Title: Crash and Yearn
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Sylar, Hesam, Peter/Sylar, Emma, Claire
Rating: R
Summary: "We can't both crash here, so someone's gotta fly, or someone's gonna die." When Peter allows Hesam to temporarily crash at his apartment, Sylar puts on quite the ridiculous show in an effort to convince Hesam to vacate the apartment and Peter's life.
Warnings: Crackfic, some language, slash
Timeset: Post-season four.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes in any way shape or form, and do not make any money off writing this; it was just for fun and to pass free time.
A/N: This is one of those fics which was originally meant to be shorter but transpired into something way longer than I had intended. :P
Crash and Yearn
0.0.0
.0.
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"I don't... think that's such a good idea... Uh-huh. I know that. Really? Yeah. I know, but you really don't wanna stay here. Why not? Well, it's pretty small, and I've already got that... 'other friend'... crashing here, you know? That may be, but... Oh I know... Yes, I do. Alright, you can. Sure, you can bring the X-Box. Fine, the X-Box "360", I mean. Okay, see you then. Bye."
Peter set his cellular phone on the nightstand.
"Peter... please... no..."
"I'd say that was a yes in disguise, but something tells me you're not in the mood for jokes right now..."
"If I understood the nature of that call correctly, then the only thing I am in the mood for as of now is to leave."
Sylar turned over onto his right-side.
Peter turned over onto his right-side as well, softly running the palm of his hand down Sylar's outer arm in a comforting display of affection. "But we didn't even get started yet..."
"Yes," Sylar said under his breath, shaking off Peter's touch, "because you chose to take that stupid call instead."
"Don't be like that," Peter whispered, moving closer to Sylar from behind. "It's only for five days..."
Sylar rolled his eyes, muttering, "I hate that guy."
"What? You've never even met him."
"That's irrelevant. From what you've told me, he sounds like a moron, or, a 'fruitcake' to be more specific."
Peter chuckled, leaning forwards as he sighed against the skin of Sylar's shoulder blade. "You would feel the same way if it were anyone else."
"Actually, that's not true," Sylar stated. It was long overdue that he got a particular point across. "Had it been Mohinder, Hiro, Noah, or Matt, yes, I would still be extremely displeased, but at least they all know the truth. All of your friends from our 'special' circle do, but friends of yours like this 'Hesam' guy think I'm... what – your 'friend from out of town you knew in nursing school who's 'crashing' at your apartment for several weeks'?"
"Sylar..." Peter exhaled a soft breath against the back of Sylar's neck, his palm caressing its way down Sylar's bicep once again. He was so tired of talking about this particular subject, but it seemed every conversation he had with Sylar inevitably led back to it, especially when they were in bed.
"I don't really... know exactly what we are, really," Peter said, sighing between words, "but we're not... you know, partners or anything like that... Anyhow, I don't really wanna talk about this again right now, okay?"
"That's fine."
Peter thought everything was fine... until – for reasons he still couldn't understand – Sylar got out of bed and began to get dressed the second Peter tried to "make a move".
Peter groaned and flopped down to his back, looking up at the starless-sky that was his ceiling. "You've been here for less than two weeks and you're already..." He touched his forehead as if he were checking for a fever. "Ugh," he groaned, running his hand back through his dark fringe of hair. "Pretty soon you'll be dancing around in an apron, spinning around and having supper on the table for me when I get home from work."
"The hell?" Sylar griped, turning away from the wall and towards the bed and the person on it. "I have no intentions of becoming your 'wife', Peter."
"Sylar, the first night after I let you move-in, you suggested we move and buy a house," Peter said, before he turned onto his right side once again and made eye-contact with Sylar. "You currently don't have a real job. You fix the meals and wash all the dishes. You rarely use your abilities anymore."
Sylar had been walking across the room to pick his shirt up from the floor, but—upon hearing Peter's words—he stopped in place... gathering the shirt through the use of telekinesis instead.
"You wear baby blue and plaid," Peter added.
"I want you to shut up, Peter." Sylar hissed, and then promptly began to put his shirt back on. "We've been over all of that blatant idiocracy of yours before. I'm only trying to be a better person now, and, quite frankly, you're not the only one who's having an identity crisis here."
"Well, you're the expert on it."
"Fuck 'it'."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "Pssh, I was going to until you got out of bed."
Sylar growled, while Peter found himself pinned in place quite abruptly, though unfortunately not through the use of physical touch...
Still...
"Finally," Peter said with a strange mixture of sarcasm and enthusiasm.
However, Sylar had caught on. Peter was trying to provoke an argument just to promote him to get back into bed. He would definitely give Peter half of what he was aiming for.
"When your 'paramedic' partner arrives, tell me how, exactly, you plan on keeping 'whatever we are' a secret from him," he said, keeping Peter bound in place while summoning his glasses into his hand from the nightstand.
"I..." Peter stammered, "I... honestly thought that-that..."
"'That-that' 'I-I' would 'crash-crash' somewhere else so Hesam could 'crash' here?"
Sylar put his black-framed glasses on, and then smirked accusingly at the other man.
Peter's eyes shifted a little. "But it's only for five days," he repeated earnestly.
"I don't give damn if it's for five seconds, I'm not going anywhere and that idiot is not staying here with you."
"This is still my apartment and I still pay the bills so I make the decisions about things like that!"
Sylar was going to retort, when instead he looked away to whisper, "Holy shit..."
"What?"
Sylar began to unbutton his plaid, baby blue shirt.
Peter huffed. "Look, we really don't have to do this right now if you... wait a second, what are you doing in the closet?"
"I'm changing my clothes, what's it look like?"
"Uh, like you're trying to change your mind along with your clothes."
Unseen to Peter, Sylar rolled his dark eyes, hanging up that plaid shirt of his in favor of a more... traditional black shirt... one he had worn in his darker days. During that little spat him and Peter had just participated in, he had realized and rationalized a very sad truth...
He had sounded like Peter's 'wife', and that wasn't acceptable. Come to think, when it came to something else Peter had said...
Sylar turned around. "Peter, you've mentioned a certain alternate future to me a number of times, but you've never divulged the exact nature of it to me..." He eyed Peter suspiciously. "You only said that in it, you took my base ability of intuitive aptitude—which I needn't remind you is by far the stupidest and most self-destructive thing you've ever done to yourself—and you would never say anything more to me about it..."
His expressions turned serious, arms folding across his chest.
Quickly, Peter said, "I've told you already that it's really not important."
"I don't care, and I'll be judge of that," Sylar said, his voice lowering to a dark whisper, "I want to know what you saw of me there, and you are going to tell me unless you want the other empathy trick pulled on you..."
Damnit, Peter thought, as he hated the 'other' empathy trick... He felt the force of Sylar's telekinetic bonds increasing, knowing that he had to speak up unless he wanted to look up at the ceiling from the floor beneath the bed... that is, if his body made it past the innersprings without too much damage. Oh, wait... his current ability was...
Damnit, Peter thought, not healing, not now!
"You were nuts," he said hastily, having decided he liked staring at the ceiling from on top of the bed just fine.
"Peter, I would never allow you to take my hunger now, nor would I have in the past," Sylar said with firmness. "You know that, and I know that because that's the only one of my abilities that you're not welcome to. Period."
"So, what's your point?" Peter asked. He had heard that before. Honestly, it was one rule of Sylar's he had no desire to break.
Sylar shook his head slightly. "My point is the fact that since I actually allowed you to take my ability in whatever future you saw indicates that although I may have been 'nuts' for permitting you to knowingly damn yourself, I must have been desperately 'nice' enough to help you..."
Peter stared up at the starless-sky that was his ceiling still more. "I walked into your house," he said, sounding monotone and robotic, "Where you saw me, threw your arms around me, tightly, cupped my face in your hands, and... and giggled over waffles with Mr. Muggles... before you spun around in a navy-blue apron that something on it like "hail to the chef" and then danced your way into a kitchen..."
"...Excuse me?" Sylar frowned, disgusted.
"Yes," Peter replied in that same, robotic voice, sighing loudly. "I nearly fainted from horror, because I thought we were... married or something," he whispered uncomfortably. "Even in spite of that future you's comment about how it was so good to see me again after so long, and how you said if you had known I was coming, you would have made me some... waffles..."
Before the other man could ask if there was any more to the story, Peter added, "And before you ask me if there was any more to the story, don't, because I'm not evil enough to tell you, and I never will be, even if you do impale me with innersprings, I still won't tell you, so drop it." He closed his eyes tightly. "Please..."
Peter couldn't tell him that. Not that. Not about his son... the son who had died because of Peter... if only he... hadn't visited Gabriel Gray in the future at all, then maybe...
"I really don't see how the story can get much worse than what you just told me," Sylar muttered. He respected Peter's secrecy regarding the 'full' story, however, even though he did know he'd had a son in the future by one Elle Bishop and that he had detonated the entire city of Costa Verde once Knox had killed his child. Peter had told Nathan, and Sylar still had near to all of Nathan's memories. Nevertheless, it seemed Peter had failed to tell even Nathan the more... grotesque details...
Nonetheless, Sylar knew certain things about the future never changed: namely, destiny. If a person was destined to become something or someone, or a certain event was destined to happen, it was going to happen; whether the past was changed or not.
Hell, Sylar figured Peter could go back in time and kill himself if he wanted out of this relationship badly enough, and still, somehow, all the powers of the universe would unite and get them back together. For reasons such as this, Sylar believed that time-traveling for Nathan's sake would work out the same way – he was destined to die young, if not by Sylar's hands, then through some other means.
So philosophically, that meant if Sylar was destined to endure the annoyance that was Hesam's intrusion into his life for several days, it was inevitably going to happen in one way or another, so...
"Let's get it over with..."
"What? I didn't hear that." Peter frowned. "...are you rationalizing again?"
Sylar only continued to change.
Peter's frown remained. "Are you?"
After pulling up the black pants he had slipped into, Sylar stated, "I'm going out for awhile."
"Where to?"
Sylar walked his way to the bedroom doors, and looked over his shoulder. "Not to do the grocery shopping or to pick up the laundry for you, that's for sure."
"Sylar, you just stop right there," Peter demanded. He didn't know where Sylar was actually planning to go, much less what he was actually planning to do...
"Humph." Sylar released Peter from the telekinetic hold, and headed into the kitchen.
"Sylar, I'm talking to you," Peter said in a threatening manner. He groaned, and with incredible haste, hopped out of bed and into some pants before taking Sylar back into his view just as the other man was about to leave the apartment. "Sylar! You're not going anywhere until I'm finished talking to you!"
Again, Sylar turned. "Need I remind you that your current ability is healing, thus, I wouldn't feel too guilty for giving your brain some much needed electroshock therapy right now, 'honey'."
Peter huffed, his shoulders dropping. "Sylar... I never said I actually thought you were my, yeah... 'wife' or anything like that, and I don't expect you to act like it, but I would appreciate some respect," he said, having managed to come off as strangely reasonable. "So, please, just hear me out for a second, will you?"
"Fine." Sylar closed the door. "What is it?"
"Well, about Hesam..."
Sylar opened the door again.
"Wait," Peter said, "I need to know what your plans are regarding my friend, because I am going to let him crash here for several days."
Casually, Sylar replied, "I plan to stay for the entire duration of those several days."
Peter was clearly displeased by Sylar's words. "You're honestly saying you're not willing to stay somewhere else for five days?"
"No, but don't worry," Sylar said in that same, casual voice. "Since you didn't tell your 'partner' I was going to 'crash' somewhere else, he's expecting me to be here, and since you and I are not 'partners', I'll make sure he knows that, so you have nothing to worry about..."
He smiled, walked out the door, and gently, shut it behind him.
Silently, Peter muttered, "Shit."
Sylar had made some alternative 'plans', all right, hadn't he?
0.0.0
Knock.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Coming!"
Peter set down his coffee mug, stood from his chair at the dining table, and made way to answer the front door. Upon reaching it, he exhaled the smallest of sighs while shaking his head, unlocked the door, and opened it.
"Hey, Peter! How's it going?"
"Just fine, come on in," Peter said, opening the door all the way while stepping out of the way.
Hesam stepped inside, holding a suitcase in each hand. "Thanks for letting me crash here for a few days until my apartment complex is done with the renovations," he said, smiling brightly. "I know they set up other arrangements for the tenants and everything, but like I told you, it's in the same building as my ex's and I'm not ready for that after only two months..."
"It's all right, I understand." Peter smiled, taking one of the suitcases from Hesam. "What I don't understand is why you would ask if you could crash with me of all people, since plenty of our friends have better places than mine that are twice as convenient."
"I know," Hesam said, following Peter's lead into the living room, "I just couldn't think of a better friend."
"Hesam..." Peter almost wanted to laugh. "You have way better friends out there than me, and you know it. Our job's no different than any other when it comes to stereotyping people, and I've been labeled as the mysterious loner since day one."
"No you haven't," Hesam said, shrugging idly. "You've been labeled as the guy keeping it on the down low since day one."
Dropping Hesam's suitcase to the carpet, Peter muttered, "The down low... what's that?"
Just then, the front door opened once again...
Peter looked forwards, while Hesam turned around.
Hesam lifted up his dark shades. "Yo, you must be the Sy-guy," he said in a snazzy voice, shades back in place.
Holding a sack of groceries along with the laundry he had picked up for Peter, Sylar stared at Hesam as if he were ready to kill.
"Yo...?" Sylar said, gritting his teeth. "'Yo' yourself."
Hesam trounced his way up to Sylar. "Thanks, I'm Peter's friend, Hesam, but I'm sure you know that," he said, holding his hand out. "Anyway, nice to meet you."
Sylar smiled, and through his teeth, said, "You expect me to shake your hand while I'm holding all of these things?"
Arm still extended, Hesam replied, "Nah, I expected you to shake my hand after you put them down."
"Uh..." Peter knew he had to say something fast. "Sylar, would you mind going out again real quick so you can take care of that thing we talked about earlier?"
Sylar smirked. "I'd like to take care of 'that thing' we talked about earlier, but unfortunately, I can't do that if I leave."
Hesam turned towards Peter, shielding his face with a hand so Sylar would be unable to read his lips when he whispered, "Did he miss his thing?"
"I still heard that, 'Hesam'," Sylar said, figuring the neighbors had probably heard Hesam, too. "Peter, what is he talking about?"
Peter quickly decided to say, "Nothing," while waving his hand down in order to instruct Hesam to say nothing, too.
"Hesam, tell me what Peter is talking about, 'please'," Sylar requested as nicely as he possibly could. "Really, I don't mind talking about it if he told you." He had no idea what Hesam had implied seconds ago, but he was definitely smart enough to know 'it' had to do with whatever 'lies' Peter had told his stupid friends when it came to the 'visitor from out of town'.
"Oh, your meetings and stuff," Hesam replied.
Sylar's brow furrowed. "Meetings...?"
"Yeah," Hesam said, "Peter told us you're staying with him until you get back on your feet after the, well," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "drug problem you had..." His voice became perky again. "But I mean, I think it's really great you're cleaning up your act, Sy!"
Sylar dropped the grocery sack, and the laundry basket, to the floor.
Oh, how Sylar wanted to kill. So badly. Hesam first, slowly, then Peter... He needed to hear them scream, kill Hesam in front of Peter while Peter was telekinetically bound, as Hesam screamed while Peter screamed for Sylar to stop and there would blood and suffering and more screaming and...
Sylar's eyes were closed, and strangely, he was smiling...
Peter said nothing, which Hesam had failed at. He was frozen, and Hesam was just waiting for someone to break the silence; he knew he couldn't do it, because someone didn't bring-up a topic as serious as the current one only to shift it to the current status of the weather.
"Peter," Sylar said between teeth, "tell me again what exactly is going on in my life right now because I can't seem to recall..."
"Uh..." Peter murmured, "I have... no idea because... you don't tell me everything about it...?"
"I see."
Saying nothing more, Sylar picked up the fallen groceries, and proceeded into the kitchen in order to put them away.
"Huh." Hesam shrugged. That had been... weird. Sylar had issues, he supposed, but it was none of his business. "Oh, Peter!"
"Y-Yeah...?" Peter stuttered. He was still worried Sylar might try to kill someone after putting the milk in the refrigerator... After all, Sylar wouldn't have to cry that way, because then, the milk wouldn't spill when Peter died. Just the blood.
Hesam turned back to Peter, took a deep break, and with much excitement, he said, "I brought my X-Box 360, and the converter since I doubted your television had HDMI plugs, but don't worry, I'm bringing over Guitar Hero III later, and the cool stuff Nick loaned me that he got from the Japanese convention thing. We can all open a case while we play games or something, and don't get too excited, Peter, but you're gonna have to drink that Kool-aid now because I even got you the new Spiderman action figure off eBay that you couldn't afford last month!"
"The fuck..." Sylar whispered to himself. He had been right—Hesam was a fruitcake; and Peter wasn't going to be eating from it while Sylar was around. No, Hesam would leave, and crash in hell after he burned, and then, Sylar would give Peter proper punishment when he turned Peter's bed into his own, personal and very lonely hell.
"Alright, and that's great you got me that action figure, Hesam," Peter said, forming a smile. "Oh, and Sylar? If you're thinking about 'going back out', you're never 'getting back in' again if you do, okay?"
"Huh?" Hesam asked, "What did that mean?"
"Well, let me put it to you this way..." Peter huffed, scratching the back of his head. "Sylar's not... especially social, and it takes a while for him to warm up to people he doesn't know."
"How long?"
"Usually around four to nine years."
Sylar frowned. "I'm gonna go do my 'thing' now," he said, slamming the refrigerator door so hard that the milk spilt. "Don't worry, Peter, it's not my old thing, I've found new things to do since then, and I just thought of some more, so... yes, I'll go do them..."
"Do them?" Peter raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?" He didn't know whether or not he was afraid Sylar was going to hurt someone, or if Sylar was going to, well... cheat...
Completely ignoring Hesam, Sylar headed for the front door once again. "That means I'm going to the library so I can read and stare at the wall at the same time," he replied without looking back. "Hell knows I've never done anything like that before."
Sylar soon reached the front door, opened it, and glanced back over his shoulder, smirking at Peter...
In a relatively polite albeit creepy voice, Sylar told him, "Oh and I did dry your laundry, Peter, I just haven't hung it out yet..."
The door slammed.
Hesam blinked. "Um, is he, you know," he pointed to his head and spun his finger in little circles as a gesture to symbolize the word crazy, "...in the head?"
Peter sighed, walking his way into the living room while his friend followed behind him.
"Well," he explained. Actually, that didn't explain a damn thing, did it?
How could Peter explain this to Hesam without explaining it?
Peter continued to walk, looking down the whole while. "Sylar's... had his crazy moments, but we all have, and he's really... not that bad, deep down," he explained. Actually, that didn't explain much, either... "He's actually, well... very vulnerable and insecure deep down, and for that reason, he tends to push everyone he meets away from him before they get the chance to know him for who he really is, much less for who he wants them to believe he is."
Hesam opened one of his suitcases on the living room floor, and proceeded to get out the X-Box. "Ah, I get it," he said, smiling a little. "One of those 'I want to leave my mark on the world without a mark being made on me' people. Huh. Sounds a little familiar, Peter..."
Elbow on his thigh and chin in hand, Peter said, "It really would be best if you said as little to him as possible. If you ignore him, he'll ignore you, unless he thinks you're stealing all of my attention away from him."
"Huh?"
"I mean—I'm like... one of the only real friends he has right now, and I know he doesn't much like it when mutual acquaintances of ours invite me to do stuff and not him. He wants to be acknowledged for who he is now, and not what he used to be."
"I'm really sorry I brought up the bad stuff, Peter..." Hesam sighed, making way to hook-up that X-Box of his. "I shouldn't have mentioned that at all, but that's my thing – a lot of the time I say stuff and don't realize I shouldn't have said it until right after I say it," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I still feel bad for contributing to those rumors about you in the past, but as everyone knows, I can be a bit paranoid when it comes to the weird stuff."
Peter chuckled. "The weird stuff?"
Hesam shrugged again, attaching a cord to the back of Peter's television set. "Yeah, the weird stuff," he said, randomly thinking of how using an RF adapter for an X-Box fell into that category, too. "You know, unexplainable events, strange coincidences, government conspiracies, Mercury in retrograde, the creepy janitor at Mercy Heights who people are saying can take thoughts out of your head..."
Peter rolled his eyes. "I've told you before that you can't jump to conclusions, especially conclusions based on hearsay, and that the janitor is not a telepath," he stated, nodding firmly. "Also, remember that people with powers do not exist and that despite the weird speculation on T.V., the stuff that happened in Central Park was all just a stunt for the press that was meant to boost the carnival's popularity but the guy in charge of the carnival was an insane scam-artist whom is now in jail." He took a breath, smiled, and breathed out, "The end."
Hesam had heard that speech of Peter's so many times it sounded rehearsed whenever he heard Peter say it. In fact, it had sounded rehearsed the first time, but... oh well, Hesam thought.
After all, Peter was right. People with superpowers didn't really exist, and even if they did, Peter was definitely not one nor was anyone else Hesam knew such as Emma or Peter's friend Sylar.
Peter also wasn't on the down the low with some guy, especially Sylar.
Nope, it was all in Hesam's head...
0.0.0
Sylar approached the front door to Peter's apartment. It was time to put his plan of elimination into action.
Commence evil plan #3,427,001: Crash and Burn Hesam...
Sylar removed the keys from his pocket, prepared to unlock the door, when...
"Oh yeah Peter you are so much better than I thought you'd be!"
"Told you I could do it good!"
"Yeah, right there, just like that. Now slam it, hard. Ooh!"
What.. the.. fuck..?
A laugh. "I bet you never thought I'd come out on top, did you, Hesam?"
"No, I knew you had no experience in this sort of thing."
"This is my first time, but I am loving it a lot more than I thought I would."
"Ssh, quit talking and concentrate. You slowed down for a sec, and you gotta do this hard and fast if you're going to do it with me, Peter."
"Well... take this!"
"Ooh, Peter, nice!"
Time.. to.. die..
Sylar was going to kill. Now. After this, he would proceed to have complete mental and emotional breakdowns and destroy the entire world, he knew, but the hell with that right now Peter was fucking around with that fruitcake...!
With rage, Sylar broke down the door, to see...
What.. the.. fuck..?
Peter and Hesam were doing something. Just not each other. They were... playing a game, with... plastic guitars...?
Sylar was highly disturbed by the sight.
And Peter and Hesam were highly disturbed by the fact that Peter's front door had just been broken down for apparently no reason.
"...Is everything okay?" Hesam asked, breaking the silence. The vocal silence, that is. The music in the background was still playing, and the 'boo' noises.
Sylar remained still momentarily, and then, remembered exactly why he had decided to put his plan of elimination Hesam into action. Thus, he stumbled through the doorway, and then took another chug from the bottle of liquor in his left-hand.
"No, I-I... I'm afraid I did it again, Peter... Oh my God, I am going to KILL myself!"
Peter paled. Sylar had actually... killed again...?
"S-Sylar you... please, tell me you didn't," Peter said. His expression was pleading, and from the way his knees were shaking he knew he might just fall down to them very soon, before he quite possibly began to sob thereafter.
Sylar took another drink from the vodka bottle. "I did it, Peter," he said, woefully. "...I smoked some CRACK!"
"Woah," Hesam gasped.
Peter didn't become any less pale, but in an instance, he had gone from being shocked and terrified to shocked and enraged. Sylar had not smoked crack, and he was definitely not drunk as he could not get drunk. No, he was only trying to freak out Hesam, wasn't he?
Sylar appeared as if he was about to break down into tears, when in reality, it was quite the opposite.
"I don't know what to do, Peter, I can't go back there again," Sylar said, fidgeting in forged nervousness. "You know, the mental institution where you and I met?"
"Sylar..." Peter hissed between teeth, "Don't."
"What—mental institution...?" Hesam muttered. He was visibly perplexed.
"Yeah," Sylar said as he looked at Hesam. "When Peter jumped off the building back when Nathan was running for senator he was put into one of those places for awhile and that's where he met me."
Hesam's eyes shifted to Peter, and he had long since dropped his plastic guitar. "...Peter," he whispered, "I knew about the rumors of your, uh, 'problems' during Nathan's campaign because they were in the papers for a little while back then, but I never knew you were actually committed..."
"Sylar, you..." Peter was so angry that he did not know what to say.
"Peter, you gotta... gotta help me," Sylar said pleadingly, faking a heavy slur, "I need some more crack, or you're gonna have to steal MORE drugs for me from the hospital."
"So it really WAS you who stole the Morphine that time, Peter!" Hesam gasped again.
Peter's impulses won him out, the way they normally did around Sylar, and he charged forwards, straight for the former killer, until, with the plastic guitar, he slammed Sylar wishing that plastic guitar was a sledgehammer made of steel.
Sylar didn't fall to the floor upon impact, but the guitar did break. Peter didn't care. He grabbed the collar of Sylar's ebony shirt, before punching him in the face as hard as he could. When it hit Peter that he couldn't have Sylar's wounds healing up in front of Hesam, he came to the swift conclusion that he could still beat Sylar up without exposing the man's regenerative abilities... so, Peter began punching him in the gut instead.
"Peter, stop!" Sylar begged. "Please, don't hurt me again!"
Again? Hesam's jaw dropped. "...Peter what in the hell are you doing!"
After Sylar was on the floor, pretending to be in massive pain while faking wails of agony, Peter stood, breathing heavily. "Hesam, I... need you to step out for a second so I can deal with this problem, in private... okay?"
"Uh, not okay, Peter," Hesam replied. He knew what was going on here. "I'm guessing the poor guy was locked up in some really bad place for a long time and you helped him get through it at one point, and now, he's terrified he's going back into that nightmare he never again wants to relieve, and his friend who is also a licensed nurse and paramedic decides he is going to beat the shit out of him when the guy in trouble asked him for help?"
Damnit, Sylar thought, Hesam shouldn't have been reacting like this, but surely this little stunt would be more than enough to get Hesam to leave. Sylar would just... have to make it worse, he supposed.
He stood from the floor, glared at Hesam, and pointed a finger at him. "Are you NUTS? Because I AM insane... and under the influence of alcohol and illegal narcotics so I might suddenly decide to KILL you, and I am GOING to!"
"Hey, it's all right, Sylar," Hesam said, calmly. "What you need to do is get into bed and sleep this off, and Peter and I can give you some antihistamine that will help ease the crash a little. Tomorrow, you can just stay here all day and take it easy and I'll get someone to cover Peter's shift so you don't have to be alone, okay?"
That was it. "Are you fucking out of your mind?" Sylar snapped all over again. "I just threatened to KILL you and you're trying to be NICE to me?" Oh, so Hesam was one of those guys... like Luke, or Micah, and Sylar wasn't going to tolerate another one of them who wasn't even one of them.
"Of course," Hesam replied, nodding firmly. "It's not your fault," he said, shaking his head gently. "I'm a paramedic, so I've seen stuff like this for years, and I have no idea what you've been through in the past, but I'm sure it was bad, and I always tell people in your situation that stuff like this will always pass if they only allow it to."
While Sylar stared at him in shock, he added, "And I would also never say anything to provoke you because then you might actually engage in self-harming behavior."
"Oh... ugh." Sylar groaned, and looked at Peter. "You are going to get him out of here right NOW!"
...Peter cracked a small, lopsided grin. "Nonsense, Sylar. You're on 'crack', remember? I might need his help, and I can't take off work for an entire week right now, and someone needs to be with you 24-7, right?" He chuckled, evilly. "I mean, what with your 'other' problems, too..."
"Other problems?" Hesam asked. His voice had been notably on the timid side.
Peter folded his arms, and nodded. "Yes, he's got like, this... obsessive behavior problem, and it makes him do crazy stuff sometimes like... watching the Care Bears for months, even years at a time."
Peter tried not to laugh. He failed.
Sylar did not know what to say.
Hesam didn't, either. This was... crazy, and ridiculous. "Um... okay?"
Finally, Sylar did say something. "When Peter was in the 'institution' with me, he spent most of his time in voluntary solitary confinement because he couldn't stop sexually harassing everyone else who was there, including me, and he was ashamed and chose to confine himself for that reason."
"...Okay," Hesam murmured.
Peter snorted. "Yeah, well, he's a psychopath, so you can't believe anything he says."
"While I was locked up in another place, Peter tried to kill me before trying to kill his mother."
"Sylar plays with unicorns."
"Peter has passive-aggressive issues."
"Sylar's brain is so damaged he doesn't even know his times-tables anymore."
"Peter's even more twisted than I am when it comes to some of the sick stuff he's done."
"Guys, that's enough." Hesam sighed, touching a hand to his forehead for a few seconds. Someone was definitely lying, but what scared him so was Sylar was strangely more convincing than Peter. Hesam looked off to the side momentarily. "Sylar," he said, ready to test his theory out with his super plan. "What's six times seven?"
"Forty-two, of course."
Hesam decided to ask another question. "What's... fourteen times eighty-nine?"
"One-thousand two-hundred and forty-six," Sylar replied.
Hesam looked at Peter. "What's eleven plus eighteen?"
Peter formed another odd expression. "Uh... who cares?"
Sylar bumped Peter lightly with his elbow. "Peter, don't be an idiot, surely you know the answer to that."
"Why does it matter?"
"Just tell him the answer."
"I don't even remember what the damn question was."
"Eleven plus eighteen, Peter."
"Who.. cares..?"
"It's twenty-eight."
"Yeah, whatever, wait... no, it's twenty-nine, Sylar."
"See, I knew you cared..."
Hesam's brow furrowed. Stuff was going on, wasn't it? The weird stuff.
"...Wait a minute. Something... weird is going on here," Hesam muttered. "Peter, he's not slurring anymore, his voice is steady, he's calm, has no shakes, and his pupils are not dilated." Everything clicked into place, and Hesam, once again, looked to Sylar. "...You're not on any drugs, or even drunk, you just don't want me here."
Sylar, momentarily, said nothing. The fruitcake had shattered all chicanery attempts made by asking him some math questions...
Sylar rolled his eyes, picking up the spilt bottle of vodka from the floor. "Fine, I'm not, and I don't," he said, walking into the kitchen to gather a washrag and some soap. "I really do not want you here."
Hesam tilted his head. "Why not?"
"Because if there's one thing Peter didn't lie about," Sylar said, tossing the bottle into the trash, "it's that I am not partial to what I'm sure people like you refer to as 'the scene'." He opened the cabinets under the kitchen sink, and removed the bottle of carpet cleaner. "If I must spend time around people I do not know—which includes, for the most part, everyone—I prefer that they be mature, commendable, and above all else, worthy and appreciative of what they have," he said, closing the drawer he had swiped a washrag from. Finally, he turned around and faced Hesam again. "After all, just because different people are created equally doesn't mean they all die equally."
When Sylar began scrubbing the carpet down, Hesam stared at Sylar blankly. "Um... so what is a guy like you doing hanging around a guy like Peter...?"
What was that supposed to mean, anyway? Peter frowned. He didn't know, but he hadn't liked the sound of that.
Sylar shrugged. "Believe it or not, I actually was in a pretty bad place for a while and Peter happened to be in the wrong place at the right time, though I had admired him long before that for his ambition, determination, and his strong-will that surpasses even that of my own," he said, scrubbing the carpet harder. "Peter was the one who taught me there was more to life than mere self-preservation, I guess, but at this moment, I also guess the spark is fading."
"So..." Hesam's eyes shifted from Sylar, to Peter, and then back to Sylar. "Are you and Peter...?"
"No," Sylar replied. "We're not partners, we're not friends, we're not enemies, and when I think about it, that doesn't really make us anything anymore, so... damn, what am I doing here?"
Hesam eyed Peter once again, who appeared to be in an even greater state of shock than he had been when Sylar had busted down the front door and announced that he was on crack.
"You know what?" Hesam said, "I think I really should leave."
"Yeah, maybe you—"
"No, you don't have to leave," Sylar said, cutting Peter's speech right off. "I've had a moment to reflect on my own words, and while my tactical scheme to scare you away with the shock factor seemed rational enough, rationalizing is often a person's way of finding excuses, so now that I think about it, you should stay." He finished scrubbing the carpet, and stood. "After all, he was right—it wasn't my place to make decisions about his life that he's perfectly capable of making on his own."
"Okay," Hesam muttered, brow furrowing. Stuff was going on. The weird stuff. "I'll just... go and turn off the X-Box, I guess, because hearing that clip of Miss Murder playing repetitively in the background during all this is only making things freakier than they already are."
When Hesam walked into the living room, Peter wasted no time, and confronted Sylar instantaneously.
"Do you," Peter said, glaring, slapping his palms against Sylar's chest in a rough shove, "have any idea how much you just disgraced me in front of my colleague, or of how insane you've made not only yourself appear, but me as well?"
Sylar, at first, said nothing; merely walked into the kitchen in order to gather another dry washrag or two. "Peter," he said finally, after opening the drawer and before turning on the faucet, "I think you know me well enough by now to have known something 'insane' was bound to happen, because it's, well... shall we say, 'unavoidable' for anyone in my presence." He pondered to himself. "A lot like the way dying around you is almost unavoidable for people, and in Hesam's case, he seems like his affect is similar to Angela's—some influence that makes one question their situation and the status of their life as is now and as it will be, only without the worry of being manipulated or fucked-over."
While Sylar was washing a rag under the water faucet, Peter suddenly slapped it right out of his hands.
"Will you stop worrying about the damn carpet for one second?" Peter hissed, and turned off the faucet. "I don't like the way you're talking right now," he said, pointing his finger while shaking his hand, "and you know how much I hate it when you try to play 'Socratic Method' with me."
"I know, which makes me miss Mohinder at times." Sylar chuckled. "He was always up for Socratic Method."
Peter nearly recoiled. Hesam was right; something weird was going on. However, Peter knew—or at least felt—that whatever was going on was worse, somehow... The fact that Sylar had done something insane and even ridiculous in order scare Peter's friend was not weird, but Peter had 'that' feeling nonetheless... like something was going on in shadows. Something bad was going to happen, and a battle would take place, Peter just didn't know when or how; only that he would be involved.
He sighed. "Sylar, just... okay," he said smartly, placing his right-hand on his hips. "If you no longer have a problem with Hesam crashing here, it's like I told you over the phone when you were out buying your crack and alcohol."
"I didn't buy any crack, Peter," said Sylar.
"I know that." Peter rolled his eyes. "Anyways, like I was saying, no abilities under any circumstances, and you gotta keep your hands to yourself when it comes to me and you whenever he's around." After Sylar smirked at him, he added, "Also, you must remain cordial at all times."
"All right. One question..."
"What?"
"If you and I were to get married," Sylar said, as Peter took an involuntarily step backwards, "would our last names be Gray-Petrelli, or Petrelli-Gray?"
Peter frowned, placing the flat of his hand against Sylar's chest. "Idiot," he said, pushing Sylar back. "You know the answer to that." He had turned halfway around, but he chose to turn back around to add one more thing. "Besides, my name sounds better up front because your first name has three syllables, too."
"Uh, guys?" Hesam asked, having re-entered the dining space. "So..." Damn, he had no idea what to say, but he would think of something smart. "You wanna play cards or something?"
"You mean like poker?" Sylar inquired, before Peter mumbled something to himself that was incoherent. He was clearly frustrated over something, and Sylar, for some reason, found the something extremely amusing. "Huh, I've never really done that before, but all right."
"Bullshit," Peter muttered, because that's what this entire situation was.
Hesam shrugged. "We could play that, too?"
Again, Peter looked at Hesam oddly. "Yeah, okay, but you know what? We've got a shift starting at six in the morning tomorrow, and it's getting late, so I think you and I should just get some sleep."
"Peter..." Hesam was looking at Peter oddly now. "It's... well, not even nine o' clock yet."
"...I know that," Peter said, and then checked his watch. "But I do have the six to six tomorrow, and you have the six to three, so it makes sense if I get several more hours of sleep."
Peter still had that weird feeling, he did not know why, and he didn't like it. "Sylar, even if you're not on crack, you should sleep, too."
Sylar almost laughed. "Why?"
And Peter didn't know why.
"Speaking of that," Hesam said, "do I have the couch, or the roll-out?"
It was Sylar's turn to shrug. "I don't care, but in my opinion, the guest should get the bed."
Hold up.
Guest, or Guests?
Suddenly, Peter knew why.
And at this moment, he either had to get his head mostly straight, or have himself permanently committed in a place for being hell-bent on making sure he wasn't so possessive of Sylar that the idea of Sylar spending time alone with anyone apart from him automatically made him think 'Get away from him, he's mine'.
"Peter."
No answer.
"Peter?"
Still no answer.
"Pe-ter..."
"...Huh?" Peter blinked several times.
"You just spaced off," Hesam said, lowering the hand he had used to snap his fingers in front of Peter's face. "My only question is which planet you went to this time."
Sylar giggled.
He fucking giggled.
"...I'm gonna... yeah, go to bed," Peter muttered, though it seemed he was talking himself more than the guest or guests. "I'm suddenly not feeling so well, but I think it's just because I've been awake for a really long time, since I really didn't get much sleep last night..."
And he hadn't obtained very much sleep the previous night, but neither had Sylar, and as Peter recalled the events of the night before, his fists balled, tightly... But, in relation to Hesam's prior statement...
"I'm going to Pluto now, goodnight," Peter said.
Hesam asked, "Uh, don't you mean Neptune?"
"What?" Peter didn't get it.
"Pluto's technically not a planet anymore, Peter," Sylar stated.
"...You two think I give a damn about all this stuff?" Peter grunted, unconsciously stomping one foot down into the floor. "Like I said, I'm going to bed, and you two can stay out here and discuss algebra and astronomy while playing bullshit while those of us who are responsible adults actually get some sleep."
"Peter, what the..." Hesam didn't even have the chance to finish his sentence or paragraph yet to come, however, as Peter had already marched into the bedroom, and slammed the doors behind him.
Too bad that both the doors—and the wall separating the bedroom from the next room—were mostly made of glass...
0.0.0
"If I were a religious man I would say 'oh my God' because you were that incredible... You are incredible, Sylar," Hesam said, breathing heavily beneath him.
"I know, and now that I've had you, I realize I can have anyone, and that Peter doesn't control me—control anything about me—including who I choose to make love to or have sex with, because it is my choice to make, and I'm bored with him. Thank you, Hesam, for showing me the truth..."
Sylar pinned Claire against the wall, kissing her, ardently, one hand slipping underneath her skirt.
"Ooh, Sylar," Claire moaned. "Yes, fuck yes..."
Angela was on top of Sylar, straddling him. "You always wanted me, Gabriel, now let me show you what a real woman can do."
"I know, my lovely Angela... a real woman can do me," Sylar said.
"That's it, Mohinder. Slam me into the wall with all your might. Slam into me with your strength."
"That's right, Sylar." Mohinder growled. "Let's see you heal from this."
"I still have her gift, I still have piece of Lydia inside of me, so why don't you get inside of me and have a piece of me, too?"
"All right," Edgar replied.
"It's been so long, I thought you had forgotten me..."
"I never forgot you, Luke," Sylar whispered, "so I came back for you, so you could come for me..."
"What the hell are you doing here?" Samuel asked.
Sylar shrugged. "I came to visit to you in your cell so we could fuck in it, because I am a whore now."
"Delightful, let's get started, shall we?"
"You're my real hero, not Peter, please... Oh God, please, take me..."
"Anything." Sylar stroked Emma's face. "But I am going to give you everything."
"If you want it, get on your knees, you monster..."
Sylar sank to the floor. "Punish me, Noah. I'm sure you could make me scream louder than Peter ever did."
"You won't have to have your powers for time itself to stop when you have sex with me."
"YATTA!" Hiro threw his arms into the air.
Sylar was lying in bed.
"Well, if Hiro's doing you, guess it's my destiny, too," Ando pronounced.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Hello, West, I'm Sylar, the most powerful man in the world in more ways than one, and I am here to have sex with you."
West gave a thumps up. "Cool, and don't forget to add me on Facebook after we do it."
"Oh, I always wanted you, Sylar..." she purred.
"Yes, Amanda, set me on fire with the pleasure I am about to give you."
"Yo man, what's up? You wanna," Sylar said, licking his own skin, "you know?"
Matt showed no visible reaction, but nevertheless said, "Sure, come right on inside so we can get inside one another again."
"What the hell? Sylar...?"
"Nathan," Sylar said, pointing a finger at him, "I know this may seem relatively strange, but I had to time-travel back here to make sure I had sex with you before you died, and trust me; no one wants to die without having first had me." He pressed the tip of his pointed finger to his pursed lips, and winked.
Nathan threw everything off of his desk. "Get on it, slut!"
"Ahh!"
Peter bolted upright in his bed. He was breathing heavily, and was almost in a state of shock from the sheer terror his previous nightmare had presented him with.
The nightmare had been... horrendous... perhaps the worst nightmare Peter had ever experienced in his life. He knew every time someone underwent a horrible nightmare that their initial reactions were often 'that was the worst nightmare I've ever had', but when Peter realized it truly had been, he became all the more petrified.
When he... really thought about it, he'd rather spend another five years in someone's head than relive his previous nightmare. What time was it, anyway?
"Half past two?" he muttered to himself, staring at the red numbers on the clock. Something about the time wasn't right. Come again, maybe it wasn't the time that was wrong, it was the lights that were. They were still on, at 2:30 in the morning, which meant...
...someone was out there.
Peter blinked. He knew someone was supposed to be out there, they just weren't supposed to be awake. ...It wouldn't hurt if he got out of bed for a few seconds to take a quick peek out his bedroom doors and see what Sylar and Hesam were up to so early in the morning...
He proceeded to get out of bed, slowly creeping his way to the doors, placing his hand on one of the knobs and pressing his forehead against the glass; squinting, to see what he could see out there. The den lights were off; it was only the dining segment lights which were on.
Peter heard laughter, and breathed out against the glass, fogging it. He was going to go out there and find out what his friend and his... whatever-he-was-to-him were up to. Thus, he turned the knob, pulled back the door, and stepped out. He heard the laughter again—a mixture of Sylar's and Hesam's—and he took a few steps to the left, slowly walking, walking, walking...
And then...
"Okay, I'd say you're a two."
"Are you kidding me? I'm at least a ten."
"You're a two."
"Yeah, well you're a two."
"No, I'm a nine and you know it."
Peter blinked. What the...
"Hell," Hesam said. "You better not be doing what I think you're doing..."
"Don't look at me like that, I'm not..."
Cheating, Peter thought. You better not be, you little...
"Son of a bitch," Hesam muttered. "You got it again. You suck, and this..."
"Blows?" Sylar chuckled.
"Get blown."
"Okay, get under the table."
Peter's mouth fell open. Sylar, that...
"Bitch," Hesam said.
Hesam, oh...
"Please," Sylar said.
Hesam and Sylar laughed.
"You want to know who the real bitch is?"
"Peter," Hesam said, placing his card on the table while looking at Peter. "What are you doing here?"
Peter frowned. "I live here."
Sylar didn't even bother turning around. He only rolled his eyes, slapping the nine of spades down to join his previous cards.
"You guys were so loud you woke me up," Peter continued, rubbing at his eyes. "What are you guys doing out here, anyways?"
"Relax, Peter," Sylar said, exhaling a sigh. "It's not what it looks like."
Hesam nodded. "Nah," he said, holding up the stack of cards with one hand, "I mean, I know it looks like we're playing a card game," he placed his other hand over Sylar's, "but really, we're having sex."
Sylar laughed out loud all over again.
Peter growled, his hands fisting at his sides. "Sylar, have you been telling Hesam weird stuff?"
"Weird stuff?" Hesam muttered, furrowing his brow. He looked from Sylar, who shrugged, to Peter, who smirked at him. "No," he said, once again looking from Peter, to Sylar, and then back to Peter again. "He hasn't even mentioned your name."
Peter, somehow, became even more displeased than he had already been. "Hesam, why would you automatically associate my name with 'weird stuff'?" he asked, raising his chin. "Also, the question was for Sylar, not you, but I want you to answer my question now anyway."
"Well," Hesam said, looking from Peter, to Sylar, "hell, I didn't mean it the way the way he took it."
Sylar huffed. "I know." He finally turned in his chair to face Peter. "Hesam and I haven't been talking about you," he said simply. "I'm guessing you thought he meant to imply that I had told him 'weird stuff' about you, but he only answered you the way he did because he figured the only logical explanation for how irritated you are was that you had the idea we were bad-talking you behind your back."
Hesam nodded. "Exactly."
"Then why did he..." Peter realized he couldn't finish the question. Not in front of Hesam.
Hesam tilted his head to the side. "Why did I what?"
Sylar chuckled. "He's referring to the joke you made about cards and sex."
"Huh...?" Hesam looked at Peter oddly. "Why would that bother you? I was just kidding around, but..." He looked at Peter even more oddly. "...wait, were you thinking that I was trying to make a gay joke aimed at you?" he asked, quickly shaking his head while holding his hands up as if he were a mime trying to get out of an invisible box. "Well, shit, I really didn't mean it that way, Peter, I was just making a random joke, and I'm getting really tired and had a couple beers to boot."
Peter blinked, eyeing the empty beer bottles. There were five in total; two next to Hesam, and three next to Sylar, and, wait... Peter hadn't had any beer...
He frowned again. "You guys actually went out to buy some alcohol?" he asked, though more in the form of a statement than an inquiry. "I know I shouldn't care, but I do, because Hesam, you have to work this morning and correct me if I'm wrong but I don't see how partying is more important than saving lives."
"Peter..." Hesam sighed. "I can see your point, but really," he said, standing up, "I was just about to go to sleep."
"Do you even realize what time it is?" Peter asked.
"I don't know, around midnight?"
"It's getting close to three," Sylar stated.
Hesam muttered, "Oh."
Peter folded his arms. "Sylar, if you knew it was that late, you should've told him."
"So now it's my fault you're angry?" Sylar rolled his eyes, and then began gathering the cards from the table one by one. "I don't know why that surprises me, since it's always my fault, isn't it?"
"Look, it's no one's fault," Hesam said, tossing a couple of empty beer bottles into the trash, "so let's stop fussing over nothing and go to sleep."
Sylar nodded. "Sounds good to me."
Rather childishly, and with his vocal pitch rising in random increments between words, Peter said, "Sounds good to me."
"Mimicking words now, Peter?" Sylar smirked at him.
"No," Peter smiled. "Just idiocy."
Hesam threw a couple more empty bottles into the trash with force. "Peter," he said, spinning around promptly. "Have you been taking those caffeine pills again?"
"What?" Sylar asked, looking from Hesam, to Peter. "I thought you stopped taking those."
"I did!"
"That was a lie!" Sylar shouted, slapping his hand against the tabletop. "I told you not to take those fucking things anymore!"
"What's the big damn deal?"
"They make you crazy and they're bad for you!"
"You guys," Hesam whined. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into when he had decided to crash with Peter. "Can we please stop this?"
"No," Sylar said, pointing his finger at Hesam. "You're going to tell me how many of those things he takes."
"Hesam," Peter growled. "Don't you dare say anything."
"No, he's gonna tell me."
"No, he's not!"
"Yes, he IS."
"No, he's NOT!"
"He's gonna go to bed right now because he's got to be up in less than three hours and he doesn't want to get fired over something he has nothing to do with."
After Hesam had spoken, no one said anything. He threw the final beer bottle away, sleepily dusted off his hands in a typical piece o' cake fashion, and walked back into the dining room and towards the den.
He snapped his fingers, turning around. "Oh," he said, smiling. "Night Peter, Sylar." That said, he headed to bed.
"Well," Peter said. Huh. What had he and Sylar been talking about again?
"The... oh the hell with it," Sylar muttered, standing thereafter.
That had been odd and Peter knew it, because it seemed the very second Hesam had left the room the argument Peter had been having with Sylar had ended just as abruptly.
Peter waited for Sylar to say more, but it appeared Sylar had decided to initiate the good ol' silent treatment.
"Night, Peter," he said finally.
Peter frowned, gripping Sylar's wrist. "It's 'goodnight', not 'night', you never say that," he said, grip tightening. "And what do you think you were doing playing one of our games with him?"
Sylar's mouth opened, as if he didn't know what to say, though he was clearly amused. "What?" he asked, gesturing to the cards he was holding in his ceased hand. "You mean that silly card game? Everyone plays that."
"No, they don't," Peter said, taking the cards right out of Sylar's hand. "When we play, it's one of our lie-detector games, and you were playing the game with him the same way you play it with me."
Sylar raised an eyebrow. "Are we talking about the same game here, Peter?" he asked, lightly jerking his hand away from Peter, though Peter wouldn't let go. "Because I thought we were talking about the downgraded version of the Indian poker game where any number of persons hold a card to their forehead while they bet on who has the highest ranking card?"
"Well, yeah," Peter said, temporarily averting the glance of his eye to the right. "That's just like you to turn one of our games into a stupid drinking game, isn't it?"
"Peter... what the hell is wrong with you right now?"
Peter tugged Sylar's wrist when Sylar tried to pull his hand away again, smirking, saying, "Nothing."
"Oh, you chose to answer that by saying 'nothing'?"
"So?" Peter smirked, though he had interpreted Sylar's statement and question in one incorrectly. "My nothings speak louder than your somethings."
Sylar tore his hand away from Peter, frowning while gritting his teeth. "I don't know if you're crashing or if you're merely looking for a way to make nothing out of something—which you have always had a gift for—but either way I want away from you right now."
"Pssh," Peter scoffed, throwing the full deck of cards in Sylar's face. "Sounds good to me," he repeated, turning around and walking back into the bedroom.
Sylar heard the doors slam, and yet again he wondered what had gotten into Peter that was causing him to behave so childishly. Hopefully he didn't have passive-aggressive-possessive issues. Peter was the connection between Sylar and Hesam, so logically, should they all 'hang out', one of them would be the third wheel – not Peter.
Sylar shook his head a little, as all the cards scattered all over the floor rose into the air, surrounding him, before, with a single thought, he pulled every single card into his hand. The ace of spades came out on top. Huh, Sylar hadn't meant to do that, but subconsciously, he supposed he had death on the brain.
He set the cards down on the table, and walked into the den; pondering over the possibility of Peter feeling like a third wheel.
That wasn't really an issue, though, or so Sylar thought. No, it seemed the real issue was Peter's possessiveness when it came to him and, in a strange way, Hesam. Well. Well, well, well. Now Peter knew how Sylar felt when he left Sylar at the apartment alone so he could go spend time with Claire or Noah or Angela or Hiro or Mohinder or anyone else he chose to intentionally spend time with without Sylar.
Lying on his back, Sylar stared up at starry-eyed sky that was Peter's ceiling. "Hesam?"
"Yeah?" Hesam mumbled, half-asleep on the couch.
"I think you and I are going to be good friends..."
Hesam sleepily and incoherently mumbled something like, "Hurray, all right," though he had actually mumbled, "Okay, night."
Silently, Sylar chuckled. "Night."
0.0.0
A/N: I have a lot of this fic finished already, but I'm really hoping I can get some reviews on this chapter before I post the next, so… please review…!