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Excuses, Excuses
Right - here's my second bit of Heroes fic. It's also crack, which probably tells you something about my state of mind. ;p

Title: Excuses, Excuses
Author: Goldie_Girl
Rating: PG-13 (again, probably closer to a PG)
Characters: Mohinder/Sylar
Warnings: Crack. Unremitting crack. Yes, I’d have to call this thing truly bizarre; I swear, one of these days I’ll actually write some hot porn, but at the moment all my plot bunnies are the kind that wear strange hats and giggle menacingly when you glance at them.
Summary: Sylar wants Mohinder (and not just for his brain!) Mohinder wants Sylar, but is having trouble getting past the whole serial-killer thing.
Author’s Notes: This is the second bit of Heroes fic I’ve written (the other piece was also crack). I intended to write this a couple of weeks ago, but was interrupted by the necessity of defending my honours thesis, so I didn’t get a chance to work this out until now. As such, it’s probably mildly AU in terms of continuity (but then it’s crack, so continuity really isn’t a major concern). Comments make me happier than a happy thing in happy land.



Sylar was in a terrible mood. His last encounter with that floppy-haired empath had left him with a lingering headache, and a surprise Mother’s Day visit to Mommy had not gone as planned.

“Should have brought flowers,” he muttered, shaking his head.

He was beginning to seriously rethink this whole serial-killer thing. Right now, though, his major concern was with one missing geneticist: tall, pretty, and with all the self-preservation instincts of a clinically depressed lemming. He was considering making up signs, if his attempts to paint Mohinder’s whereabouts didn’t bear fruit any time soon.

The clouding in his eyes faded as he stared down at the paper he had been scribbling on, and a crooked smile spread across his face.



Mohinder was also having a rather awful day. His attempt to dial 9-1-1 quietly had failed miserably, and he was feeling very discouraged. For one thing, despite the whole serial-killer-who-murdered-his-father thing, he couldn’t quite seem to shake the embarrassing urge to jump on Sylar whenever he was in the vicinity. Much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, it was definitely not a selfless, desperate, “I’ll beat you to death you bastard” sort of instinct; that would have involved less licking.

“Damnit,” he said to himself, “And now that I know who he is, there’s no way I can possibly justify banging him into next Tuesday unless I use it as a distraction and kill him immediately afterwards. Then cuddling would be out of the question.”

He sighed, shaking his head sadly. What a disastrous situation. Of course, his feelings for Sylar were not entirely uncomplicated; Mohinder was also quite annoyed with him. Being pinned to ceilings was not his idea of a good time (at least, not without first establishing a safe word and some serious boundaries). Not to mention the business with his father! He’d already had more daddy issues that his therapist could handle, and now he had an avenging-son complex on top of them! Overall, it was beginning to look a little bleak.

His musing was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. He certainly wasn’t expecting anyone – quite the opposite, as he had gone to this particular dingy hotel with the intention of hiding out – and it was with some trepidation that he opened the door.

There stood Sylar, nervously clutching a bunch of daisies.

“I picked these for you,” he said, his crooked smile creasing his lips.
Mohinder stared at him, stunned, and then asked quietly, “Are you here to kill me?”

Sylar blinked in confusion.

“What? Oh. No. Not today.”

An expression of bewilderment spread across Mohinder’s face and made itself at home there.

“Then why have you come?” he asked.

Sylar grinned again.

“It’s our anniversary!” he exclaimed cheerfully, gesturing expansively with the flowers.

Mohinder yelped, dodging the wildly waving daisies.

“What?” he asked, staring at Sylar’s head to see if he could detect any signs of recent trauma that could have led to such bizarre behaviour.

“It’s exactly three weeks ago that we met! Well, that I met you. You didn’t exactly know who I was at the time, but still. I brought you flowers!”

The bewildered expression on Mohinder’s face was getting more comfortable by the minute.

Sylar continued, “And I know you were a bit upset with me the last time we talked, so I thought these might make it up to you.”

Sylar thrust the daisies forward, pushing them into Mohinder’s arms. Mohinder continued to stare at him, eyes wide.

“You brought me flowers. To make up for brutally beating me and then pinning me to the ceiling.”

Sylar nodded encouragingly.

“Do you like them?”

“You killed my father!”

Sylar’s face fell.

“You don’t like them?”

“You killed my father.”

“Well, yes. But it was very quick! He hardly screamed at all! Besides, I’ve killed tons of people. I killed my own mother!”

“You’re really not helping your case here.”

Sylar looked thoughtful for a moment, and then smiled cunningly at Mohinder.

“Would it make any difference if I told you I wasn’t really in control of my actions, and that I’ve decided to reform?” he asked.

Bewilderment gave incredulity a call and they both danced across Mohinder’s face.

“You can’t be serious,” he said.

“But I am! And most of the things I’ve done weren’t really me! I think I might have a split personality,” said Sylar, nodding hopefully.

“You’re kidding.”

“Cross my heart!”

Bewilderment and incredulity exited stage left in favour of a hopeful smile.

“So… you really won’t be killing people anymore?” Mohinder asked.

“Right.”

“And… it really wasn’t your fault in the first place?”

“Exactly.”

“So if I have sex with you, repeatedly, in an incredible variety of positions, with a safe word if necessary, right now, I really won’t be doing anything wrong.”

Sylar smiled an unnervingly familiar smile.

“You read my mind,” he said.

“Right,” said Mohinder, “Just let me put these flowers in some water.”

And they had ridiculously hot sex for many years to come, Mohinder got a job at the local university, and Sylar was so contented that he only occasionally killed people (and always felt slightly guilty, if only for the sad-puppy eyes that Mohinder gave him whenever they saw a news report of a murder victim with a missing brain).