Mohinder likes this version of Zane, warmed up and in his element and confident. Maybe all it takes is a little time and encouragement, or maybe it is the influence of his ability, the certain knowledge that he's special, the control he's already developing over what had so unnerved him earlier this week.
Mohinder finds himself wondering, idly, what Zane is like onstage. This confidence must be a part of him that comes out in other circumstances, after all, for him to have sought a performance-related career, even if he's not a frontman. Maybe he can look up some videos of Zane's band once they've got wi-fi again--though where they're going, that might be a tall order. It's hardly as relevant right now as Zane's power is, in any case. Who needs grainy YouTube videos when he can just ask Zane to melt something and watch him grin like that in person?
He's more than glad to stop by the time Zane finds one of these weird kitsch bazaars, for all of those reasons, and he pulls in without hesitation. "All right. You go scout out anything you feel like you can work with, and I'll meet you inside once I'm done filling up. Be creative. You know your ability better than I do, but it can't hurt to push yourself a little."
With no thought at all that Zane Taylor might have a digital footprint and that Mohinder might fancy himself a sleuth, Zane gives the Indian a stupid little wave and heads inside. After a trip to the bathroom that feels like a speed bump to the fun he’s about to have, Zane grabs a basket to visit the expansive collection of items this pit stop happens to sell. There are all the things one might need for a road trip like automotive gear, neck pillows, contact lens solution, microwaveable burritos and bottles of water. But there’s a fair amount of strangely synthetic feeling clothes, inappropriate tee shirts, and beach balls.
Mohinder will find Zane frowning at a mannequin wearing a gilly suit, the red and black shopping basket in his hand filed with all sorts of things.
He looks up as Mohinder approaches and then shrugs, eyebrows lifting in amusement. “Hmmm,” he says, lifting up his basket. “So I got something ceramic, some glass, fabric, and some snacks.” Zane might have just housed two slices of pie and numerous cups of coffee but he still feels hungry. It’s worse when he’s using his abilities more, but his metabolism has gone through the roof since he discovered what he can do.
“Do you want anything special, Mohinder? There’s a whole wall of crazy flavored sodas and… I don’t know. Anything else I can demonstrate with?”
It will be a few hours more driving before they settle somewhere for the night but Zane is excited and flustered like it’s prom night and not just a cheap hotel room he can melt things in for a handsome researcher.
Mohinder, too, is eager enough to wish he could speed everything about this along until they get somewhere to do their experimentation, but the gas tank takes a lot of excruciatingly slow filling--enough to prompt a low growl of frustration, drawing a wary look from the woman at the pump next to him--and he can't put off the restroom either when he hasn't gone since Brooklyn and Zane's been plying him with tea and coffee all day.
Zane, at least, is well ahead of him by the time Mohinder wanders into the gift shop, side-eyeing a 'Virginia Is For Lovers' sweatshirt along the way and peering with great interest at the contents of the shopping basket.
"Yes, fantastic. I was thinking about something fabric too, but I'd have been willing to sacrifice an undershirt to the cause if I had to. Still might, if we want to save the money. You're still hungry?" The smile that punctuates this is just teasing, closer and friendlier to accompany a question he'd find just a shade too rude to ask someone he wasn't beginning to think of as a friend.
"Honestly, how do you stay in shape?" He looks Zane up and down--no lingering, not here and not like this, but visualizing nonetheless. It's a second before his scientific mind catches up and takes over.
"No, of course, it makes sense. There was a chapter about it my father's book; he was hypothesizing about a potential increase in caloric intake being necessary to fuel anything with a physical component to it. We ought to stock up for your sake, at least, but...I'm not even familiar with half this stuff. What even is a pork rind?"
Zane wants to feel flustered and so he allows it to show in his face and mannerisms when Mohinder compliments him. “Truthfully, it wasn’t like this before. I feel healthier. My eyesight’s gotten better and I always want to snack. I guess your dad was right. After I…you know…” He can’t help but play the idiot and lean in to conspiratorially whisper: “melt things” into Mohinder’s space. “I always want some sugar. But not pork rinds. Those are… You know what, you already have an abysmal view of American life so how about I don’t explain some of these things.”
He will grab several bags of chips though, topping off the basket. He could go for some ice cream, but Mohinder has complained twice now about the cold and they will only be moving into colder weather still as they reach Montana.
“Don’t worry about the money, Doc. And don’t ruin your clothes on my account. There should be towels and sheets to mess with.”
It’s becoming easy now to be this man with Mohinder. Zane had never been fortunate enough in his first life and maybe by portraying him, Sylar is honoring him somehow. Melting isn’t his favorite ability by far, but it will always be special for bringing Mohinder to him.
Despite not wanting to, Zane doesn’t complain too badly as they drive straight into the darkness. Going slow is fine, but they should actually be going somewhere on their road trip. The little motel waiting for them off of the main highway system is bright, it looks clean, and there are plenty of cars in the lot. “I’ll run in and get us two rooms,” he says, bringing two empty bags of chips with him to toss out.
Mohinder, with that box of Trix on his kitchen counter, is hardly one to judge Zane for a sweet tooth. Or, given his own cryptic warnings to the guy, for keeping his voice down when talking about his powers. Some of these side effects Zane mentions are ones Chandra has postulated, others--improved eyesight?--are novel and unexpected, and Mohinder raises his eyebrows with fascinated surprise.
"If you don't stop giving me new things to test, I'm going to get us pulled over for speeding."
But with some effort, he manages not to, even once they depart from the highway and find themselves winding through complicated built-up shopping centers and Mohinder has to stop chattering about Activating Evolution, Chapter 17 in order to focus on the printed-out directions. The motel they settle at could honestly be owned by Norman Bates for all he really cares right now, but it does look quite nice, and Zane's been generous enough with the food tab that Mohinder doesn't worry about being able to swing it.
His introverted side wins out over both his frugal and his scientific facets, and he doesn't suggest sharing a room. He'll insist on paying Zane back at some point, or maybe jump on the bill for the next set of rooms tomorrow, but it's been a long and head-spinning day and he'll want some solitude to think it all over at the end of it.
But not just yet. He gathers up what little luggage they've both brought along, their packing done in such haste and so spartanly that nobody walking past him would even assume he's carrying enough for two, and meets Zane by their neighboring doors.
"I think it's my turn to thank you," he says, reaching out for his room key. "For everything you've done so far today. For even returning my phone call in the first place. I don't know where I'd be if you hadn't." His fingers, still gloved, brush against Zane's as he takes the little envelope.
Though Sylar is not out to be a savior, he can appreciate Mohinder equating him, even briefly, to one. The geneticist will be beyond useful to him once he finds a way to find the others, and a willing participant is easier to manage than a terrified and hateful one. He thinks that it may one day come to that, as Mohinder will eventually notice that each of their finds becomes Sylar’s lunch, but he makes up his mind, stood here in the dark, that he will do his best to put off the inevitable.
In a bold move, Zane quickly wraps long, bare fingers around Mohinder’s gloved ones. “Honestly, I’ve been saying the same thing all day. I don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t called me first. I was scared. And I was alone.”
He can feel Gabriel’s coldness at the way he taps into the feeling of the man on the verge of ending his life.
“Maybe we can just say that we saved each other in a way. We make a good team.” He lets Mohinder’s hand go and clears his throat, shifting as if uncomfortable. “Give me an hour to get a shower and then we can start your experiments?”
He wants to play with his other abilities too. He needs to stretch them. But Mohinder can’t be around for that.
The little intake of breath as Zane's surprisingly deft fingers close around his hand gives more away than Mohinder wants it to, but there's nothing to be done about that. He looks slightly taken-aback that Zane doesn't want to get started right away, but it has been a very long day in a car that's more uncomfortable for someone Zane's height than Mohinder's, and an hour isn't so much longer to wait.
"Oh--sure, yeah, of course." Quickly, and a bit awkwardly, he disentangles Zane's bags from his own and sets them down. "Take all the time you need. You know where to find me."
Inside, finally, he has space to gather his scattered thoughts. A shower does sound really nice, a good long hot one to warm up, but before Mohinder lets himself indulge, he sets everything out that they could need for these experiments. A series of plastic grocery bags across the floor and the bed, bearing the logo of the gift shop; a shot glass with a picture of Mount Vernon on it; a little ceramic fridge magnet in the shape of a peanut; the pocket from one of his own thin cotton undershirts, snipped off with nail scissors in lieu of ruining any of the hotel's linen just yet. He'll cut the rest of it up if need be, or wear it with holes in it. It's a small price to pay if it helps develop an ability like this, or even just shows them concretely what the boundaries of it are.
It's easy enough after that to lose track of time in the shower, absorbed in thought. How many more stops can they make, after this Dale Smither? How is that even going to go? Better, he's sure, with Zane at his side than if he were alone, but his track record so far is still disheartening.
Better to focus on the positive, for now. Focus on what he has found, already beyond what he'd let himself dream of. Surely, surely Father would have to be pleased if he knew now what Mohinder had made of his work. Surely, if he were here, he would set the discouraging hostility aside, realize that his son didn't need protecting, be proud of him again like he'd been at Mohinder's dissertation defense.
--This is not focusing on the positive.
Not that it isn't its own kind of danger to focus on that, to think of the way Zane's eyelashes had fluttered and lips parted as he'd melted that fork to the diner seat. Perhaps that train of thought is best left alone as well, at least right now.
It is so good to tuck Zane away once the curtains to his room are closed and he’s dropped a bag of clothing that he knows won’t fit him right on the bed. Sylar stretches his arms out and everything under twenty pounds in the room lifts from where it sat. The lamp casts eerie shadows on the wall as it floats as far as its cord will let it. The remote control and coffee maker join it. Pillows and a ratty cushion on the chair by the door follow.
Sylar exhales through his nose and turns slowly to see each item. They all bring him such delight.
Normally, he’d destroy it all, letting them crash to the ground or pulverizing them with a flick of his fingers, but Mohinder is next door and he so desperately needs that man to keep his blood inside of his body for now.
When everything is back in place, Sylar sheds his clothing and enters the bathroom. He stares at himself long and hard in the mirror as he uses telekinesis to start the water running.
He’s attracted to you. Partially circumstances. Partially the melting. He must see something he likes though… The mirror fogs over before he comes up with an answer to that.
The hour is not yet up when a knock comes to Mohinder’s door. Zane’s hair is still wet, pieces hanging in front of his face. He’s wearing some sweat pants that thankfully are long enough to hit the ankle and a long sleeve shirt that barely covers the waistband. “Hey,” he says, big brown eyes directly on Mohinder’s face as soon as it comes into view. “Ready to get sta—“ He pauses mid word and looks over Mohinder’s shoulder before smiling in delight. “Great!”
The water is loud enough, and his train of thought preoccupying enough, that Mohinder might not have noticed if Sylar had opted to engage in some bolder telekinetic mayhem. He does, however, hear the knock at the door, and he is not shameless enough to answer it in a towel, so Zane is left waiting for a minute while he hastily dries off and yanks his undershirt and jeans back on. It doesn't feel like it's been an hour yet, but that can only be a good thing.
"Hi," he says, opening the door while still scrunching his hair dry with a hand towel, and that smile is shameless even if his level of undress is not. Sometimes the flirting happens on autopilot. And it is appealing, yes, looking him up and down, to see Zane even softer and more informal and relaxed like this. Mohinder quite likes this whole vibe. But there's work to be done.
"Yes, I took the liberty of getting us all set up. Come on." In his eagerness about...a lot of things about this situation, Mohinder takes Zane by the elbow and leads him over to the makeshift dropcloths.
"Now don't strain yourself, and don't get frustrated if something doesn't seem to be responding. There's likely to be at least one of these materials that simply can't be affected. We just don't know. I don't want you to be discouraged if that's the case."
Sylar does not like to be manhandled. He is surprised by the sudden grip to his elbow and his first genuine instinct is to shove Mohinder off of him with a little well directed telekinesis. Thankfully, the end of the world for them both is averted by Zane’s stomach protesting it’s lack of food. Maybe he’d gone a little too gung ho on the power usage earlier, but now, he is relieved for it to come back to bite him in a semi-embarrassing sort of way. Whatever darkness had clouded his face can be altered with puffed cheeks and a snort of mortification. He’d really hate to see Mohinder’s hair messed up anyway, now that he’s getting a good look at the loosened curls of inky black.
“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says, heading over to the phone by the bed. “Can I call in for pizza first? By the time it gets here, I’ll be starving!”
He has to admit that Mohinder is somewhat more thoughtful and organized than his father had been, and while he doesn’t want to hook Zane up to any machines (that he can see), the little testing areas make him feel all that more important. Mohinder is taking this seriously.
Since Mohinder likely won’t deny him, Zane already has the phone off of the cradle and glances at the numbers of various local businesses attached to the base with peeling tape. He doesn’t have high hopes for anything they’ll order. New York has the best pizza by far. It’s in the water. “Any toppings you’d like? Uh… I’m going to order a bunch. So don’t freak out.”
It has not once occurred to Mohinder that Zane could be dangerous to him in any way, or even that he could have any kind of a temper, because he's seen no indication of the sort. It still doesn't occur to him. But even Mohinder, in his frequent obliviousness, can pick up on the fact that he's done something he shouldn't have. Chastened, he lets go of Zane's elbow and takes a courteous step back out of the man's personal space. Maybe he's been wrong about what's going on here.
Hunger doesn't quite seem to account for whatever just happened, but he'll take the explanation (and the pizza) anyway.
"Um--" He shakes his head, regrouping. "That's fine, yes. It sounds like we'll need it if we're going to be doing a lot of testing." If Zane needs the fuel for melting things, it's probably best if they've got as many carbs on hand as possible.
"Can you get olives and mushrooms on half of one for me?"
“Olives….” Zane laughs, his shoulders relaxed again. He takes a seat on Mohinder’s bed and, still laughing, relays the order to the teenager on the other end of the line. Four large pizzas, one with Mohinder’s odd request, the rest with a variety, two dozen wings, and four orders of fries. Cheese sauce on the side.
He continues to play off the embarrassment as he hangs up and looks up at Mohinder with a much more Zane-like expression on his face. The look lingers for a moment before he jumps up, long limbs flailing for a moment until he’s on his feet. “Oh God, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to mess up your bed like that!”
He doesn’t clock that Mohinder had seen anything and is even mentally congratulating himself when he tries to tuck still damp hair away from his face.
“Uh…. So. So, where should I start? Is there some order or…. Do you need something to write with?”
That sure is a lot of pizza. But Zane is such a trim guy, even skinny, and Mohinder's honestly fascinated by the idea of a physical adjustment period like this after a power manifests. Once he's alone again, he'll be poring over his dad's book with a highlighter.
The hotel bed isn't his, and he hasn't used it yet except to spread plastic on it, so the flailing gets only a furrowed brow of confusion. "You didn't. It's fine. I don't care if you sit on the bed, I just wanted to keep...melted fluids from getting on the blankets." Why he feels the need to specify 'melted' there, he will not ponder in depth. Now that the naughty thrill from the diner has cooled off, he feels ever so slightly guilty about it and thinks they ought to do better, but...it's not a high priority.
There's not an abundance of options when it comes to places to sit, but once Mohinder has retrieved his laptop, he takes a seat in the flimsy little swivel chair by the desk and tries not to roll it over any of the bags on the floor.
"I've got my notes right here. Where do you want to start? Just do what inspires you."
Once again, Zane is struck by Mohinder’s general willingness to let him set the pace. He looks awfully confused for a moment, as if needing more parameters than that, but his eyes scan the objects set on their little plastic bags in the most appraising of ways.
He passes over the magnet and the piece of cloth to crouch instead by the little shot glass. Arms over his knees, Zane leans in, eyes narrowing. He could just…. Shatter this. Wouldn’t it surprise Mohinder? He could feign confusion and worry, surprise and curiosity—
No. It would absolutely ruin their current dynamic. Zane doesn’t want that. He’s still feeling Mohinder out, plotting the best way to gain his loyalty, and a mix up in their relationship would start them back to square one. Besides. His sudden multiplication of abilities was what turned Chandra off in the first place. He doesn’t need a repeat.
Swallowing, Zane sets his fingertip on the edge of the rim and holds it there. He glances up at Mohinder to make sure he’s a good distance away but can still see. “I can feel the parts shifting,” he says. “Getting excited. Merging together. It’s…” The glass turns to a puddle under his hand and Zane blinks. “Oh. I think I wanted that too much. Or maybe glass is just…easy.”
Mohinder leans forward in his chair as soon as Zane approaches the shot glass, laptop momentarily forgotten and breath unconsciously held with anticipation. This has not gotten old, and it's not likely to. Sylar, with his growing host of flashier powers, might have reason to find the melting unimpressive, but to Mohinder, it's performance and potential and validation all at once, one of the most extraordinary things he's ever seen, and it's going to take a lot to keep it from delighting him.
"There's no such thing as 'too much' here," he says, almost before Zane's finished the sentence. Zane's done nothing to strike him as someone to whom it would be dangerous to say a thing like that, but Mohinder, impulsive as always, isn't thinking like that anyway.
"And even if some things have easier-to-dissolve molecular structures than others, what does it matter? Don't you realize? With each new material you can affect, the potential applications of your power increase exponentially."
If he didn't have a laptop to juggle, or that slight newfound wariness about getting handsy, he'd be reaching out to Zane right now, but his eyes are sparkling even when he doesn't.
"You don't need to downplay this, Zane. You're allowed to feel like what you can do is incredibly special. It is."
Delighted is not the word for what he feels. Right now, Zane feels seen. And Sylar feels seen. Even Gabriel feels seen. A different sort of shadow passes over his face as Mohinder talks and Zane shifts his weight and posture to kneel behind the puddle of glass rather than crouch by it expectantly.
He listens to the praise without interrupting, hands rubbing across the tops of his thighs as if trying to dry them. Zane worries the inside of his lower lip with his teeth, head tilting, until Mohinder falls silent again.
“I thought I…. When this first came on, I thought I might be a bad person.” Fucking Gabriel. No. Out. “Like I was cursed. I was afraid to touch anything. Guess I still am.”
He lets his brows furrow. There is a potentially horrifying aspect to this melting power that Sylar can’t wait to try out, but he doesn’t say it. He lets the implication hang in the air though.
“I haven’t melting my clothes off. Or the car. So I guess that’s pretty good. I’m not trying to downplay anything, I just feel a little bad for the stuff I ruin.”
He looks at Mohinder expectantly. It’s pathetic, but that’s what he’s going for. Any attention is good attention.
This is the kind of thought process Mohinder has expected to encounter a lot of from the people on the List, to the point where he's composed and rehearsed a whole speech about it to give as and when necessary. I'm sure you must have lots of questions, so on and so forth. But there's a difference between the theory of that and the practice of it, and for all the hours they've spent together now, Zane deserves a bit better than rote reassurance.
He doesn't know anything about Zane's background, really. He's expected to find at least some people who would feel conflicted or guilty about their powers for religious reasons, but how to console them from that perspective is still a little beyond him. But Zane, at least, seems to have a less abstract set of worries, and thinking back to what his living room had looked like when Mohinder showed up, it's no wonder.
"I can imagine," he says, gently. "It must have been awful, destroying things without meaning to and not having any idea why." He doesn't ask if Zane had melted anything necessary or irreplaceable, but it seems unlikely, given that level of gooey puddled carnage, that he hadn't.
And the more gruesome implications don't escape him, either. So far, they've only tried to melt the inorganic. What happens if Zane tries to dissolve flesh, or bone? And what happens if he succeeds?
"But the amount of control you've learned in such a short time is...incredibly impressive. I mean it. I haven't seen you lose your grasp on it once. And considering that the car's rented in my name, if I trust you not to melt it, that ought to be some reassurance." Maybe a little bit of gentle teasing can help bolster things.
"And we haven't tried the fabric yet. Your clothes might well be completely safe."
Sylar already knows that nothing is safe from him. He had read it in Zane’s blood, in the way his genetics had coded his ability deep inside of his brain. He picked it up through his fingers. He knew it intimately, better than Zane himself likely ever could. That’s why he deserves these powers. They’re wasted on everyone else.
For a moment, Sylar wonders if he should throttle back on showing off. He could make Mohinder feel more comfortable if he played off being unable to melt organic material. He doesn’t need the spotlight—
Oh, who the hell is he kidding? He needs Mohinder’s thousand watt smile pointed his way at all times.
Even so, he does decide to slow it down. Zane gazes at the pocket, wets his lips, crinkles his forehead, and pretends he can’t feel the way the molecules in the fabric want to bend to his will. He strains until the veins in his neck stand out and he huffs and puffs with his breathing.
“I can feel it,” he whispers. He plays on the strain, bearing down to force himself to start sweating. “I almost…”. He allows a quarter sized piece of cloth to liquify before he sits back, hands up in his hair, feigning exhaustion.
Half of Mohinder's stated purpose for this trip is to guide these people with abilities and keep them safe; he's got a stethoscope and a first-aid kit among the incredibly few things he's bothered to bring with him, and he should--should--be telling Zane to take it slow and easy, not push himself so hard with something this new. He's supposed to be the scientific voice of reason here, making careful note of that unusual level of strain and telling Zane to stop and take a breather while they figure out what might be causing it.
But he doesn't. He closes the laptop, sets it on the desk, and slips off the chair to crouch next to Zane for a better look at the process. If Zane looks like he might injure himself, Mohinder will intervene, but he believes Zane when the man says he's close--and he is.
In all honesty, Mohinder hadn't actually expected the cloth part of the experiment to work out. He'd been pretty damn sure it would be useful only for delineating the boundaries of the power. But now, with that hypothesis out the window, he can't help but wonder what Zane can't do.
"Amazing," he murmurs, reaching out with wonderment to just touch the little puddle of what had been cotton. He doesn't think it will hurt him, and in this moment, he doesn't actually care.
“Mohinder, don’t—“ Zane says, but only because he ought to be worried. He knows it won’t hurt Mohinder, just like touching the cloth in its solid state won’t hurt him. The puddle isn’t hot. All he’s done is destabilize the molecules in the cotton enough to force air between them to turn them into a liquid. Melting, therefore, is not the proper term, but it’s the best they have to go with.
As if afraid his new friend is hurt, Zane takes Mohinder’s hand with the white coating of liquid cotton spandex on his finger and looks at it owlishly.
“How do you think it all stays liquid?” he asks, as if he’s astonished by what he’s seeing. Sylar knows the mechanism, knows what the ability is doing, and its limitations. For instance, he can’t do anything with the liquid matter once he’s dissolved the bonds. They’ll stay liquid, even if frozen. He’s fundamentally changed how the matter works as if it is always in the presence of a solvent. “Maybe this is a bad idea. I’m going to end up hurting you.”
Zane isn’t lying. Sylar has a tendency of ruining all good things. Mohinder’s blood will eventually coat his hands. He’ll regret it of course, but he is a scorpion. He can’t change his nature.
Then again, Mohinder’s shown some scorpion tendencies as well just then. His curiosity to see how something worked is so much like Sylar’s that the taller of them men aches to realize it.
Zane's concern brings Mohinder partway back down to earth, because that had been a potentially good way to lose a finger, and Mohinder likes to think he's usually more sensible than that. And it's hard not to feel more grounded with that large, warm, long-fingered hand closed around his own, forcing him out of his racing thoughts and back into the realm of the physical.
"I--I don't know," he says, to the question, because he's got a lot of theories, but none of them fully-developed enough to suggest just yet. God, he wishes he had a better array of sample containers with him, wishes there were a microscope here, anything that would let him study this in more depth instead of having to find something to wipe this fascinating liquid cloth on so that he can use his hand again. But if Zane could do it once, he can do it again.
Apparently, Zane doesn't think of this as a positive. Mohinder looks over to meet his eyes, realizing only just now how close their faces are.
"Why would you hurt me? And how?" He sits back against the bed, so that he can clasp Zane's shoulder gently with the hand that isn't still covered in white cotton goo.
It is unfortunate how very good Sylar’s imagination is. What could he possibly do to Mohinder? So, so many very terrible things. Zane tries to look guilty, a little dab of Gabriel will do that. He doesn’t shy away from Mohinder’s touch, but he does glance at the hand on his shoulder. “What if I get startled? I’ve never felt cloth get excited like that. Metal, plastic, yeah, those things have been speaking to me for days. They want to go liquid when I touch them. I can ignore it, it’s easy to ignore it because I don’t want to drink cup with my coffee, you know? But what if I’m not thinking about it and boom, you’re a puddle?”
He looks so earnest, though the idea inwardly makes him want to laugh.
“You should probably wash up. I don’t think you’ll get hurt by your own shirt-- And Mohinder, please don’t ruin your clothes just so I can ruin them further! I really do appreciate you, you’ve been….really great. Which again, you can’t be if you’re a puddle!”
The idea outwardly makes Mohinder laugh, even if it shouldn't. Something about the phrasing, and the wide-eyed look, and the fact that it still seems absurdly beyond the realm of possibility even if Zane's power does work on organic materials. Surely, of course, Zane would never want to do such a thing on purpose. And Mohinder hasn't seen any firsthand evidence that Zane lacks control to that extent.
"I appreciate the concern," he says warmly, and means it. "But given how hard you had to work to make that little bit of cloth melt, and how many different substances the human body comprises, I'm not terribly worried for my structural integrity."
He gets up, finally--reluctantly, even--and disengages his grip from Zane's shoulder with a last little pat.
"Besides," he calls from the bathroom as he washes his hands, "it always seems to take a few seconds at minimum for an object to start responding even when it's a material you're very familiar with. I imagine I'd have to start feeling something before it became too dangerous, and then I could just...move away, couldn't I?"
And of course, all of that presupposes that he and Zane would be touching for more than a few seconds at a time, but Mohinder leaves that unspoken.
While Zane is not trying to come at this from a romantic side and is instead attempting to give Mohinder a reason not to just touch him where he can not see him and without warning, he can see that it is beneficial to cultivate whatever warm feelings the scientist might have towards him. He’d learned this particular tactic from the Company early on. It is easier to manipulate someone when they like you.
Though he tells himself that is the only reason he actually wants Mohinder to come to care for him, Zane can not quite shake how nice it is to have a built in praise button with his traveling companion.
And, should Mohinder unlock the ability to find more people like him, the man will prove beyond a doubt his very best investment.
“Maybe…we should time it? Then you’ll know how long I’m safe to touch?” Zane hopes Mohinder will let his thoughts linger on that. He’s already seen the Indian’s reckless side and he wants to see more.
Mohinder had wondered, a little, if that had been Zane's reasoning for that earlier discomfort, but he doesn't want to pry, and Zane hadn't seemed to mind those friendly little touches before or since. It's an understandable concern, anyway. Mohinder will just be more cautious about it.
And cautious about the proposed experiments, too, after he'd gotten carried away with touching more than just Zane. The liquid on his hand is easy to rinse away, hasn't burned him or left any noticeable mark on his skin, and he'd known it couldn't have been hot or the other things Zane's melted would have caused more damage to their surroundings, but it's still worth putting a little more effort into the self-preservation here. He frowns, watching the cotton swirl down the drain.
"I don't know about that," he says, leaning on the bathroom doorjamb as Zane proposes more experimentation. "That would require you to be trying to dissolve me, wouldn't it? I do have faith that you can keep from doing it by accident, but let's not go overboard here." He's imagining that strange vibrating early stage of the power's effect, when the molecules are only just beginning to 'listen,' and realizing that he very much does not want that happening to his body, let alone anything more.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Mohinder finds himself wondering, idly, what Zane is like onstage. This confidence must be a part of him that comes out in other circumstances, after all, for him to have sought a performance-related career, even if he's not a frontman. Maybe he can look up some videos of Zane's band once they've got wi-fi again--though where they're going, that might be a tall order. It's hardly as relevant right now as Zane's power is, in any case. Who needs grainy YouTube videos when he can just ask Zane to melt something and watch him grin like that in person?
He's more than glad to stop by the time Zane finds one of these weird kitsch bazaars, for all of those reasons, and he pulls in without hesitation. "All right. You go scout out anything you feel like you can work with, and I'll meet you inside once I'm done filling up. Be creative. You know your ability better than I do, but it can't hurt to push yourself a little."
He doesn't think he needs to tell Zane that.
no subject
After a trip to the bathroom that feels like a speed bump to the fun he’s about to have, Zane grabs a basket to visit the expansive collection of items this pit stop happens to sell. There are all the things one might need for a road trip like automotive gear, neck pillows, contact lens solution, microwaveable burritos and bottles of water. But there’s a fair amount of strangely synthetic feeling clothes, inappropriate tee shirts, and beach balls.
Mohinder will find Zane frowning at a mannequin wearing a gilly suit, the red and black shopping basket in his hand filed with all sorts of things.
He looks up as Mohinder approaches and then shrugs, eyebrows lifting in amusement. “Hmmm,” he says, lifting up his basket. “So I got something ceramic, some glass, fabric, and some snacks.” Zane might have just housed two slices of pie and numerous cups of coffee but he still feels hungry. It’s worse when he’s using his abilities more, but his metabolism has gone through the roof since he discovered what he can do.
“Do you want anything special, Mohinder? There’s a whole wall of crazy flavored sodas and… I don’t know. Anything else I can demonstrate with?”
It will be a few hours more driving before they settle somewhere for the night but Zane is excited and flustered like it’s prom night and not just a cheap hotel room he can melt things in for a handsome researcher.
no subject
Zane, at least, is well ahead of him by the time Mohinder wanders into the gift shop, side-eyeing a 'Virginia Is For Lovers' sweatshirt along the way and peering with great interest at the contents of the shopping basket.
"Yes, fantastic. I was thinking about something fabric too, but I'd have been willing to sacrifice an undershirt to the cause if I had to. Still might, if we want to save the money. You're still hungry?" The smile that punctuates this is just teasing, closer and friendlier to accompany a question he'd find just a shade too rude to ask someone he wasn't beginning to think of as a friend.
"Honestly, how do you stay in shape?" He looks Zane up and down--no lingering, not here and not like this, but visualizing nonetheless. It's a second before his scientific mind catches up and takes over.
"No, of course, it makes sense. There was a chapter about it my father's book; he was hypothesizing about a potential increase in caloric intake being necessary to fuel anything with a physical component to it. We ought to stock up for your sake, at least, but...I'm not even familiar with half this stuff. What even is a pork rind?"
no subject
He will grab several bags of chips though, topping off the basket. He could go for some ice cream, but Mohinder has complained twice now about the cold and they will only be moving into colder weather still as they reach Montana.
“Don’t worry about the money, Doc. And don’t ruin your clothes on my account. There should be towels and sheets to mess with.”
It’s becoming easy now to be this man with Mohinder. Zane had never been fortunate enough in his first life and maybe by portraying him, Sylar is honoring him somehow. Melting isn’t his favorite ability by far, but it will always be special for bringing Mohinder to him.
Despite not wanting to, Zane doesn’t complain too badly as they drive straight into the darkness. Going slow is fine, but they should actually be going somewhere on their road trip. The little motel waiting for them off of the main highway system is bright, it looks clean, and there are plenty of cars in the lot. “I’ll run in and get us two rooms,” he says, bringing two empty bags of chips with him to toss out.
no subject
"If you don't stop giving me new things to test, I'm going to get us pulled over for speeding."
But with some effort, he manages not to, even once they depart from the highway and find themselves winding through complicated built-up shopping centers and Mohinder has to stop chattering about Activating Evolution, Chapter 17 in order to focus on the printed-out directions. The motel they settle at could honestly be owned by Norman Bates for all he really cares right now, but it does look quite nice, and Zane's been generous enough with the food tab that Mohinder doesn't worry about being able to swing it.
His introverted side wins out over both his frugal and his scientific facets, and he doesn't suggest sharing a room. He'll insist on paying Zane back at some point, or maybe jump on the bill for the next set of rooms tomorrow, but it's been a long and head-spinning day and he'll want some solitude to think it all over at the end of it.
But not just yet. He gathers up what little luggage they've both brought along, their packing done in such haste and so spartanly that nobody walking past him would even assume he's carrying enough for two, and meets Zane by their neighboring doors.
"I think it's my turn to thank you," he says, reaching out for his room key. "For everything you've done so far today. For even returning my phone call in the first place. I don't know where I'd be if you hadn't." His fingers, still gloved, brush against Zane's as he takes the little envelope.
no subject
In a bold move, Zane quickly wraps long, bare fingers around Mohinder’s gloved ones. “Honestly, I’ve been saying the same thing all day. I don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t called me first. I was scared. And I was alone.”
He can feel Gabriel’s coldness at the way he taps into the feeling of the man on the verge of ending his life.
“Maybe we can just say that we saved each other in a way. We make a good team.” He lets Mohinder’s hand go and clears his throat, shifting as if uncomfortable. “Give me an hour to get a shower and then we can start your experiments?”
He wants to play with his other abilities too. He needs to stretch them. But Mohinder can’t be around for that.
no subject
"Oh--sure, yeah, of course." Quickly, and a bit awkwardly, he disentangles Zane's bags from his own and sets them down. "Take all the time you need. You know where to find me."
Inside, finally, he has space to gather his scattered thoughts. A shower does sound really nice, a good long hot one to warm up, but before Mohinder lets himself indulge, he sets everything out that they could need for these experiments. A series of plastic grocery bags across the floor and the bed, bearing the logo of the gift shop; a shot glass with a picture of Mount Vernon on it; a little ceramic fridge magnet in the shape of a peanut; the pocket from one of his own thin cotton undershirts, snipped off with nail scissors in lieu of ruining any of the hotel's linen just yet. He'll cut the rest of it up if need be, or wear it with holes in it. It's a small price to pay if it helps develop an ability like this, or even just shows them concretely what the boundaries of it are.
It's easy enough after that to lose track of time in the shower, absorbed in thought. How many more stops can they make, after this Dale Smither? How is that even going to go? Better, he's sure, with Zane at his side than if he were alone, but his track record so far is still disheartening.
Better to focus on the positive, for now. Focus on what he has found, already beyond what he'd let himself dream of. Surely, surely Father would have to be pleased if he knew now what Mohinder had made of his work. Surely, if he were here, he would set the discouraging hostility aside, realize that his son didn't need protecting, be proud of him again like he'd been at Mohinder's dissertation defense.
--This is not focusing on the positive.
Not that it isn't its own kind of danger to focus on that, to think of the way Zane's eyelashes had fluttered and lips parted as he'd melted that fork to the diner seat. Perhaps that train of thought is best left alone as well, at least right now.
no subject
Sylar exhales through his nose and turns slowly to see each item. They all bring him such delight.
Normally, he’d destroy it all, letting them crash to the ground or pulverizing them with a flick of his fingers, but Mohinder is next door and he so desperately needs that man to keep his blood inside of his body for now.
When everything is back in place, Sylar sheds his clothing and enters the bathroom. He stares at himself long and hard in the mirror as he uses telekinesis to start the water running.
He’s attracted to you. Partially circumstances. Partially the melting. He must see something he likes though… The mirror fogs over before he comes up with an answer to that.
The hour is not yet up when a knock comes to Mohinder’s door. Zane’s hair is still wet, pieces hanging in front of his face. He’s wearing some sweat pants that thankfully are long enough to hit the ankle and a long sleeve shirt that barely covers the waistband. “Hey,” he says, big brown eyes directly on Mohinder’s face as soon as it comes into view. “Ready to get sta—“ He pauses mid word and looks over Mohinder’s shoulder before smiling in delight. “Great!”
no subject
"Hi," he says, opening the door while still scrunching his hair dry with a hand towel, and that smile is shameless even if his level of undress is not. Sometimes the flirting happens on autopilot. And it is appealing, yes, looking him up and down, to see Zane even softer and more informal and relaxed like this. Mohinder quite likes this whole vibe. But there's work to be done.
"Yes, I took the liberty of getting us all set up. Come on." In his eagerness about...a lot of things about this situation, Mohinder takes Zane by the elbow and leads him over to the makeshift dropcloths.
"Now don't strain yourself, and don't get frustrated if something doesn't seem to be responding. There's likely to be at least one of these materials that simply can't be affected. We just don't know. I don't want you to be discouraged if that's the case."
no subject
“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says, heading over to the phone by the bed. “Can I call in for pizza first? By the time it gets here, I’ll be starving!”
He has to admit that Mohinder is somewhat more thoughtful and organized than his father had been, and while he doesn’t want to hook Zane up to any machines (that he can see), the little testing areas make him feel all that more important. Mohinder is taking this seriously.
Since Mohinder likely won’t deny him, Zane already has the phone off of the cradle and glances at the numbers of various local businesses attached to the base with peeling tape. He doesn’t have high hopes for anything they’ll order. New York has the best pizza by far. It’s in the water. “Any toppings you’d like? Uh… I’m going to order a bunch. So don’t freak out.”
no subject
Hunger doesn't quite seem to account for whatever just happened, but he'll take the explanation (and the pizza) anyway.
"Um--" He shakes his head, regrouping. "That's fine, yes. It sounds like we'll need it if we're going to be doing a lot of testing." If Zane needs the fuel for melting things, it's probably best if they've got as many carbs on hand as possible.
"Can you get olives and mushrooms on half of one for me?"
no subject
He continues to play off the embarrassment as he hangs up and looks up at Mohinder with a much more Zane-like expression on his face. The look lingers for a moment before he jumps up, long limbs flailing for a moment until he’s on his feet. “Oh God, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to mess up your bed like that!”
He doesn’t clock that Mohinder had seen anything and is even mentally congratulating himself when he tries to tuck still damp hair away from his face.
“Uh…. So. So, where should I start? Is there some order or…. Do you need something to write with?”
no subject
The hotel bed isn't his, and he hasn't used it yet except to spread plastic on it, so the flailing gets only a furrowed brow of confusion. "You didn't. It's fine. I don't care if you sit on the bed, I just wanted to keep...melted fluids from getting on the blankets." Why he feels the need to specify 'melted' there, he will not ponder in depth. Now that the naughty thrill from the diner has cooled off, he feels ever so slightly guilty about it and thinks they ought to do better, but...it's not a high priority.
There's not an abundance of options when it comes to places to sit, but once Mohinder has retrieved his laptop, he takes a seat in the flimsy little swivel chair by the desk and tries not to roll it over any of the bags on the floor.
"I've got my notes right here. Where do you want to start? Just do what inspires you."
no subject
He passes over the magnet and the piece of cloth to crouch instead by the little shot glass. Arms over his knees, Zane leans in, eyes narrowing. He could just…. Shatter this. Wouldn’t it surprise Mohinder? He could feign confusion and worry, surprise and curiosity—
No. It would absolutely ruin their current dynamic. Zane doesn’t want that. He’s still feeling Mohinder out, plotting the best way to gain his loyalty, and a mix up in their relationship would start them back to square one. Besides. His sudden multiplication of abilities was what turned Chandra off in the first place. He doesn’t need a repeat.
Swallowing, Zane sets his fingertip on the edge of the rim and holds it there. He glances up at Mohinder to make sure he’s a good distance away but can still see. “I can feel the parts shifting,” he says. “Getting excited. Merging together. It’s…” The glass turns to a puddle under his hand and Zane blinks. “Oh. I think I wanted that too much. Or maybe glass is just…easy.”
no subject
"There's no such thing as 'too much' here," he says, almost before Zane's finished the sentence. Zane's done nothing to strike him as someone to whom it would be dangerous to say a thing like that, but Mohinder, impulsive as always, isn't thinking like that anyway.
"And even if some things have easier-to-dissolve molecular structures than others, what does it matter? Don't you realize? With each new material you can affect, the potential applications of your power increase exponentially."
If he didn't have a laptop to juggle, or that slight newfound wariness about getting handsy, he'd be reaching out to Zane right now, but his eyes are sparkling even when he doesn't.
"You don't need to downplay this, Zane. You're allowed to feel like what you can do is incredibly special. It is."
no subject
He listens to the praise without interrupting, hands rubbing across the tops of his thighs as if trying to dry them. Zane worries the inside of his lower lip with his teeth, head tilting, until Mohinder falls silent again.
“I thought I…. When this first came on, I thought I might be a bad person.” Fucking Gabriel. No. Out. “Like I was cursed. I was afraid to touch anything. Guess I still am.”
He lets his brows furrow. There is a potentially horrifying aspect to this melting power that Sylar can’t wait to try out, but he doesn’t say it. He lets the implication hang in the air though.
“I haven’t melting my clothes off. Or the car. So I guess that’s pretty good. I’m not trying to downplay anything, I just feel a little bad for the stuff I ruin.”
He looks at Mohinder expectantly. It’s pathetic, but that’s what he’s going for. Any attention is good attention.
no subject
He doesn't know anything about Zane's background, really. He's expected to find at least some people who would feel conflicted or guilty about their powers for religious reasons, but how to console them from that perspective is still a little beyond him. But Zane, at least, seems to have a less abstract set of worries, and thinking back to what his living room had looked like when Mohinder showed up, it's no wonder.
"I can imagine," he says, gently. "It must have been awful, destroying things without meaning to and not having any idea why." He doesn't ask if Zane had melted anything necessary or irreplaceable, but it seems unlikely, given that level of gooey puddled carnage, that he hadn't.
And the more gruesome implications don't escape him, either. So far, they've only tried to melt the inorganic. What happens if Zane tries to dissolve flesh, or bone? And what happens if he succeeds?
"But the amount of control you've learned in such a short time is...incredibly impressive. I mean it. I haven't seen you lose your grasp on it once. And considering that the car's rented in my name, if I trust you not to melt it, that ought to be some reassurance." Maybe a little bit of gentle teasing can help bolster things.
"And we haven't tried the fabric yet. Your clothes might well be completely safe."
no subject
For a moment, Sylar wonders if he should throttle back on showing off. He could make Mohinder feel more comfortable if he played off being unable to melt organic material. He doesn’t need the spotlight—
Oh, who the hell is he kidding? He needs Mohinder’s thousand watt smile pointed his way at all times.
Even so, he does decide to slow it down. Zane gazes at the pocket, wets his lips, crinkles his forehead, and pretends he can’t feel the way the molecules in the fabric want to bend to his will. He strains until the veins in his neck stand out and he huffs and puffs with his breathing.
“I can feel it,” he whispers. He plays on the strain, bearing down to force himself to start sweating. “I almost…”. He allows a quarter sized piece of cloth to liquify before he sits back, hands up in his hair, feigning exhaustion.
no subject
But he doesn't. He closes the laptop, sets it on the desk, and slips off the chair to crouch next to Zane for a better look at the process. If Zane looks like he might injure himself, Mohinder will intervene, but he believes Zane when the man says he's close--and he is.
In all honesty, Mohinder hadn't actually expected the cloth part of the experiment to work out. He'd been pretty damn sure it would be useful only for delineating the boundaries of the power. But now, with that hypothesis out the window, he can't help but wonder what Zane can't do.
"Amazing," he murmurs, reaching out with wonderment to just touch the little puddle of what had been cotton. He doesn't think it will hurt him, and in this moment, he doesn't actually care.
no subject
As if afraid his new friend is hurt, Zane takes Mohinder’s hand with the white coating of liquid cotton spandex on his finger and looks at it owlishly.
“How do you think it all stays liquid?” he asks, as if he’s astonished by what he’s seeing. Sylar knows the mechanism, knows what the ability is doing, and its limitations. For instance, he can’t do anything with the liquid matter once he’s dissolved the bonds. They’ll stay liquid, even if frozen. He’s fundamentally changed how the matter works as if it is always in the presence of a solvent. “Maybe this is a bad idea. I’m going to end up hurting you.”
Zane isn’t lying. Sylar has a tendency of ruining all good things. Mohinder’s blood will eventually coat his hands. He’ll regret it of course, but he is a scorpion. He can’t change his nature.
Then again, Mohinder’s shown some scorpion tendencies as well just then. His curiosity to see how something worked is so much like Sylar’s that the taller of them men aches to realize it.
no subject
"I--I don't know," he says, to the question, because he's got a lot of theories, but none of them fully-developed enough to suggest just yet. God, he wishes he had a better array of sample containers with him, wishes there were a microscope here, anything that would let him study this in more depth instead of having to find something to wipe this fascinating liquid cloth on so that he can use his hand again. But if Zane could do it once, he can do it again.
Apparently, Zane doesn't think of this as a positive. Mohinder looks over to meet his eyes, realizing only just now how close their faces are.
"Why would you hurt me? And how?" He sits back against the bed, so that he can clasp Zane's shoulder gently with the hand that isn't still covered in white cotton goo.
no subject
He looks so earnest, though the idea inwardly makes him want to laugh.
“You should probably wash up. I don’t think you’ll get hurt by your own shirt-- And Mohinder, please don’t ruin your clothes just so I can ruin them further! I really do appreciate you, you’ve been….really great. Which again, you can’t be if you’re a puddle!”
no subject
"I appreciate the concern," he says warmly, and means it. "But given how hard you had to work to make that little bit of cloth melt, and how many different substances the human body comprises, I'm not terribly worried for my structural integrity."
He gets up, finally--reluctantly, even--and disengages his grip from Zane's shoulder with a last little pat.
"Besides," he calls from the bathroom as he washes his hands, "it always seems to take a few seconds at minimum for an object to start responding even when it's a material you're very familiar with. I imagine I'd have to start feeling something before it became too dangerous, and then I could just...move away, couldn't I?"
And of course, all of that presupposes that he and Zane would be touching for more than a few seconds at a time, but Mohinder leaves that unspoken.
no subject
Though he tells himself that is the only reason he actually wants Mohinder to come to care for him, Zane can not quite shake how nice it is to have a built in praise button with his traveling companion.
And, should Mohinder unlock the ability to find more people like him, the man will prove beyond a doubt his very best investment.
“Maybe…we should time it? Then you’ll know how long I’m safe to touch?” Zane hopes Mohinder will let his thoughts linger on that. He’s already seen the Indian’s reckless side and he wants to see more.
no subject
And cautious about the proposed experiments, too, after he'd gotten carried away with touching more than just Zane. The liquid on his hand is easy to rinse away, hasn't burned him or left any noticeable mark on his skin, and he'd known it couldn't have been hot or the other things Zane's melted would have caused more damage to their surroundings, but it's still worth putting a little more effort into the self-preservation here. He frowns, watching the cotton swirl down the drain.
"I don't know about that," he says, leaning on the bathroom doorjamb as Zane proposes more experimentation. "That would require you to be trying to dissolve me, wouldn't it? I do have faith that you can keep from doing it by accident, but let's not go overboard here." He's imagining that strange vibrating early stage of the power's effect, when the molecules are only just beginning to 'listen,' and realizing that he very much does not want that happening to his body, let alone anything more.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)