Day 77, February 25, Afternoon
"I want to know how he died," Peter asked as they finished cleaning up after lunch. His tone was matter-of-fact. He'd asked the question before, but the answer hadn't been enough. "I want to know the whole thing, from the time you got to the Stanton Hotel, to the time you passed out in the limo."
XXX
Sylar looked at him, aghast. It never ended, did it? It was hardly sexy or comfortable talk and wouldn't work in his favor, especially for…whatever might happen later tonight. "I already answered that, Peter. And I didn't 'pass out' I was drugged!" He didn't notice he had wadded up the dish-drying towel and was squeezing it.
XXX
"Yeah," Peter nodded, ignoring the rage and the attempted diversion. He'd expected it. "I know. I was there. I want to know how it happened from your point of view."
XXX
"Oh, God!" Sylar exclaimed in an exhalation of annoyance. "Who cares? Why is it so important?
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"I care!" Peter raised his voice, squaring off with Sylar and snarling, "You killed my brother! He was important to me; this is important to me! You have no right to pretend it shouldn't be!"
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Sylar swayed back a little, his shoulders drooping and his head turning like a scolded child.
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Peter eyed him for a moment, then spoke normally, "I'm asking for your side of the story. If you don't think it's safe to tell me, fine. Tie me up. Handcuff me to the table. Whatever. Something heavy." Peter pressed his lips together, tense at the very idea, but he was the one suggesting it. He knew his track record with being tied up or restrained. Maybe Sylar didn't, but he had to know enough to realize Peter didn't offer it lightly.
XXX
Sylar opened his mouth to automatically refute whatever Peter had said before he heard what it was. He hesitated, his response dying out. His head tilted as he observed Peter intently. There were at least three things to consider. One, Peter wanted (or said he wanted) Sylar's side of the story – for some reason, probably another variant of 'I need to understand.' Two, Peter was offering to be restrained, even handcuffed. Peter had agreed to similar before when he wanted answers on New Years during Truth or Dare.
He hadn't been happy about it, had nightmares about being locked in a shipping container for weeks, and mentioned being beaten and/or killed while presumably restrained. (I wonder if that's why he understands why I'm weird about medical things). Thirdly, there was the part where Sylar wanted to restrain Peter and sex him up, to be in control and have Peter enjoy it, too, and this played right into it.
All of this flashed through his brain within seconds before he crafted a reply. Do I want to tell this? Not particularly. (Maybe this is one of his requirements for sex). That seemed very likely.
"Sounds kinky…" he said, voice dropping a few octaves as he tried not to leer at the empath.
XXX
"If it will keep you safe, if it will get you to tell me what I want to know, then do it."
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Sylar hummed. The temptation was eating at him already. He already knew he would agree if it involved tying Peter up. It showed desperation or trust on Peter's part and he suspected it was the latter. That meant he couldn't push it at all. Peter trusted him to honor the deal – rather one-sided as it was. "You can't force me to tell you," he reminded his determined companion, gauging the reaction.
XXX
Peter sighed, clamping his lips together and shaking his head. He doesn't trust me! That's the fucking problem! He turned and stalked off into the living room, pacing as he tried to think of what other reassurance he could give. "I'm not going to try, Sylar. That's why it's an offer. It's what I want to know. What do you want in return?"
XXX
Sylar nearly chuckled, giving a smirking, amused grin for a moment before quashing it. He kept his focus on the present situation. "I want to have my way with you," he blurted before he could censor it.
XXX
Peter turned back to him, tilting his head at the ludicrousness of the proposal. Fuck. That's a stupid ultimatum. He's grandstanding. He doesn't mean it. "Sylar, you can't keep me tied up forever. I will kick your ass if you take advantage of me. Are you that…short-sighted?"
XXX
Another grin, this one tighter and feigning amusement. Who said anything about tying you up to do it? Or keeping you tied up? Or taking advantage? He has to ask me if I'm stupid? Peter had given his answer indirectly through his reaction, looking at Sylar like he was crazed. That's a 'Go fuck yourself, hell no' then. I was stupid to say anything. He had to contain Peter's imagination and orient him onto something more feasible. He approached Peter and rested his hands on the man's shoulders, "'My way' might be no more than imagining it." It was at least partly true. The difference between reality and pleasant daydreams was all in the imagination.
XXX
Peter's eyes narrowed. Is he saying he actually wants me? This is a distraction. Even if he does want me, how do I know he'll act right? "Or it might not be. I'm not trading my freedom for one answer." It was ridiculous he was even treating it like a serious counter-offer.
XXX
Peter was no fun, not on either subject. He played the puppy-dog eyes with that heroic heart-of-gold and Sylar resigned himself to imagination and platonic restraints. "Fine. I'm tying you up and I get your shoes," he said as a final offer.
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"What?" Peter was baffled by the inclusion of his footwear. Is he including them so I'll back out?
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Sylar rolled his eyes and huffed a sigh. "I promise to untie you later."
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"And you're going to give my shoes back! What do they have to do with it anyway?"
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Okay, Peter had a point there. He had stolen the man's shoes before. God forbid Peter think he was the one with a foot fetish. "Yes, of course. You'll be less inclined to chase me without them."
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Peter frowned at him. Okay, he's not keeping them. I can deal with that, I think. He took my shoes before, though. What if he runs off with them while I'm tied up? Maybe that's his point and this is all a trust experiment. I wanted to know what sort of reassurance he'd need, after all. "You'll tell me what I asked, right?"
XXX
"One question, one very boring bondage session." Sylar went off to the closet like he knew what he was looking for. He returned almost immediately with a long, skinny brown tie in hand. "On the bed."
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"No." You do not get to fuck me. "Tie me to a chair or something. A doorknob."
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"The end of the bed." Sylar pointed, clarifying. "This post. Right here. Sit. I need your ankle."
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"My ankle?" But not my hands?
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"And your shoes."
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Peter balked and paled. He'd been killed, tortured, and abandoned while restrained. No matter how much he tried to trust, his fear was going to win out if he had no information. "You have to tell me what you're doing."Now I'm the one needing reassurances.
XXX
Sylar paused. He could hear the tension in Peter's voice and the empath had stopped in place, intending to go no further. Clearly, unhurried, and calm, he explained, "I'm going to tie your foot to the end of the bed and take your shoes."
XXX
The simplicity and straightforwardness of the answer helped. "Why the bed?"
XXX
"It's heavy. It's the most solid thing in the room. You can move a chair or even the table. Doorknobs are more easily broken than you might think. And as you've so often told me, the bed is supposed to be a safe place," But that may have changed given…recent events. "Even though I was in my bed when you choked me out before, for answering a very similar question you asked about your brother's death."
XXX
"You were laughing about it," Peter said bitterly, although yes, Sylar had a point and Peter was aware of it, which was why he'd suggested Sylar tying him down. The last time, Peter had promised, given his word, and then promptly shown exactly what that was worth – which was not as much as stopping Sylar from mocking Nathan's death. "Why aren't you tying my hands, too? I can just untie it."
XXX
He diplomatically ignored the potential argument re-hash. "That's the point, Peter." Sylar led him to the bed by the elbow, which Peter reluctantly allowed. "You're a Petrelli. You're all about control. You'll freak out less if your hands are free and I'll be just as safe, which isn't much."
XXX
Peter sat on the bed, pulling up one foot to slowly remove his shoe as he thought it over. I think this will work. That's smart of him. "Okay. So the point is I don't untie it. And you're watching me if I do, so you get a warning. I get it." He handed over one shoe and started on the other, parting with it reluctantly.
Sylar tied him proficiently enough. Peter would have chosen a different knot, but it was fine. The slick material of the tie was cool against his skin. It wasn't too tight or too loose and as far as he could tell without testing it, it was firm enough. But now he was tied and he didn't have his shoes. He glared at Sylar unintentionally – direct, unremitting eye contact because he was not about to go down without a fight. At the moment, that's what it felt like for Peter. It felt like that second or two before a throwdown – his heart hammering, adrenaline spiking, everything crystal clear. Peter's fingertips rested on the bed, the tied leg crooked at an angle with the free one dangling off the side. The posture might have looked relaxed, but a close look would reveal the lie. Peter was coiled and ready to go. The stress of trying to appear cool and collected when he was anything but, was making the tips of Peter's fingers shake against the bedspread. Peter tried to keep his breathing under control and wait. Please back off. Please.
XXX
Sylar made a show of studying him, eyes roaming over each part of Peter's body partly because he could sense or see what was going on inside Peter. The Italian was desperately trying to decide between fighting, losing his chance at answered questions, confirming his suspicions and extending trust, calming himself down, and holding to the agreement (tenuous as it was). As yet, Peter hadn't made a choice except to subject himself to this much so far. Something about the tension, about the lack of decision was earnest, sweet, and a little bit sexy.
He took a step back after looking his fill, testing Peter in the process. "You really want to know this, don't you?"
XXX
"Wouldn't you?" Peter swayed and blinked a few times at the wave of relief from Sylar moving away. The time Sylar had tied him up on New Year's Eve was in his mind. He'd thrown Sylar off then and Sylar had…stopped. Then unchained him. It had been okay. It was going to be okay now. He started breathing easier.
XXX
"Hm … no." He walked back into the living room. Space and warning were the keys to this mockery of safety-trust exercise. "I've relived deaths I didn't previously know about, familial and not. I was probably better off not knowing. It's hard to tell." He settled himself in a kitchen chair, dropping the shoes to the side.
XXX
Sylar sounded flippant, casual even. Peter didn't believe it was casual. He seized on the distraction from the tether on his ankle. "Not just Kelly?"
XXX
That struck an unprotected nerve. He twitched and shook his head to cover it. "One tie," he pointed at Peter's foot, "for one question. Pick your question carefully."
XXX
Peter reflected a moment, setting his mind to the implication. "So you've been made to forget deaths other than Kelly's. You or Nathan." He didn't make it a question. Peter swallowed. "Familial would mean it was someone close. Related. Maybe what Nathan knew of Dad. Or I have another…relative…I haven't been told about. Or something from your past." He weighed the importance of that against what he'd originally wanted to know. He looked up to see Sylar looking slightly pale and uneasy. "It doesn't look like something you want to answer. But props for being willing to."
XXX
Sylar grit his teeth. He wasn't sure which he dreaded more: talk of Nathan's past or his own. The only upside was Peter already knew all of Nathan's dirt. He was prepared to call on one of their original deals – the one where Peter wouldn't ask about his mother (he hadn't specified which mother after all) – but things had changed recently. Do blowjobs and handjobs nullify past deals? "How do you know I'd answer it?" That wasn't part of the deal.
XXX
In the wake of Peter edging up to a breakdown just over having one limb restrained, he had some empathy for Sylar's discomfort. "You wouldn't look so shaken if you weren't willing to follow through. You have more of a sense of honor than most people."
XXX
After crossing his arms, Sylar's head went back and he gave Peter something of a glare. He didn't like that Peter had seen through him (or voiced an accurate educated guess) and the compliment was confusing if not overdone. "So what's your question?" He was trying to keep focused.
XXX
"The original one. I want to know everything you did, saw, thought about, intended, felt, and experienced from the time you got to the Stanton Hotel to the point where you were drugged in the president's limo."
XXX
"That is a crazy amount of information," Sylar scoffed dismissively. "You seriously underestimate the memories I have stuck up here," he pointed to his temple, "We'd be here for days." His tone said that he wanted Peter to reconsider and be reasonable.
XXX
"Give me an answer that fills a couple hours."
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"One hour," Sylar said definitively.
XXX
"As long as you don't skip anything important. I don't want to hear your thoughts about the drapes."
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"Hm," Sylar gave him a mocking smile and a minute chuckle, "not even the way they flared out to the sides as I drifted into the hotel room after tossing your brother through the window?" Peter should know he was showing restraint even now by not making a cruder sexual joke.
XXX
"Was it important?" Peter tried not to growl. If he thinks he can make me sit here tied up while he dodges the fucking question, he's going to find out how wrong he is.
XXX
Sylar eyed the fiery empath for a moment, another test. The fervor was amusing, touching even. "No. One hour. Assuming we get that far." He rolled his eyes.
XXX
Peter glanced at his watch. It still wasn't running, but he checked it out of habit. He couldn't tell an hour from anything else, but the exact time wasn't important. It was the information. "Fine. Get started."
XXX
He inhaled and exhaled a breath before he began. It took a few seconds longer than he expected to force his mind to go back to those memories: confusing and retroactively painful. His words came out slowly, "I arrived at the Stanton looking like Senator Petrelli. I needed him to get close to the president as part of my real plan to fix everything Nathan, Danko, Bennet, and probably your mother had fucked up for all of us. I left Nathan alive and mostly unharmed in his office."
Already anticipating Peter's bitter vengeance as always at the end of this subject, he bared his teeth for the next statement, "I would like to point out that I gave him a pass. After everything he'd done, I gave him a chance to walk away from it all and sit this one out, to think about what he'd done. I've only given maybe a handful of passes and he didn't even qualify for it. We both know how easy it would have been to kill him to be sure he stayed out of my plans."
"By getting involved after that, he knew what was coming." Sylar shook his head.
XXX
"Youknew it. Get on with it." He also didn't want to listen to Sylar insult Nathan. It would make this as impossible as the first time Peter had asked the question.
XXX
Sylar frowned. It was stupid, but maybe he wanted Peter to understand (like Peter always claimed he wanted), not just hear it. With the barest amount of self-defense, he said, "You wanted to know how I felt."
XXX
"Yeah, I did. And I do." Peter shut his eyes for a moment and exhaled. The tie is making me tense. The subject. Him. Everything. Be calm. He opened his eyes. "I'm listening." Maybe if I was more comfortable? Peter leaned back and arched, trying to reach the pillows at the other end of the bed. He couldn't quite get them. He looked back to see Sylar watching him with amusement. "Can you get me those pillows?"
XXX
You're going to interrupt me to get comfortable? Or gather projectiles? And you want me to fetch them for you? The idea of Peter comfortably lying on the bed, gazing at the ceiling as he listened to this particular story was funny. Sylar got to his feet and approached the bed.
XXX
Peter pulled away, his expression hardening as he realized asking Sylar over might have been a mistake. It threw him right back into high alert. His eyes fixed on Sylar and his fingers curled into loose fists.
XXX
Sylar picked up a pillow, presumably belonging to Peter, glancing at it before handing it over. He wasn't about to let Peter destroy his pillow in a fit of rage.
XXX
Peter took in a deep breath and let it out, taking the second pillow as well after Sylar offered it. He gave a silent nod of thanks. It's okay. It's okay. Calm the fuck down.
XXX
With no small degree of self-preservation and avoidance, Sylar circled back around the bed to be closer to Peter's restrained limb. He found himself wanting to distract Peter, glad to be allowed this close again, as always. He laid his hand over Peter's socked foot briefly, lifting his hand once in a kind of patting gesture before moving away, back to his seat. Don't be weird.
XXX
Maybe for someone else or in a different context, the contact would have been threatening. For Peter, it was soothing. It's okay. Hey, it- maybe it really is. Peter watched him thoughtfully for a moment as Sylar moved away. Peter was left safe and unhurt. He fluffed the pillows and arranged them so he could lie on his side and listen.
XXX
Peter arranged himself in such a way that he looked like a child awaiting a bedtime story. At least he was calm, but Sylar had anything but good news to tell – all he had was horror stories. Sylar wasn't taking as much pleasure from this as he would have hoped, being asked to divulge his superior motives and how he was really the hero of the tale. He was reluctant to start speaking again, especially under Peter's expectant gaze. "…I had Claire with me. She was suspicious the entire time. I think she wanted to keep an eye on me in case I was…well, me. I made nice with Nathan's friend Samuels, Lee something. Bennet called her cell phone and I didn't want to pass up that opportunity to…" Sylar licked his lips and shook his head, glancing away. The thrill of that particular chase was coming back to him, the greed for the power he could nearly taste and touch, and the terror he wanted Bennet to feel because of him – knowing his only daughter was held hostage by a familiar monster again. It was all the more sweet because of what actually happened (or didn't happen, as far as Bennet's fears were concerned).
XXX
"To do what?" Peter asked.
XXX
Tilting his head back around, he looked directly at Peter. "I wanted him to be petrified. So I played it up just to give him a heart attack and make him sweat." His mouth split into a proud, toothy, hateful smile while his eyes remained dead because he was only feeling maybe eighty-five percent of the malice that always came associated with Bennet.
"Anyway…the game was obviously up. I made a proposal. She declined. Then you two showed up."
XXX
"Wait, what was the proposal?" No fast-forwarding through things!
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Sylar narrowed his eyes slightly. "It was personal."
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Peter blinked, definitely curious now. "What do you mean, 'personal'?"
XXX
"I mean it was none of your business. Between her and me. It had nothing to do with your brother."
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"Are you saying that your decision to kill Nathan, her father, just minutes after you propositioned her and were turned down is completely unrelated?"
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"He more than had his coming to him!" Sylar was indignant. It was obvious. "I told you that two minutes ago."
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"Yeah, you did and I don't buy it." Peter was unbothered by Sylar's outburst. To the contrary, he took it as proof this was important. "Tell me what the proposal was. You've brought up before what happened between her and you in that room in some of the grossest possible terms and then contradicted yourself later. You're not convincing me it was meaningless."
XXX
A glance up at the ceiling helped his patience for a few seconds. "If it was meaningless, I would tell you. I don't think it's relevant to you and I right now."
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"You're going to tell me anyway, because that was the deal." Peter knew Sylar's sense of personal honor cut both ways. Then there were Peter's own reasons: "Also, she's my niece. It would be my business for that alone, but you killed her father, my brother, which makes it even more my business what you were doing with her in that room that left you so angry you committed murder and then tried to slander her by pretending you turned her gay or something."
XXX
A dramatic sigh escaped him. The protective uncle routine was sweet, but ultimately pointless. It left him still feeling a little insulted for Claire – her family never taking her ability for granted. (Her ability to get into trouble and be a pain in everyone's ass was a different matter). Sylar on the other hand was more of a guinea pig to be put through his paces – in a 'how much can he handle this time before he croaks?' kind of way. This time he shut his eyes before turning his face to the ceiling for patience and willpower to divulge something he considered more private than anything else so far. He was angry and embarrassed, hoping to breeze past this before Peter looked in too deeply.
"Fine. She's not here. She might not even exist anymore. I…didn't want to be alone and I was going to live forever. So was she. Our ages were more or less compatible. She had an ability. I couldn't kill her. I didn't have to and didn't want to. It doesn't work that way." He finished with a growl, "It was a good match!"
XXX
"For you maybe." That Sylar saw those tenuous reasons as sufficient for a possibly eternal, probably intimate relationship told Peter a lot about Sylar's experience with people. Or inexperience. Those qualifications fit me as well.
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That stung. As a biting retort, he threw out, "How was I supposed to know she was gay? It's not like they wear a sign or something."
XXX
"I don't think that had much to do with it." Might have helped if you'd known her well enough to know that sort of thing. You didn't, and barged ahead anyway. I can see where this one's going. But he thought it was all going to work out. Or might.
XXX
He pointed an aggressive finger at the empath, glaring and fighting a shamed flush. "I'm telling you this under protest, Petrelli. There was no part of the agreement that said anything about smartass quips from you!"
XXX
Peter exhaled, eyes steady on Sylar's face. Threat, embarrassment, and a warning. It's nice to get a warning. I really ought to pay attention to that, but God, I don't want to. It was tough not to mock Sylar mercilessly for making such a stupid pass at his niece and getting rightfully shot down for it. He was the one who couldn't keep himself from making fun of Nathan's death last time and I went off on him because of it. If I don't shut the fuck up, the same thing's going to happen in reverse – I won't have my answer, and I'll have to do something even more extreme to get him to try again. "I'll hold it down."
XXX
Mollified, Sylar continued in an attempt to explain a poor decision. "I told her everyone was going to die sometime, but at that point, both her precious daddies were alive and actively being a problem. I'd saved her life, twice, and she's seen how horrible both her fathers were."
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"She owed you one, huh?" Peter said, deadpan. It was so tough not to tear into Sylar about this. The faulty logic was begging for refutation.
XXX
Sylar opened his mouth, before canting his head and closing his mouth. It was clear he was thinking. "No, she didn't owe me anything!" He insisted but it lacked his angry energy from before. "I'm just saying that I had reasons to think it was a good idea – that there was something there or could be there."
When Peter didn't have a comment or reaction, he continued, needing now to fill the silence. "I offered that: myself. Maybe we could have a future together in some unique way. Yes, she turned me down. I tried to show her how I was asking nicely and I didn't have to. That I wanted her willing cooperation."
XXX
Peter raised his brows, thoroughly unimpressed with Sylar's behavior. "Let me guess, her response was why you threw her through the doors when we showed up?"
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"Yes," Sylar said sourly.
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Peter couldn't keep himself from asking, "Did you really think the nice guy act would work?"
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He leaned back in the chair, straightening his legs from where he'd pulled them in to shut Peter up. Arms crossed, he sighed, "No." Even his suggestion of Claire killing him repeatedly for centuries hadn't garnered any interest from her. He recalled how disappointment has an aftertaste of Pinot.
XXX
"Does it ever work?" Peter asked relentlessly, because it was important to know if Sylar had learned anything from that encounter. This wasn't mockery – at least, not now. It hadn't been lost on Peter that Sylar had made the same offer (himself) to Peter as he had with Claire, but there had been few similar threats with his offer to Peter. Did something change? Did he change?
XXX
Sylar glared at him, rolled his eyes and shook his head. It hadn't worked here with Elle or here with Peter, although neither of those attempts had included the not-so-nice-guy portion. Is it any wonder I can't make friends without fucking them first?
XXX
He knows being fake doesn't work. What does that mean, though? There are so many other things in play. I can go into that later, though. He was being an asshole then, and she had to deal with it. "What did you do to her?" There was an edge to Peter's voice. "Specifically."
XXX
Sylar slumped with annoyance. "Hardly anything," he grumbled. "I pushed her around with my puppet master ability, held her in place, made her sip some wine – I know, how terrible of me," he concluded sarcastically. "I touched her face, hair, with my hand. She wasn't afraid of me or what I might do." His attention wavered as he wistfully looked back on the moment. Claire had shown not the slightest amount of fear, except when her family was concerned, but even then it solidified into rage and determination to stop him. It was a very attractive quality, one of her best.
XXX
Peter waited a minute to process that and make sure it fit with everything he knew of Claire and Sylar, plus what Sylar had said about the incident and what Claire had not said. He could see why a bitter, rejected Sylar would try to play it up. He could see why an exasperated, threatened Claire wouldn't mention it (especially since Sylar had been 'killed' right after). It wasn't exactly inconsequential, but it truly didn't seem like something Peter should do anything about. He'd covered this ground before and come up with the same conclusion, but it was too important not to go over again just in case the answers changed. "Okay." He moved on. "Do you still think that had nothing to do with your choice to murder someone important to her the next opportunity you had?"
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"Fine! Yes, it did have something to do with it!" How he was regretting this decision! Peter's ankle was looking less and less worth this trouble. How did Peter know just where to stab every damn time? He recalled thinking Claire's rejection was just a lover's quarrel, kiss-and-make-up. After all, they had lifetimes. He remembered bitterly, ironically chuckling as her father choked his last about Claire's reaction. "Among six or eight other perfectly valid reasons, each of which by itself would be good enough. That was in there, are you happy now, Peter?"
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"Yes. I'm glad you see that. Now I understand a little more about what was going on in your head. What happened next?"
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He scoffed loudly, mocking. "Right! It's important about how I see it at the end of the day!" He took a few breaths, irritated with Peter's accuracy and his own stupidly honest admissions. "You know what happens next."
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Peter ignored Sylar's sullen act, just as he'd ignored the sarcasm. "Walk me through it."
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With a huff, Sylar muttered, "This is such a turn off." Then louder, he continued. "I waited until you were finished gawking at Claire. You came in, flying at me. I shut the doors." It had been flipping Claire just another middle finger for the rejection because he could and she was powerless against a pair of doors. "I should have known when you got your hands on me. That was the first thing you went for and you weren't trying to kill me with it. I didn't care because it made you an easy target. I kicked you away and fried you with electricity. I…" He trailed off to gather his thoughts.
It wasn't that he was ashamed of it, but he was quite sure Peter wouldn't see it the same way. "No one had showed up to talk. It was a death match. I was prepared to kill anyone to protect my plan. I had no sympathy for you, no more passes for anyone. You were both going to die for interfering. Nathan wasn't about to let you die. He tackled me out the window – not the first time a Petrelli tried to drop me off a height, but I'd learned a few tricks since Odessa." He gave something of a wry smirk. That flashback hadn't really ended well for either of them.
"I blasted him away from me, back through another window a few floors down. He landed on a piano, I think, and slid off it. I landed." Sylar decided to crack a joke to distract from what he did not want to describe. "You'll be pleased to know the drapes did in fact flare out dramatically for my entrance. You should have been there."
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He came up on one elbow, teeth bared, muscles tense. "Trust me – I wish I'd been in that room with you." Peter was staring at him like he wouldn't have minded tackling Sylar right then.
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Sylar warily assessed the movement and Peter's tone. He met the stare seriously. "I would have killed you if you had been there." He frowned and broke the eye contact. "I killed him and left to find the president."
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"No," Peter said patiently. He hadn't listened this far to have the important part dismissed and unvoiced. He wanted to hear it in Sylar's words, out of Sylar's mouth. It was as close to a confession as Peter figured he'd ever get and he desperately wanted to end the silence between them on this subject. "I want to know exactly what happened. Every step. Every word."
XXX
Sylar inhaled heavily and looked out the window, crossing his arms. He was physically uncomfortable sitting there, on display for Peter. Talking about it meant describing it. Describing it meant thinking about it, which involved memories. The memories involved emotions and sensations he did not want to relive. They were confusing and painful and it would be embarrassing to react to any of that in front of Peter. For a second, he toyed with the idea of throwing a fit to get out of it, but he'd agreed to this and knew Peter would hold him to it. Peter's calm, unhurried demand was upsetting somehow. It would be easier to handle if Peter was angry yet he didn't want to deal with the consequences of that anger. Sylar knew it was only fair, but didn't have to like it.
XXX
I know this is hard for him. I want to hear it. I have to hear it. I have to hear him acknowledge it. He's not looking at me. I don't think he really thinks I'm the problem here – the problem is making him face up to it. Maybe that's why I can't drop it – he keeps pretending it doesn't matter. Well, it does matter, asshole. Peter waited him out, reminding himself that he knew how the story ended. He had to let Sylar tell it.
XXX
The longer his strength-gathering went on, the more he was grateful for Peter being quiet and not rushing him. He found his eyes had been shut and he'd lost track of time. It wasn't getting any easier. He opened his eyes, still gazing out the window. Licking his lips, swallowing, he began. "Nathan was on the floor. He stood up and turned towards me. He took a couple of steps…one, two. I thought he was preparing to tackle me again and you weren't there to distract me anymore."
The building outside he'd been staring at with unfocused eyes was now cold and boring. Sylar glanced back at Peter, then looked anywhere but at him. "On his third step, I cut his throat. I barely knew him, I just knew what he'd done. It was simple and quick. It's ridiculously easy for me to kill someone. One swipe…" He made the brief slicing gesture with his hand, taking care not to aim it at Peter, then shrugging, feeling helpless.
He was reliving things now, /the panic that he might die; that he was dying; the sensations of dying, his last thoughts and wishes and regrets before death…He knew it would be quick and he was grateful for that. His concerns were for his family, that he hadn't acted sooner to rectify his mistakes./
XXX
Peter's eyes narrowed as the expression on Sylar's face changed – the way he held his head, his lips, the slightly wider eyes – the changes made him look like a different person, less like Sylar and more like Nathan. There – it's happening. I wondered if he had those memories, too. He had to, though. It wouldn't make sense if he didn't. Peter's attention was intently focused on Sylar's every nuance.
XXX
/"I…the cut and there was blood. The taste, smell, everywhere. I stumbled on the fourth step and it stopped me. The room was empty except for us, there was no one to help and there wasn't anything anyone could do. I knew what was happening. It wasn't going to take long. I couldn't take another step. I wanted to finish the job, fix the mess I made, and make you proud of me, but I was just making another mess for people to clean up after me."/
/"I think there was a chair. I think I fell onto it. I couldn't stand anymore. Everything was…thin, light in the middle and dark at the edges. I kept trying to cough and clear my throat." He could feel his throat moving convulsively, breathing tight, shallow breaths. He felt clammy. "I knew I was dying, but you were safe. It was okay. Then…"/ Sylar came back to the present, inhaling air suddenly with a shudder. His body had been keyed up and strangely relaxed at the same time, but he was so upset, pain and anger mixing together. When he looked at Peter, shocked and wary, his vision was blurry.
XXX
Peter met his gaze without the slightest waver, trying to convey the strength he thought Sylar needed. He didn't have to use his empathy to sense the turmoil in the other man. It was clear to see. It struck Peter to his core. He wanted to reach out, but all he had was his voice. "Sylar," he said in a clear, calm tone. "Your name is Sylar."
XXX
Bitterly and with rapidly returning strength, Sylar lunged to his feet and said, "I know it is!" but it sounded like a plea even to his own ears. "Fuck!" He kicked the chair in one direction and turned on the dining room table, upending it in the other direction. The use of his muscles expended some of the pent up energy within him. He yelled in inarticulate rage, feeling like he couldn't yell loudly enough before wheeling to glare at Peter, who had sat up on the bed, but was otherwise still.
XXX
"I knew you'd killed him," Peter told him, sitting up when the furniture was being thrown around. If Sylar attacked him, having his foot tied to the bed was going to be a serious liability, but he didn't reach for the tie or even look at it. Sylar had his full attention. "I knew you had his memories. I needed to hear this from you. It's not a secret, Sylar. You don't have to hide it. You need to be able to talk about it."
XXX
He was breathing hard and trying to find a reason to continue to rampage. What Peter said shocked him to his core: 'It's not a secret, Sylar. You don't have to hide it. You need to be able to talk about it.' That nearly hurt worse because he didn't know what to do with that, or if he agreed with it (he knew what he felt about it, though). He wasn't in the mood to be grateful and sharing anymore. With an accusing finger and over-compensating angry body language, the only thing he could say to it was, "I don't want it! I never wanted it!"
XXX
Peter nodded slowly. "I get it. I never wanted him dead, either. This whole story is about people not getting what they want. You, Claire, Nathan, me – all of us."
XXX
Peter always had the right thing to say. It was true. There wasn't a happy ending for anyone involved. What made it worse was it was that it was completely his doing and that made him so sad and regretful he couldn't bear it. He snarled, then sniffed, shaking his head. He looked around and saw more damage that was his fault. Sylar retrieved the chair and set it down loudly to sit, swiping his hair back to regain some composure.
XXX
Peter moved his ankle restlessly in the restraint, wanting to release himself for safety and wanting to go to Sylar to offer support. He could see Sylar was shaking. Neither seemed wise, so aside from the brief movement, he did nothing.
XXX
Sylar looked up at the motion, then looked away, briefly held himself, then leaned back in an attempt to resume a normal posture. "I did get what I wanted," Sylar said with the darkest humor. "I laughed at his corpse and told it Claire was going to be so mad at me. I'd had my revenge for her role in making sure I died alone and miserable. It was what I wanted then."
XXX
"'Then'?" But not now?
XXX
"It wasn't the right decision! It was all a mistake. It was a nightmare. Where I kept…doing the wrong thing! This isn't supposed to be about me! Why do you keep asking? What happened to him is more important. That's all you care about anyway!" He couldn't help being pathetic or angry.
XXX
Peter tilted his head but didn't answer directly. Okay, that's still too sensitive to talk about. Got it. But at least we're talking. Fuck, it's a relief to do that! "You said there were other reasons."
XXX
Still Peter pressed it. Sylar seized on that because it was somewhat easier to talk about. "He had it coming! He fucking wanted it!"
XXX
Peter winced at the last reason. He'd suspected. Sylar, as Nathan, had said as much on top of Mercy Hospital. "Go on. I want the details."
XXX
Peter was enduring, stoic and that upset him even more for reasons he couldn't explain. Briefly, Sylar wondered if the man was only temporarily holding it in. He felt even more in the hot seat now that he'd thrown the table away and Peter was inviting him to…bash Nathan. Because that always ended well. With a wry shake of his head, he delivered. "He was a threat to all of us, Peter. All of us. He was the mastermind behind Building 26. He was the one who went to the president to get the government involved and keep it a secret, banking on the public mob mentality about 'terrorists' to make it fit the law. He tried to a plan a solution to specials by having us neutered, destroyed, imprisoned, or identified like we were a problem for normal people. He chose a side and it was the wrong fucking side."
XXX
Nathan, as Hitler – the Final Solution to the Jewish Question. It was chilling how well it fit and although Peter had seen the parallels before (how could he not?), he'd never thought of Nathan as the instigator, but instead as just one more person swept up in it and responding as best he could. Nathan wasn't the only one trying to get rid of us. Quietly, Peter said, "Danko did the same thing. You didn't go after him."
XXX
"Danko was…different. He got his in the end – I saw to that. Danko wasn't special. He didn't have a brother who was special. He didn't have a daughter who was special. He wasn't the son of two specials! Nathan was right in the middle of it all! It was a betrayal, Peter! A betrayal! Treason against us, against his blood, against his family."
Sylar rose. "Do you think Claire's home life would have fallen apart if Noah hadn't been snared into what amounted to another Company again? The divorce because he was lying to his family again, but it was Nathan who gave him something to lie about! You wouldn't have been shot at, arrested, drugged, crashed in an airplane, and on the run! It's amazing you weren't killed, Peter! He took aim at you, specifically and repeatedly! If it weren't for Nathan picking the wrong side, you'd probably still have both parents. Yourmother wouldn't have been on the run. Hell, Nathan himself would still be alive if he hadn't started this shit! I wouldn't have gone after the president if it wasn't to stop this pogram of hunting us down and treating us like animals!"
Sylar advanced, pointing an angry finger at Peter. "He tore down everything around him, Peter. He was a menace. He was a danger. To you, to everyone you loved, to everyone like you. I have no sympathy for taking him out. He deserved it more than anyone. If you can't be offended by that – and I know you are – then obviously someone had to be. I saw him as a legitimate threat to…my kind."
XXX
Sylar waited for a response, but Peter said nothing. His lips were firmly clamped shut. He wanted to defend Nathan, but everything Sylar had said was painfully true. He knew, also, deep inside, that Sylar needed to have his reasons accepted (and Peter needed to accept them as Sylar's reasons) for either of them to ever have peace over it. It was exactly what Peter had asked for, regardless of how hard it was to hear it.
XXX
When Peter didn't argue, Sylar went back to his chair, circling it to put both hands on the back and lean on it. Quieter now, his rant over, he tried to make sense of it for Peter. "He knew a reckoning was coming, Peter. He knew he was fucking up. He knew he was weak, cowardly. He was afraid."
XXX
"Everyone's afraid," Peter interjected. It was a weak defense, but he wouldn't let Sylar slander Nathan for normal human responses.
XXX
"He was ashamed of it," Sylar shot back. "It drove him. It fueled his immature, insecure overcompensation – throwing himself at women, money, power because it was never enough! You had orders to obey. Nathan had them to succeed, to make his daddy proud. But that's a fool's errand and he knew it. He wanted out. He was so tired of trying to be something he wasn't. He was depressed, an alcoholic. He'd lost you, your faith, your trust! He didn't deserve your forgiveness. He was trapped in a job he never wanted, his family a shambles, and he knew it was all because of him. His fault. His guilt. When he saw me on that television screen, it was a relief. He saw a way out. He didn't think he was going to survive that, Peter. You know that, right?"
XXX
Peter scowled. Did my forgiveness make Nathan feel like he had to prove himself and be that hero he always thought I saw him as? Is Sylar trying to say Nathan's death was my fault for telling him he was selfish back in Coyote Sands? It all makes sense, though. That's what hurts. Very quietly, his voice tightly controlled, he said, "That's why I want to hear your side of the story." His fists balled and released the top blanket on the bed.
XXX
"You're getting it! He came at me, Peter! You both did! You had other choices, both of you! You could have stayed at Coyote Sands! You could have talked. You could have gone to Danko or the president. You could have done anything and nothing,but you decided to attack me, with your fists. You literally threw yourselves at me like a pair of angry toddlers. Except you're adult human beings and I don't appreciate being hit! Your intentions were to kill me, murder me, stop me any way you could. It was ridiculous and stupid, so I slapped you down and I killed him. I would have killed both of you, but it didn't work out that way. He separated us so it was only him – and that wasn't an accident, Peter."
Sylar leaned forward over the chair. "It was self-defense for me. It doesn't matter that I was more powerful. You know that in retrospect. I know that in retrospect. But at the time, you had abilities and you were trying to kill me with them. That's what I knew. The gloves were off. It was life or death. I didn't particularly want to die. As it turned out, Nathan did. I obliged him. But that doesn't take away from the fact that I had a right to protect myself from lethal force. Which is the whole reason why I was there! Nathan's actions, that whole chain of events that he not only set into motion but kept urging along, was what I was there to stop! I was there to stop the president, stop Nathan's plan, and protect our people. You were on the wrong side, Peter."
XXX
Pride. He's proud of himself. Of being the hero and never recognized for it. Maybe if you didn't murder people along the way? Peter inhaled deeply, then let it out. "I don't agree with that," he said with difficulty, "but I see where you're coming from."
XXX
By then he was staring at Petrelli and he felt himself cycle through reactions so fast he couldn't track them: anger, disgust, disappointment, then curiosity, amazement, gratitude, relief, and back to defensiveness. That's it? He gave a bitter smirk as he sat at an angle. "Of course. You're the hero so you would know what's right." He didn't want to deal with Peter's emotional response that was inevitable, stories and hopes of the brother, how wrong Sylar had been, how irredeemable a monster he was, the tears…It would be my fault if I made him cry after he asked me to tell this. He didn't mention how he'd had other choices other than killing Nathan because he knew Peter had already torn himself up inside with those possibilities. If only, would have, could have…
XXX
You passive aggressive asshole! Peter seethed inside and a wordless snarl passed briefly over his face. He tried to master his breathing and keep from launching himself off the bed to pound Sylar into a paste. The fact that he would have to stop and untie himself, however minor that action would be, served considerably to keep him from doing anything so rash. Him lashing out is a normal response. Just like how I'm feeling right now. Both of us – get attacked, act defensive. But I don't have to stay that way.
"You were thinking you had reasons for what you did," Peter said slowly, forcing the words out, "reasons that made sense to you and now they make sense to me. That's what I wanted out of this. I wanted to know…why. You've answered that. I'm not going to get over losing my brother or tell you it was the right thing for you to do. But I can understand, or come to understand, why it happened, if you explain like you just did, if I listen. I listened. We're getting somewhere."
XXX
Sylar stared at him, waiting, waiting. He clenched his teeth a few times. (I'm upset because in his life I want to replace Nathan with me…And I can't do that until he let's go). He took that judgment, neutral such as it was, and it served to ease his defensive anticipation. Peter was almost complimentary and, God, that was even more uncomfortable. I fucking yelled at him and flipped out and drug his brother through the mud and told him stories about how he died, how I killed him. Peter's pleased with that? (How can he be content with any of that? I didn't do anything right). He knew part of himself didn't want Peter to forgive him, or even to be remotely tolerant of him and that was confusing to fight his own needs and his own nature while trying to deal with Peter's, too.
When he saw Peter move to begin untying himself, Sylar got up and approached, brushing the man's hands away, saying quietly, "I promised I'd do this."
XXX
Peter sighed and looked up at him, letting Sylar finish releasing him. It was weird to have Sylar right next to him, almost touching and definitely helping, when Peter's heart was still racing from the desire to deck the guy. But he'd meant what he'd said – the anger was there, but he didn't feel he had to act on it. Sylar gathered the skinny tie in one hand and tousled Peter's hair with the other. It was a gesture borrowed from Nathan, but Sylar's expression showed nothing calculated or intentional about it.
"We're good," Peter said definitively, because even that touch was something he could tolerate.
XXX
"Maybe you are," Sylar said, walking away to see what he could do about the battered table.
XXX
"I wasn't talking about good or bad. That's…complicated," Peter said, moving over to retrieve his shoes. "I asked you for something and you gave me what I asked for. That's not complicated. You and me, on this – we're good."
XXX
Sylar glanced over his shoulder at Peter. The empath was right as far as what he said. Sylar didn't understand the sum of the equation though he comprehended the formula. After a beat, he gave him a reserved nod and went back to righting the table.