Angrly!Lydia for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
heroslayer [Sylar/Lydia, Samuel/Lydia]
Apr. 22nd, 2010 03:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thepainted_ladyFor the first time in her life, Lydia was learning what it was like for other people being around her. She'd spent years reading others with a touch, seeing into their souls as they were laid bare before her, all while keeping herself just a little apart, a bastion of reserve wrapped around her heart. Her secrets were her own, intimate and inviolate, and no one gained entrance to them unless she gave them permission, and then only to the extent she chose to share.
Now Sylar had her ability, had her perception, had her gift and had her number. She couldn't hide from him behind those carefully constructed walls, couldn't lie and pretend all was well--doubly so considering the man knew when anyone was lying to him even without her gift. She'd never known how much she relied on being the enigma, the mysterious one, the girl apart until he was there, in her soul and under her skin as much as she was used to being with others. It brought a breathless sort of intimacy to some things, easy to get lost in, but there were days she wished to hell he'd never acquired her skill.
Today was one of them.
"You loved him." Sylar said it calmly, not the slightest hint of jealousy in his voice as his fingers slid through her hair. "He betrayed you. It's okay to be angry."
"I'm not angry," she lied, stubbornly. "And I didn't...love him. Not like you make it sound. He was family. That's all."
"Liar. You're so angry that it's ripping you apart inside."
Lydia pulled back and hit his chest as hard as she could, which wasn't really all that effective considering how strong he was. He just arched an eyebrow and she fought the urge to snarl at him.
"Don't do that."
"Can you help it when you do?"
She didn't answer, because, no she couldn't really, but she pulled away from him, away from the touches that soothed but connected them even more closely and gave him an even clearer window into her soul. It didn't much matter anymore, of course. He'd seen enough in the weeks since they'd come here, struggling to find a place for themselves away from the madness that had been unleashed.
"I didn't love him," she repeated, glaring.
Sylar just gave her a look.
She was tempted to hurl something at his head, but he'd just bat it away telekinetically and, really, where was the fun in that, so she glared back.
"He didn't deserve my love," she spat out, finally.
"I didn't say he did," Sylar said mildly. "But whether people deserve it or not rarely seems to matter."
Lydia did send the nearest book hurtling toward his head, words alone seeming to escape her, and, as expected, he batted it away before it came close to touching him. He managed to look amused, which just made her angrier, but there was something pure in the wash of fury.
"You're not angry at me," he pointed out, still infuriatingly calm, and she hurled another book which he batted away with a wave of his hand. Another followed, then another, all of them hitting the wall off to the side where he sent them flying.
"Wanna bet?" she snapped, finally giving up on the books since it was just making her angrier.
"You're angry at him. For what he did. For not loving you. For taking you for granted."
"Stop telling me what I'm feeling!"
Sylar managed not to look amused, but she could feel it there in the air between them, overlaying the concern that lingered beneath it, and her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms until they bled.
"I can take it," he said, amusement dying.
"You should have stayed. You should have killed him."
"You didn't really want that, not then."
"I did," she insisted. "You felt it. You knew..."
"It was on the surface," he argued. "You were angry and hurt, but if I'd walked out of your trailer and ended him...you'd never have forgiven me. You still had hope..."
Lydia felt like she'd been slapped, because all she remembered was the hurt. "He used me. He wanted you and I was just...something to get you, good for nothing more than what my body and gift could do."
"And..."
"And nothing."
"And..."
She contemplated the vase on the table, and Sylar sent it flying to him, catching it and setting it on the sofa before she could throw it. "You'd be sorry if you broke that."
Lydia huffed, not used to this level of anger, and not knowing what to do with it.
"And...." Sylar prompted again.
She could feel blood trickle down her palms, staining her hands, as she let the words out. "He didn't want me. He made me think...I thought...at least that I was special, that I meant something to him, but I was just a tool, just something to be used, to be handed around at his pleasure, played when compliant, ordered and threatened when not, but he never..."
"He didn't want what he made you give to others."
"He wanted her."
"Vanessa." Samuel had told him about her, even, and that made Lydia wince even more.
"He had...everything. And when she didn't...he destroyed it...and I...I...would have given him anything and he just...He..." The tears were starting, stuttering out underneath the anger. Sylar got up, moving to touch her and she flinched away, keeping distance, understanding that urge for the first time in her life. This was her pain, her hurt, hers and she didn't want to share it, didn't want to hand it over and let it flow through him and let him try and make it better. Sometimes it was all she had, this choking pain burning in the background of her mind, and she clung to it.
"He was an idiot." He moved fast, faster than she could evade him if not as fast as Edgar could have, but then Edgar never would have forced her to this. Edgar would have let her have the lie, let it fester, let her hide. Sylar's hands caught her arms, pulled her back against him, his lips by her ear. "You loved him, and he threw it back in your face, and then, when it was convenient, he tried to have you killed, throwing you aside because it would make everyone sympathetic again, because of his great loss, their loss. You weren't the only one who thought he loved you, Lydia..."
"But I should have known," she spat out, tense in his arms and fighting the urge to struggle against that iron hold and everything he was pulling from her and sending spiraling into her. "I shouldn't have let him, I don't...get fooled. I don't..."
"You don't trust. You don't let people in. You don't let them touch you. You should have read his lies. You did, though, didn't you? But you ignored them...."
"I thought he could change," she snapped, as tears started to fall. "I thought...I remembered how it was before and I thought...I let myself believe in him. And I shouldn't have. People don't change."
"I changed." It didn't really help his argument any, nor offer her any comfort, though, as she did lash out, trying to pull away and push him away at the same time, but he just caught her arm once more, and pulled her back close to him, chest to her back, arms holding her against him. "But I wanted to. He..."
"...didn't." She finished, softly, and the physical struggle seemed to seep out more of the emotional as she sagged a little against him.
"But you believed he could."
"Yes."
"Even when the bullet hit you--you still believed he was capable of it." He was inexorable.
"Yes."
"You would have died if Claire hadn't been there, still trying to believe..."
"Yes."
"You left."
She just nodded, and he slid one hand up into her hair.
"But you still believe he could change. After everything...you still think he could break out of jail, find us, come swooping in and apologize..."
"No..."
He sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Stop lying."
She was quiet for a long time, eyes closed, breathing harsh and the only sound between them as tears ran down her face. "Yes," she finally said. "Or, no...I don't believe it..."
"But part of you hopes it."
She nodded, the rest of the fight going out of her, and he shifted to turn her, let her bury herself against his chest.
"Who are you mad at?" he asked as his fingers ran through her hair, soft, soothing touches.
"Him. You. Edgar. Carol..." The names tripped off her lips, soft admissions of just how much anger she was carrying around, tied up in her stomach. "But mostly...." She faltered, starting to cry freely in a way she hadn't let herself since she left Amanda's father, years of heartache pouring out because there wasn't anywhere to hide from it, not when he saw it all so clearly.
"Mostly...?" he prompted in that voice that she knew meant he knew the answer already, but he was going to make her say it aloud.
Lydia slid her arms around him, fingers curling tight in the fabric of his shirt, clutching at him like the lifeline he'd become. "Myself."
Now Sylar had her ability, had her perception, had her gift and had her number. She couldn't hide from him behind those carefully constructed walls, couldn't lie and pretend all was well--doubly so considering the man knew when anyone was lying to him even without her gift. She'd never known how much she relied on being the enigma, the mysterious one, the girl apart until he was there, in her soul and under her skin as much as she was used to being with others. It brought a breathless sort of intimacy to some things, easy to get lost in, but there were days she wished to hell he'd never acquired her skill.
Today was one of them.
"You loved him." Sylar said it calmly, not the slightest hint of jealousy in his voice as his fingers slid through her hair. "He betrayed you. It's okay to be angry."
"I'm not angry," she lied, stubbornly. "And I didn't...love him. Not like you make it sound. He was family. That's all."
"Liar. You're so angry that it's ripping you apart inside."
Lydia pulled back and hit his chest as hard as she could, which wasn't really all that effective considering how strong he was. He just arched an eyebrow and she fought the urge to snarl at him.
"Don't do that."
"Can you help it when you do?"
She didn't answer, because, no she couldn't really, but she pulled away from him, away from the touches that soothed but connected them even more closely and gave him an even clearer window into her soul. It didn't much matter anymore, of course. He'd seen enough in the weeks since they'd come here, struggling to find a place for themselves away from the madness that had been unleashed.
"I didn't love him," she repeated, glaring.
Sylar just gave her a look.
She was tempted to hurl something at his head, but he'd just bat it away telekinetically and, really, where was the fun in that, so she glared back.
"He didn't deserve my love," she spat out, finally.
"I didn't say he did," Sylar said mildly. "But whether people deserve it or not rarely seems to matter."
Lydia did send the nearest book hurtling toward his head, words alone seeming to escape her, and, as expected, he batted it away before it came close to touching him. He managed to look amused, which just made her angrier, but there was something pure in the wash of fury.
"You're not angry at me," he pointed out, still infuriatingly calm, and she hurled another book which he batted away with a wave of his hand. Another followed, then another, all of them hitting the wall off to the side where he sent them flying.
"Wanna bet?" she snapped, finally giving up on the books since it was just making her angrier.
"You're angry at him. For what he did. For not loving you. For taking you for granted."
"Stop telling me what I'm feeling!"
Sylar managed not to look amused, but she could feel it there in the air between them, overlaying the concern that lingered beneath it, and her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms until they bled.
"I can take it," he said, amusement dying.
"You should have stayed. You should have killed him."
"You didn't really want that, not then."
"I did," she insisted. "You felt it. You knew..."
"It was on the surface," he argued. "You were angry and hurt, but if I'd walked out of your trailer and ended him...you'd never have forgiven me. You still had hope..."
Lydia felt like she'd been slapped, because all she remembered was the hurt. "He used me. He wanted you and I was just...something to get you, good for nothing more than what my body and gift could do."
"And..."
"And nothing."
"And..."
She contemplated the vase on the table, and Sylar sent it flying to him, catching it and setting it on the sofa before she could throw it. "You'd be sorry if you broke that."
Lydia huffed, not used to this level of anger, and not knowing what to do with it.
"And...." Sylar prompted again.
She could feel blood trickle down her palms, staining her hands, as she let the words out. "He didn't want me. He made me think...I thought...at least that I was special, that I meant something to him, but I was just a tool, just something to be used, to be handed around at his pleasure, played when compliant, ordered and threatened when not, but he never..."
"He didn't want what he made you give to others."
"He wanted her."
"Vanessa." Samuel had told him about her, even, and that made Lydia wince even more.
"He had...everything. And when she didn't...he destroyed it...and I...I...would have given him anything and he just...He..." The tears were starting, stuttering out underneath the anger. Sylar got up, moving to touch her and she flinched away, keeping distance, understanding that urge for the first time in her life. This was her pain, her hurt, hers and she didn't want to share it, didn't want to hand it over and let it flow through him and let him try and make it better. Sometimes it was all she had, this choking pain burning in the background of her mind, and she clung to it.
"He was an idiot." He moved fast, faster than she could evade him if not as fast as Edgar could have, but then Edgar never would have forced her to this. Edgar would have let her have the lie, let it fester, let her hide. Sylar's hands caught her arms, pulled her back against him, his lips by her ear. "You loved him, and he threw it back in your face, and then, when it was convenient, he tried to have you killed, throwing you aside because it would make everyone sympathetic again, because of his great loss, their loss. You weren't the only one who thought he loved you, Lydia..."
"But I should have known," she spat out, tense in his arms and fighting the urge to struggle against that iron hold and everything he was pulling from her and sending spiraling into her. "I shouldn't have let him, I don't...get fooled. I don't..."
"You don't trust. You don't let people in. You don't let them touch you. You should have read his lies. You did, though, didn't you? But you ignored them...."
"I thought he could change," she snapped, as tears started to fall. "I thought...I remembered how it was before and I thought...I let myself believe in him. And I shouldn't have. People don't change."
"I changed." It didn't really help his argument any, nor offer her any comfort, though, as she did lash out, trying to pull away and push him away at the same time, but he just caught her arm once more, and pulled her back close to him, chest to her back, arms holding her against him. "But I wanted to. He..."
"...didn't." She finished, softly, and the physical struggle seemed to seep out more of the emotional as she sagged a little against him.
"But you believed he could."
"Yes."
"Even when the bullet hit you--you still believed he was capable of it." He was inexorable.
"Yes."
"You would have died if Claire hadn't been there, still trying to believe..."
"Yes."
"You left."
She just nodded, and he slid one hand up into her hair.
"But you still believe he could change. After everything...you still think he could break out of jail, find us, come swooping in and apologize..."
"No..."
He sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Stop lying."
She was quiet for a long time, eyes closed, breathing harsh and the only sound between them as tears ran down her face. "Yes," she finally said. "Or, no...I don't believe it..."
"But part of you hopes it."
She nodded, the rest of the fight going out of her, and he shifted to turn her, let her bury herself against his chest.
"Who are you mad at?" he asked as his fingers ran through her hair, soft, soothing touches.
"Him. You. Edgar. Carol..." The names tripped off her lips, soft admissions of just how much anger she was carrying around, tied up in her stomach. "But mostly...." She faltered, starting to cry freely in a way she hadn't let herself since she left Amanda's father, years of heartache pouring out because there wasn't anywhere to hide from it, not when he saw it all so clearly.
"Mostly...?" he prompted in that voice that she knew meant he knew the answer already, but he was going to make her say it aloud.
Lydia slid her arms around him, fingers curling tight in the fabric of his shirt, clutching at him like the lifeline he'd become. "Myself."
