Pretty much only doing prompts with this journal and not entirely sure how much longer I'll keep doing that. Just not sure anymore.

A list of ways you're different from the rest of your family.

- I'm special.
- I'm stronger than they were.
- I'm alive.

Write about a time you were outsmarted.

... Are you people freaking insane? Well, okay maybe you all are. I know some of those that read this journal *cough*ElleHiroBennetPetrellis*cough* so maybe that's what it comes down to. Now I have to add the people that make these prompts. Why?

What man in his right mind is going to admit to this? I was going to say the Doctor but, let's be honest, that man isn't in his right mind. Or his left. I'm not even sure the man has a mind anymore. Apparently time travel sucks it out little by little or something.

Where was I? Right.

No man in his right mind is going to admit to being outsmarted. Especially not a man that doesn't want the world to know his weaknesses. Admitting to being outsmarted is giving someone an opening to your weaknesses and why would I want anyone to know my weaknesses? As if I have any. Now, more than ever, I'm without such things as weakness.

It's a nice feeling.

Make a list of your favorite things to smell.

- Coffee brewing first thing in the morning.
- Snow crisp and fresh on the air.
- That sun and chemical scent that clings to his skin.
- Clean sheets fresh from the drier.
- Chai
- The herbal soap he buys.

He should have done it face to face. It should have been done any way but in letter form, words scrawled in ballpoint ink on a sheet of lined paper torn from one of his notebooks. It should have been something personal and yet it was hard to make that moment personal without more pain.

Mohinder,

I thought I could do this but I can't. I've tried so hard, worked so hard and yet I can't seem to give it up. I know you'll be disappointed in me and, truthfully, that hurts nearly as much as a mortal wound. Perhaps that's what this will lead to, the end of my life. I hope that in the long run you can forgive me and maybe one day you'll trust me once more.

Love,

Sylar

The note was left next to a small white box that had once been tied with twine. Inside was a few crumbs of lady fingers and the smudges of the marscipone cheese and chocolate that had made up what was most definitely tiramisu. Despite his promises to the contrary, Sylar had lost his battle to give up on the hunger that drove him to consume the coffee laden dessert like the addiction it was.

Make a list of things people assume about you.

- I know a lot of people assume that I'm incapable of emotions.
- The belief that there's nothing in me except the ability to kill.
- That all I care about are death and powers.
- That a gun can protect them from me.
- Believing that because I've been silent that I'm dead.
- Believing that because I've been silent that I've given up on my desires.
- That I killed my Mom.
- That I killed Brian Davis.
- That everything I do has to involve violence.

It had started small. The movement of a book, pushing it out of his partner's hands. That could have been seen as an accident on Suresh's part, his own mistake. It could have been, but it wasn't. He realized that a moment later when the pages slowly began to turn on their own, to slow to be a breeze of the angle of the book. It was then he knew what was going on.

Refusing to give Sylar the satisfaction of disrupting him, Suresh put the book aside and headed for the kitchen. The cabinet door wouldn't open, the fridge was stuck and then the last straw. The glass, full of juice, went crashing to the floor. Glass and strawberry juice went everywhere, spilling over the floor like watered down blood.

"What are you doing,' Suresh demanded, spinning around despite the danger of glass on his feet. "What was the point of that?"

Sylar looked up, expression bland and empty. "Pardon?"

"Do not play innocent with me! Clean that up and tell me what the point of this was. Now!"

Slowly a smile curved his lips as Sylar moved to stand right in front of his lover with a grin. "That,' he said, pointing at the floor. "Was about seeing this,' he said, pointing at Suresh himself.

"You... You just wanted me mad?!" He sounded stunned. No less angry, but stunned.

Nodding, he didn't stop smiling. "Yep."

"Then you've suceeded,' he snarled, storming to his bedroom and slamming the door.

Sylar laughed, glad Suresh had left the room as'd left the room as Sylar used his tk to raise the glass from the floor.

Make a list of supplies.

- Luthy hairspring vibrating tool
- Depthing
- Staking tool
- Poising tool
- Seitz friction jeweling set
- Uprighting tool
- Wheel Stretcher
- Barrel Contractor
- Lathe
- Micro drill
- Case wrench
- Combo closer
- Screwdrivers
- Hand wrench
- Tap and die set
- Dust blowers
- Tweezers
- Pliers
- Pocket watch keys
- Magnifiers
- Movement holder
- Spring bar tool
- Grease
- Dust free clothes
- Oil and oilers
- Loupe, several intensities

What did you dream last night?

Gabriel lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He focused, concentrating on the sounds around him but not the sounds of the city. The sluggish beat of the lizard's heartbeat against the rapid staccato of the kittens. The familiar, needed sound of Mohinder's heartbeat. It was comforting, normal, exactly what he needed after the dream he'd had.

Despite everything he told his lover about, every secret he was willing to share, the nightmares were the one thing that he never was able to share with Mohinder. It wasn't that he didn't trust Mohinder, or that he didn't wish to be with him, but rather than he never wanted the other man to know how much that single incident still haunted Gabriel.

He could never tell Mohinder that he still dreamt of the feeling of being taped to that chair, of the panic and the pain of being held against his will and tortured. It didn't matter than Sylar had tortured and killed so many. For Gabriel it was hard to endure knowing everything that had happened.

Especially when he dreamt so often of it all. Of the pain of his eardrum nearly bursting from the tuning fork. It was a sharp, intense pain that pierced into his brain like blade after blade to the brain. He could remember the sound, the pain, the scent of gun oil and chai.

Some mornings he'd wake up, panicked and covered in sweat, mewling for his life. He could lay there for hours listening to the comforting sound of familiar heartbeats and yet he still could feel it. The press of the muzzle to his brow, the reverberation of the tines near his ear.

Most nights he dreamt of pleasant things. More often than not there was nothing, just blissful, silent sleep. But every now and again there was the nightmares. Nightmares that reminded him that no matter how dangerous the world thought Sylar was, there were mean that he feared as well.

And with good reason.

Make a list of things that remind you of someone.

[Locked from everyone but Suresh]

- Brightly colored scarfs
- Chai tea
- Needles
- Duct tape
- India
- Tiramisu
- Couscous
- Polenta
- Tie bondage
- Balconies
- Broken glass
- Blood

Sylar woke up slowly, groaning as he rolled over to snuggle into the pillow. He didn't want to get up. He wanted to lay there and soak up the bed and the sleep and the fact that his body didn't hurt. Finally.

Two days earlier he'd woken up sore and worn and confused. It was one thing waking up knowing Gabriel had pushed the limits of their shared body. It was another waking up and wondering who the fuck he'd let touch him because to hurt this bad, in those ways and...

And in the end he'd found a smirking Suresh to be the answer. They got to play, play hard and rough, and now Sylar was stuck healing from the damage. Two days later and he finally felt whole and right and able to stand without whimpering.

Which called for a long, steamy hot shower before collapsing naked and wet back onto the bed.

"The past is never dead. It's not even past." William Faulkner, Requiem for a Nun.

For Gabriel every day began with a worry. Would this be the say Sylar snapped? Would he hurt anyone today? What would Gabriel do if Sylar went too far and they lost Mohinder? Was he prepared to die because he was certain that if Sylar lost that control then he would ensure that they died as well.

It was how every day began, often how each day ended as well. There was always this cloud hanging over them than began with Sylar and ended with the Company.

It wasn't enough that they shared their home and their love with a serial killer with sociopathic tendancies. That was never enough. On top of that was the truth that all of them were wanted by a sadistic Company with no morals and a lot of money and resources. It never mattered how far they had moved away from that, the new life they all lead. No one cared that Sylar hadn't killed in a year, or that Gabriel hadn't killed since Brian.

In the end they spent every day wondering if today the police would recognize Sylar. Every trip to the store or down to the corner for a paper was spent wondering if that woman on the bench or the homeless man pandhandling was actually an agent in disguise. It didn't matter how far they moved ahead, the past was always a cloud hanging over their lives.

A cloud that could very well one day end their lives, or cause one of them to take the life of another.

Make a list of New Year's resolutions

I resolve:

- to not feed the lizards things he's not supposed to have.
- to not throw out the chai just because I don't like the smell of it.
- to keep Mo from being flown around the room.
- to try and keep glass off the streets around our building.
- to not worry at my tattoo until I rub off the skin.
- to not sneak tiramisu when I'm out.
- to try harder to communicate between all of us.

Write about receiving a present that was not what you had hoped for.

Sixteen years. That's how many years Sylar had been on the planet as of that day. Sixteen years and he had given up on his birthday exactly eight years earlier. He'd given up on the presents and on celebrating the day in a joyous way. It should just be another day with no hopes, no desires, and most certainly without wishes.

In eight years he hadn't let himself think about presents in an excited way. He received them on that day, just as he did on Christmas. He received them and they came and went and he didn't hope for a certain thing, or for a special present. Mother gave the gifts she wanted, the things she thought he needed and that was all there would ever be to it.

Until sixteen.

She promised him a wonderful gift, just what he could ever ask for. He was sixteen and feared that it might be the one thing he'd never wanted. Despite the dreams of so many teen boys, Gabriel hated cars. He hated them with a passion and prayed that his mother's answer of the most perfect gift wasn't four wheels and an engine and the terror that often seized Gabriel when he was in one. No matter what it was it couldn't be as bad as that andd so he prayed and hoped that, in the end, the gift was anything but a car.

Sadly there are some times when the smartest thing you can do is wish for your worst nightmare. A car would have been so much better than what Gabriel faced when he opened the door on the night of his birthday.

"Uhmmm, hello?"

She was small and petite, her hair blonde and hanging almost to the small of her back. Her eyes had been blue, maybe. Or brown. Gabriel was never sure and he was thankful for it.

"Hi, I'm Amy. Your Mom said you were taking me to the movies tonight."

A girl. A date. Virginia Gray's perfect gift for her son on his sixteenth birthday had been a date with a pretty little blonde girl. Standing there with his mouth gaping Gabriel almost wished that his present had been a car.

At least a car would accept that he was gay.

List of things I've learned today

- Lizards will eat anything, including the handle on a paddle.
- Lizards will also eat ribbons, wrapping paper and scotch tape.
- Lizards throw up. A lot.
- Lizard vomit smells. A lot.
- Mo seems to think that cleaning means I'm bent over for her to perch on.
- If you stand up, Mo will cling to your back - Claws first.
- Mo has a loud scream.
- Mo screaming can scare the Kitten.
- The Kitten can climb walls.
- The kitten's claws will not hold her to said wall.
- Kitten claw scratches on the face hurt.
- Rubbing alcohol on kitten claw scratches hurt more.
- Your love taking a picture of a kitten clinging to your face is not funny.
- No matter how much he smiles trying not to laugh.

There was a lot Sylar didn't understand about people and how they acted. He'd never understand why the simplest thing sent Gabriel into tears. He'd never understand why Bennet would put the Company before his family. He didn't get why the boy in the glasses wouldn't die, how Parkman got people to listen to him as a cop or why Isaac Mendez wouldn't scream.

When it came to Mohinder Suresh there was a lot he didn't understand, most of it in regards to their relationship. Sylar hadn't been created to understand man and his acts, though he could accept that much of it was due to his desires and acting on them. Yet no matter how much he learned from Suresh, how much Gabriel tried to teach him, in the end there was one thing Sylar would never understand about people and their actions.

The seeming desire to wait in line after line during the holidays.

Every place was overheated, the insipid faux music lacking in anything remotely cheer inspiring and the people were unwashed, ill mannered and down right... plain.

That might explain why he was utilizing his special skills to get through them. A busted string of pearls here. A pinched child there. He'd released pets in the pet store, crashed computers and even tipped a cup of steaming coffee onto someone. All just to get to the front of the line.

"Venti soy chai latte,' he ordered, handing over his cash. He had gifts to buy but first he needed to be in the right mood and the memories of chai and Suresh might just keep him calm.

Maybe.

Make a list of places you've been shopping at.

- Amazon.com
- Neiman-Marcus
- Edmund Scientific
- VWR scientific
- Dr Foster Smith pet supplies

Which fictional character would you like to be?

God.