says, drugs muting the surprise.
"Lazers?" Teo hadn't meant to ask out loud; the word is expelled in the same moment, almost the same level of volume as the his name is spoken, and both roll together, briefly, wallowing in the layered surf of his perplexity and conscious. Stranger things, but not by much. Wh—
His gaze flinches upward the next instant. His eyes are always pale, a kind that doesn't always manage to retain its own color independent of his surroundings refracted and reflected. The lifeless sterility of the hospital room makes them look more artificial than usual. Glass. A beat, and he turns around.
"Gabriel Gray is a man of many talents, even when he chooses to pull his punches," Felix says, with sleep-slurred mildness. "Which he did, and why I am here, rather than the morgue." He runs his tongue over dry lips, watches Teo with distant curiosity.
That token of information, however redundant it might have been, is enough to stop Teo from going away. It doesn't generally take much. He glances backward, his head turning by itself like a puppet's parts on a string. "I don't think you're going to get a medal," he says, a tone of either mild apology or joking. Hard to tell.
"I know. See how wet my pillow is with the tears I cried when I heard," This time it's not medicine that excuses the dryness in his voice. "I think I'll manage to go on, somehow." He lifts a hand bound about with IVs, monitors, but makes no gesture, gives no sign, just lets it fall limply.
The Sicilian makes a grunt of a noise that sounds suspiciously like disappointment, which may well be sincere. There are a lot of things Teo wouldn't mind if Felix would like. You know. Stop. There's half a grin for two seconds; none by the third. "Were you the lucky one, or did everybody get to walk — or get wheeled out of there alive?"
"He cut up a number of folks pretty badly, but I don't think we lost anyone," he murmurs. "HomeSec has him now." Fel's voice is oddly matter of fact. None of the triumph one might expect.
For all Teo's irises look like glass, his expression remains uncharacteristically, deliberately opaque and the furthest thing from cold. "Yeah?" His attention shifts gently past the shadowed walls, curtains, splits off toward the electrocardiograph and the white-green line squirming along the black window. He doesn't seem surprised, of course, but all things considered, he probably shouldn't be. "I can ask Abigail to see you if you want."
Fel merely nods. There's a sliver of a grin. "I already sent Leland to ask her, but thank you," he says, softly. "I'm surprised to see you here."
"You'll probably be angry next time, if there is one," Teo replies, his mouth tilting the other way: sheepishly. He's being purposely evasive, obviously; he doesn't like to have to be subtle about that if he doesn't have to.
It's not like Felix is in a state to lurch upright and kick the truth out of him right now, if Felix is ever in a state to demand anything from him that isn't simple as currency. Carnal. It's pretty convenient, being thought well of. "If I was just a little more of an asshole, I'd say 'I told you so.'"
"What, that Sylar is now a gentle beast, and of good conscience?" he says, arching a brow. "You did. You were right," he concedes, turning his hand over. "Angry why?"
There's a crook to Teo's grin that means, Not that. Not just that, but he doesn't elaborate out loud. About either thing, regrettably. "You know I can't tell you that," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets with an audible rasp of calluses against canvas. "Need anything else?"
No?
He's gone then, with a polite word of farewell and a wave, a salute of the door before it clicks quietly shut.
 March 18th: I Want Forever... On My Terms |
 March 18th: Look Who's Coming to Dinner |
