Sylar - Gabriel Gray

Notes: You didn't think I sat in that cell all day without them fucking with me, did you?

“This is like that scene in Bladerunner isn’t it, Noah?” I asked the man behind the heavy glass. I could see my reflection in his glasses as he stared into what was left of my tarnished soul. “Are we skipping past the overturned turtle and going straight to me talking about my mother?”

“You’re not going anywhere anytime soon, Gabriel. It’s obvious you think a great deal about yourself. I’m simply giving you the opportunity to give us a little more background information. So tell me about your mother, Virginia Gray.”

“Hope you’ve got five or ten minutes to kill then. There’s not much to say.” I paced barefoot across the cold concrete floor of my cell, still being sure to limp, so he thought I was still badly hurt from when I landed on Peter Petrelli. “My mother collects snowglobes. She has almost the entire continent. I owe her Texas and Oregon. I’ll be picking those up on my way back to New York. When I’m done with Claire.”

That got the veins in his forehead popping. I love that. I don’t much like talking about my mother or Gabriel. It makes his stronger, and I fucking hate that.

“Sorry, Noah. Do you need a time out? I can see that upset you?” I smirked while he took a deep breath and put back on his cold heart fuckwad mask. Two of us can play that game. I went on in a monotonous tone about Virginia.

“She’s neurotic and obsessive. She used to watch me sleep. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and see her shadow under the door. When I was bad, she’d drag me to church and make me go to Confession. When that wasn’t enough, she’d bring me home and lock me in the closet.” Oh yes, how I hate being locked up, the walls closing in around me. “But she loves me. She loves me with every fiber of her frail, high strung, delusional body.”

“What about daddy, Gabriel?” He was enjoying this too much. I couldn’t wait to wipe that smug look off his face.

“My father left when I was a kid. He went for cigarettes, and he never came back. For the months that I do remember him, he was all right. He tried to get mom to let me breathe, but she didn’t listen to him. I was her shiny new toy. Her little boy to cuddle and love. He was just her husband. You know neither one of them were my real parents, right? I don’t know where I came from originally. I was 6 when they brought me home.”

30 Days About Me