Day 72, February 20, Morning
He found Peter at the diner. Sylar opened the door, making mutually checking eye contact as he slid inside. The weather was still chilly and windy but less wet than before. He approached the bar and took up a stool as if nothing untoward had happened or would happen. Without a word, Peter offered him up a piece of what appeared to be buttered raisin bread toast on a napkin, which he accepted with a strange twist inside. Even that tiny gesture was full of meaning, like acceptance and more of the same manipulation he was trying to avoid. Sylar took a crunchy bite though he'd already eaten. He sighed as he chewed. When he swallowed, he looked around for something to drink before he spoke but found nothing and continued, slowly. "I know what you're doing, what you want here. I'm not going to let you touch me and 'empathize' with me to get my abilities, any of them." I told him that before. His tone hardened, "You don't get to waltz in and take what I've earned. I had to put my hands in people's brains and blood and bleed myself, and be hunted and tortured and imprisoned for them. I don't exist for hypocrites to use me." Sylar took a deep breath, glancing at the toast he still held, as if the delicate bread would prevent a fight. "But out of curiosity, which one did you come here to steal?"
XXX
Peter's brows rose slightly as he listened. He took in a slow, deep breath and let it out, spooning up the last of his eggs and gravy. But he was in no hurry. He set his spoon down and pushed the plate to the side, drawing his tan-colored coffee closer and cupping it in both hands. He considered his answer and made a brief study of Sylar's body language. He's wound up tight. Peter stayed still, kept his voice even, and his gestures restrained. "If I wanted one of your abilities," Peter said calmly, "I would have taken it." He held up his right hand briefly. "It's not like I haven't had plenty of chances. I don't need to 'empathize' anymore. I've gotten people's abilities from fighting when they were a stranger – not a word exchanged – or even brushing up against them in the street. That's the way my current ability works. I can stop the power transfer if I'm aware of it, but I don't need to know you to do it." He took a small sip of his drink. "I thought you wanted me to be engaged?" he asked, turning his cup slowly, working out where he wanted the handle to be (which turned out to be at the 2 o'clock position).
XXX
Sylar spared a few glances at Peter's utensils as the man continued eating. It was off-putting because he didn't know if that meant Peter was just being calm or didn't give a shit. Petrelli seemed calm enough, but whether or not that should be insulting was something else. "So you can take it. If you want to," he added dubiously, a bit mockingly. "But you haven't. It's more likely that you have been trying and you haven't been able to yet, for the same reason I don't have my abilities. Like you said, you didn't come here for me – you came here for me to do a little job for you." He huffed, still holding the toast and now feeling even more stupid for doing it, then muttered, "As for the agreement…What you're doing is…different."
XXX
"I made that deal because I wanted the opportunity to beat the crap out of you, consequence-free." Peter sighed, latching onto that to avoid the whole issue of what he could and couldn't do with his ability here. "It's a shitty reason, but it's the truth. You said you wanted me to feel for you." He gave a dry chuckle and lifted his coffee cup. "You didn't say what I had to feel." He took a drink.
XXX
This time, Sylar gave a glare at Peter's cup. He felt mocked. Petrelli wasn't looking at him (and he couldn't decide if that was to prevent some kind of aggressive stare down or if pretending to ignore him was some superior act). Then there was the part about his own failure to be specific (though 'feel everything for me' included the likely emotions of…anger or vengeance). Sugary sweet, Sylar intoned, "I didn't know that worked with you."
XXX
Peter gave Sylar a perplexed look. He set his cup down. Is he afraid I'm here to steal his abilities? "I can only copy people's abilities, Sylar. I don't take them like my dad did."
XXX
"I know that." The words were out of his mouth before he thought about what was said. Do I know that? Great. Another thing I hadn't thought of, another thing that he knows and…Ugh! "That's not…the main point." He hedged and shifted his weight on the stool. It was tricky to address his concern without being overtly needy and pathetic. "According to your story, if your abilities were working, you'd have what you want already and you wouldn't still be here." Sylar sneaked a longer side glance at Peter as if waiting and testing him.
XXX
Ah, that's what he's afraid of. Peter gave a single nod. He swiveled to face Sylar and intoned seriously, "I've given you my word I won't leave without you. On a more practical level, I probably can't. I've held to my side of the bargain by not looking for a way out. Your abilities, and mine, don't make a difference in that." He turned back to his coffee. "I don't like being alone, Sylar. Less than you do, I'll bet. You don't have to worry about me avoiding you unless you're being intolerable or I don't feel safe, which is pretty much the same thing." He took a drink. He was beginning to feel irritated that he had to repeat these assurances so often. It was like Sylar was questioning his word. Peter had to admit Sylar had good reason to do that (both from his experiences with Peter and with others), but it was still irritating. "I've been used for my abilities, too, Sylar. I didn't like it. That's not what I intended."
XXX
Calmer now, Sylar argued though it felt like he had to defend his accusation, "But this explains everything about your behavior." Sylar knew he was still suspicious; he had the right to be and it was instinct by now. It still bothered him, and probably still would even after this conversation. There was no way to know the truth (that was more a reminder of his own unspecialness) except to ask Peter Petrelli. He didn't like being forced to trust a Petrelli and Peter…he was acting strange, had been for a while if Sylar paid attention to what he and Nathan both knew. I've been doing a lot of asking lately… In several ways, Peter had earned enough goodwill that he would ask, but Petrelli had also had enough fuckups to make him paranoid. (I don't know what else to do. I'm doing the best I can. Act like I have all my marbles, like I'm not a pathetic pushover). He likes talking, so I'm just…talking. This is normal, right? He usually believed Peter enough to not kill the guy and feared what would happen when he didn't believe Peter. "How do I know you're not always touching me, offering to help me in order to touch me so you can steal my ability and get out? I know your abilities don't work right now but you're not the type to sit with me – especially when you say you have a mission. You keep testing to see if they work - that's what I would do."
XXX
"I've had your ability," Peter growled over his cup. "I don't want it again!" He shook his head, muttering, "Some of the others you have are pretty cool, though." In a normal tone, he said, "The only proof I can give you is that I haven't. And like you say, there are all kinds of reasons why I would, but I haven't. That's because I can't, as far as I know, and I'm not doing anything to test it and find out. Not without your permission."
"Listen." He turned to face Sylar. "I had a dream. It was that you were going to save people. Not that I was going to take an ability from you and go do it myself. Not that you had to do something specific. I didn't see what you did at all, in the dream." His voice rose with tension and suppressed frustration. "Just that you saved them. I don't know how. I don't know what made you think it was a good idea. I don't know what you do before or after. I don't even know if I'm still alive at that point, because I didn't see myself in that dream." He looked Sylar in the eye. "If you kill me, please go save them." He looked away and exhaled heavily. "I'm not 'using' you. I'm asking you to do something. If you say no, then that's it. There's no blackmail. There's no reward. There's no extortion, no manipulation – nothing, Sylar! You say no, fine. It doesn't change what I asked for, because I'm not going to stop wanting that to happen." He waited a beat, catching his breath from the spill of words. "It just means we'll find other ways to spend our time. Like me beating the crap out of you because I'm frustrated." He snorted and turned away, staring into the area behind the bar. "And because of Nathan," he added unnecessarily, in case Sylar thought his anger was solely due to the man's recalcitrance.
XXX
Sylar pulled his head back, frowning. I'm not the only one with trust issues and suspicions. (How does he handle it so much better?) More than anything, the martyr complex stuck out to him. 'If I kill him, please go save them.' It worried and insulted and…touched him all at once. If I was going to save them, I wouldn't kill Peter. Hell, I'd want him to watch! Sylar recovered with a roll of his eyes about Nathan. He'd been so lonely the night before that he itched to bring the conversation back to a manipulation of sorts that could potentially satisfy them both. "So you'd have no problem with agreeing to tell me if and when your abilities start working here?" Sylar probed, not putting much effort into a casual tone, instead sounding smug with victory. That had not been his plan, to arrange that, but it came to him and if Peter was telling the truth, well, they'd have an agreement.
XXX
"No," Peter answered. "No problem at all."
XXX
"Good," Sylar said, his mood improving as he chose to believe what he wanted to believe. I have enough demonizing what-ifs to be worried about. A few large bites and quick chewing finished the toast. He desired things from Peter, things that were readily available, provided he wasn't being actively paranoid. He could see the deep purple-red of the bite on Peter's neck from yesterday morning. In a deep, inviting voice, he continued on with a tilt of his head, "I wish you'd manipulate me with some things, Petrelli. We might both get something out of it, you know. Other ways to spend our time when you're…frustrated." With that, he extended his right hand, resting it on Peter's left shoulder, pulling aside the man's bright flannel over-shirt to brush a pair of fingers over what must be the tender site of his teeth marks. Fuck. I want him.
XXX
Peter was glancing down at his fingers, rubbing them together and wondering if he should say something about the occasional tingling, when Sylar spoke again. He was looking over as he listened to Sylar's seduction, so he saw the hand heading to his shoulder. He tensed a little, just starting to say something in response when Sylar continued the motion to touch his neck. Now Peter stiffened. Sylar's expression became even more lustful. Peter felt his face heat – hell, his whole body – in a sudden flush of awareness. The faint touch to the sensitive bruising on his neck felt almost ticklish. His lips parted and he pulled his eyes away to focus on his half-empty coffee cup, mind blank of anything but the prickling of his skin as the hairs on the back of his neck did their best to stand up. A wash of complicated feelings flowed through him about yesterday's session, the bite, the previous bite marks, how Sylar knew and intended that to be sexual, how he was offering more right now, wanted more, Peter could see it on his face and hear it in his voice and feel it in the so-careful way he just touched him, the contact leaving a tingling trail that came from Sylar's hands this time instead of Peter's. He stared at the tan coffee, fists curled on either side of it, and focused on breathing, coping, and keeping it together.
XXX
Sylar gloried at his success. Peter did little and said nothing in reaction because he didn't take 'facing away' as a strong or clear rejection. He really likes being touched. It was hardly a new fact, but the idea behind it, that Peter might (probably) need to be touched, even by him, was easy to capitalize on. He doesn't like me touching him sexually – not his dick or his ass, nipples, or mouth, but everything else…"Hmm," Sylar said, satisfied with that. He stood, leaving his hand on Peter's shoulder as he walked around him and the stool and the end of the bar to pursue coffee. His hand dragged across Peter's shoulders and back as he moved away, only breaking contact when physics intervened. He could practically taste Peter's reaction this time. "You were supposed to take care of me after," he remarked more normally about yesterday, finding a mug and filing it up. "My back…" Sylar shifted his shoulders in honest discomfort, intending to infer guilt and Peter's responsibility.
XXX
Peter straightened again at the sweep across his back, head snapping to follow Sylar with intense eyes. He made a noise in his throat. He wanted, rather desperately, to go jerk off. Get a grip, Peter! Focus. He's a killer. He's a… monster, like he says? No, he's a human being. Peter blinked and wiped at his face, touching over the spot on his neck. It was hot and sore, but the rest of him seemed to be cooling off. "I'll…take care of you…later," Peter said slowly, fully aware of the double meaning in the words and not finding it within himself to care about the mixed message. Or whether it was mixed at all. On impulse and to distract himself, he grabbed one of the single-serving sized plastic jelly containers and peeled off the foil. He recovered his spoon from his nearby plate and dipped out the jelly, sucking it clean. "If you're still interested in the project, this afternoon I'll use a belt."
XXX
Sylar glanced up underneath his brows at the initial response. Oh? Peter's tone or body language or both didn't match up with the suggestiveness of his words, somewhat to his disappointment. He paused in the act of preparing his coffee long enough to see Peter move on to…a jelly packet. A pang of annoyance went through him. Maybe I didn't turn him on like I thought…Peter's plan for the day was not what he'd expected and caught him off-guard. So that's what he meant? I'm his project? Or it's a project- our project? So soon? It was a bit worrisome if he was honest. His back was extremely tender, even to wear clothing. Is he going to do this every day? I did frustrate him, but this – the belt – wasn't what I meant to happen. Is he going to do that every time I frustrate him in any way? His expression probably showed his confusion and surprise before he cleared it but Peter's attention was still on the damn jelly. A few drops of creamer and sugar were then absentmindedly stirred into his cup. "Of course," he replied – agreed? – blandly.
XXX
There's that weird non-reaction again. Peter scraped the last of the jelly from the container. He wondered why Sylar was so unenthused about something he'd been the one to propose and push, but Peter had something more pressing to discuss. "Let's talk hypothetically. What if I could take your ability, or an ability from you – copied, not stolen – how would that change anything between us?"
XXX
Every suspicion he'd just ignored came racing back. "It's not hypothetical!" he retorted quickly. It wasn't! It was a very real possibility. Sylar frowned across the bar. How would it change…? He desperately felt as though he had to convince Petrelli not to do just that. "Like, I said. When you get what you want, you're not going to stick around long, whether you have people to save or not. You'd be even more of a hypocrite and less of a hero, so why would anyone trust you?" Sylar took a tentative sip of his drink; glad he'd been cautious because it was still scalding hot as coffee often was. "And copying is just as bad as stealing, in terms of my abilities. You'd have to be stupid to copy my abilities because I'd still have them. It's not like you'd ask permission."
XXX
"So," Peter said slowly, "it's not me taking an ability, it's what I'd do after." Specifically, the leaving part. He's got me there. I...probably wouldn't stick around. He nodded, disappointed in himself and the situation. Any lingering sexual charge from earlier was entirely gone. He couldn't think of how he could do right in the scenario Sylar was concerned about (saying he'd come back for Sylar wouldn't cut it), but he could at least be up front with the man in the here and now. "I just promised to tell you if my ability worked here, so…" Peter waggled his head, uncertain of Sylar's response, "I think it does. I haven't tested it. I can't test it. I have Matt's ability right now and I don't want to lose it. Of course, I can't seem to use Matt's ability, so maybe hanging onto it isn't the best idea, but it's the one I'm going with right now." Peter showed his hands to Sylar, palms up. "That's how it's been since I got here. I haven't left you; I haven't tried to experiment. I'm trying to be honest with you. That's the best proof I can think of."
XXX
Sylar opened his mouth with another 'I know' because Peter did tell him that his empathy was working here. Interesting and something to keep note of, but it was hardly alarming (He suspected the empathy didn't work well here, in addition to Peter having some synthesized, limited version, or perhaps it just didn't work properly on him). His head tilted quickly, pulling back, eyes narrowed. Wait. His ability has multiple facets, like mine. He's saying…he feels things sometimes? (So does mine. I feel the habitto cut into him to see how he works but I know that wouldn't…satisfy. I'm not hungry for it; I just want mine back). I swear he's tried before to…do things to me, or with me, whatever. It wasn't all about what Peter would do with a 'copied' ability, but that wasn't the most important thing right now. "You're saying you can feel your other ability here?" That wasn't news. "Or…you feel that you can copy abilities here? Or…?" What are you feeling? Hands tightening around his warm cup to stabilize him, he murmured with a distant expression, "I can't feel mine here. How does that work?"
XXX
"You and me, being here? I'm not sure we're on the same wavelength – different situations." He breathed out for a long beat, toying with a second pack of jelly, but not opening it yet. "I feel my ability. I still have it. I didn't have it for a while, you know, after Dad…so I know what it's like when it's gone. It's not gone. I'm pretty sure I can feel Matt's, but it's like a book I can't open, or words I can't bring into focus. It's not like it's messed up," he said with curiosity and concern, "but it's walled off." He frowned, set down the jelly pack, and took a drink of coffee instead. "I don't know if I can copy abilities here. I've thought about it, and it's like committing suicide here – I'd better be sure it's going to work the way I want before I try it, because there's no second chance. And that's not just," Peter dipped his head to the side and gestured at Sylar, "yeah, you, but I might not exist anymore if I lose Matt's ability while I'm in here." He took the last swallow of his coffee, staring into the now-empty cup and refusing to let his thoughts go down the familiar path of what it meant that no one had pulled him out.
He looked up at Sylar. "For the record, I haven't read your thoughts. I don't seem to be able to. Not that I've really tried super-hard or anything. We've already talked about how I don't 'practice'." He peeled the foil off the second jelly packet. "I haven't been looking through your memories, either," he said quietly, picking up his spoon to collect the next bit of sweetness.
XXX
"Hmm," Sylar said, neither here nor there as far as a specific response went. He was still thinking. It's 'walled off,' he says. Just like his empathy. Yes, Peter, I know how to fix you. Honestly, he'd been much more worried with the idea of being brainwashed than he was of having his thoughts read or even having his brain probed. Matt had always been stupidly obvious with it and Peter lacked finesse and had good reasons not to practice. "And that's all?"
XXX
"Sometimes I get wisps of your emotions. It seems to be happening more now than it was a few months ago. It's not constant. And mainly it's like stupid Deanna Troi moments – you're raging at me, yelling and threatening to kill me, and guess what?" Peter chuckled dryly, "I can sense you're angry! Wow, useful, huh? Or just a few minutes ago." He waved at the stool Sylar had previously been sitting in when he'd been exuding desire and attraction. This time he didn't elaborate on what he'd felt. He knew Sylar wanted him – the lust was genuine – but there was no affectionate flavor to it, no softness or friendliness, no tenderness or caring. The rough promise and raw sensuality was a turn-on, but it wasn't one Peter was going to act on.
XXX
"You're not telling me anything I didn't already know," Sylar hinted, because why would Petrelli repeat himself if it wasn't some attempt to placate or otherwise manipulate him? What did he feel moments ago? My…suspicion or…? He tilted his head to observe Peter.
XXX
Peter pursed his lips and looked up at Sylar, under his brows. "I know," he said simply. Glancing away, he looked back to ask, "Are we good?"
XXX
"I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you mean." Sylar gave him a similar look and went back to sipping his coffee. He wasn't sure if that was genuinely more interesting or he wanted to make it seem like drinking coffee was more interesting.
XXX
"Good," Peter said with a sour look. "Because I don't want to be dead. There are things I don't want to talk about if I'm going to get hurt because of it, one way or another. They're not your business anyway. They don't affect you."
XXX
Aha! He finished swirling his coffee around in his mouth, now looking at Petrelli. This bouncing back and forth between 'I'm innocent and harmless' and 'stuff is going on that you don't know about' is getting irritating fast. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
XXX
Peter huffed, but answered. "There's something else going on with me that I don't understand. This is just a bunch of suppositions and impressions. I would…never…have talked about this with anyone before here – never had anyone I could talk to about…trivial stuff like this, things I can't prove and I don't know what it means." He sighed. He was beating around the bush, avoiding the subject, he knew. "When I touch you, sometimes, when we're calm and things are okay, or more than okay, there's a tingle, a feeling, like an itch or a…a vibration inside or something. I don't know how to describe it, but it happens. I'm not imagining things. It's like when I borrow someone's ability. I feel like I could push it, concentrate on it, and maybe that's what it would be, but I don't do that because I don't know what might happen and I'm not sure I really…want to? If that makes any sense? I don't know. It's just…an awareness, of you." He looked down, pursing his lips again. "It happens when we're close. I don't remember it ever happening outside of here."
XXX
Sylar's eyes narrowed in knowing, smug amusement. "We have 'more than okay' moments?" Of course, his curiosity was piqued about that and how it might be similar to how Peter felt about other, normal people. I give him tingles and vibrations? That thrilled him with the most stupid kind of hope. What does that mean? What could it be? (Should I be worried about that?) Distantly, he knew it did, but he wanted to press this first. Why does he bother admitting these things? Because he likes to talk and I bet he thinks I have answers. . Has he considered that he'd just horny? Sylar knew it could very well be part of an ability.
XXX
Peter smiled a little, looking off to the side and then back. "Yeah," he said gently. "I guess we do. Don't ask me how it happens."
XXX
Sylar stared out the window for a moment, considering that. Does that…mean anything? About me? Or him, 'us'? For so long he'd been told, he'd known that people didn't have 'more than okay' moments with him, so to hear Peter confirm that was amazing and unexpected. Was it possible this wasn't something to worry about? "Have you ever felt that before? Before here, this, before me?" Sylar asked in a quiet voice, still very focused on Peter, hanging on his response.
XXX
"I don't remember it ever happening outside of here." Peter sobered a little under the concentrated scrutiny. "Do you think it's because of you and not me? Maybe it's not something I'm doing, but something I'm feeling from you?" Peter looked at his hand uncertainly. "I never felt it before you," he said, addressing his hand. "I thought it was a 'me' thing. But," he looked up at Sylar, "there's no reason why it couldn't be a 'you' thing. Do you ever feel anything like that?"
XXX
Sylar frowned, torn between disbelief and a self-deprecating amusement. "I don't think 'tingles' and 'good vibrations' are usually associated with me. So, no. I don't feel anything like that." There's every reason it's not a 'me' thing, Petrelli. He wasn't about to tell Peter about his own strange empathy that Arthur had discovered. "Not to say that I can't give you tingles and good…vibrations," his expression made his innuendo clear.
XXX
Peter gave a brief roll of his eyes at Sylar's comment. Then he rubbed his fingers together uneasily. "I don't know. It could be nothing. What I've thought it was, was like a shadow of my ability – my normal one, you know? The one I have now. Or did. Whatever – the one-at-a-time one. So, like, if there's something metaphorical about all of this," he waved at the world in general, "then when we're really close, maybe that just means that's when my ability could work, if it worked here at all, but since it doesn't, then nothing happens but a weird sensation. If that's true, then it really doesn't mean much of anything."
XXX
Sylar sighed, "That takes the prize for lamest reason not to fuck, Petrelli. Are you afraid you might get too close?" He glanced up from under his brows to pin Petrelli with his challenging gaze. He might be. He has every reason to be afraid of…what he might see.
XXX
Peter snorted. "That is not the reason, Sylar." He tilted his head emphatically, "And anyway, I happen to like the way it feels. I didn't describe it as hurting, or even being uncomfortable. It's nice. I'm just...uncertain about what it means."
XXX
Sylar raised a knowing eyebrow at that. Maybe that is a metaphor for something – or a lot of things. He likes it, he wants to, but he doesn't…see how he could betray his family that way, with…me. And family comes first. Slowly, Sylar began again, "Do you…see anything when that happens? Feel anything that…doesn't belong to you? Anything strange?" Fun, forbidden tingles aside, if Peter was seeing things-that would be trouble.
XXX
Peter's gaze lingered over Sylar's face, wondering what exactly was behind the questions. "You know something?" he asked with raised brows, but in the pause where Sylar didn't respond, Peter answered anyway. "No, I don't feel anything else or see anything. I don't stop being me. It doesn't mesh with the times when I sense your emotions. It doesn't connect with your memories as far as I can tell. So spill. What are you thinking?"
XXX
Quickly adopting his best blank-and-innocent expression, Sylar kept his mouth shut. It was the way I asked it, he reasoned as to how Peter knew to return the question without first answering. Or…he's surprised I knew? Sylar relaxed from what he hadn't realized was a tense moment. He let out a breath, focusing on his hands on his mug for a moment. He chose his words carefully, knowing that he didn't have to answer this, "I'm- I was thinking that Lydia's ability requires erotic touch to…see things about someone." He shrugged. "Just a theory. I don't think your ability ever worked that way and you didn't pick it up from her." Or me. (I think?).
XXX
Peter frowned. He wanted to argue that the sensation he was trying to describe happened when he was doing intimate and sensual things rather than erotic ones, but he knew he was splitting hairs. He didn't want to claim that anything he did with Sylar was intentionally erotic. Any elaboration would sound defensive, so he made none. He picked up his plate and utensils, taking them over to the sink where he set to rinsing and washing. "Well, that's the long and short of my abilities here. I don't think it's anything you need to worry about." He cast a look at Sylar for emphasis before turning back to the dishes. "I still worry about yours – what you'd do if you had them, or had yours working normally."
XXX
Sylar lazily trailed after him into the kitchen, sipping at his beverage. Peter hadn't phrased any of that as a query. A throaty sigh voiced his annoyance before he said, "I still wouldn't kill you for your ability, Petrelli." That was tap-dancing around killing Peter for other reasons but whatever. "If I had my abilities here, you'd probably have yours." Under his breath and into his cup, he murmured, "And that wouldn't end well." He didn't enumerate his lack of knowledge about what he would do if he had full possession of his powers and his proper mind, with only one special who had a singular, dangerous, undesirable ability whether it worked or not (when that special had fucked him over and thought he should off himself, or needed help doing it), and was 'nothing to worry about.' It was not a common, or even anticipated experience. Sylar zoned out and thought about the Carnival and being welcomed at first, feeling…close to safe and accepted there. That was before he'd been framed for the police chief's murder, tricked into being with Lydia, and his empty personality manipulated. But I never killed anyone there. Peter would never believe that.
XXX
"Hm," Peter grunted, not making out what Sylar had said at the end. It didn't seem to be meant to be heard, so Peter didn't ask. He finished with his dishes and dried his hands on a bright blue towel. "How's your back?"
XXX
"I imagine it's how you left it." It hurts, he didn't say. And you said you'd make it worse later today. He was a little wary and…anticipating rather than confused.
XXX
"Can I see?" Peter made a gesture at Sylar as though asking him to turn around, but Peter himself stayed where he was at.
XXX
Sylar canted his head as he felt a flush of humiliation or…He didn't answer, set his cup aside, and slowly shuffled around to face away from the other man. He began to unbutton his favorite pea coat, then his dress shirt outer layer, then untucked and began to wiggle his undershirt up. It dragged on the damaged surface of his back, but he gave no sign of that, unavoidable as it was. There was always the small possibility that Peter would be sadistic and hurt him through the now-exposed injury instead of helping.
XXX
"Did you do anything for pain management?" Peter asked as he helped Sylar with his shirt.
XXX
Sylar blinked, though he was facing away and Peter couldn't see it. "Uh…" he began in surprise. "I didn't know if…Um. Just ice." I didn't know if I was supposed to take anything. He-we…you…didn't talk about that. Of course, he'd showered and done his best to clean his back, having been scraped across the floor. He'd worn a clean shirt to bed and slept on his sides though they weren't untouched either. He'd been wallowing in his thoughts, the worry that Peter was somehow using his power or the touching, testing him in some way – he'd been distracted and hadn't given painkillers any thought until it was much too late.
XXX
Peter nodded and looked at the exposed flesh – welted, still swollen, and tender. That was about what he'd been aiming for. The skin had been broken in a few places, which hadn't been his intention, but it wasn't so bad as to derail his plans. "Do you want me to put some more of that spray on this?" His voice was distracted, one hand was holding Sylar's shirt while the other touched lightly at the injured area. He noted the heat from the skin and the refill rate as he pressed a particular spot. The underlying tissues weren't bruised except for a few marks over the scapula. The rubber tubing had been a good choice. I'm going to need something wider tonight, though. And to not hit so hard.
XXX
There was no immediate answer from Peter and no sound to give indication one way or the other as to his reaction about the lack of painkillers. He was sure he'd feel it if Peter dropped his shirt for any reason. No. He's a nurse. He's an empath. He has to look; it's like a compulsion. (I wonder if he doesn't believe me?) The last was a quieter, more pensive thought about his describing his symptoms. Then came a question and gentle touch from Peter. It had Sylar inhaling and closing his eyes with…some strange, unnoticed relief. It nearly made his head spin, and not because of the offer of what was essentially a painkiller. Sylar grabbed at the counter top in front of him though he didn't actually need the support and he could have groaned at the touch. His back was sensitive, raw even to that soft contact. The back is a sensitive spot anyway. Which explains the invention of whipping as punishment.He knew it wasn't really any of those things, not even the offer of the numbing spray, at least, not any one thing alone that made him react this way. It was Peter living up to his word, being kind and truly taking care of him despite Sylar having run off and started the fight yesterday – it was the touch of his hand being gentle, whether or not Peter beat him again later today. He'd wanted this so badly before and it was making him high to receive it now. Voice husky, Sylar croaked, "Sure. If you think that's best." If he's going to use a belt, it might actually be best. Even if he does take care of me tonight. (Will he sleep with me?)
XXX
"Okay." Peter glanced up and down, taking in Sylar's reaction. He liked it. "We'll have to go back to the Pegasus. I wasn't carrying it around with me." He pulled the shirt out a little, helping it down Sylar's back.
XXX
Just as quickly, Peter's hand was gone and Sylar felt his shirt sliding down his back. "Yeah. Okay," he agreed, immediately looking to find where Peter was and how soon they were leaving. He already wanted more and didn't care about the cost. The pain is completely worth it. Being needy and fucking dependent on him is different, he warned himself. He wants this, too. (He doesn't understand what it's about), Sylar thought grimly. Clearly that's the only way to get him to do it. It means something to him. Partly in jest and insecurity, he teased, "You're not wearing a belt around either."
XXX
Peter chuckled quietly. "Yeah, I'll have to find one. I remember that clothing store where I worked on the storefront had a rack of belts. I've got all day to get one, though." He gave Sylar (and the man's coffee cup) a brief look up and down, trying to figure out if he was ready to go or was going to hang around. "I'm going to deal with you first. Were you going to eat?"
XXX
Ooh. 'Deal with me.' Because I've been so naughty? Sylar's lips twitched at an amused smirk but didn't go very far. He knew the real reasons Peter wanted to hit him. Or touch him. Or think about either of those things. What's more, he thought it was funny just how…willfully ignorant Peter was being with all this, mainly failing to consider what Nathan would think of it. It was just too easy. "No," he responded simply, turning in order to look at Peter. He didn't wait for much of an answer, instead taking his cup to the sink to wash it quickly. You already fed me toast anyway. Not a meal, I know, but he fed me something after I'd already eaten.
XXX
Peter nodded. "Let's go back, then." He moved over to where he'd left his headband and gloves on a table near the door, suiting up for the winter weather.
XXX
Not for the first time, mostly since he was still dressed for the outdoors, Sylar took the time to assess Petrelli's outfit. Why a headband? Isn't that for women? What do they call it – an 'ear warmer' or something stupid? As they left the building, braving brisk wind that had warmed since he'd arrived, Sylar following behind Peter, he tilted his head as a more rational thought occurred to him. I bet it's hat hair. He's…that vain? I wouldn't want to ruin my hair if it looked like his. Of course, Peter's watch was a useless addition because it was literally non-functional. Sylar spared it a scheming glance.
XXX
His tone reserved, Peter asked, "Did you sleep last night?" Not 'did you sleep okay?' or 'how did you sleep?', but simply did Sylar sleep at all?
XXX
Guiltily, Sylar raised his eyes, putting on an air of someone who was – and had been – paying attention all along. The appeal registered after that. After still more pause, he hedged uncomfortably, "Some." He was not proud of his tone. It snuck out as something he should be ashamed of and so it sounded weak to his ears. What did he expect? It was difficult to sleep alone, not to mention my whole body hurting and torn up... (I wanted to sleep with you!) Feigning politeness, he returned the question, "You?" Let me guess. He slept perfectly fucking fine without me.
XXX
"I slept. Kind of paranoid, but I got to sleep anyway after a while." He glanced over at Sylar for a moment. "It's really quiet here," he admitted. "Especially at night." A few strides later, he said, "I thought I'd play some music this morning. Maybe sort out what sheet music I have that will work for the guitar."
XXX
Ah. Sylar understood immediately the reference to the source of the man's paranoia. If he left like I did…Yeah. (That still doesn't change-) He's never to blame, though. "It's better this way, actually. Or, um, it would be. You know, not necessarily here." That was because Sylar had too much experience in hunting human beings, with just the two of them here, there was only Sylar to be heard. He knew he'd snuck up on Peter before, almost unintentionally, which didn't help the other man's well-founded paranoia. He handles it well. Better than most. His next observations were useless to Peter because of that. "Normal noise patterns in the day time versus at night, and you were born in the city, and the predisposition to be more attuned at night." That probably wasn't what he wanted to talk about. (I sound like a freak). I am a freak because I know all these things. (Peter can't deal with that). Clearing his throat, he addressed what he hoped was more relevant, "That- the music, sounds like a great idea."
XXX
Peter nodded in agreement, and spent the rest of the walk listening to the silence that was broken only by his own sounds and Sylar's quiet footfalls.