Pillow Talk
Honestly, Peter couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this happy. It was almost wrong in its unfamiliarity; disgraceful to dare feel so at peace while knowing everything he did about the future. But still, somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to feel guilty about it.
Golden streaks of sunlight crept weakly over the single bed and the two men cramped within it. They simply lay there, together, relaxed in one another's space as if this reprieve of theirs didn't have to end too soon. A smile drew over Peter's face in time with the wanderings of his fingers, softly tickling up, down and over Sylar's arm as if getting to know the feel of him for the first time all over again.
The other man was asleep, or close to it. His eyelids had fluttered closed not long ago and while Peter didn't want to disturb him, he knew that the day was upon them already and they couldn't hide away in here forever.
All strength had been sapped from his bones, leaving him feeling wonderfully light and relaxed, but although he hadn't slept properly in days he wasn't tired. Even if he had been he would have fought to stay awake, because he didn't want to miss a second of this. Personally, the afterglow period had always been Peter's favourite part of the act and intimacy of sex. A fleeting physical relase wasn't nearly as satisfying as the closeness it preceded: the gift of feeling so important while making someone else feel special too. It was his weakness. It was what had gotten him into this whole physical mess with Sylar in the first place, but he didn't regret it anymore.
He stroked the former killer's shoulder, over the area he had accidentally seared a handprint into earlier while caught up in the heat of the moment. It was healed and healthy now, of course, yet Peter couldn't help but still feel guilty about the slip up. He'd only been intimate in this way with one person while he had abilities to think about, and that had been years ago and he hadn't even known who he was. It wasn't like he had much reference to go on. Maybe he did still need to practice more control over his powers when his blood was pumping...
But currently, the empath's heart beat slow and steady. He felt amazing. Even regeneration had relieved the slight soreness of having just had his first time with a man in his physical body. The ache had been laughable after his real first time though, in Parkman's dream city. Back then it had been clumsy, rough and spontaneous and neither he or Sylar had had any idea how to handle each other or their co-dependency, hostility and desire. It was safe to say the wounds from the ordeal had remained long after the blood had dried and the bruises had faded from sight.
But the pair had years of experience to draw from now. Sylar was in tune with Peter in a way nobody else had ever stuck around long enough to learn: he knew exactly what to do and just how to do it, how hard was too hard and how gentle was the perfect pressure to make Peter surrender like a burning piece of paper that had no other choice but to curl. It was an experience unique to the man currently sleeping mere inches away from where Peter's heart lay open and bleeding for him.
Sylar looked so peaceful like this; the strong angles of his face smoothed out in slumber. His bare chest rose and fell softly, his hair was ruffled and his eyelids flickered gently, his jaw was dark with a healthy growth of stubble that complimented the slight blush of his lips... He looked beautiful. If Peter didn't know exactly what horrors Sylar had once been capable of he'd never have believed it looking at him now. It never ceased to entrance him every time he saw this person so unguarded. In fact, he was pretty sure the first fracture to his hatred of the killer occurred the first time he'd glimpsed him sleeping. Something so human, so peaceful, so vulnerable and trusting, just hadn't fit with the fearsome villain he'd thought he was trapped in hell with. And suddenly Sylar hadn't just been a monster, no matter how much he might have acted like one in the past. He was just a man. One who had to sleep and eat and laugh and cry and was human underneath it all, just like everyone else...
Finally, the watchmaker stirred under Peter's caresses, drawn awake with a sleepy sigh and a frown. Cracking open an eye, for a second he just blinked at Peter. Then he smiled when he remembered where he was. "Hey."
"Hey." Peter whispered, smiling in tandem with the sudden throb in his chest. "Sorry again for burning you, before." He stroked over the now-healed skin in question.
Sylar stretched luxuriously, as if waking from a three day nap. "S'alright. Where's the pleasure without pain?" Once he settled back down the pair grinned together, facing each other, caught up in awe and achievement while the world carried on without them outside. Until Sylar's mumble broke the silence. "How do you feel?" He asked, soft and tousled and unrecognizable as the once monstrous villain he had used to be. Peter didn't know that guy anymore.
He released a satisfied exhale through his nose. "Much better."
It wasn't a lie. He barely felt the like same person who had nearly gone running to Noah Bennet with no plan or rationality just earlier that morning. The hysteria that had been slowly building within him for the past half year had been replaced by a crystal clear head, as if he had finally emerged from the fog and could breathe easy now. His abilities were no longer fighting all at once to be free, instead dozing peacefully like a scattered litter of puppies that had finally tired themselves out. His inhuman power wasn't overwhelming in the light of a new day. Even the Hunger was nowhere to be found along the horizon.
Maybe Sylar had been right before, when he'd said it was just an ability like any other? That it didn't have to be so scary or consuming if Peter didn't give it the power to be? Maybe sharing the burden with someone he trusted really was enough to satisfy the urge, to spare him from turning into the monster he'd seen in the future?
At the moment, it seemed wonderfully easy to believe.
( )
Now that he was awake, Sylar relived the memory of the morning so far with tingles running down his spine and triumph crowing in his mind. Peter was gently tickling his arm, as he had been before Sylar had drifted off. The thought that he may have been touching him the whole time even when he didn't need to made the watchmaker's heart stutter. Peter might even have been using a spark of pyrokinesis for the heat he elicited with each fingertip, stirring up an intense swell of fondness and adoration that Sylar let himself enjoy while he still could.
Because he knew the routine by now. Just because he and Peter had finally slept together in the real world didn't mean anything had changed between them. Once they left this bed it would be business as usual, back to the daily grind, no more kisses or touches like these or intimacy until the next time one or both of them desperately needed the therapy – and who knew how long that might take? But that didn't mean that Sylar didn't intend to make the most of the freedom that was his for now, until real life barged in and took it all away.
Intently, he studied his companion's face with the knowledge that he might not get to be this close again for a while. Surely it wasn't allowed for a real, flawed human being to look so perfect? So innocent? Somehow managing to be adorable and sexy at the same time? But Peter had never been one for abiding rules, after all. And he'd always been distractingly pretty – you only needed eyes to know that, even if you happened to be his arch enemy at the time.
Even as his heart currently fluttered for his companion, Sylar didn't think of himself as gay. He'd always liked women. He wasn't attracted to men, and had never expected to start an intimate relationship with one before Peter. It was just each other. It was just a thing that had happened, and then kept happening as the nights grew colder and the years stretched longer behind them in purgatory. And once it had happened it seemed so obvious, like they'd been wasting all the time that had come before. It was so easy, and it felt so natural, and Sylar couldn't imagine going back to the way he'd used to be before. He didn't want to.
But even right now, while he physically ached at the memory of Peter Petrelli arching below him and trembling at his touch, he still stood by his earlier point. He wasn't attracted to men. He was only attracted to this one.
Absently, Sylar's hand moved itself to Peter's hair, thick and soft and splayed over his face and the pillow between them. He groomed it into something resembling tidiness, sifting it through his fingers while Peter shied under such close attention. Glad to hear that his friend was feeling better after their little escapade, Sylar decided not to gloat that he'd been right all along in trying to get the guy to take some time off duty. Let Peter have this one.
Sylar's lips curved happily. The younger man's eyes tracked the movement as Sylar reached for the sheets draped lowly over Peter's hip, just barely protecting his modesty. He looked delectable, but the window was still open and when his knuckles brushed his companion's cool skin Sylar could feel goosebumps there. Fighting off the urge to feel silly about it, he pulled the sheets up slightly and tucked Peter in so he wouldn't be cold any longer.
The affection in the other man's eyes was all the reward that he needed.
Unable to resist the urge any longer, Sylar greedily leaned over from his side of the bed, smiling wider when Peter avoided his mouth to instead softly nuzzle his nose. Sylar closed his eyes and chuckled, allowing his friend to play before finally pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. It lasted a little longer than he had intended it to.
( )
Sylar smirked when he pulled away, falling onto his back with a sigh. "Pity we didn't think of this earlier. Letting off steam this way." He pointed the blame in Peter's direction with just a tiny twitch of an eyebrow. "Maybe things would've gone differently these past few months."
Peter fidgited to get more comfortable, letting the sensation of the kiss simmer happily on his lips. "Well we've had a lot going on. Messing with time, running for our lives... it's understandable that this would be about the last thing on our minds, right?"
He waited for a smart retort to come his way. But Sylar only broke their eye contact before concurring nonchalantly. "Right." With a great inhale and a rustle of bed covers, he eased himself up to sit with his back to the headboard, leaving the younger man reeling. Exactly how many invitations had Peter misinterpreted over the past few months? Probably more than the few he had tentatively sent out, himself...
Deciding not to press the matter, he snuggled in further to his companion's warmth, seeking more of the clean, musky scent of his skin. He propped himself up on his elbow and draped an arm across Sylar's stomach, holding him close. Any thoughts of rejection that might have stirred were soothed by the welcoming hand that appeared upon Peter's forearm, keeping him in place. "How are you feeling?" He asked.
"Hungry."
"Hungr...?" Peter half laughed, although he shouldn't have been surprised.
With a flick of two fingers the telekinetic summoned the leftover grapes from last night's feast, setting the bowl over the duvet so he could eat without taking his other hand off Peter. Peter appreciated it.
( )
Sitting in a comfortable silence, Sylar enjoyed the sweetness of his early morning snack while gently grooming the hairs on the empath's arm. He pretended not to notice how ardently he was being watched. He didn't protest. He just sat up a little straighter and made sure to show off his best angle.
After a peaceful moment, sounds of morning in the city were interrupted by a quiet confession at Sylar's side. "I still can't believe you'd do all that for me. What... what you did."
"What can I say? I love the way it makes you squeak."
Peter Petrelli laughed, a short, embarrased sound that stoked the former killer's ego. "I meant in the future!" When Sylar peeked down at him the little man was turning red at the memories alone. But then he sobered too quickly for Sylar's liking, exhaling deeply. "You stuck by me through... through the worst situation imaginable. And even after that you still came back to help some more."
Sylar busied himself intently with picking at his next grape. Even then, he melted beneath the appreciation Peter was searing into him with that expression alone. It made his stomach hurt from much more than just hunger.
( )
"You never gave up, when anyone else probably would have. ...When I did." Once again, Peter was forced to relive the memory of his future self and Sylar in that collapsed corner of a building. It felt much further away than it had even an hour ago, but that didn't mean it didn't still scare him.
Thinking back to how broken Sylar had been in the future, Peter tightened his hold around the man's present-day incarnation. Sylar didn't look at him, but he'd always been shy under genuine praise. "Thank you." Peter accentuated the words by gently rubbing his palm across the toned, fuzzy plane of Sylar's navel.
The other guy just examined the remains of his latest grape, taking a miniscule bite so as not to catch the stalk. "You shouldn't thank me." He said quietly, dropping the unwanted end back into the bowl.
Okay. That wasn't what Peter had been expecting. Tipping his head, he tried not to feel hurt by the other man's blatant disregard for his gratitude. "Why?"
After some serious speculation, Sylar selected his next piece of fruit before giving it the same intricate treatment as the last. "What I did wasn't heroic."
Confused, Peter pushed his hair off his face and leaned up higher on his elbow. "You came back through time to save billions of lives. What else would you call that?"
Sylar cast an eye down upon him. He no longer radiated the playfulness from earlier. Instead he appeared heavy, sorrowful enough to make the empath scoot even closer with the sole intention of bestowing comfort even if he didn't know what for.
"Those lives only ended because I was selfish enough to let them." Sylar spoke to the fruit bowl, picking his way through the discarded stalks and untouched grapes for his next distraction. "If what you told me is true then I let the whole world be destroyed, Peter, rather than give up something I wanted." The unspoken 'you' hung stagnantly in the air. "That's not the type of person I hoped I'd turn out to be."
Shit. Peter didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't even thought of it that way until now. But he refused to believe it. That man on the rooftop last night, the survivor in the dream – he had given up everything he knew to secure a better life for everyone on Earth. No matter what had come before, that took a hell of a lot more courage than Sylar was giving himself credit for.
( )
"Sylar..."
"I always hoped my future would be better than my past." Sylar cut his friend off with a weak smile that was supposed to mean he wasn't upset, but he didn't know why he bothered. One look at Peter's face told Sylar he was far from fooled. "I guess I've still got a way to go."
Breathing deeply, he fought to stay here in the present, in this post-coital bliss with Peter Petrelli, whose heart he could feel beating against his side and whose fingers were still ghosting soothingly across his skin. There would be plenty of time to beat himself up about another failed path to redemption as soon as this bubble popped. Hopefully it wouldn't happen too soon.
Sylar was an intelligent man. He knew one potential future wasn't set in stone – wasn't that why he was playing this game in the first place? To change foretold events? This prophecy didn't have to be fulfilled, he wasn't chained to go down that road. And especially now that he'd gotten such a wake up call, it was just as feasible that his true future would be a good one as it might be bad. He certainly wasn't going to be so selfish moving forward, anyway.
Yet still, he couldn't help but let disappointment eclipse the fading ribbons of his happiness. If only just a little. It just seemed that... no matter how hard he tried, he was destined to end up responsible for countless deaths in every timeline.
Shaken out of his sulk, Sylar sought after his newest grape when it was lifted from his hold before he could take the first nibble. "C'mon, you're not that bad." Peter tutted, popping the fruit into his own mouth and rolling it on his tongue.
Sylar raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"
"Are you kidding me?" Peter scoffed while chewing. "You've got nothing on some of the jerks I've known." Sylar had to agree with that to some extent. In fact, a good few examples sprang to mind: Noah, for one. Parkman, for another... but before he could complete that rather vindicating train of thought, he recognised the sparkle in his companion's eye that could only mean one thing.
Relaxing back into the pillow, Sylar draped an arm around the empath's shoulders. "Enlighten me." He commanded.
"Oh man. Where to start?" Peter sucked a glistening drop of grape juice from the numb side of his lip, squirming until his head rested on his hand and he could shine those eyes of his directly up at Sylar. It was even cuter to witness because Peter hadn't intended it to be. "Okay. Well, there was this one guy..."
"Was he wicked?"
"Oh, the worst." Peter pulled a face to emphasise his point. His fingers roamed through the hair adorning Sylar's sternum as he spoke, as if he wasn't even aware of doing it. The watchmaker happily let him continue. "He used to go around with this big walk and ego, taking whatever he wanted and hurting people rather than try and work out his issues. Just another stubborn jackass."
Trying not to smile, Sylar trailed his hand along the curve of Peter's spine while scouring the bowl for his final grape. "I can't imagine." He drawled.
"But then, over time... he changed." The faintest touch of lips brushed his shoulder before Peter pulled back, forcing Sylar to meet his gaze. "Yeah. He did. It wasn't easy, but still he worked so hard to try and make up for all the bad things he'd done. The only problem was that nobody believed him. He used to lie to protect himself all the time, so why would he be telling the truth now, right?"
Peter's pretty little mouth lifted at the corner, a motion that did all sorts of things to Sylar's insides. Suddenly his throat was very dry. The grape sat abandoned in his fingers.
( )
"They all still think of him as the same smug son of a bitch he used to be. And even though he'd never say so, this hurts him. 'Cause he's not the same guy anymore."
Peter's heart was beating very fast all of a sudden. He didn't let it put him off.
"Okay, sure, he might still be a little smug now and then..." He wrinkled his nose briefly, despite the sincerity behind his words. "But he's good, too. Compassionate when the mood strikes. He's strong to a fault, loyal as hell and more generous than any of the people who don't believe in him. Plus..."
He sucked in a breath, raising his eyebrows and worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Right then Peter wasn't lying entwined in bedsheets with the best friend he'd ever had. He was far away, re-living the same man once standing up to Peter's own father when nobody else could; keeping his promise and striding into the bustling crowd at a carnival; leading the way through corridors of a burning oil rig; single-handedly taking on a casino filled with twenty armed assailants; stopping the river in its tracks to give people time to escape; dying for no appreciation just to spare others the same fate; and confronting his former enemies over again, only to accept their judgement while never once trying to justify his actions.
Slowly, Peter exhaled. "He might be the bravest person I've ever known. They have no idea what they're missing."
The story reverberated outwards from the two men like ripples in an otherwise glass-like surface. The humour on Sylar's face had disappeared entirely, and he seemed to have forgotten about the grape he was still holding halfway to his mouth. Peter's heart raced faster against his ribcage.
"Okay, maybe you're worse than him." He shrugged, smiling a little nervously. "But in my opinion you're pretty cool, too."
For a long time, Sylar just stared at him. Peter tried not to squirm or look away, hoping he hadn't just overdone it and ruined the effortlessness of their morning. Then Sylar sighed, shook his head, dropped his grape somewhere amongst the bed covers and bent to catch Peter's lips in his own.
The empath relaxed at once beneath the undulating need in Sylar's kiss. His chest was still pounding but he couldn't help but be appeased by the taste of Sylar and fruit swarming along the tip of his tongue, or the feel of wet little fingertips settling in to rest on his cheek.
( )
For fuck's sake. Sylar would have shoved his ally to try and shake some sense into him if he didn't need to be so close to the guy in that moment. Touched to the core, he didn't care that it might not be allowed now that their escapade was drawing to a close; he kissed Peter anyway. He kissed him out of gratitude, out of pity and adoration, to relieve the unbearable pressure that the stupid story had stirred to life within. Sylar kissed him until he was certain he wasn't going to burst into tears like a child.
Peter's words shouldn't have magically made him feel better. They did anyway. It shouldn't have worked because Peter was wrong. He may not believe it himself anymore, but he was still naïve and overly trusting, as ridiculous as he always had been: distorting the facts through rose-tinted glasses that let him see the best in people even when he shouldn't. Sylar couldn't fully agree with him. And he would never see himself the way Peter did. But still. It was the best feeling in the world to somehow be on the receiving end of his well-intentioned stupidity.
When Sylar leaned back, it was only far enough to admire Peter's blushing, contented face in its entirety. "I know a guy too." He confessed with a tiny grin, trailing his fingers and smears of grape juice down the other man's cheekbone, lingering on the modest swell of his lower lip.
"Yeah?"
"He's alright."
Peter's laughter sounded out in the dingy hotel room, somehow making the place look more appealing than it should and letting in more sunlight than before. Sadly, the sound was a rare occurance nowadays, but that only made it more special whenever Sylar did hear it. It ran straight through him like a pleasant breeze, stimulating him in all the right places...
Or maybe that had something to do with the fact that he was still naked, and currently half lying atop the equally undressed form of this handsome specimen.
Such intimacy thrilled into Sylar, igniting a spark down his spine that warmed his insides as if he hadn't recently expelled everything he had to give already. Grinning, taking advantage of this, he curved further over Peter, licking gently at the man's lips in an unspoken plea for permission that was granted without complaint. They'd already let today's affair go on longer than it should have... so what the hell, right?
( )
The bed complained as the entwined duo shifted, Peter finding himself trapped warmly against the mattress beneath the strong, hungry form of his former nemesis. Sylar nestled in atop him, cradling his face in two hands and easing his tongue between Peter's willing lips, tickling them, penetrating them with the intention of totally and utterly destroying him. God, it felt good. But while Sylar seemed content to just lie here, making out and slowly grinding together in this way, Peter just couldn't let himself go.
It would be so easy to relent again. He would love to relinquish control to the embers of heat that were already being teased back to life down below. It wouldn't be difficult to just lose track of time until the day had passed them by and they both felt a hell of a lot better equipped to face the future. But Peter knew he didn't have that luxury.
Still, it took a while for him to work up the strength to break free from Sylar's sinful ministrations. "We shouldn't." He puffed, turning his face to the side despite his body's protests. A bright vein of electricity even sparked between their lips, causing Sylar to hiss and then chuckle.
"I don't recall that ever stopping us before." He smirked against Peter's jawline, nipping lightly with his teeth because he knew what it would do. Damn him.
The enpath smiled in contrast to what he was trying to say, enjoying the hand roaming down the length of his body entirely too much. "I've been thinking. About what we could do next."
"Mm, I have some suggestions..."
"I have to find Claire."
The hand stopped.
( )
Well, that ought to do it. Arousal evaporating against his wishes, Sylar huffed and leaned up to look down upon Peter, searching for any sign that he might, maybe, somehow, please, be joking.
"What? No." He didn't care that he sounded whiny. "I prefer the Noah plan that might get us killed – let's go back to that one."
Peter sighed to express his frustration, the way he always did when caught between two conflicting loyalties. His facial features constructed something halfway between an apology and guilt, and Sylar knew he'd just lost any chance of seducing the guy for a deliciously scandalous round two. If he'd learned anything from his years fornicating with Peter Petrelli: it was that any mention of his family killed the mood faster than Hiro Nakamura could teleport.
"We still have to warn Noah about my dream, this is too big to keep to ourselves." Peter explained, reaching up to stroke his knuckles down Sylar's cheek. Sylar suspected he was trying to look so endearing on purpose, because if it was natural then that was just unfair. Either way, it won him over anyway. "But you're right. We can't rely on him trusting us. Claire is the only person who can talk some sense into him. He'll at least listen if it comes from her."
Goddammit. He did have a point. But Sylar was hardly jumping for joy at the thought of another reunion with the trigger-happy teenager. He still didn't like the idea of contacting Noah Bennet at all, but Peter was right about this future and the event that somehow caused the end of the world: if they were to stand a chance at stopping it from happening they were going to need help. And what had Sylar just been thinking about being less selfish going forward? How was he supposed to become a better man if he kept putting his own wants before the needs of others...?
However, that didn't mean he had to like it.
"I'm not going." He said quickly, before Peter got any ideas of him holding hands with Claire Bear, skipping around in a circle and spouting songs of forgiveness.
"That's probably for the best." Peter agreed with a grimace. This time apology definitely triumphed over the guilt in his eyes, which Sylar chose to count as a win over Darling Claire Bennet.
But that triumph was as short lived as his earlier raging desire. Grudgingly, he relented when the younger man pried himself out from under him. "You're going right now?"
"I need to catch her alone. Wanna avoid another public scene if I can."
"But you don't even know where she's staying."
"How hard will that be to find out? She's the biggest star in town, right?"
Sylar pouted but didn't complain when the other guy slipped free from the bed covers and stood to recover his clothes, officially breaking the spell that had existed as long as they stayed right here. It had started to fall apart the moment Little Miss Cheerleader had been mentioned, anyway. He still didn't want Peter to go. He'd have to fly all the way to New York by himself, and Sylar honestly couldn't remember the last time they'd been so far apart. It wasn't a calming thought.
"I hate to break it to you, Peter, but last time you tried to reason with her she left you to burn in a sinking oil rig. Do you know what that means?"
"It means I try again."
Of course it did. Disgruntled, Sylar flopped back into the pillow, running a hand absently through his hair. Somehow the bed was less comfortable than it had been when he'd been squashed onto one measly side of it.
Time and distance had all but healed old wounds, but it didn't escape Sylar's notice that this was too similar to the last instance Peter had left him alone and sexually frustrated in bed. At least he could admire the view in soft morning light this time. And admire, he did, even after Peter slipped a pair of black boxer briefs over that pert backside of his. Sylar watched it disappear into the bathroom along with the rest of the man.
He wanted to protest and whine and make it difficult for Peter to leave him here, but he was aware how counter-productive that would be. Maybe he would go with him to New York after all? Not to endure Claire's wrath – definitely not – but he could hover in the vicinity? Be close enough to jump in if something were to go wrong? Or maybe he'd just grab a proper breakfast while he waited.
"What makes you think she'll even help you?" He called after Peter, finding the last grape he had dropped on the bed and disgarding it over the side. It held no interest to him now.
"'Cause she's a good person." The other man's voice echoed off tile. He said it with such certainty that Sylar couldn't help but roll his eyes. A good person? A good person who shot people and stomped her foot to get her way and outed millions of evos who might not have wanted to be outed in the first place before hiding from any of the complications...? Sure. "Right now she's upset with me, but once she hears of my dream there's no way she'll just sit back and let it happen."
The sound of the shower spraying to life floated through the open doorway, spawning all sorts of rather pleasant, vivid imaginings in Sylar's mind. He even briefly entertained the thought of sneaking through to join Peter, even though the were clearly finished fooling around for today. The dull throbbing in his lap wasn't remedied by the man re-appearing in that ridiculously flattering underwear, crossing his arms and leaning his weight into the doorframe while the water warmed up behind him.
"I know her, Sylar. She'll help."
Closing his eyes, Sylar dropped his head back against the headboard. "Let us all thank our lucky stars, shall we? Her Majesty deigns to save the day."
( )
Peter couldn't help but fight not to smile. He knew he shouldn't be amused, and that he should be defending his niece some more, but shit, Sylar was just so darn endearing when he showed that he cared. Either through a rare spoken declaration, any number of recent physical gifts (the likes of which Peter wasn't going to forget anytime soon) or through these sporadic displays of jealousy. Or maybe it was just impossible to be annoyed when Peter still felt so connected to the guy currently left tousled and wanting in the bed they had just ravaged together.
"I'll try not to be long." He assured, although really he couldn't blame Sylar for worrying. He knew he would worry too if things were the other way around.
"Take your time. Maybe I'll actually get some sleep with you gone." Sylar didn't quite look at Peter, the crease between his eyebrows didn't ease.
And that was it. Peter wasn't made of stone. He wasn't strong enough to resist the dismay he had caused, or the freshly ruffled hair, the exposed torso and the seemingly disinterested expression that Sylar had crafted just for this reason. So, amused by his own weakness, Peter gave in.
( )
Still not looking at him, Sylar sensed the little man push himself off the doorframe, cross back to the bed and perch on the edge. He felt two hands cup each side of his face before the mattress dipped as someone leaned in towards him. Sylar's lips tingled in anticipation, but Peter only rested his forehead against Sylar's, gently rubbing a thumb across his cheekbone. "I'll call you as soon as I know anything. Alright?"
Sylar couldn't fight his feelings at this last, sneaky touch of affection. As tame as it may be. His skin itched for more, but they were back to this, it seemed. At least it could've been a lot worse.
He yearned to make a mark on his companion somehow, to leave evidence of their coupling that Peter couldn't hide or walk away from (and if Claire happened to see it too, so be it). But every kiss and every touch he had gifted over the past few hours would be washed away in the shower, and even if he wanted to playfully bruise his friend it would only heal long before he reached New York anyway. Nobody would ever know what they had done. There was no visible, lasting print he could make to prove they had shared this respite at all, and it annoyed him.
Rather sulkily, Sylar played his fingers along Peter's ribs like a keyboard. He might have huffed a little. "Don't miss me too much."
Peter relaxed against him. "I'll try my best." Then he made as if to stand. Only to hesitate before drawing in close, even closer than before, and gifting Sylar one last, lingering taste of his lips. The feel of him, the tenderness in his kiss, the knowledge that this might be the last time for a long time they would share such an escape... it was as sweet as it was forbidden, which was probably why Peter did it in the first place. Sylar couldn't resist.
He returned the kiss, shamelessly and gratefully. He made the most of it and buried his fingers in Peter's rich, silky hair, holding the warmth of his body close, enjoying the press of his lips and the intimacy of soft, naked skin against his own. He gave it everything he had and more and he might have growled when it ended, but even then he attempted to maintain his blasé act as the empath pulled away.
He tried not to appreciate his good – albiet brief – fortune while those tight boxer briefs headed off again to the other room. He tried to pretend he wasn't even more turned on by the many touches he was being denied. And he tried to hide his smile when Peter crinkled knowing eyes back his way.
In all respects, he failed miserably.
( )( )( )
6:30am. Urgh.
Claire was pretty sure she couldn't even recall the concept of a lie in. It had been far too long. She groaned and left the bathroom in a daze, wandering across the length of the luxury hotel suite without seeing much of it. There were only so many expensive rooms with a perfect view of the New York City skyline she could marvel at until they all began to look the same anyway.
That morning's shower had roused her a little, and honestly her regeneration should have eased the hours she'd spent tossing and turning last night, haunted by Zach's visit and the things he'd said, but it hadn't. Or well, maybe it had. Maybe her problem wasn't physical. Maybe she was feeling so run down in a way that no ability could heal.
Swaddled in a fluffy white dressing gown and matching slippers, Claire combed through her wet hair with her fingers, settling to a stop before the mirror. Then she paused in her grooming to look at her reflection. Really look at it, more than she usually did to discern whether her outfit or hairstyle were up to standard, or if the wings of her eyeliner had been applied symmetrically by her people. It had been a long time since she'd taken the time to simply see herself beneath the facade.
Today she didn't look like The Indestructable Girl. She looked more like a high school cheerleader. Face bare of any designer make-up, hair void of any product or stylings, Claire could barely recognise the superstar she'd been transformed into since the Carnival in the young girl looking right back at her now.
Superstar. As if it was supposed to be a good thing to change the entire world and then hide from the consequences. By now Claire could hardly even remember the reason she had jumped from that Ferris Wheel to begin with. She had been stupid, naïve, and as much as she hated to think so – maybe her dad had been right in wanting to keep the existence of super humans a secret. True, evos had been accepted better than Noah had predicted, but also worse than Claire had hoped for. Mass protests; the Registration Act; too many near misses when it came to dangerous, unstable abilities; a rise in hate crimes committed simply because someone was different... how long would it be before something truly devastating happened? More than a rift opening in the ground of Manhattan, more than a man nearly decimating the city like a bomb because he couldn't control his power? The world was revolting and it was all Claire's fault, yet all she was doing about it was (how had Zach put it, again?) "repeating the same trash day in and day out on TV". He was right. She wasn't doing nearly as much as she could.
Claire sighed at her unembellished mirror image. A rare sight. Maybe Zach wasn't the only one who preferred the old her better...
Lost in memories of Odessa and high school and the days of making cupcakes with her mother, she was just thinking how grateful she was to be meeting her mom and brother for breakfast in just a few short hours, when a sudden clatter at her window made her jump.
Spinning on the spot, Claire's eyes scanned the large glass panes lining the wall. But there was nothing there. Nothing but the rest of New York City stretching away into the horizon. What?
Warily, she turned back to the mirror. Only to see the reflection of a man fading into visibility over her shoulder. And this time when she span around, it was with a lurch of her gut.
"...Peter?" She gasped, unable to properly process the sight of her uncle crouched upon the window ledge on the other side of the glass, his hair and coat billowing around him in the wind.
He didn't even seem uneasy out there atop such a perilous drop. He just flashed a small, shy smile Claire's way.
What the hell? For a moment she just stood there, shocked dumb. She hadn't seen this guy in months! But then she remembered exactly why she hadn't seen him in so long. She hadn't wanted to see him. And suddenly she was furious all over again at their last interaction, still hurt at what he'd done! And finally she came to her senses and opened her mouth to call for the security guards standing just outside her door –
"No wait! Wait!" Peter cried, his voice muffled slightly. "Hear me out. I just wanna talk." Eyebrows raised in sincerity, he placed both hands flat against the window.
Something stopped Claire from exposing him, although she wasn't sure what. He really looked a state. Unshaven, his hair longer and more unkempt than she'd ever seen it before, dressed in mis-matched clothes that didn't seem to be his own... he looked like a homeless person – which, Claire suddenly realised with a jolt – he very likely was, considering the target on his back.
"Claire. Please."
This time Peter's voice was so soft that it barely made it through the window. And against her better judgement (and all her instincts telling her not to trust him) Claire crept a few steps closer. Her gaze darted nervously around the empty space beside the intruder, unable to stop her heart from racing in anticipation of finding another, more menacing form and darker, cold eyes...
"I'm alone." Peter shifted uncomfortably, either due to her suspicions or due to his position on the window ledge, she couldn't be sure. It really was a long drop should he so much as lean in the wrong direction... And suddenly Claire realised what was so jarring about this picture.
"How did you even get up here, it's like thirty stories?" She asked, remembering he had used invisibility just a minute ago.
Almost reluctantly, he answered. "I flew."
The teenager's eyes widened. So he did have access to more than one power again. She'd thought as much already, and the footage of his explosion over the city seemed to convey the same, but Claire hadn't been ready to believe it until now. She should have been happy about it, because she knew how much having his abilities repressed had always bothered him. Instead, she just snarled. "Did he do that to you?"
After a second, Peter dipped his head, his sigh fogging up the glass. The lack of an answer hovered taut between the two evos, leaving Claire to flounder in countless images of horrific deeds Sylar might have done to her uncle to get his old abilities back. She realised too late that she didn't even want to know. The thought of Peter and Sylar laying even one finger on each other was enough to make her see red.
Thankfully, the empath didn't elaborate. He just swiped his dancing hair away from his face, peircing his eyes into her soul. "Can I come in? Please? It's important."
...Shit. Claire badly wanted to turn her back on him and draw the blinds, leave him balancing out there for as long as he liked so long as she didn't have to see him. But... at the same time... underneath his haphazard apperance, Peter looked just the same as she'd known him when he had been her hero. Now that he was actually here it was harder to think of him as a liar and a traitor, now that he felt just as hopeful and sweet and kind as he always had been toward her. And it wasn't like she hadn't felt awful over the months for leaving him to burn at their last encounter... But dammit, Claire was just so mad at him for lying to her for God knows how long before she'd stumbled upon the truth of his fraternization with the enemy.
So what that he was brimming with the same humbling purpose he had the first time they'd met? So what that he looked just as genuine as he always did? He had the last time they'd had a proper conversation. In Mercy Heights hospital. When he'd hugged her and given her advice about her role as a celebrity evo. And all the while he'd been keeping this rancid secret between them that lurked in the background, waiting to break everything apart.
She told herself it was only because she wanted answers – and not that she couldn't bring herself to turn him away – that she finally nodded and stepped aside.
( )
As soon as he had her consent, Peter phased himself through the glass and dropped down from the window ledge. He was only faintly aware of Claire's acknowledgement of this power – now that there was no safety barrier between them it wasn't as easy to look his niece in the eye. Instead, windswept and cold from the flight, he rubbed his hands together to warm up his fingers while looking around the place.
Wow. The suite was really something compared to the shithole he and Sylar had been sharing for the past week, to say the least. Silk couches, a working fireplace, a grand chandelier... the room reminded him uncomfortably of the Stanton Hotel, but maybe that was just because he'd been avoiding luxury hotels since that night. He pushed the thought away.
"You're doing well for yourself." Peter noted, taking it all in. Although the place was practically fit for royalty, somehow it made him sad to see the way Claire was living now. This was a far cry from her bedroom at home with books and fluffy pillows and teddy bears everywhere.
But that was a long time ago. Things weren't the same now. She wasn't that girl anymore.
( )
Crossing her arms, Claire tracked her visitor's moves from a reasonable distance. Suddenly she was extremely aware that she was boxed in a thirty story room with one of the country's most dangerous and wanted criminals. Of course, he was so much more than that to her.
It didn't feel like months since she'd last set eyes upon this young man. It didn't feel like it had been him on the other side of ravenous flames, choosing to crouch over the unconscious form of Sylar rather than leave with her before the rig came down upon them all...
"What're you doing here, Peter?" She huffed, clipped.
Everything about him was painfully familiar: the way he walked past her, the smell of him and fresh air that always accompanied flying, the motion of perching on the edge of one of the couches, running fingers through his hair before resting both elbows on his knees. Agitation was palpable in the space around him, nearly as vivid as guilt, and as much as Claire wanted to insist she didn't need his apologies... a little part of her had been waiting for this since her heart had first been broken.
Peter seemed to have trouble forming the words. Claire let him struggle. At last, he took a breath before meeting her eyes like a guilty dog who knew he'd done wrong. "I came here... to ask for your help."
Claire stared at him. "Help?" She choked. He just nodded as if it wasn't a totally insulting request, a slight tip of his head, with a gentle frown and a weighted line to his mouth. "You want my help?!" She narrowed her eyes at him. What the hell? Where was the "I'm sorry"? Where was the "I shouldn't have lied to you"? The "I was wrong", or "I shouldn't have done it"s...?
( )
Peter wet his dry lips, burning under guilt and this girl's disappointment in him. He hadn't expected anything different, but it hurt to be met with it all the same. "I know after everything that's happened -"
"You can't be serious!" Claire actually laughed to herself, shaking her head and pacing on the spot, slippers flapping behind her. It was only then that Peter realised how different she looked to her glamorous celebrity counterpart, which was all he'd seen of her for the past few months. She looked like herself again. Almost like the sweet kid with the sad little smile he'd first met all that time ago... strange, for a moment there he'd forgotten she'd ever come so far since then.
"I am." He said.
It was tough to decide which was worse: kneeling before the furiously pacing teenager like a student at the headmaster's office, or having to endure the full might of her outrage when she stopped and glared right at him.
On second thought – the latter was definitely worse.
Arms crossed tight, defensive, Claire spat her words at him through her teeth. "You honestly think I'd help you after what you did?!" She may have looked young again, but no amount of make-up remover or towelled dressing gowns could erase the scars the years had added to her soul. "After you lied to me? Knowing you'd teamed up with the one person I hate most in the entire world...?"
Just the mention of Sylar sent goosebumps flaring across the expanse of Peter's skin. He didn't want to think of the guy right now – and not just because he could picture his smug, told-you-so expression at having avoided this confrontation. No. As much as Peter was still reaping the benefits of Sylar's care and attention earlier that morning, and as much as he didn't regret it and felt more complete than he had in forever, it just seemed disrespectful to dwell on such things now that he was with the girl Sylar had once terrorized.
Claire thought she was mad at Peter already? He trembled at the thought of what she would do if she knew what he'd done earlier that morning. It was silly to worry that somehow she could tell anyway, like the affair was scrawled all over his skin, claiming him with Sylar's neat handwriting, teeth marks and possessive fingerprints. He knew it wasn't possible (Claire could heal not read minds, thank god) but the guilt kept him from dismissing the idea entirely. And Peter had never been too good of a liar.
"You chose Sylar." Claire hissed. "How could you do that to me?" She might as well have kicked the sentence into Peter's chest, probably breaking a few ribs in the process.
His throat felt very tight. He couldn't face the thought of having to defend his friend's redemption for what felt like the millionth time since they'd escaped Parkman's dream city; especially considering his last attempt with this girl. But at least, this time, he might get through to her better without a sinking, fiery oil rig and her father's itchy trigger finger to get in the way.
"It's a long story." Letting out a deep breath, he tried to keep himself calm as much as he hoped to keep Claire from going off at him even more. "I didn't do it to hurt you, you have to believe me."
"He killedNathan! Your own brother!"
Peter cringed beneath the words, beneath the furious incredulity in his neice's tone. Of course they were never going to get through this reunion without the reminder of who the man he'd just left had really been in a different life. It never hurt any less to be confronted with the truth so bluntly. Peter's heart broke every single time, even if he was sure it had to have healed strong enough by now to resist a little more, that it couldn't take another fracture without falling to pieces.
It never failed to bounce back. Even if only so it could break apart once again.
( )
"I know." The empath confessed quietly, holding his gaze steady. "I know he did."
If it wasn't for the sadness shimmering behind his eyes, Claire might not have ruled out some sort of mind control at play. As it was, she couldn't look past such naked, undiluted sorrow with every wound intact and preserved, and decide that Peter wasn't in his right mind. He wore the loss of his brother like a mottled battle scar, a reminder that it had happened and it had changed him forever, just as it had changed her.
But then how could he feel all this for Nathan, and then sit there defending the honour of the man who had needlessly erased him from this world...?
Toying with his fingers, Peter spoke sightlessly to an area just over Claire's shoulder. "But he's come so far since then." He chewed his tongue, a slew of emotions conflicting over his face. "If you knew what we've been through? You might understand."
When Peter bowed his head in frustration Claire tightened her dressing gown around her form, feigning a security she didn't feel. Over the months she had imagined what might happen the next time she saw this man. Rantings, ravings about some bullshit excuse he had bought into that shone a new and totally-not-faked light of heroism onto the mass murderer who had killed countless innocent people... maybe?
She had never prepared for this. Somehow it was more unsettling to be faced with Peter's wounded acceptance than if he had screamed in denial.
( )
Slowly, Claire's arms fell by her sides. "Then tell me." She demanded. Peter's hesitance must have shown on his face, because she set her jaw and repeated, louder this time, "Tell me what happened between you two."
Peter was treated to a fresh wave of goosebumps and palms that started to sweat. He squirmed, less comfortable here on the plush couch than he had been on the window ledge outside. What was he supposed to say? Far too much had happened between himself and the ex-murderer. Some of which would cause Claire to disown him forever if she knew...
"I didn't come here to talk about Sylar." Peter attempted to steer the conversation into safer waters, sitting up straighter as if he held an ounce of control in the situation anyway. "This isn't about him. Alright? There's something more important going on and we're wasting time -"
Again, the teenager cut him off. She didn't even need to raise her voice. "I won't even think about helping you with anything until you give me an explanation. You owe me that much." The expression that followed was lethal, constrained yet somehow conveying every morsel of disapproval she held for Peter. For the first time, he could see his mother's genes prevailing in her granddaughter.
It didn't take long for him to give in. He knew Claire. Even if he didn't, she was a Petrelli, and she would never listen if he tried to tell her about his prophetic dream until she got what she wanted from him first.
That trait, she got directly from Nathan.
Truthfully, Peter could understand where she was coming from. But he also didn't think he owed his neice this insight into such a meaningful aspect of his life. Some things were just private. It wasn't really like he had a choice, though. Not when the fate of the future was at stake.
Suddenly wracked with nerves, Peter shifted in his seat to stop his legs from shaking and rubbed anxiously at his forehead with the back of his hand. Fuck. She really wanted to know...? He hadn't anticipated this. It was... scary, to open this vault. Nobody else had stepped foot inside these walls except himself and Sylar. Nobody. If he was to tell her now... this would be the first time he had ever said it all aloud.
He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad? Maybe he'd been afraid all this time to share the secret for no reason? Either way, Peter knew he had to come clean with this girl who meant so much to him, otherwise he'd lose her forever. Her, and the entire world.
So no pressure, then?
( )
Impatiently, Claire waited while the man fidgeted, avoiding her eyes and visibly battling with himself over the matter. He ended up standing again just to face away from her, his coat swishing around him as he walked.
"I... I haven't talked about it yet. With anyone other than him."
Him. The thought of her former hero, her friend, turning for support in the man who had ripped open her head made Claire feel physically nauseus, although her ability should have prevented any such things. She couldn't work up a reply.
"...Okay." Peter folded his arms across his chest, standing with his back to Claire while he looked out upon the sunrise breaking through the skyscrapers outside.
Even though she wasn't currently being watched, Claire tried to stay cold. It was more difficult than it should have been. Only now, when she acknowledged he was actually about to give her the missing pieces of the story that had driven so many people crazy; she realised how truly, deeply, desperately, she wanted to know the truth. And also how much he must really need her.
"After... after Nathan. But before the carnival... I went looking for Sylar. I dreamed that he was gonna help me stop Samuel Sullivan from killing all those people. I didn't want his help but I knew I needed it... so I found him." Peter's voice grew darker. "In Matt Parkman's basement. Behind a brick wall."
He broke off, pained. Although she might not have been able to see his face from here, Claire noted the workings of his jaw and just how tightly he was gripping onto his arms. But it still didn't make much sense. "I don't understand?"
"Matt trapped him inside his own head. In a dream. He took his abilities away and tried to hide the evidence by burying Sylar alive."
Peter was definitely angry recalling this. And despite herself, and who it was in question, Claire couldn't help but be disgusted by such a fate. It sounded obscene. Made up. Inhumane. Matt could do that? But why the hell would he? Trap a human being, one who could never die, in that sort of torture forever...? Suddenly she was uncomfortably aware of her own looming immortality.
Equal parts engrossed and horrified, the teenager scuffed close enough to her uncle to sit on the furthest arm of the couch from where he stood.
( )
Peter rolled his tense shoulders, shifting his weight on the carpet. Even now, all this time later, he could perfectly recall the moment he'd caught sight of the dreaming murderer propped up behind a half-built prison. It hadn't mattered that it was Sylar, Nathan's killer, or the man who was supposed to fulfill Peter's prophecy. It had just mattered that he was a person. And for the first time, Peter had felt anything other than hatred towards him in the span of just those few seconds.
"I couldn't let Matt do that to him." He stated, clearing his throat. "So I went into Sylar's head using Matt's ability. Don't even know what I was thinking..." He scoffed softly to himself, shaking his head at his own stupidity. Sylar had reminded him more than enough times over the years how foolish he'd been to do what he had. He couldn't even disagree. "I only wanted to bring him back so he could help me save the carnival, but..."
A silence. Then he sounded very far away to even his own ears.
"We couldn't get out."
Peter closed his eyes, summoning the courage to turn around and face his audience. This was the moment where everything would change. It was the first step into uncharted territory. After the secret was out there was no going back, and all the hate and all the looks he'd gotten from his family would change, because once they knew what had happened he wouldn't just be crazy in their eyes. He would be so much more than that.
But just as recklessly as he had once charged right into another man's worst nightmare, he took the leap and went on faith alone that it was the right thing to do.
( )
"We were in there for five years, Claire. Together."
It took a moment for this nonsense to settle into place in Claire's mind.
She couldn't quite make sense of it all. She could barely even speak her disbelief. These superhuman abilities were unprecedented and untested, and so far, unlimited... anything was possible in this brave new world of powers. But somehow the things she'd just heard sounded as bizarre to Claire as she must have done to the world when she'd jumped from that Ferris Wheel.
"Five years?" She huffed. "Am I actually supposed to believe that?"
"Time passed differently there. Hours out here were years for us." A wistful sigh reached Claire's ears. "We were trapped inside an empty city. There was nothing else. No one. We tried to escape... we tried everything."
For the first time, Peter looked back at her over his shoulder. And even though it sounded insane, she could tell from one glance at his weary, handsome face that he believed every word he was saying. Claire didn't need to be an empath herself to feel every knot of emotion that weighed on his voice.
"I thought I lost my mind in there so many times... Sylar was the same." His features twitched in slight pain. Shortly followed by, was it, pride...? "But somehow we always managed to get each other through it." Claire hadn't even noticed she'd slid from the arm of the couch onto the cushions themselves, until Peter inched close enough to sit beside her. She tensed, but found no desire at all to push him away. Instead, she merely sat quietly beside him, listening to what she could barely begin to comprehend. "You don't know what it was like, Claire. Sylar saved me. Kept me sane." Lost in memories, Peter rested his elbows on his knees again, gently linking his fingers together as if reaching for someone who wasn't there. "...I wouldn't have survived in there without him."
If Claire wasn't mistaken, a touch of longing lit the corners of his eyes and mouth, then. She wanted to unsee it instantly, but found she couldn't tear her gaze from the other half of the story that unfolded across her uncle's fine features. The parts he wasn't saying. God. She hadn't seen him look that way about anyone in all the time she'd known him.
It wasn't difficult to read the earnest arch of his brow or the delicate set of his lips. It was only difficult to process the information Claire gleaned from them. "Five years is a long time with nothing to do but work through a hell of a lot of baggage." Peter's expression shifted, burdened by a history that Claire didn't need or want to imagine. "I hated him at first. You have no idea. But... slowly, he changed. I watched it happen. I was there for every single day of it, and I swear to you: he's not the same guy you remember."
Everything about the young man became tender at these words, and Claire couldn't stand the niggling feeling growing inside her. She wanted to shiver, to scream, to laugh at the absurdity of it all until she'd cried herself out in hilarity...! But all that she managed was to sink back into the couch as the magnitude of the tale consumed her. Peter fell silent, sighing and scrubbing both hands over his face before hunching his shoulders and casting his eyes down.
Slowly but surely, the grudge Claire had been nurturing for months was fading, leaking away like water down a drain. She hadn't known. But then again, how would she have known? That – what? Her uncle and her enemy had been kidnapped? Held prisoner? In a nightmare? And Peter had lived this whole other life in the span of a day and he'd since suffered in silence rather than tell anyone...? And what about Sylar? He'd reformed and become this whole other person then passed up any chance to gloat and show off in front of everyone? Him...? The whole thing sounded like some fucked-up conspiracy of sorts. An elaborate cover story to hide the real truth.
But then... Peter Petrelli diving into a ridiculously dangerous situation of heroics for someone he didn't owe anything to? That part sounded all too real.
Frowning, blinking slowly, somehow Claire managed to get her voice to co-operate with her. "Does my father know about this?" She croaked. She hadn't spoken to Noah for almost as long as she hadn't spoken to Peter. Although if the countless missed calls and unopened messages meant anything, it wasn't through want of trying on his part.
Peter shook his head. "No. Just Matt. And you."
He peeked at her through his hair then, with the genuine earnestness that burned so bright it almost scorched Claire's cheeks. That gift of his to focus so much attention, to be entirely present in a moment and forge a connection that was so precious, unprecedented, that felt like the greatest secret in the world, was the first thing Claire had been drawn to about him. She'd thought they were the same. That they just got each other the way she'd never gotten anyone else before. She'd thought the way he had seen her was special, just theirs.
Now she hated the thought that he must look at Sylar the same way.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before." Peter confessed softly. His hands twitched as if he was fighting the urge to reach out. "I wanted to. I just... didn't know how." When the silence yawned on between them and Claire still didn't know what to say, he turned his face away again, scoring tracks in his jeans with his fingertips.
Holy shit. So... Peter and Sylar... it was genuine? This... bond? Friendship? Whatever the fuck they were calling it? Sylar was "reformed"? And Peter was fine with the fact the guy had murdered his brother and more of their friends, just because he'd kept him company all those years inside a dream created by a telepathic cop...? But how? How could he put everything else aside to lay down his life for that bastard the way Claire had seen with her own two eyes?!
Then suddenly she thought she knew. She really wished she didn't. But it made somuch sense that she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it until now. And if she knew this heartfelt, empathetic, too trusting man at all, she already had her answer.
( )
"...Are you in love with him?"
Peter's head shot up at the same time his insides disintegrated. He looked directly at Claire, shocked, only to see she could barely even believe she'd asked such a thing either. But at least she was still speaking to him. At least she hadn't thrown him out the window already. At least she was listening.
Suddenly breathless, he felt his cheeks grow hot and had to avert his eyes. "It's... not like that." He got lost before finding the next words.
Well what was it like? He had no idea how to begin to encapsulate, never mind describe, the many feelings he had for Sylar – especially not to Claire of all people! He'd never had to do so before. Nobody had ever asked him. Nobody had ever been part of it except himself and the reformed serial killer, and they both knew what they had without having to even imagine a word for it.
Peter stammered, wishing he wasn't inappropriately reminded of dark, penetrating eyes, of velveteen lips and a self-satisfied arch of an eyebrow. "I-I mean, it is what it is but it's not what you think, it's – it's just... complicated." He finished stupidly with a grimace, narrowly refraining from cursing aloud and smacking himself in the forehead.
Oh yeah. She was definitely going to help him save the world now.
( )
Claire listened numbly to his excuses. She didn't believe him. She wasn't convinced but she didn't challenge him either, annoyed with herself for actually beginning to come around to his argument. It was difficult to stay angry any longer now that she knew the truth.
She had noticed the change in him after the carnival. He'd seemed older, wearier much too quickly. Everything had shifted in him and nobody had been able to pinpoint why, and it wasn't Nathan's death and it wasn't the revelation of superhumans to the rest of the world. It wasn't even the secret of taking Sylar in like a pet he'd felt sorry for. It was this. The hidden life he'd lived and nobody else had known about. ...Nobody but the one person he could confide in.
But why did it have to be Sylar? Of all the people in the world Peter could have spent five years alone with? What sort of cosmic joke was that?! Why couldn't it have been that nice woman he knew at the hospital, or some other tall, dark and scary guy who hadn't slaughtered his way through the country tearing dozens of families apart...?
She couldn't imagine what it must have been like to be trapped inside another person's head for what felt like years. Never mind that son of a bitch. How lonely it would get. When you needed each other in order to simply survive, maybe a sordid past didn't seem to matter as much...? But Claire knew in her gut that, had it been her, she wouldn't have forgiven Sylar. Not him. The rest of her immortal life frightened her whenever she thought upon it, but even the thought of outliving everyone she knew except for that bastard didn't change her feelings toward him at all.
But Peter wasn't her. He was far too kind a man. It wasn't his fault. He had always been a sap for people who needed saving – Claire was living proof of that. And Sylar? He was certainly a prime candidate. In such a desperate situation Peter likely never stood a chance.
With a great sigh, resentment for this man faded from Claire's heart down to the final dregs, falling away like cobwebs. When trust and real relationships were such a rare commodity, she just couldn't bring herself to sacrifice this one over again. So, in a conscious decision, she took pity on her uncle.
( )
When the couch moved beneath him and Peter felt Claire lean across, he braced himself for a slap to the face, pulse racing. Instead, he was stunned by the small hand that lay gently on his back, and the weight of Claire's head resting against his shoulder. So slight an act, but to this exiled man it felt like everything and more.
"I'm so sorry for what happened to you." She said, and Peter knew that she meant it. He couldn't find a way to express how it felt when he'd been expecting the polar opposite. "I still don't get it. And I don't understand how you could forgive everything he's done. But I believe you, Peter. Although this doesn't change how I feel about him." The words sounded like thorns in her mouth, prickling Peter with their force. Then Claire sighed once more, shaking her head against the fabric of his coat. "But I won't let him get between us again. He's already taken so many people that I love away from me. Not you, too."
Tears sprang unexpectedly to Peter's eyes then, dewing along his lash line almost too quickly for him to blink them back. He rested his cheek atop his neice's still damp hair. Tentatively, he pried an arm free to wrap it around the girl's shoulders without dislodging her, pulling in the small form of her body just slightly. "I'm right here." He murmured, hoping she wouldn't hear how weak his voice was. If she did, she never gave any indication.
Sunlight shone over the city outside, filtering through the wall of windows and onto the pair. Peter couldn't tell how long passed while they sat here, cuddled warmly in this way. He just closed his stinging eyes, cherishing the acceptance of a loved one he had thought was lost to him forever.
So this was how it felt to be welcomed back? Believed? Maybe even, one day, forgiven? It was so unfamiliar when everyone else in his life had kicked him out and never looked back that Peter couldn't confidently believe it. After being outcast from his family for so long, he couldn't quite shake the feeling his niece was going to change her mind the next second. But somewhere in the recesses of the suite a clock kept ticking, and Claire Bennet never moved from his side.
( )
It hadn't been months. No way. Being back here like this with her hero, feeling the familiar, comforting warmth of his embrace, was like no time had passed at all since the last time. It may have been childish for the Indestrucible Girl to think such things when she was supposed to be the strong icon for an entire species of human, but she couldn't help but be soothed by the presence of an adult. By the reassuring hold of someone who loved her.
When work was constant and her security team kept all fans at a safe distance, and she was either far away from her family or not speaking to them at all, and the only people she interacted with were interviewers and her assigned team...? It was only too easy to feel isolated. Yet Claire was lucky enough to have even those people around. What must it have been like for Peter all those days and nights he'd spent in a ghost town? He must have fallen very far in order for Sylar to seem like a better option.
And nobody would even know about the crime that had happened to him (to... them, Claire had to remind herself). There was no evidence to back up their story, so it just didn't count? What kind of justice was that? And if there were evos out there with enough will and power to trap others in nightmares for years without blame, how could she ignore it any longer?
For the dozenth time that morning, Claire was reminded of Zach's visit last night. This was exactly the kind of thing he'd been saying: that real problems were transpiring beyond her revolving world of dressing room doors. And where had she been when her people had needed her all this time...?
( )
It was only when Claire cleared her throat that she finally broke their embrace, pulling back just enough to look at Peter with grim determination. "What about Matt?"
"What about him?"
"He can't just get away with this, we have to tell people!" A line formed between her eyebrows, and suddenly there was the brave young girl Peter had used to know. Despite the topic of conversation, he could only smile at her.
He'd known she wouldn't let her bruised feelings get in the way of doing what was right. Even if that meant she wanted to expose an abusive telepath's crimes even though he could easily manipulate everyone to overlook them again. It was deeply encouraging to see that this part of Claire still thrived below the polished persona of The Miracle Girl. It was exactly the attitude Peter had been hoping to find.
Taking a breath, he squeezed the girl's arm gently. Only now that she had let him back in did he allow himself to dwell on just how much he had missed her. And now he had to crush her all over again, curse her with knowledge of a horrific future in order to prevent it. He honestly wished he didn't have to.
"There's something else we have to do first." He said.
Reading him, Claire's eyes roamed over his face with the skill passed down through her genes from Angela. Peter didn't even need to explain that this was the reason he had travelled all this way to find her before she nodded, consenting this time. "I'm listening."
( )( )( )
Car horns blared and commuters bustled on their early morning routes through the streets. It was still dark in the shadow of buildings, mixed scents of various food stalls and the shouts of their vendors permeating the streets of New York City. Everyone had a place to be, a task to complete. No one spared any thought to the tall figure parting from a food cart with a fresh, steaming pastry in his hands.
Now this was more like it. God, he'd missed the city.
Sylar had just taken a bite of his third one that morning (he'd caved and eaten the breakfast he'd bought for Peter already) when his phone vibrated in his pocket.
"Hey, it's me."
Sylar smiled to himself at Peter's pointless introduction. He was just glad to hear he was still walking and talking and, apparently, sane after the run in with Little Miss Bennet. "How'd it go?" Sylar asked with his mouth full, tripping back off the pavement to take shelter from the crowds against the side of a building.
For a moment there was just quiet breathing on the other end of the line, and even that was enough to soothe Sylar's separation anxiety from the other man. It was ridiculous how much he'd missed him, even though they'd flown here together and Sylar had loitered just a block away.
He waited for the verdict. Peter Petrelli was never one for bragging... which was just as well, because Sylar could practically feel the triumph in his voice even before he spoke. Damn it.
"She's in."
A/N: Thank you as always for reading if you've made it to this point! I know this was a long chapter, but hopefully all the Petlar fluff at the start was worth it X) We've waited a looooong time to get to this point of their relationship after all, it would be a shame to cut it short. Especially as things are going to get dangerous from here on out and there's no going back...
I'm really excited to get to this next part! I hope you are too. I am working hard to write it as soon as I can, but real life obligations are selfishly taking up a lot of time I would otherwise be spending writing. But don't worry, there is more story to come and I will share it as soon as it's ready!
If you have time to leave a comment I appreciate each and every one, and if you're interested in Heroes posts, Milo and Zach appreciation, behind the scenes status updates for this story, or just my thoughts on writing - please go check out my blog on Tumblr as "FieryEclipse".
