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Sylar takes in the sight of Mohinder with a healthy-sized gun in his hands, and he can’t help but wet his lips. His pupils are blown. Dirty images run through his mind, a dozen tempting proposals of what he wants to do to Mohinder right now; seeing Mohinder with a weapon always makes him want to remind him just how defenceless he really is. He can hide behind bullets all he wants. Compared to the evolutionary force of telekinesis, it means nothing.
“Stop it, Sylar,” Mohinder says, not even looking at him. His eyes scan the horizon for a bigger threat. “Try to focus.”
Sylar’s jaw clenches. There is no doubt that in any other situation Mohinder would happily turn that gun on him; in any other situation, Sylar would like to see how much Mohinder will bleed before he’ll scream. Right now, they have to put the survival of the species ahead of themselves. The monster they’re hunting would devour humanity whole given half a chance.
“When all of this over,” Sylar says, “I’d like to tear you apart.”
That finally gets Mohinder’s attention. Mohinder looks towards him, his eyebrows raised. That fierce resolve that Sylar had first been drawn to is shown clearly on his face. It’s a challenge and a promise, both at once. “You’re welcome to try,” Mohinder says.
Sylar has lost track of the number of times that he has threatened Mohinder or hurt him. They have been trapped in an endless cat-and-mouse game since long before they had even met. There are days when he loses track of whether he is the hunter or the hunted. For today, with the dark shadow looming in the sky, they find themselves on the same side of the battle for once.
It won’t last forever.
Watching Mohinder’s hands on his gun, Sylar can’t wait for their temporary truce to be over.