Remember
Author's Note: Um, so...I've sort of had the beginning of this fic in my head for a few days now. When I started writing it I didn't know it would turn out this way. So...yeah. Hope you enjoy. I think my philosophy course is having weird effects on me.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes
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Peter gazes at the city below, its inhabitants tiny, their movements hurried. He reaches into his arsenal, pulls out one that will help, enhances his vision until each inhabitant's features are clearly defined. His feet dangle over the edge, swinging in the breeze as he watches ordinary people go about their ordinary lives.
Extraordinary.
His fingers trace over the scar that runs diagonally across his face. He remembers the incision, remembers Mohinder telling him it was the only way, remembers that old want (need) to be special return in full force, damn the consequences.
He feels the presence of the other man as he sits down beside Peter, his feet dangling over the edge in the same way. The man bangs his knee gently against Peter's, earning a small twitch from his mouth. Not a smile yet, that would be expecting too much.
He wonders at the other man. How strange that things could have changed so much. More than enemies, more than friends, more than lovers.
He isn't gay. In fact, if you'd asked him before, he would have probably told you he was straighter than...well, an incredibly straight thing. He glances over at the other man and the corner of his mouth twitches. It's not all men, Peter decides. Only him. Only ever him.
A callused hand grazes his cheek and he must look up into those dark eyes, must otherwise that hand will drive him slowly, but oh so completely, insane. The hand traces his scar and he leans into the touch.
"How are you feeling today, Peter?" the other man asks, his voice sending waves to parts of Peter's brain which should not be working this early in the morning. He wonders whether this is an effect of the other man's voice or whether he simply hasn't heard a voice in so long. He marvels that the other man was even able to find him. He'd thought he'd hidden his trail well.
"How did you find me?" Peter asks, both because he wants to know and because he can't really answer the other man's question. He...does not feel like himself. At least, he thinks he does not. For all he knows, this is him.
The other man smiles. His mouth seems suited to the gesture although Peter knows it was not always like that, remembers when that mouth seemed only to know how to sneer, smirk, snarl, also remembers what it felt like covering his own.
"I'll always be able to find you, Peter," the other man says and then laughs, the sound sending more waves into Peter's brain, extracting certain memories buried deep. "And anyway, to completely dispel any sort of mystery, you always come here when you want to be alone." He gestures around at the rooftop. Pigeons coo sleepily, feathers ruffling.
"I do?" Peter remembers that. He frowns. He knows this man. He knows the cause of the scar. He knows his arsenal, top to bottom, left to right, any direction to any direction. He even knows why this place is special to him. But there is something missing...something important.
"Do you remember my name?" the other man whispers, a callused finger tracing the scar again. He seems to expect him to say no.
Peter has an almost overwhelming sense of déjà vu. This has happened before. More than once. He frowns. He knows the man but does he remember his name?
The other man is important to him. Peter remembers him as a faceless shadow, the bogeyman under the bed, the reason for being a hero. Yes...yes...yes.
His frown deepens. It doesn't make sense. How can he reconcile such opposing images?
"Sylar..." he whispers before he can stop himself and the other man flinches as though he's been slapped. "But...how? I don't..."
His confusion is mounting. It's almost a physical thing now and the pigeons ruffle their feathers anxiously at the change in atmosphere.
The other man – Sylar – gazes at him, his dark eyes drinking in every one of Peter's features, making no pretense, as though wanting to capture this moment and store it somewhere very close by. He wonders at this, Peter does. It almost abates the confusion; he is becoming so intent on figuring out why the other man is looking at him like that. He wants (needs) to know.
"You have no idea what you do to me, do you, Peter?" the other man asks, more than just hints of frustration in his voice. He rakes fingers through his hair and Peter feels irrationally jealous of those fingers. The feeling flashes in his eyes and is gone in a moment.
It only takes a moment.
"Yes, I do," he is whispering into the other man's lips before pressing himself forward, crushing himself against him. "Gabriel..."
Gabriel is kissing him now, their lips crushing, their tongues exploring, their breath intermingling. Peter wants (needs) this to go on forever.
They break apart, their foreheads pressed together, taking gulps of air. "You always bring me back," Peter whispers, and smiles for the first time. "You've never given up on me."
Gabriel is trying not to cry, is trying to be happy. Because he is. His heart is bursting with joy because this time, this time, Peter remembers.
But he knows it won't last. It never has.
And yet he always hopes that it will.
"I...I love you, Peter," he gasps out because he remembers the last time, when he forgot to say it, remembers the intervening month in which he berated himself over and over again for not saying it.
Peter is beaming at him and he wants (needs) to forget that it might not last.
"I love you too, Gabriel," Peter says. He is so happy, he feels as though his skin is the only thing keeping him from floating away. That, and the fact that Gabriel is by his side. His anchor. "I always will."
Peter eventually forgets. He forgets the touch of Gabriel's hands on his flushed skin, alternating between soft and rough. He forgets the shared laughter as they lie in bed and watch a silly comedy. He forgets the feel of Gabriel's lips on his, the feel of Gabriel's fingers running through his hair, forgets the feel of his fingers running through Gabriel's hair, grasping tight, the memory of his early irrational jealousy emerging as he does so. He forgets the tangled sheets; he forgets the smell of pancakes, even the sound of the pizza delivery boy's voice as he thanks Gabriel for the tip.
It is when he forgets Gabriel's name that he panics.
"I'll never forget, I'll never forget," he whispers, burying his head into Gabriel's chest, crying and crying because he already has. Gabriel holds him tight, so tight, until eventually the sobbing recedes and Peter falls asleep.
Gabriel knows that if he stays all hell will break loose. Mohinder and Matt have both explained it to him, first gently and then with increasing frustration because they cannot understand why he doesn't just accept it as they have.
Three days and three nights. It is too small. He wonders whether Peter will even notice if he never returns, whether he shouldn't just end his pathetic half-life right here and now. It seems the most sensible way. After all, there is only Peter to live for. And Peter forgets.
He slips from the bed, unseen, unheard. He contemplates suicide but there's that niggling feeling in the back of his mind. What if he does, and the next time Peter is lucid is the one time he remembers everything and never forgets? What then?
He hesitates at the doorway. The constant "what if...?" haunts him and so, hardly knowing what he is doing, he turns back, sits on the edge of the bed, strokes Peter's face, traces the scar.
He waits for morning. He waits for Peter to wake and blink sleepily up at him. He waits for the inevitable, for Peter to push away from him, fear in his eyes and hands and face, caused by the sight of a strange man in what appears to be his bedroom.
He waits in vain.
"Gabriel?" Peter frowns. He shakes his head, clearing it of dreams, of fog. "Gabriel?" An edge of hysteria has entered his voice. "Did I forget, Gabriel?"
Gabriel is silent. This has never happened before. Not once. He has stayed before. He received only fear and a certain amount of misplaced anger when he did. But this time...this time...
"No." He shakes his head, gathers Peter into his arms. "Not this time."
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Well...so I'm a happy ending junkie. What of it? *glares*
Review please.