Sometimes

Characters/Pairings: Peter/Sylar, mentions of Nathan

Author's Note: I have been dying to write something ever since I watched 4x18, The Wall, but apparently there was a wall inside my head, and sadly it was called Writer's Block. This is either fluffy angst, or angsty fluff, with some more angst. Or something similar anyway. In any case, dedicated to my sister, who told me to write it and wanted them to hug.

Warnings/Spoilers: Up to 4x18, The Wall. This is slash, so don't like? Don't read. Very simple.

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes. I know this like I know my eyes are blue and that I own all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD. So, written for entertainment and not profit.

All that's real here, in this world of silence and solitude, is them.

Sometimes they avoid each other. It's hard to spend time with the same person, day in and day out, without change. There are personal ticks that annoy, the nervous tapping of fingers against wood, or the thump thump thump of sledgehammer against brick. Mostly Peter can't stand the sight of him – all he sees are variations of a theme, Sylar killing Nathan over and over again. Sometimes it gets so bad, and he wonders what would happen if he picked up the sledgehammer and, instead of attacking the bricks with intense furiousity, turned that furiousity onto Sylar – his brown eyes, his apologises, the little slithers of Nathan's memories he sometimes comes out with – beating him to a bloody pulp. At times like these he has to leave quickly, avoiding Sylar's eyes and presence completely.

He walks around the city enclosed by the brick wall. Sometimes he finds things of interests – books he's read and might read again – but most of the time he doesn't. He sees food lining the shelves of supermarkets, and wonders how exactly Sylar had thought all this real, when the idea of fresh food after apparent years of no life – no shop assistants to check and replace it, no farmers to grow and raise it – is positively ludicrous. Maybe it had helped not thinking about it.

And then there are the times, in the sound of a city gone silent, when they seek each other out. Sometimes he finds Sylar sitting against the wall, just staring into the distance, his chin propped on his knees. They sit in silence together. Sometimes Sylar speaks, and it is almost always about one of Nathan's memories, or – when he thinks Peter's asleep, because he knows how much it annoys him – about how sorry he is, for taking Nathan away, and for other things. Peter's not asleep when he does so – he doesn't really believe he needs sleep, but apparently his body believes otherwise at times – and usually he just keeps his eyes closed, feigns sleep and ignores him as best he can.

Eventually, after many such times, Sylar seems to gather enough courage to take Peter's hand. Peter pulls away at first – the touch should sicken him, but doesn't, and that scares him – and Sylar doesn't push. The next time Peter's so exhausted from using the sledgehammer for the better part of a day, he lets Sylar take his hand and falls asleep with his head on Sylar's shoulder. When he wakes up, the first emotion he feels isn't guilt, which just makes him feel worse.

He tries to throw every ounce of his anger and diminishing hatred into each hit, the sledgehammer a heavier weight in his hands than usual. He feels Sylar watching him, and it increases the anger threefold. Anger's tiring, and before the day is half done, he's exhausted himself again. He goes to try and walk the anger off, and Sylar follows him.

He lets his rage blind him to the path, walks quickly, and tries to ignore the man following him, but it's like he has a built in compass, constantly pointing in Sylar's direction. He kind of knows he'll go crazy if he keeps up this behaviour, but it's surprisingly addictive and very hard to stop.

He slows down eventually, breathing heavily, but he keeps walking, and walking, and walking, until he's gone round the enclosed space twice over. Sylar's right behind him, and Peter almost jumps when he feels the other man take his hand. It's like touch is an addiction, and he needs to get as much of it as he can. Then again, he was alone for three years, deprived of any sort of human contact. It's kind of understandable, because Peter's feeling it too, and he hasn't really been alone while he's been here. So he doesn't pull away, because comfort comes from the strangest places, and that's about the only thing he can accept right now.

They go back to the wall, the part they're familiar with, almost intimately for Sylar, he's studied it so minutely, looking for weaknesses, or just looking. Sylar picks up a sledgehammer this time as well, and they set to work. Like always, nothing much happens, but they keep trying. It's the only thing they can do, to escape this silent prison.

They talk, sometimes. Other than swinging sledgehammers around, there's not much else to do. It fills the silence of a city once filled with noise, of traffic, shouted obscenities. There's only the sound of their voices, and Peter is sure he'd be able to recognise Sylar's anywhere, he's heard it so often, so much. Sylar has the tendency to talk about himself, or Nathan. Although Peter's convinced himself he's not all that interested in his brother's murderer's life story, it is infinitely better than listening to the man spouting anecdotes from a life he should never have known about.

Eventually all they talk about is what book or comic they're reading at the moment. And they hold hands because, Peter admits, touching is definitely addictive. He tries not to think about it too much, and sometimes he succeeds.

He's caught out in the rain one day, slamming the sledgehammer against the wall, his efforts ineffectual as usual. Sometimes it rains – sporadically, there's no real rhyme or reason to it, which is kind of the most real thing he's experienced so far – so he's not surprised. What does surprise him is the hand on his shoulder, causing him to temporarily halt his efforts. Sylar has never physically interrupted him when he's trying to break down the wall. He turns around, and there he is, soaking wet and shivering slightly. It's either been raining for some time, or heavily for just a few minutes, but at that moment Peter doesn't really care.

There's sound in the silence now, other than their breathing, and Peter's never been so happy for something as simple as the weather, even though it's not real. It feels real, and right now that's all he can ask for, all he can hope for.

He follows Sylar back to the apartment they share, and in the silence expanding around them as they stand and stare, they hear the rain pounding on the pavement outside. It's almost deafening.

He looks down, glances away, and then Sylar is there, tugging at the hem of his shirt. He lets Sylar pull the shirt off him, raises his arms to make it easier. Peter looks at him, and knows he has about as much of a clue as to what is happening as Peter does. Peter tries to pretend this is just about getting out of wet clothing, pulling Sylar close so he can more easily unbutton his coat, and then the shirt underneath. He can hear Sylar breathing, can feel it against his cheek, and it's making him a little crazy maybe. Then again, he's in the mind of an apparent crazy person – maybe craziness should have been taken for granted.

Sylar takes his hand and brings it up to his mouth. He presses separate kisses to each knuckle, to the tips of each finger. He turns Peter's hand around and presses a kiss to the palm. Peter is shivering, and he doesn't know whether it's from being soaking wet or from something entirely different. Probably both. Sylar's shivering too, so at least he's not alone. He's not alone.

Peter leads him to the bed and they lie down upon it, side by side, facing each other, their hands intertwined in front of them. Both feel as though they should do something more, that it's expected of them, and Peter realises the rain has stopped, that the silence has surrounded them again, weighing down on them. Like always.

Peter closes his eyes, and when he opens them, Sylar is still there. He wonders if he will ever leave him, like all the others. He tries to remember why he hated him, and for the first time he's kind of forgotten. It scares him, and he immediately gets up to leave, disentangling his hands from Sylar's, and almost thinks he hears something snap, but it doesn't matter and he's probably imagined it anyway. He puts his shirt back on and takes a walk.

He tries to summon some righteous anger, and eventually when he closes his eyes he starts to see Sylar killing Nathan again. This is probably a step backward, he knows, but he shouldn't forget, and never forgive. In the back of his mind – does that phrase even make sense in a place like this? – he wonders what Nathan would think of him, that the only memory he seems to care about is the very last one of Nathan's life, despite all the better ones beforehand. But it hurts too much to think about those ones, because they'll never be again. All because of Sylar.

He goes back to the wall. Sylar is there, waiting, but he says nothing, only picks up a sledgehammer and begins hitting the wall alongside Peter.

It's difficult to see Sylar as merely a villain anymore, too hard to keep the demonic mask in place over a deeply flawed human being. Peter admits that the only reason he holds onto this poisonous hate is because he thinks by letting go, he'll be letting Nathan go, forever. Deep down he knows this is stupid, knows that Nathan will always be with him, whether he hates Sylar or not, and that Nathan would probably prefer him to move on, but he can't because somewhere along the way moving on became inextricably linked with forgetting. And he won't forget.

Sometimes there are times when he almost wants to. When Sylar takes his hand, Peter always holds on tight, though inwardly he's pulling away, and every time he wants to stop one or the other. It scares him that the one he most wants to stop doing is pulling away.

In a bid to get away from this, he takes more walks and tells Sylar not to follow. He almost expects Sylar to follow him anyway, and kind of wants him to. He doesn't though, and there's a part of Peter that's relieved (there's also a part that's disappointed, but he ignores that one a lot).

There are a lot of books in this place, and he often wonders whether Sylar has read them all, or if some of them are merely filled with blank pages. He doesn't have the patience to go through all of them, nor does he care to. Sometimes he thinks Sylar has done so, maybe to pass the time in those empty three years spent alone with only himself and the silence as company.

He sometimes thinks of bringing Sylar back a copy of one book or the other, but this strikes him as too close to a gift and he dismisses it. But it's always in the back of his mind (again, that phrase, its relevance here practically useless). He has a feeling one day he'll gather enough courage to do it, but that day will be a long time coming.

Touching another human being is too much of a temptation to keep him away for long. Saying his name, and seeing Sylar turn to look at him, it's almost like coming home, and he feels ridiculous for even thinking it. This, however, is the first time he takes the initiative. He's the one who takes Sylar's hand in his, and they've held hands so many times, their hands kind of fit together. He pulls Sylar close, for no other reason than he desperately needs human contact, and feels Sylar's free arm wrap around him. He sighs against the other man's cheek, and the silence isn't uncomfortable or awkward, nor does it weigh down on them as it usually would.

Peter...

The sound of his name breaks the silence, shatters it into a million glittering pieces, and there's a moment of stillness before they're in motion, lips on lips, kissing for all they're worth, and maybe for things they're not. There's no compassion or forgiveness, because Peter's not ready for that, and neither is Sylar, for that matter. No, this is something more, something that burns, and both kind of wish the rain would come and wash it all away. Even if it did, though, they know it would still be there when the rain ceased.

It's only kissing, and Peter's kind of surprised something else doesn't happen, and kind of grateful at the same time. This isn't a onetime thing, but nor is it something that will happen on a regular basis. Or so Peter tries to convince himself. Unfortunately Sylar isn't very good around temptation, and apparently Peter isn't either because he gives in easily enough. If he is honest with himself, kissing Sylar makes him happier than he has been in a long time. He can feel his hate slipping away, and is almost sad to see it doing so. It is so much a part of him, and he tries to keep a hold on it. It's difficult and he doesn't want to, not really.

Sometimes when he looks at Sylar he sees his brother's death again, and when he picks up the sledgehammer there's always a chance he may do something he'll definitely regret later. He takes out his frustration on the wall, which doesn't talk back with a mouth made for kissing his, and won't plead with brown eyes filled with promises and apologises. Each blow of the sledgehammer breaks the silence, and it's almost soothing. Sometimes Sylar joins him, sometimes he doesn't, merely watches and waits, arms wrapped around long legs. He's always there when Peter finishes, becomes too exhausted to go on, and Peter wonders whether he'll always be there, and if they'll ever leave this place. Sometimes he doesn't mind so much, because here he can keep an eye on Sylar, make sure he keeps his word and never harms another soul.

There might be another reason, but he'll never admit it, not even to himself.

Yeah. I joined the crowd of authors writing about this, I'm proud. Yeah, yeah.

Review please.