Under My Skin

They got lost on the way home. It had been almost a decade in Sylar's mind since he'd travelled these streets, and it took him a while to get his bearings. Having been so accustomed to the deserted, cross-hatching streets of his Los Angeles/New York hybrid prison, the streets he'd grown up on now felt more dreamlike than the real dream ever had.

The entire flight, Peter strayed no further than an arm's length away – a quiet, sturdy anchor to reality (as he had been for a while now) that Sylar was incredibly thankful for. Peter never complained when they had to change course more than once, he didn't object to landing on a random rooftop while Sylar scoped out the perimeter, and the whole time he never uttered one word of the anxiety that was visibly tearing him up inside.

It might have been rather selfish of Sylar to think it, but he resented Claire for what she'd done back in the park. Not for ruining the world, oh no, but for ruining his and Peter's first night of freedom. Of course they'd talked about it, repeatedly: what they'd do once they broke free of that suffocating wall. Mostly the talks had been hypothetical, and the fantasies had never strayed far from the normality of being able to finally watch a movie that they didn't know every line to, or to actually drive somewhere outside the confines of the city for a change of scenery. Sylar didn't even know if Peter still wanted or intended to do that at all, but the fact was that now they didn't even have the option. They'd had about ten minutes of down time between saving the world and having it screw up again, and after eight years of waiting for this night... ten minutes reprieve simply wasn't long enough for Sylar.

Despite the burning questions and so many things that he wanted to say now that they were finally free from the confines of Parkman's mind prison, he let Peter brood in silence for the duration of their journey.

Eventually the streets below began to make sense, and soon the two men landed in the shadow of a familiar building, sharing a sense of ease at the sight. This place was familiar. This place was home in the midst of a strange city. They climbed the stairs shoulder-to-shoulder, the place foreign looking under the signs of other inhabitants living here beside themselves, and Sylar let out a breath he hadn't even noticed he'd been holding when his own front door came into view at long last.

"Home sweet home..." He let Peter inside first before following him in and closing the door securely on the outside world. The first thing he did was shed his dusty jacket and kick his shoes off now he was safely back in the comfort of the apartment. Then he turned to feast his eyes on the only place he knew as home.

It was the weirdest thing – to have stood here two hours ago, but to also feel the sense of neglect in the air. Sure, it had technically only been this morning that Sylar had gone to visit Parkman and asked for his help, but at the same time he hadn't set foot in this version of this apartment for years. The furniture and décor was the same, of course, but it was the little things that jarred. The book Sylar had been reading what felt like yesterday was neatly in its place on the shelf, not on the arm of the couch where he'd left it; Peter's spaghetti stain that Sylar had failed to scrub out of the carpet and subsequently despised for the past three years was now nowhere to be seen... and in an absurd way, he missed it; the unequal game of chess the pair had been struggling through for months now was no longer set up meticulously on the coffee table, which was also pointedly absent of the ring marks Sylar had grown to forgive. Now they'd never finish the match.

"Do you want something to drink?" Sylar asked, aware of how hungry and thirsty he, himself, was after not eating a thing all day. He flung his keys onto the coffee table with a flick of his fingers, and they shot across the room with the force of a bullet, bouncing off the table with a jingle and falling to the floor due to too much momentum. Sylar jumped a little, feeling his fingertips tingle slightly in the after burn of telekinesis. Of course... he wondered how long it would take for him to get used to having his abilities again after going so long without. "I don't think I have much to choose from, though."

( )

Peter had headed directly for the TV the second he crossed the threshold. Only because he was so familiar with the routine had he made a half assed attempt to throw his jacket in the general direction of the coat stand and kick his shoes away to spare any dirty footprints – as were the rules of the house. Still bubbling with dread, he crouched down and turned the TV on easily. He was perfectly comfortable with this place and its belongings, despite the fact that this was technically his first time inside Sylar's apartment.

"Uh, whatever you've got is fine..." He said absently, ignoring his grumbling stomach and instead frowning at the screen as he flicked through the channels desperately in search of the news. Funny, in all his life he'd never imagined he could actually forget what Bart Simpson looked like until now...

( )

"Pity we couldn't take that Macallan back with us, huh? We could've made a toast or something..." Sylar mused aloud as he entered his kitchen, and was startled when the contents of his cupboards were different to how he'd left them. He'd forgotten that on a particularly dull day in their third year in the mind prison, he and Peter had taken it upon themselves to rearrange the kitchen. He puzzled for a moment before remembering where things used to be, and went about finding some sort of glasses. Deciding then and there that he would later move around the room to the way he now liked it (and get himself some proper drinking glasses while he was at it!) Sylar recovered his best mismatched mugs from the minimal available batch. Even more embarrassing was his pathetically empty fridge and lack of beverages, and he resorted to filling the mugs with water from the tap while longing after the expensive whiskey they'd always said they'd "get round to..." but now they never would. In their dream world, food had never been in short supply or difficult to obtain, and Sylar vaguely wondered if he even remembered how to go grocery shopping in a real, busy store where he actually had to pay for things...

When he returned to his companion, Peter was sitting hunched on the edge of the couch, leaning forward and gazing at the TV screen intently. Sylar passed him on the way to the empty seat at his side, holding out the better mug for him to take. "Here. It's just water, that's all there is. "To freedom!", I guess..." He lofted his drink before taking a sip.

Peter looked up to catch the offered mug, cradling it to his chest instead of drinking it. "Thanks." He mumbled, scowling at the news again. Sylar sat down beside him, as usual ignoring the creaking springs under his weight, and joined in the examination of the headlines seeing as Peter was clearly not in a talkative mood.

The night quickly spiralled into a major exposé for people with abilities: Claire's miraculous live recovery from a fatal fall played repeatedly, with the news anchors puzzling over the insane circumstance and the existence of super-humans. More and more information unfolded as the night grew long: the truth about the carnival and it's inhabitants was quickly discovered (even though the intentions of Samuel Sullivan were never once mentioned), overwhelming evidence of another species of human blasted over the screen, and Mohinder and Chandra Suresh were both mentioned repeatedly, with constant references to their theories and research. Sylar couldn't help but tense at the brief, nameless mention of "Patient 0", but it was soon swallowed up in the onslaught of information that continued to unfurl for hours. Footage of different people with different abilities appeared on the news: a levitating man, a girl who made a flower bloom in her hand, a baby that could blow a stream of floating bubbles from its lips... Some were dragged into the limelight or outed unwillingly by parents or glory-seeking friends, and some even headed down to the scene of the carnival – the night's impromptu hub for all things ability-related – to show the world their powers themselves.

And the more Peter and Sylar watched, the more the world seemed to rejoice at the news.

( )

Overall the response was positive, with footage of specials exposing their powers to applause from their families and neighbours, and the stories kept cutting back to the first shot of Claire – standing beneath the Ferris wheel encouraging "all of these brave, special individuals to come forward, as I did". Peter found his anger slipping away as he watched his niece, her face shining with pride and a tear glistening in her eye, greeting all of these people and congratulating them on being true to themselves. She really did seem to think she'd done the right thing, at least. Peter found that he couldn't hold that against her, no matter how unsure he was of the idea himself.

"Look at her." He sighed. "She has no idea what she's done." He spoke flatly, having sat in almost complete silence since he'd entered the apartment. Despite what he was seeing play out in front of him, he couldn't help but think of the way the world had once "accepted" abilities in a time long past, yet possibly still to come.

"Well... neither do we." Peter squinted at Sylar in surprise then, straining his stiff neck with the sudden movement. That had sounded almost... hopeful? The taller man elaborated. "I know you're really against all of this, Peter. But why is that? Really?" Eyes burning into the paramedic, Sylar casually hunted down and took a sip from his drink, both mugs having lain almost forgotten since he'd brought them over almost three hours ago. The pair still hadn't eaten, but while Peter had heard his friend's stomach squealing repeatedly, he'd lost his own appetite long ago. "I know you're afraid of what you saw the last time. But maybe this will be different? Just look at all this: it seems like it might be a good thing."

Peter sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his furrowed brow. He didn't understand how Sylar could be so naïve, but then again, he hadn't actually seen it with his own eyesthe way Peter had. "You're right, I am afraid." He admitted simply, his bottom lip pouting slightly in defeat. "I'm afraid that people like you, like me, like Claire will get rounded up and locked away, just because of who we are. All those people who are coming out like this...?" Peter gestured at the TV before shaking his head. "They have no idea what they could be getting themselves into. Alright – it looks like it might be okay now. But what happens when the novelty wears off? What happens when there's an accident, or someone recruits an army of people with abilities, or someone has the bright idea to go around terrorising the world with their power, just 'cause they can...? Huh?" A meaningful look transpired between the pair then, and Sylar once more busied himself with his drink.

Saying it aloud like this only made it more scary, but this was a fear Peter could no longer keep locked inside in hopes of preventing it from happening. It was already happening. Before, it had all been in his mind, his memories, the only place where traces of those unfulfilled timelines lingered, except in restrained conversations with this very man sitting beside him. But now the thought – no, knowledge – that it was actually real ran chills down Peter's spine, and he felt only more nauseous now than he had while witnessing Claire's fateful skydive back in the park.

"There'll be no escape for them if this all goes to hell. If people begin to fear us – and you're right, they might not yet..." He added, voice threatening to waver as he looked Sylar in the eye. "But if they do – everyone who thinks this is the best day of their lives will be right on the firing line. They're the ones who will suffer for this. We're the ones who will have to run for our lives and be classed as "terrorists". Again. That future I saw? What happened then? This could be the start of it. The start of all of it." Peter gestured with his hand, drawing a wild circle to indicate 'all of it'.

Now that he'd opened the latch on this vault, he found himself unable to stop vocally expelling the dark mass of fear that had been boiling in his stomach all night. He needed to get his point across, he needed Sylar to understand! But, secretly, mostly he needed to offload this burden onto someone who would actually listen to him.

"People hunting us down, specials everywhere having to hide, having to lie, having to watch our backs – all because of this. What if someone does tryto rip the world apart, huh? ...What if it's Samuel? What if it's not?! We have no clue how far this will go or even how many people out there have abilities in the first place!" He laughed humourlessly to himself, rubbing his thumb over his forehead again as he drew in a calming breath. Then he met Sylar's gaze once more, seeing the dread and understanding where there hadn't been any before. "Yeah I'm scared, Sylar. Because every time the world has ever known about abilities, it's never. Worked. Out. Not for us. Not for anyone. And... and I just don't wanna see it happen that way again." Peter leaned back in his seat with a creak of springs, massaging his throbbing temple and staring numbly at the TV through aching, tired eyes.

( )

"Well you certainly answered my question." Sylar rumbled out a dry chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. He could tell it worked, that Peter was grateful for it, grateful not to be alone in this. A little puff of a laugh escaped the other man's lips in return. It would be nice if Sylar could say for certain that everything really was going to be okay, but sadly Peter's fears had solid standing. And both men knew there was nothing they could do about it. "So I take it you're not gonna "come out" then, like Claire and all her little groupies?" Sylar smirked, spinning his mug around and around in his fingers.

Peter swivelled his head to meet his gaze from his slouched, forlorn position. "I wasn't planning on it." He cracked the tiniest of half smiles, to reassure Sylar, he knew. As if Sylar was the one most in need of reassurance, here. "I just don't know enough yet to make the decision. Maybe I'll wait it out, do it in my own time..." Sylar nodded quietly, slowly, taking that in. He suspected that there was a lot more going on beneath the surface there, but trusted Peter to share it when or if he chose. Sylar had always refused to beg for information, and his more... preferred method of procuring what he wanted wasn't going to cut it anymore. So instead he would just be patient. "What about you?" Peter prompted, drawing Sylar out of dark memories. "Are you gonna tell the truth?"

( )

They looked at each other for a thoughtful moment before Sylar finally spoke. "No. Not yet." He rolled his eyes in a condescending manner. "I'm just trying to get my life back on track, and somehow admitting that I'm an ex-serial killer with unquestionable power doesn't seem to be the right way to go about that." He grinned then, a small, playful motion that Peter felt seep comfortingly into his chest and settle there. "Besides, I'd only steal everyone else's thunder..."

Peter felt his lips tug at the corner. "Oh yeah?"

"Are you kidding? One look at me and Lil' Miss Indestructible would be yesterday's news."

"Oh you think so?"

"I know so, Peter. They'd trample over her to get to me so fast she wouldn't even have time to regenerate. And then I'd show them my abilities and they'd only want me more..."

Peter hauled himself out of his reclining slump with a laugh, his first real one in what felt like forever, and was truly glad to have Sylar's company. While the hours had whizzed past as he'd been glued to the TV screen, he'd been so absorbed in the impending apocalypse that he'd almost forgotten where he was watching it from. And now he felt at least a little tension lift under Sylar's smile. The smile of a friend.

"I guess you're right." Peter looked back at the TV once again. At the reoccurring face of a familiar, blonde teenager. "It's probably best if we don't get involved. At least publicly." So much had changed in only a few hours, everything was moving so fast and he wished it would all just stop already. It would have been overwhelming rejoining the living world on the most peaceful of days, but this was just too much to break into after knowing nothing but silence for so long. From one hell to the next, in the span of an hour or so. Peter's head was positively thumping, he was beyond physically and emotionally drained, and had heard enough from this reporter (and all the other ones too) to last him a lifetime. "Lets talk about something else. Anything else." He sighed, blindly reaching behind him for his abandoned mug and resting it on his knee.

( )

Sylar stretched for the remote control, jabbed the power button and plunged them into a peaceful, static silence. He reminded himself that he could have easily garnered the same effect with a flick of his wrist and a lash of telekinesis, but for some reason found the physical movement reassuring. They sat silently for a few seconds while the static buzz of the TV fizzled in the air around them.

"Emma seems like a nice woman." He said simply. "I take back what I've been saying – I can easily believe all the great things you've been telling me about her non-stop for the past five years..." He discarded his mug on the table beside him before stretching out his legs, crossed at the ankle, and sinking back into the cushions in a more comfortable position. It had been a very, very, very long day for them both, and he was ready to settle down for a well-earned rest.

"I did not go on about her non-stop for five years!" Peter brandished his own mug at Sylar, jabbing accusingly with the finger that was looped through the handle. "And are you forgetting we barely even talked for half of it...?" He mumbled as he took a drink himself.

"Oh, so you're only counting the time you could actually stand the sight of me as real? How long was that then – a week?"

Peter shrugged nonchalantly and brought his mug back up to his lips before pausing. "Well, maybe two..."

Their time together in the mind prison had been a long and complicated process to say the least. However, Sylar was pleased to note that after many, many crossed wires, fists and harsh words, after dozens of secret, stolen smiles and tearful breakdowns over the years, after they'd finally managed to manoeuvre themselves into some sort of co-dependent routine where they'd eventually learned not to step on each other's toes anymore... the last year had passed in almost harmony. Or at least as harmoniously as life could possibly be when out of the only two men in the world: one used to be a super-powered mass murderer, and the other was a scorned Petrelli.

"Who'd have thought, huh? You, me, sitting here reminiscing about the good ol' days...?" Sylar chimed, nudging Peter's leg with his knee and causing the little man to rock and his drink to slosh up into his face. He coughed and spluttered while Sylar burst out laughing, reeling back from Peter's dangerous stare. It amused him now to see that look, the very same one that had used to be the guy's standard expression whenever he laid eyes on Sylar, not that he could blame the man. Whereas Sylar had used to find it strange to see Peter not angry, now that scowl was out of place on his normally kind face. After years of resenting the man, of looking down on him and dismissing the 'golden-hearted hero' routine that Peter had stubbornly dragged with him to every single one of their encounters – now he finally got it. Now that he was privy to this other side of the man, was allowed to see his true colours, Sylar finally saw what had evaded him all that time. And now he could never un-see it.

He laughed himself out while Peter wiped at his face with his sleeve and every wall and surface echoed with consecutive tick-tock-tick-tocks. Now that Peter had mentioned it, the tough years of their relationship within the dream had been resurrected in Sylar's memory. Thank god that was in the past... he doubted he'd be strong enough to face this new life of his without Peter. Not that he'd ever told the guy that, of course. He assumed it was obvious without having to say all the gushy stuff aloud, and not for the first time internally praised Peter's ability (both human and supernatural) to be able to empathise with him so well, to truly understand him in a way nobody else would ever bother to. Ever had done.

And yet...

He recovered his drink absent-mindedly, mind running over an earlier matter that he hadn't had time to voice until now.

( )

"Peter?" Sylar's voice was quiet, low, yet rang out in time with all the surrounding ticking that Peter had accustomed to ignore. The paramedic set his now spilled and empty mug down on the table surface (genuinely not noticing the coaster that was set out for his convenience), and finished stemming the water from his nostrils.

"Yeah?"

"I've... been thinking."

"About what?" Peter asked warily, half expecting an initiation of a play fight – a much better alternative to the real deal, they'd found out the hard way. But instead it was Sylar's next statement, not another kick, that caught him off guard.

"I saw the way you looked at me back there."

( )

Peter caught Sylar's gaze then, his face crinkling in question, and so Sylar continued more softly so as not to sound accusing. "In the tent. With Doyle."

He recalled the lights, the music, the pathetic, weak pleas of his pathetic, weak captive, and the purest thrill that had coursed through him at finally doing the right thing for once. Then he recalled the expression on his only friend's face when he'd burst into the tent, ruffled and terrified of what scene he might be falling into.

Sylar avoided Peter's eyes and buried his face into the rim of his mug, his voice echoing dully off the surface of the water. "You were surprised that I hadn't killed him." He took a sip.

Peter shifted, his body language tensing as he turned to face Sylar more squarely on the couch. He wondered for a second if Peter was going to deny it and throw aside their agreement of honesty within their very first night of freedom. But then the empath let out a soft breath that arose the hairs on Sylar's arms.

"Yeah. I was. I'm not gonna lie to you – a part of me was scared that when faced with a test like that... you'd go back to how you used to be." Sylar nodded in acceptance of the information he already knew, taking another drink of stale water to salve the burn eating away at him inside. "But what I thought... what I was thinking when I looked at you... it wasn't just relief. I was proud of you." Peter followed up those five words with a little crooked smile.

Sylar's heart leapt and he clumsily drooled a few drops of water down his chin in an attempt to return the motion. He hastily wiped at his face with his sleeve in an imitation of Peter just moments ago, his cheeks threatened to turn pink and he absolutely expected a 'serves you right!' to come his way.

But Peter didn't laugh at him. "I should have believed that you weren't going to hurt anybody. I'm sorry I didn't, I wanted to... but I do now."

Sylar painfully gulped down his mouthful and gazed at Peter openly, wishing he could put into words how lovely those words were to hear. How long had he searched for even a scrap of appreciation, of recognition from literally anyone who would give it...? And nobody had. In all his years, he'd never have expected his salvation to stumble into his life in the form of this particular man. He hadn't forgotten his past with Peter: all the fights, all the death, all the hurt... it just felt so long ago now. Sometimes Sylar was hit anew by the impact of his and Peter's unlikely friendship, and in those moments he only treasured what they had even more. Right now was one of those moments.

( )

"Th-thank you." Sylar said quietly, licking his lips to catch stray droplets of water. What stung Peter was the genuine surprise in his friend's tone – probably as much surprise as Peter had felt upon discovering that the most fearsome person on earth had really managed to avoid temptation back in that tent, and had instead strung up his charge, alive and well, in flashing light bulbs like a gruesome contribution to the carnival display. "If only Parkman and Bennet could say the same..." Sylar thrummed bitterly.

"Hey – I trust you." Peter dipped his head to peek into Sylar's eyes intently, conveying the honesty in his words. "I don't need to read your mind to see what Matt couldn't – I saw your heart today. Thousands of people are alive right now because of you. Including Emma... So I guess I need to thank you. For doing what I asked of you all that time ago. That's all the proof I need that you've really changed." He allowed a little smile to play with his lips again, the left side stretching asymmetrically as always to accommodate the movement. Of course Peter would never have led this man into a thriving crowd of thousands of innocent people if he hadn't believed in his redemption, but he couldn't deny the weight being lifted from his chest after having it confirmed for real.

It didn't matter that nobody else would accept that Sylar was different now. Yeah, it hurt when Matt had cast them aside so roughly last night, so eager to deny the truth that he was still blind to it even after sifting through Sylar's open mind. And okay, it wasn't exactly encouraging that Noah Bennet had chased them with a gun the very second he'd laid eyes on Sylar. But in the end, it didn't matter what they thought. They'd never understand. Nothing in this world but the two beating hearts in this room knew the real story, and Peter was adamant that he'd help Sylar in his plight for absolution. And if no one else was going to try, he'd damn well put his all in, for both of them.

( )

Sylar listened to those glorious words with a hammering heart. He was well aware that the only reason that godforsaken wall had broken was because Peter trusted him. But that had been then – like Peter said: before there was the lure of potential abilities waiting to corrupt Sylar. A tiny part of him had wondered... when they got free, what happened then..? He had believed the empath back in the prison, when his forgiveness had been the catalyst to set both their souls free at last. And he believed him now, when his words were the key to their united, unknown future. It was greatly reassuring to know Peter was still willing to stay with him now they'd completed their mission. Even when he had literally the rest of the population to hang out with instead if he chose.

Sylar downed the last dregs of his water, wishing it wasn't such a pitiful substance, and feeling touched and somewhat embarrassed under the words he'd been yearning to hear for so painfully long.

( )

Sylar let out a bitter chortle as he set his empty mug down neatly on a coaster. "No one will believe me." He stated simply, drawing his legs up until he sat cross-legged on the seat of the couch, facing Peter with a patronizing loft of one heavy eyebrow.

"Us." Peter corrected. "No one will believe us."

This was the part where Sylar would usually have made a smart comment to emphasise how little the opinions of those people mattered to him, Peter knew. He also knew that the man's tender, fragile wound of morality was so precious, so new out here in the open light, and that he craved acceptance now only more than ever, after fighting so hard to prove himself worthy of it. Sylar watched Peter with his round, deep eyes, his brows steady but almost purposefully poised in the middle ground between fearsome and vulnerable. From the outside he was practically unreadable, a skill he had honed to perfection in his old life, but Peter could see right through the facade to the swirling insecurity raging inside.

"I know it's not gonna be easy. Especially with abilities out in the open..." Peter ran a hand agitatedly through his hair, his heart jolting at the reminder of what was exploding outside the perceived safety of this apartment. "But all you can do is prove them all wrong by showing them that you have changed. Eventually... they'll come around." He assured, a hopeful smile touching his face.

( )

Sylar contained his bubbling appreciation at Peter's loyalty and only let it show through another upwards twitch of his lips. This unique little specimen really did care for him, and if Sylar didn't think it so childish he might even acknowledge the fuzzy tingles that fluttered through him. Instead, an old idea ballooned anew in his impressive mind, and at once his pulse began to quicken. It was a grand one. Revitalising, petrifying and so much more important than some ex-cheerleader playing figurehead in the park...

Sylar spared a second to consider how to best broach the subject – it hadn't gone down so well last time, and the memory made him cringe even now. But this situation was decidedly different. And so much had already changed since then.

"Well – in the meantime..." He slapped both hands to his thighs, hastily changing the subject from one so bruised as adrenaline began to deliciously leak into his bloodstream. "I was thinking... seeing as we're back in the real world and all..." He twitched his grand eyebrows, trying to come across as playful instead of equal parts thrilled and terrified. "We could... y'know? Do that thing we talked about...?"

Peter, having been listening with the sombre concentration deserving of their previous topic, now rocked back with a startled laugh. Sylar enjoyed watching the little man redden slightly and toy with his overgrown hair as he thought over the brazen invitation. Eventually, he met Sylar's shameless gaze with a shy look. "I wasn't sure you'd still want to." He said quietly, visibly beginning to shine with the first tendrils of nerves entwining with excitement, and Sylar's blood only heated more.

"I do. If you do." His pulse was now hammering through his veins, and he kept his face unreadable while he waited for Peter to come to a decision. They'd agreed, he told himself. They'd talked about it more than once, and now that they were actually here, with real bodies, there was nothing holding them back anymore... just the thought alone made Sylar giddy, but he managed to keep his cool while praying that Peter wasn't going to hold out on him now. Not now. Not when they were finally here.

( )

Thoughtfully, Peter let his gaze trail over the remorseful murderer while he really mulled things over. He noticed some lingering dust and rubble that the wind hadn't blown away currently powdered through Sylar's black hair and eyebrows. More dust clung to his shirt, the shirt, the same one the man had worn every day for years. Peter briefly wondered if Sylar would look strange to him wearing something else for once. He, himself, probably would too. The hands that had ended a hundred lives were sat gently in his lap, conical fingers twitching slightly, somehow always slightly pink as if cold. The guy's long legs were bundled between them on the couch, his knee just an inch away from brushing Peter's thigh.

The primary thought that sprung to mind here was how comfortable Peter was in this space. How natural it felt to squeeze into a small couch beside the person who had used to be his nemesis. It was crazy, it sounded unbelievable, but really it was quite simple: it was because he knew this man. And he trusted him. It shouldn't be scary, it shouldn't feel wrong to commit this most intimate of acts that they both had agreed to once upon a time. And the best part was...? It didn't.

( )

"...Yeah." Peter said, nodding once with a tiny dip of his head. "Yeah, I do." He smiled a little as he signed himself over, and it lingered in the room when Sylar's face broke out into a matching grin.

Heart racing, Sylar waited patiently as Peter shifted until he mirrored his pose and their knees rubbed together in the too small space. The seconds stretched on audibly as the pair took a moment to ready themselves, drawing in calming breaths and trying not to give too much away in their faces. Sylar watched his friend hesitantly, waiting for any sign to continue. Pins and needles had started consuming his limbs, but it was from anticipation rather than sitting uncomfortably, and Sylar rode high off the certainty of what he was about to do. Oh yes, it had been worth the wait. He revelled in the undeniable truth that he had no regrets about this, and that Peter was equally invested. Equally as willing.

Handing over every single inch of himself to someone had been a very daunting idea to begin with – one he'd never have considered before being trapped in the dream – but over the years spent trapped with Peter, he'd grown to feel that this outcome was only a natural conclusion to their prolonged sentence. Which of course didn't make it any less exhilarating.

It was the paramedic that moved first. Taking the leap for both of them, he licked his lips and leaned in, spiralling Sylar's heartbeat as a warm, gentle palm came to rest on the centre of his thumping chest.

Sylar looked between Peter's face and his hand: the large, hazel orbs that blinked just inches from his own, and the long, gentle fingers that lay over his racing heart. "Are you sure? There's no coming back after this." Peter whispered, all tenderness and empathy now with no trace of his earlier nervousness. Sylar let out a tight breath that seemed to drain his very being, feeling his soul beat a frantic, clockwork rhythm beneath his skin. He looked into Peter's eyes and smiled a confident, almost predatory grin that was crafted to mask any sign of weakness.

"Yes." He purred, and although the effort of the single word was almost too much in this moment, he was certain that this was what he wanted.

"Just... before we do this: I meant what I said earlier... I do trust you. Without this. You know that, right?"

Sylar's grin stretched a millimetre further. "I guess we'll soon find that out, Peter..." He watched, unmoving, absorbing every detail as the empath hesitantly closed his eyes, licked his lips once more and blew out a breath that cast goosebumps across Sylar's throat. The little man waited, working his way into it, and his face eased into a perfect expression of serenity.

And then the tingling trail of warmth and light danced through Sylar's chest and into Peter's body.

After a few seconds the still unfamiliar sensation ended and Peter shuffled again. "Okay, c'mere..." He mumbled, bowing his head and encasing Sylar's hand warmly between both of his own, and Sylar felt his last chance to back out pass him by. He gladly watched it go.

( )

Peter focused his attention, squeezed Sylar's fingers gently before sending one last reassuring glance at his target. The ex-killer nodded, they both closed their eyes this time... and Peter slipped into the velveteen spiral of the unfamiliar ability.

Having never come into contact with the "tattooed temptress" herself, as Sylar had called her, all Peter had to go on was the explanation his companion had given, and the enticing pull of the ability's natural allure. It took him a moment to get a hold on it, but only because it was so smooth to touch. At first Peter wasn't even aware the ability was even working, but then he noticed that it wasn't just his own heart he could feel flowing blood through his veins, but Sylar's too... he could hear the clocks ticking around him from two points of view, could feel both arms of the couch at his back... and then came the unexplainable wave of emotion that shattered him into pieces. It swept him up, carried him along, refused to let him break for air as it pulled him under in the softest, most tender attack of the senses he had ever experienced in his life.

( )

Sylar had never endured the likes of this before. The one and only time he'd been on the receiving end of this ability he'd been too preoccupied by the anticipation of sex to really notice what Lydia had been doing to him mentally as well as physically. But now, humbly sitting with this other human being and his hand simply in another's, Sylar was drenched in excitement, in sensation and the wholehearted presence that was Peter Petrelli thriving inside him. Sylar could feel the sweetest nectar of Peter's life force coiling through his very soul, twisting and winding and coiling around even the hidden, secret crevices to his being. At first it was terrifying. But he trusted more than he feared.

Despite being a fairly invasive procedure, he felt that perhaps because he had succumbed to this willingly it wasn't uncomfortable, as Claire had seemed to think when he'd used it on her. In fact, it was revitalising! Freeing! Like when he was flying at the speed of sound and all of his worries were blasted away and had to struggle to drag him down again. Sylar felt his spirit be cleansed: like he was confessing a horrid secret that had eroded him for years only to be told it wasn't as awful as he'd always thought, like he was taking his first ever breath of fresh air, like he was falling and flying at the same time... yet through every second he was aware of the firmness of the couch beneath him, and of course the soft pressure of Peter's smooth skin against his own.

This really had been worth the wait, worth the excruciating build up until they once again were in possession of abilities and able to commit this deed fully. Sylar remembered the first time the idea had hit him, how unfathomable it had been and how he'd refused to even consider it for another few months, until it wasn't quite as scary to chance a peek at now and again... He thought over everything he'd been through with Peter, both good and bad, the relationship that had evolved itself between them even without their input, and how far they'd come since that first encounter back in Odessa... He lingered on the genuine shock, the humbling surprise he'd felt the first time he'd noticed that Peter was no longer just an unwitting fellow prisoner in Parkman's prison, but something so much more that couldn't be labelled, couldn't be pinned down as anything other than unbelievable... He reminded himself of Peter's loyalty, of his true affection, and how natural it felt now to open himself up for the gentle, careful microscope of the other man's gaze. He was safe here.

As his thoughts strayed further to the other man, flowed deeper into the vein of his existence, the former villain was suddenly overcome with the purest sensation of relief. He felt whole, he felt double, like twice the person he should be! Then he realised that he'd somehow switched perspective in his own mind, as if watching himself from third person or in a dream. It was disorientating, it was confusing, it was overwhelming all at once and at first he couldn't get a grip on it at all... but after his lagging mind caught up with him, Sylar eventually recognised that he was currently focusing Lydia's power on Peter in return.

Which, he suddenly recalled, was not what they'd agreed on.

Sylar jolted in an attempt to wrench his consciousness free from Peter's - but, like a guiding hand, something led him back into the cosy, comforting embrace, letting him know everything was alright and that he was more than welcome here. With a surge of emotion that rolled over them both at once, Sylar realised that this was Peter aware of what was happening, and so armed with his permission, he relaxed and let himself fall freely into the moment. This only intensified the experience, dialled everything up to eleven until it was almost an unbearable pleasure, and even if Sylar had wanted to pull back again he couldn't: for there it was... the golden pathway into Peter's very core. That pure, unbreakable thread that guided him, that led him back through his own centre and then again back to Peter's in a repeated, undiluted cycle between the pair.

Together they rode the wave that radiated through them both, connecting them on a deeper level than Sylar had ever imagined was possible. He saw the full extent of the little man's fears and the mountain of guilt that he had collected over a lifetime of his best efforts not being good enough. That hero complex was impossible to miss, a colour so defiant it stained every fibre of the man's being and knotted into a heavy mass of responsibility that nobody else but Sylar knew existed. Peter was brave, resilient and more honest than Sylar had even thought (which was saying something) and he positively glowed beside the rest of the world that Sylar had known – packed with liars, cheats and manipulators. A swell of endearment bubbled within him then, and he felt the emotion be recognised at once and humbly cherished by the other person currently sharing his mindset.

It seemed preposterous to be reading every inch of someone who was also currently reading him, but yet it unfurled flawlessly between them, like they were having a whole conversation that was exchanged in the blink of an eye and in one single, passing thought. This was indescribable, indestructible, the most unique sensation Sylar had ever known, it was unparalleled, so profound, more intimate than any sexual act Sylar had ever experienced because this bond held it's foundation in its innocence.

There was a lot of conflicting information between the two intertwined men: the different lives they'd led, the different emotions they'd felt... Nathan was a constant, stark poke in the eye whenever he came around – which was a considerable amount. Not that Sylar could blame Peter for that, of course. Even though the man had forgiven enough to allow his very soul to collide with Sylar's in such a personal way as this, Nathan wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. That was clear. However, he wasn't a cruel obstacle... more like a distant mountain with a looming shadow they could learn to live by. And that was comforting to know, on both ends.

( )

It had been true when Peter had said he trusted Sylar. But if it hadn't been, he would have done so faithfully now. The man's guilt and self-hatred were filthy, mouldy blemishes eating away at a pure foundation, and Peter ached in tandem with Sylar's feelings. He felt every single blip on their shared conscience, saw every single person who had met their end in this man. He couldn't comprehend Matt holding onto his stubborn ego if the cop had seen even a glimpse in Sylar's mind of what Peter now saw in his soul.

Remorse. That was the primary factor. So much regret. Peter could touch the rumpled scars within the recovering killer, could see the stitches where he was slowly healing over. A lot of work had already been completed, that was clear... but still, Sylar was nursing so much pain inside. Nobody would ever guess from that confident swagger and smug smirk how heavy these insecurities were within him, and Peter was suddenly aware how much he, himself, had underestimated them in the past. As he clambered his way through all the debris, he meticulously picked up every horrid deed in hopes of clearing the path, and was burned and wounded by them all in turn. It hurt, but he felt Sylar trailing him from behind to pick up all the dropped pieces so he could help put Peter together again.

Suddenly it washed over him wondrously, golden and sweet like honey: the gratitude this man cradled in a special little alcove all for Peter. Sylar trusted himself when Peter trusted him, and his desire to change and be a good person and make up for what he'd done was unmistakeable... but a dark fear the man held for himself still lingered. Was he truly worthy of forgiveness? Did he even deserve to be saved...? These thoughts would take a long time to dissolve for good, if they ever did at all.

The empathetic man swam through the channel that had opened between them, doing his best to reach the ends of the earth within this other person and feeling his own furthest corners being tickled in return. These two men, abandoned and broken and hurt, two sides of the same coin, soulmates in a way they'd never before admitted, worked together to quell the disturbances within themselves. Like two jagged sea shells that fit perfectly when matched: they might both be a little worn and beaten, and both carried their own stories, but those differences only complimented the other side when they united in a perfect fit.

( )

Unable to determine the passage of time – it could have been days, it could have been hours or it all could have happened in a single heartbeat – Peter finally pulled away, snapping them both out of the connection like a bucket of cold water being dropped over their heads. Panting for breath and exhausted by their newfound knowledge (if not from the effort of having one's soul read from cover to cover) Sylar blinked rapidly at Peter and saw his own expression of exhilarated bewilderment beaming back at him.

They laughed together in tired, short bursts, collapsing back against the pillows on the couch, once again side by side, and slowly caught their breath. "You've always been able to get under my skin, Petrelli... just never quite so literally." Sylar hummed, very aware of his companion's deep chuckle reverberating through the couch, very aware of his physical being so close by. He didn't regret what had just happened.

Lying entangled in the afterglow of each other, of what they'd just done, it took a long minute before Peter punctuated the room with anything other than their heavy breathing. "You read me too?" He croaked, exhausted, a smile playing with his squint lips. His eyelids were heavy and he lazily flicked his hair out of his face as he simply looked at Sylar.

( )

So much had just become so clear, and Peter was overcome by the power he'd just used and experienced, the tang of Sylar still new and fresh inside where it had mingled with his own being. He was still aware of the raw wounds of the man's hidden pain, and somehow now could see that little bit more of this other person as they, lay panting and spent, after the wild ride. He'd never felt anything like that, and even now the fallout was one hundred times more fulfilling than any other type of climax Peter had encountered in his life.

Sylar seemed to accept that Peter's assessment wasn't an accusation and smiled shyly back at him, biting his lower lip. He expelled a muffled noise of laughter and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the couch and exposing his throat. His profile was quite magnificent, his chest visibly rose and fell with each laboured breath and suddenly Peter was overcome by the insinuation of this cool-down period. He pushed the inappropriate thought away as Sylar's drawl rolled out of that throat. "I wasn't going to -"

"No, no, it's okay." Peter insisted, struggling to get a proper lungful of air, himself. He had felt the precise moment when Sylar had accidentally slipped into his mind and the exact second the guy had intended to retreat, but by that time Peter had seen enough to know he wanted to share himself in return for the freedom Sylar had granted him. "I'm glad you did." The aching sting of guilt that Sylar carried within him was strong, but so was the guy's whole-hearted investment in this partnership. He knew that Sylar had needed to see Peter's side of the story, to know how solidly he was in this too. Exposing his innermost thoughts and feelings to someone else in this way for the first time wasn't an easy decision after a lifetime of being used and dropped repeatedly by the people who could, and had, hurt him most. But this was different. And now both men knew that for sure.

Sylar chortled to himself again. "So you really are just that foolishly selfless. I'd always wondered if you, y'know, put it on a bit..."

"Hey...!"

"And I'm not the only one. Parkman thought so too..."

"Then clearly Parkman is wrong about both of us."

Sylar nodded at the ceiling, his smile lingering for a moment before his lips fell to their natural full pout. He turned his head to examine Peter silently, his hair scratching against the course fabric behind him. A little crease appeared between thick brows. "You're really scared about the future." It was a statement, not a question. The drowsy buzz in the air diluted as the serious topic of the night came back around to play again. At least their chosen distraction had been a good one, and Peter drew courage from that. It had been fun while it lasted.

"And you're not." He arched his eyebrows gently, also stating what he knew to be true. He appreciated Sylar's optimism, but just couldn't bring himself to share it, despite having had a taste from the man himself. It probably should have eased his worries, but instead Sylar's viewpoint just made Peter more aware of what he had to look out for.

"So you're going back? To undo it?" Sylar's light expression of understanding eased him.

"If I can get a hold of Hiro, yeah." Peter buried a hand in his hair, keeping it back from his face for a moment. "I guess it's better to try before things get too far gone, right?" His eyes searched Sylar for an encouraging answer, for reassurance.

"Mm-hm." He received one in the form of a reserved little nod. But then Sylar's facade cracked a little with a sombre twitch of an eyebrow. Concerned, Peter pushed himself forward a bit so he could rest his elbows on his knees and shifted a little to get comfortable again.

"What's up?" He asked quietly. At Sylar's hesitance he continued. "Hey, you can tell me anything. After what we just did to each other, I don't think there's any part of you I don't know." He said with a little smile, allowing the truth of those words to warm him.

"You make it sound dirty..." Sylar leered but it was a little half-hearted. The man sighed, then assumed an imitation of Peter's tense pose on the couch. "It's nothing. I want to help save the world, but I'm just thinking that if you go back and stop Claire jumping, then we won't have... well, done what we just did yet. We'll have to do it all over again."

Peter laughed suddenly, startling Sylar. "I guess. Or I could take you with me? Then we both remember everything." He waited for the cogs to fit into place in his friend's mind. Deep, dark eyes brightened when it all made sense.

"Hmmm... I have always wanted to try time-travelling... Maybe we could do that infuriating thing Hiro does when he bop – bop – bops around faster than you can catch him?"

Drawing comfort from his companion's proximity and feeling the guy's aura continue to buzz away inside him, Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket to search for Hiro's number. A mass of voicemail messages from Noah Bennet awaited him, but Peter deliberately ignored them and scrolled through his contacts instead.

If only one thing were to be taken from the experience of reading Sylar's soul while Sylar read his own, at least it had helped them come to a shared conclusion about the future. Although Sylar was still on the fence about the whole thing, Peter was aware, he was still willing to help Peter in this task to save the world if they needed to do so. Peter knew it wasn't the most gratifying effect of their ordeal, but for now it was the most important, and now that his friend was on board with this plan, the empath began to feel better for having a course of action. He tried not to picture the site of the carnival as it must be currently, he didn't want to imagine Claire probably being pencilled into every major broadcasting network for the rest of her life, and most of all he couldn't bring himself to think of all the people out there right now, who's abilities might cause the end of the world. But it wouldn't come to that, anyway! Hiro would fix everything, one way or another!

The line failed to connect three times before Peter was forced to give up. He swore and clutched desperately after the temporary calm that had touched him just a second ago. He tried not to worry about what Hiro's disappearance could mean. Sylar's "Maybe he's not "here"here right now. You can hardly call him in the past, can you?" was reassuring, and Peter remembered the way Hiro and Ando had teleported out of the carnival so soon after Claire's fall. Perhaps they were away fixing things right now...?

( )

It was hardly news to discover the entirety of Peter's feelings on the whole end-of-the-world problem that had crept up on them, but it was the strength of the urge to fix the issue that had surprised Sylar. He didn't even know why – surely by now he shouldn't still be underestimating the very same guy who had bested him repeatedly back in the day? However, after touching over the full extent of the empath's fear, his unfounded guilt – as if this was all his fault – and his determination to try to make things right, Sylar was now more sure than ever that he wanted to continue to help people. He wanted to aid Peter in his quest, he wanted to become heroes together and he really wanted to try Hiro's delightfully fun teleporting trick! Just... after a snack and a nap.

It was too early in the morning now to do anything more right now, Sylar was ravenously hungry and drowsy with exhaustion (apparently eight hours in a trance-like sleep didn't come with the same befits as real rest). He couldn't possibly do anything more stressful tonight than heat up a frozen pizza or three, and seeing as there was nothing much happening yet, ability-wise, Sylar chose to tend to the current matters while Peter would rather fuss over something that couldn't even be fixed right now.

Later, though, Sylar would help. When he could, he would do his part to prove himself to the world, to prove that he was a hero now! The lingering taste of something so sweet, his good deed at the carnival last night, had already gotten him hooked... and Sylar finally understood why the so-called heroes he'd used to resent kept bouncing back at him time and time again. Now (he thought a little smugly) he would be one of them. And he would do it better than any of them had! Except perhaps Peter, of course. It would take a long time before he could compete with that self-torturing do-gooder at his best.

The man in question tried to uselessly phone the time-traveller once more, before giving up again and letting out a grunt of frustration that almost competed with the angry growls of Sylar's neglected stomach. "You'll just have to wait, Peter, you can catch him when he's back. No big deal, right?" He rested a hand on Peter's shoulder, patting lightly. If this intelligent man knew anything, it was that Peter Petrelli wouldn't be stopped by supposed-to-be-soothing words alone. No, he needed a full performance, a hypnotist and a marching band to drill the message in, but Sylar didn't have the strength to do the whole rigmarole just now.

"It is a big deal..." Peter muttered and Sylar chose to ignore that last comment. He stretched and clambered to his feet, leaving Peter to fret uselessly over his phone, his current lifeline. The paramedic knew where the spare bedding was, and Sylar was confident that the guy could see to himself if he chose to do so, and so followed his desperate appetite to the fridge at long last.

( )

Peter frowned after his friend's retreating back, rubbed the wrong way by his aloofness. While he did recognise that Sylar was right and that there was literally nothing Peter could do to reach Hiro if he was out of time, the man's 'kick back, wait it out' attitude just seemed so ridiculous for this scenario. And although Peter had literally just swam in the depths of the guy's soul, he still couldn't understand how Sylar's endless love affair with food could take priority while the world was certainly ending just outside the window.

"You can sit and wait for Doc Brown all you want, Peter. I intend to take care of the important stuff: like not leaving my bed for four days straight..."

Sylar shot a glance over his shoulder, as if perhaps waiting for some input on Peter's part. So the paramedic laughed half-heartedly to please him but didn't reply further, turning his attention back to his silent phone as Sylar rummaged around the freezer without saying another word.

Peter wanted to talk more before going to bed, there was still so much that needed working out and, most importantly, Peter wanted to spend more time with his companion. He wasn't ready for them to separate yet, but Sylar had made his plans clear and Peter didn't want to impose. The idea tiptoed on the precipice of his mind – to just reach out and drag Sylar back to the couch to keep him company while his worst fear unfolded around him in real time. But he said nothing, did nothing, as his best friend strayed further from his side than he had done in hours. Peter suppressed a shiver at the sudden draft.

Maybe Hiro really was taking care of things? Maybe by the morning when Peter woke up he wouldn't remember of any of this because it hadn't happened? He dared to hope so. And if not, then tomorrow he'd try to contact Hiro again. And again, and again, if need be. It wasn't his best plan by far, but it wasn't his worst, either. And at least having a plan was a step in the right direction – one Peter badly needed to soothe the terrors that would likely keep him up all night. All he could do was try after all, and so try he would, for as long as it took to save his precious world.

( )( )( )

It was a city street. New York, by the looks of it.

Hiro Nakamura, fresh from the Sullivan Brother's carnival, shuffled down the street, looking around to fully absorb his surroundings. He saw yellow taxi cabs lining the streets, frozen in traffic as they might have been in time. Civilians bustled down the sidewalk and a few flying mans zoomed past overhead. As he sidled further down the block the man saw the masks of terror on the people's faces as they fled past, their body language deteriorating the further he ventured down the line, and forced himself to wade deeper into the danger they were trying to escape. It was a hero's duty, after all.

He saw a crowd of people up ahead twisting in a vicious, violent fight – some littering the blood-soaked ground and others giving everything they had, but they were outmatched. He watched as more lives were cut down in their prime, he heard the yells of agony echo out. Then, finally, he saw the faces of the two men at the centre of the brawl, the ones responsible for so much carnage and destruction. Together they performed a deadly dance in the centre of it all, unstoppable. Unbeatable. Unmistakable.

Peter Petrelli and Sylar.

A/N: Phew, quite a long second chapter – hopefully you're still reading :) I really hope you're enjoying the story so far and please don't be shy to let me know what you think! I have to say that this fic won't be updated as regularly as "Gabriel Gray is Dead" was (as much as I'd love it to be), but don't worry – hopefully I can get the next part done and posted reasonably soon. X)

In the meantime, please go and check out my new Petlar fanart :D [Link WOULD be here!] I'm sorry it's a hassle, due to FFN not allowing links to be posted, but if you (like me) are upset at the lack of Petlar fan art being done nowadays, then I hope you won't mind googling Deviantart and searching for "thefieryeclipse" X)