Day 33, January 11, Morning

Sylar was sitting on the couch, thinking it would keep him awake but he zoned out quickly after sitting. He came to when Peter arrived. Go? Oh yeah. "Yes." Just as clearly he wasn't ready because he had to hunt down his coat and shoes, both near the bed where he'd left them to sleep with Peter. Putting them on went without a hitch, other than his prevalent concussion symptoms. Peter wasn't hustling him (because he has his own clothes to put on) and soon enough they were down the elevator, to the street and entering the grocery store where Peter got a cart.

Sylar tagged behind Peter, watching him more than anything else. He wanted to see what Peter's eyes lingered on, and maybe the man's face would explain why he chose that specific product. It didn't work like that; Peter frowned or had no expression as he considered the options. They seemed random but he shouldn't be so surprised. It was interesting to see the vegan foods Peter selected, they seemed very…basic, but they were good for you. One cannot live on cheese and lettuce alone. Sylar looked over the empath's body several times more without getting caught. After Peter had moved ahead to the next food item, Sylar went behind and got a bag of apples, eventually putting them in the cart. He noticed there was no meat on the menu, no surprises there either.

XXX

Peter cruised down the first aisle after finishing in the produce section, skipping the banks of freezers between the sections. If food didn't tend to go bad here, then he was going to go nuts with fresh stuff. Speaking of nuts … he dropped a container of name-brand chunky peanut butter in the cart along with a store-brand one of honey. (The peanut butter because he'd had that brand and knew it tasted good; the honey because he didn't remember ever noticing a brand on any honey he'd had. Honey was honey, right?) Then he reached the shrine to caffeine – the traditional American plethora of tea and coffee choices. He breezed by the tea, preferring something stouter. "Are you okay with coffee in the morning?"

XXX

"Yes," Sylar said, thinking that was obvious. They'd had coffee together before; Sylar had even talked about the stuff. "Is it bad for concussions, the caffeine?" He didn't think so, assumed not since the nurse was offering it. It was one more thing Peter could fix for him in the kitchen (that itself was amusing), it was a social thing, a normal habit or vice; though Sylar didn't need to drink coffee every morning since he wasn't exactly on the run anymore. Poor or worse sleep was a factor still, when he had to be alert around Peter. He's sleeping with me. For now.

XXX

"I don't know. We'll find out." A little less flippantly, he turned to look at Sylar and amended, "Start slow. See how you tolerate it. There are plenty of other things to drink if you don't want to risk it." He turned back to the scores of selections. It wasn't like ordering at the coffee shop, or making espresso with the fancy monstrosities so many of the more expensive homes Peter had been in had possessed. Peter frowned, trying to remember if the upscale penthouse they were inhabiting even had the simplest of coffee maker. "There's no way I'm doing instant," he muttered, then asked Sylar at a more normal tone, "What kind of coffee do you like?" He reached up and touched his chin contemplatively, weighing his choices carefully.

XXX

Sylar frowned, oddly put off by that reply. Peter amended it so…"I never really experimented….with coffee," Sylar was quick to clarify. The conversation about experimenting making it a little awkward. "Anything is fine." I've never tried Italian-made coffee before, he thought, amused.

XXX

"Okay." Peter nodded decisively, grabbing the medium-sized, high-end, name-brand container that pleased him the most at that particular moment. His careful process was to slowly review all of his possible selections, then almost impulsively grab whatever looked like a good idea and move on. It was a method. He set the canister in the cart, added some creamer he was familiar with, and continued looping through the grocery area and finally dairy. After that, he headed to the other side of the store for personal care. Picking out an extra toothbrush and tube of paste was simple enough, but then he came to … hair. There were even more choices than coffee and this was quite a bit more important.

XXX

Here Peter came to a grinding halt. He barely moved for long minutes, staring at the shampoos and conditioners. Sure the guy had some upkeep with that rebellious mop of hair but was it really this complicated? Sylar grew fidgety, then impatient. When he could take the standstill no more, he left and went down a different aisle; quite sure he wouldn't be missed. He was unfamiliar with condoms but he managed to make a decision faster than Peter and hair care. Returning with a box of Trojans and a bottle of basic unscented lotion from Peter's same aisle, he threw them in the cart, pointedly, waiting to see when Peter noticed and how he reacted. There was no uncomfortable check-out to pass so Peter was the only would who could see the items.

XXX

Peter had settled on a shampoo, which was in the cart. The brand-suggested conditioner option was in his hand, but he hadn't finished thinking about all the other possibilities (mousse, gel … and what about hair dye?!) when Sylar returned. Peter made a bland, acknowledging, "Hmm," noise before deciding he needed to get moving before Sylar left on another expedition. (And that he, Peter, didn't have anyone to help him apply the blue coloring to his hair anyway.) He looked in the cart to see what Sylar had gone for, saw the conspicuous box immediately, and stared at it, face blanking as his blood pressure shot up and muscles tensed.

XXX

"What? You don't use them?" With men, was the implied climax of that question. Sylar was itching with curiosity.

XXX

"I'm not going to use them wi-" Peter cut off the end of the ill-thought outburst. No, that sounds like I'm going to have sex with him, just not use condoms. "I mean, we don't-" Wait, that has the same problem. "No! It-" Dammit! Frustration made him grit his teeth. His jaw chose that moment to spasm and his expression turned to a pained grimace.

XXX

"Not your brand?" Sylar silkily inquired with all the innocence he had. "They have more."

XXX

Put on the spot so unexpectedly (and clearly that was Sylar's plan), Peter didn't find the best words, but he had to say something. He bit out, "There is nothing we are going to do that needs condoms." It was at least better than the other things he'd almost said before.

XXX

Sylar shrugged one shoulder. It satisfied his curiosity. He removed them from the cart, setting them on the shelf. Then he smirked. That answer could mean a lot of things: Peter never used condoms or didn't care to, he didn't use them with men, or Peter thought Sylar wasn't worth using them on, which could really go either way, a good or bad thing. The whole thing was a prank in itself anyway – Peter would take it seriously and nothing would come of it.

XXX

Peter shook his head, calming down and tearing into himself internally for being so easy to provoke. Just as he was telling himself not to rise to Sylar's bait, he put the conditioner he'd been carrying into the cart and noticed the lotion. That wasn't there before. Lips tight, he asked, "What is that for?"

XXX

"We're getting supplies. It's winter. I don't want to get dry skin," he emphasized the last two words, his meaning apparent: the dry skin of my dick. "You can use some, too. Never know when you might…need some," that was said with a glance at Peter's groin.

XXX

Fine, Peter thought snippily. It's the only wet either one of us is going to get. He looked past Sylar at the section of lotions. It wasn't that bad a point. Truth be told, Peter had a preference for self-pleasuring and this worked, but he'd rather have two bottles so as not to have to deal with … sharing. If I just grab a second one right in front of him, is that bold or weird? Ah, to hell with it. Peter took down a second bottle to match Sylar's and tossed it in the cart without comment.

XXX

/"Remember what I taught you about lube?"/ Oh, he should have seen that one coming. Sex was so prevalent in Nathan's – and in Peter's, apparently – life that the slightest mention would trigger something. /Nathan had had to give his little brother the talk, several of them throughout the years as the boy grew. First was birds and bees, second was 'be careful' and masturbation tips, and third and other ones were about the graphic specifics of seduction, porn and protection. Very much Nathan had stressed the protection part, regardless of what their parents and the church were drilling into Peter. Meredith and Claire and that tragedy that still followed him wouldn't happen to Peter if he could help prevent it./ Sylar colored from embarrassment and fear. Quickly his good, playful mood vanished as his safety was questioned, his hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched as he took a shuffling step back. "I-I'm….I…." This one was more than just crossing the usual line.

XXX

It took Peter a moment to process that as something not entirely from Sylar. Had Sylar just blown it off and walked away, Peter wouldn't have been sure, but the second the guilty body language started (and Peter was giving him eagle-eyed, suspicious attention at that point), he knew. Those words coming out of Sylar's mouth were a profound violation – that some of his most private moments with his brother were to be blurted out for humor or shock value was reprehensible. It was indefensible. Peter grabbed at him with his left hand, fingers tangling in the heavy fabric of the coat as he sought to slam Sylar back, into the rows of flimsy shelving of hair care products.

XXX

Ah, fuck, was all Sylar had to think about this serious overstep that was going to get him hurt. Sure enough, Peter advanced and Sylar backed up, as if 'getting out of Peter's way' would solve the problem. He kept trying to back up until the medic helped him with that, shoving Sylar's spine into the metal shelves with some force. "Ah!" he said in a pained and unhappy tone. His hands jerked up halfway but dropped in the face of inevitability as he squirmed and dreaded what came next. It just didn't seem fair.

XXX

Peter snarled at him. "'Remember' …?" He dipped his head down a little in exaggerated query. "You think that's funny? Huh?" He shoved at Sylar again.

XXX

"N-No," Sylar replied with resolve. His head was back, hoping it was out of reach, as he watched Peter's free hand, the right one. He can't hit me with that, or he won't, right? Whether he got smacked or not seemed dependent on how he responded – Peter wasn't going to beat him, based on the hold and the holding pattern they were in. Sylar didn't know what to make of that. (He didn't think he should be spared any punishment but he was being offered a chance of sorts).

XXX

"Sylar, I am trying-" Peter stopped, staring at the hand gripping Sylar's front and holding him in place so Peter could vent at him. 'Here lies Peter Petrelli – He tried' and 'You act; I adjust' flashed through his mind. Whatever he did, Sylar was going to react to it … because that was the world Sylar was living in. If Peter treated him brutally, then Sylar would act like Peter was a brute. Peter's chest heaved. That wasn't how he wanted to be. He let go with an effort – not shoving, not embellishing the gesture. He just let go and took a step back, teeth slightly bared because he still wanted to tear into Sylar for reminding Peter of how many of his private moments were inside Sylar's skull. "I am being-" No, that doesn't work either. If I have to tell him I'm doing my best be decent, then I'm not doing a good job. I shouldn't have to tell him. What I say doesn't matter; it's what I do. He looked down, sealing his lips together and letting his shoulders sag as the fight left him. Peter glanced up, tilting his head to one side as he said, "You can't help it, can you?" He drew in a deep breath and expelled it along with his rage.

XXX

Sylar watched as Peter tried to work through another reply or possibly a lecture. He took a deeper breath when he was freed, adjusting the hang and fit of his coat with barely a glance spared for it, feeling jittery. "I don't think it makes a difference to you either way," he admitted, resigned about that.

XXX

Peter looked up at him, voice strained. "It's the difference between malice and an accident. It's important." He took another step back, nodded, and worked his lips uncomfortably. His voice was normal when he spoke again. "Come on. I think we missed the bakery section somewhere and I don't want to leave here without some raisin bread."

XXX

Why does that hurt him so much? I'm not saying…bad memories. Just his memories. And he's gone (and I'm here) and that's what matters to Peter, I guess. Sylar waited until Peter was well past him with the cart before considering moving in any direction. He kept screwing up every time they talked and even when they didn't – he still didn't know if he was invited along. The least punishment Peter could enact was sending him home alone right now.

XXX

Peter looked back, realizing Sylar wasn't following. It made him feel small and mean, knowing he'd just attacked Sylar for something Sylar couldn't stop, something Sylar hadn't wanted. But it had been inflicted on him anyway and now he was trapped here with Peter, who felt way too hair-trigger towards the guy. Peter made a wide, inclusive wave with one arm and gentled his voice further to say, "Come on, buddy. You need to come tell me white or wheat for sandwich bread. It's okay. I was an ass. I'll cut it out." Peter looked down and to the side, deflating as he realized how much his temper interfered with normal interactions. "Or I can meet up with you somewhere else. Whatever you want." Whatever makes you feel safe.

XXX

"I don't have a preference," Sylar said, quiet and quick, as if bread was the most important thing to talk about or do at the moment – it wasn't and he really didn't care which bread was chosen. He was being offered a way out but there was a right and wrong answer. Do I stay with Peter because I need supervision and he wants to berate me some more or…am I unbearable now and he needs space and that's a hint to leave? He rocked his weight forward, then back, almost taking a step. "Um…Should I leave?"

XXX

Peter stopped, turned, and looked at Sylar with an expression that went from disappointed to thoughtful within a few seconds. Do I want him to leave? I can't snap at him if he's not here. Maybe he doesn't feel safe around me. He really isn't safe around me, but I think he wants to be around me. Is it better for him to leave? Peter's eyes dropped to Sylar's feet. Although the questions he'd been asking himself were all about Sylar and Sylar's safety, his feelings were more predictably rooted in what he himself wanted. He didn't want to feel like he was such an ogre that even Sylar, lonely and desperate for companionship, couldn't stand his company. He wanted the illusion of friendliness they had at times between them – open animosity was tiring and wrong. He wanted to be thought well of and he couldn't get that unless he acted right. Quietly, Peter said, "I want you to stay."

XXX

Sylar nodded once, looking meaningfully at the mess of shampoo and wishing he could clean it up but left it and he slunk behind Peter once more, hands shamefully in his pockets. He considered apologizing because, well, this accident was an extremely embarrassing one, but then he remembered the conversation about apologies and intentions. I didn't get the condoms and lotion to piss him off or talk like Nathan. Does Peter think I did that part on purpose? Yeah.

XXX

They finished the last bit of shopping with very little talking, then Peter rolled the entire cart full of groceries right out of the store and along the sidewalk, which was smoother than the street itself. It felt very weird and rebellious to be walking off with a cart like he was either homeless or brazen, both of which possibilities cheered him in turns. He wished he had more of an audience for his defiance of social norms. Sylar looked very subdued, so Peter didn't mention how cool it made him feel. Besides, he chided himself, the feeling was dumb.

He turned his thoughts back to the more important issue of how he could better deal with Sylar airing Nathan's memories. First, I need to understand what's going on. In a serious tone, he recapped what Sylar had told him before. "Let me know if this is how it works: I say things, sometimes that triggers memories in you, and it also triggers you to say it, out loud. Is that it?"

XXX

"Yeah," Sylar whispered. Remember the last time I talked about Nathan and this whole thing? (I threw a mannequin at him?) No, before that.

XXX

"So it just bypasses your filter?" No internal censor, no choice, no veto power?

XXX

Like 'self-control'? It…overrides it, "Umm…" Vaguely his noise sounded affirmative but the equal part didn't. Was admission a good idea, permanently labeling this…thing as unintentional? Oh, God, this couldn't end well. How can I get in trouble when all I do is answer the questions he asks?

XXX

That wasn't much of an answer. Peter gave Sylar a slightly longer, expectant look, but Sylar didn't elaborate. "Okay." Peter didn't push it. Maybe he can control it; maybe he can't. Maybe he can only control it some of the time. Maybe he controls it fine ninety-nine percent of the time and I only hear about the one percent that slips through. In any case, I think he's trying to control it. Let's go with that. "The lube thing - that's kind of funny." Peter chuckled a little, although the incident was still too recent for his laugh to be anything other than forced. "You have all those memories, right? What about that treehouse where Nathan got me drunk when I was a kid?"

XXX

/"Yeah, that one we built? We used to hide in it after stealing Dad's scotch-"/ Sylar's gut sank as Peter's goal became obvious. He faced Peter and backed away, jerking his hands from his pockets to raise them in self-defense before Peter made any such move. His chest hitched up and down roughly. "That's not fair!" Bait and hit him, the system was beautiful for all its sadism.

XXX

It took Peter a moment, during which he stood mostly still, hands still on the cart handle and leaning slightly away in case Sylar did something aggressive. Then he figured it out. He thinks I did that on purpose? He's that easy to trigger? Huh. Okay. It was the best illustration the recollections were involuntary Sylar could have made – so good it left Peter slightly suspicious, but so authentic he purged his doubts. "It's okay," he said, taking a few slow, short steps forward to indicate there was no bad blood. Just walking and talking. It's all good. "I was just wondering if you had everything, like even the obscure stuff." Peter made a one-shouldered shrug. "The stuff you know about me … that's really embarrassing." He looked over at Sylar carefully, trying to read if the guy understood how weird a position this put Peter in.

XXX

Sylar glanced at Peter's face, then his eyes and just as quickly, he looked away before returning to repeat the circuit. By his own words, he was damned, 'if you did it, you meant it' although how he could 'mean' what Nathan had just said made no sense. "You're…my brother. It doesn't sound weird – or embarrassing – until I say it."

XXX

Peter gave him a hard, but considering look. "You're not saying … that you really are my brother, right? You're saying, maybe, that when one of those memories is set off, you're seeing it from Nathan's perspective. And so, from his point of view, he was there, it's his memory, it's not embarrassing for him to say that to me. Is that it?"

XXX

"Hmm," Sylar said ambiguous in its honesty. He wanted to be Peter's brother but he wasn't; he thought he was Peter's brother but he wasn't; who was Peter's brother and who would treat the empath better? "It's only embarrassing for you to realize I know things."

XXX

Peter puckered his lips slightly as he thought that over. He swallowed and sighed. "You know, this isn't much of a secret, Sylar, but it's not something I talk about with just anyone. But my brother was really self-absorbed and I don't think he thought through how his actions affected others." Peter paused for a moment and said as an aside, "Family problem." He went on, "But the things you remember about me are still embarrassing for me, some of it, and it would be even if it's Nathan saying it. Even back when it was Nathan who did say things like that, it was embarrassing." Is that Nathan trying to talk to me out of Sylar? Is Sylar just repressing him? Is it okay for me to tell Nathan through Sylar that Nathan was a bastard at times? Peter frowned tightly. Leave it alone. There's no way to know. Not unless I get out of here and still have telepathy and even then, who knows? Until then, he's who he says he is and that's Sylar.

Peter itched to talk about Nathan with someone. There were so many things he hadn't had a chance to say at the funeral, things he wanted to get out, but things he shouldn't burden anyone to listen to it. It was all snarled up inside of him and Sylar was hardly the person to talk to about it. He tugged off a glove to wiped at his eyes – they weren't damp, but they stung. "You ever lose someone you cared about?"

XXX

Sylar was very stuck about Peter crying over this. It forced him to answer, albeit quietly. "Yes." 'Lost' is such generous word for what happened.

XXX

"You run across things that remind you of them, after, and sometimes it just brings it all back up again in your mind. I miss him. Hearing you talk like him is hard. I'm sorry that was done to you." More quietly he said, "I can't imagine how hard it must be for you, too." He can't get away from it. He probably remembers how Nathan died. Does that feel like he died, like that was his own death? Peter gave a brief sideways bob of his head, thinking about how Claire had said dying was no big deal. Even though it had happened to Peter several times, it had never been anything other than a big deal. Every time it had mattered. Maybe I'm not as tough as she is. He looked over to see how Sylar was taking it.

XXX

Sylar inhaled and went still, remembering his walk on the dark side – shapeshifting into his mother to have a conversation with…someone, with her, he didn't know. He remembered the snow globe, the murder weapon; the musty smell of her tea and the dust of her house…the blood and her soap on the softness of her sweater. In that moment, all he could think about was if Peter somehow began quoting her, hounding him until he had no peace and pouring salt on every wound he still possessed. "Don't ever do that, Peter," he warned in advance, finding himself breathing faster, clammy against his coat. "It could be dangerous." He didn't know if he expected Peter to abide by that or not, if it was even possible.

XXX

"Don't do what?" Peter asked very cautiously, stopping the cart as he remembered how negatively Sylar had responded in the past to Peter's attempts to empathize with him. Was this another case of that? It didn't look like it. Sylar looked lost within himself. It was very different than the times he'd snapped at Peter for trying to recognize the difficulties of Sylar's life.

XXX

"Don't talk like…those people, if you…go looking. I can't explain," he didn't know why he said that part because if Peter saw the memory, then the explanation would be pointless. Perhaps he was making an effort at being polite, while he could. "They said things that…Well, you said you…chose not to look," Sylar finished weakly, angry at himself for that and a lot of things, upsetting Peter to tears was one of the unintentional ones.

XXX

Peter waited, cart not moving as he worked through that. Don't talk like … the people you've lost, the ones you cared about? Wait, why would I? He looked puzzled for a moment, before his eyes widened and face cleared in realization. Oh! Because he's saying I'd be having a memory flashback like he does with Nathan. "Um, I don't know if it works that way for me – the memories, that is. In the dreams I've had, it was from your point of view, no one else's. If anything, I think I'd be talking like you, like the way you do with Nathan." Peter fell silent and looked down, thinking about losing himself and turning into some twisted reflection of Sylar. He shifted slightly, voice quieting to nearly a whisper, "I think it might be a really good idea for me not to go looking too much at your memories, if … you know … I want to stay me." He cleared his throat and spoke a little louder, "And I do, so … you're probably safe."

XXX

Peter sounded repulsed and frightened of the possibility of becoming Sylar. It was sad and insulting, but he couldn't blame Peter. It wasn't like he had his powers to make the transition worth anything. It was both better and worse that Peter only saw the memories from Sylar's perspective – there were no voices but the nurse also got to see and possibly feel whatever Sylar had felt at the time. Lips pursed, he nodded, nothing to say to any of that.

XXX

"Do you want to talk about any of it though?" He was deliberately vague about what Sylar might want to talk about – Peter wanted to know everything, but he had a right to none of it. He restarted the cart trying to get them on their way again, waiting to see what Sylar would tell him.

XXX

Sylar was caught off-balance by that. He'd never had anyone around let alone the opportunity to divulge any grief and guilt. There wasn't time to break down; it just wasn't safe. The offer was unexpected. Peter had just been upset, Sylar had just screwed up and instead of…trying to do what Peter needed and wanted, fixing, explaining the mistake, he was being asked to talk about his loss. For a moment, he simply stared at Peter until the other man began to move again. Sylar followed instinctively as he actually thought about the question and the process involved. He didn't know where to start. I must not understand him. It's rhetorical or something. "What would I have to say? I didn't 'misplace' them; I'm responsible, right? That's how it works. They died; it was a long time ago." Sylar shrugged it all away, reassuring himself he hadn't said too much and that he'd deflected properly.

XXX

Peter clued immediately to the 'I'm responsible' and he gave Sylar a longish look, contemplative rather than incisive. He was trying to decide if Sylar automatically thought Peter would blame him even when he hadn't done anything wrong, or if Sylar had actually done something wrong – it was a tough question. Peter's earlier speculation that Sylar had turned his ability first on one of his relations came to mind (which meant only his mother, unless there was someone else Sylar had stubbornly not mentioned). The prohibition against asking about Sylar's mother was another factor. But Sylar hadn't ruled this off-limits yet and maybe it was just that he didn't know how to relate something that had mattered deeply to him. "Tell me what happened," was what Peter said.

XXX

Since Peter wouldn't leave it alone, he had to answer. Heaving a sigh, he spoke, voice tense, "Words betray the soul and people become their actions. Some people are monsters and...They do bad and horrible things. That's what happened to them. All of them. They were murdered. That probably doesn't surprise you and I guess it's only fair."

XXX

That sounds like a riddle, Peter thought. Or a poem. Is he quoting something to me with part of that? It's not one I've heard before, if he is, but he's read a lot. 'People become their actions' – that's like him saying it was my actions that counted, not intentions or anything I had to say. "Hm." It might not be his mother he's talking about. I asked for loved ones, right? Or was it 'close to you'? I think that was it. Could be friends. He's said he didn't have friends, though. There was Chandra. 'All of them', multiple. Maybe people killed by the Company? Or him. Peter exhaled heavily and twisted his hands restlessly on the handle of the shopping cart. The plastic was okay, but the metal portion was getting uncomfortably cold in the chill air.

"I'm sorry." Even if he killed them? "No matter what happened, they mattered to you." He gave Sylar another look that was longer than a glance. Maybe if he'd had some people close to him who had helped, whom he wouldn't call 'monsters', then things would have turned out better.

Offering a different topic, Peter said, "Let's talk about what we're going to eat for lunch. Out of all this stuff we just bought, what do you want to have first?"

XXX

Sylar forced himself to sigh and move on from the depressing subject. "I don't know. Do you know how to make pancakes?" He left out a word 'do you even know how,' pleased about that and his tone. Or am I supposed to make the food now? I thought he said something about me cooking but I don't think I've ever prepared anything for him. He…didn't want to eat with me or something. "Oh. Never mind." Sylar shook his head. Peter could neither stir the batter nor flip the pancakes with his broken hand. "My…head still hurts but I can try to cook something." Am I supposed to offer that? It's not like you got a lot for me to work with. There was no meat or even broth to make a stew of all the damn veggies Peter had gathered; it seemed like a bunch of glorified (healthy) snack food. He was a good cook but not a miracle worker, especially when he let an incompetent bachelor do the shopping without forewarning that he, Sylar, was going to be doing the cooking.

XXX

Yeah, I just made pancakes a few days ago … Peter shrugged though when Sylar said 'never mind', assuming he'd remembered that and the headache/concussion was interfering with his memory. Instead, Peter gave a cheerful, "Okay," and wondered what Sylar would come up with.

XXX

It was Sylar's idea to bring the whole cart up with them. He'd done that before with books and his own apartment. Once it was parked in the hallway, they carried the items inside to the kitchen. Whatever Peter placed on the counter, Sylar would arrange more or less in a loose category by type. He began a slow process of eliminating what was truly useless for any cooked dinner meal by putting it away. There wasn't much there and that had left him staring at the options, wracking his already tired brain to dream up some dinner, anything besides plain biscuits and pancakes.

XXX

He noticed Sylar had stopped, but Peter went ahead with trying to put away a couple tubes of biscuits from the diminished stacks of groceries.

XXX

"Hey," Sylar said, a little snappily, when he saw Peter messing up the arrangement. It got the other man's attention soon enough, with a questioning look so he obviously had to explain the obvious. "Leave it out. This isn't what I usually get to cook with. If you'd wanted me to cook, you should have gotten ingredients I can cook."

XXX

Peter looked at the food uncertainly. It was the same sort of food he'd usually get for himself, except he generally didn't buy so much fresh food at once, because otherwise he ended up tossing most of it in the trash. Also, if Sylar didn't like the food, then he should have done something about it. Peter frowned, trying to remember how long ago it had been when they'd had the discussion about Sylar taking over cooking. But if he can't remember that I made pancakes a little while ago, then he's not going to remember that conversation, either. "You don't have to do it," he said, but his voice was disappointed anyway. "I can put something together."

XXX

Every second seemed to irritate him. Peter was just too clueless. Maybe he'd intentionally gotten insufficient ingredients for…some reason, just to watch Sylar struggle with it. None too kindly, he sassed, "Well, then what are you planning to make, Chef Boiardi?"

XXX

Peter squared off from Sylar, head drawing back at what he saw as an unwarranted challenge. Had he not been feeding this guy for weeks now? "Yoghurt, fruit, and some raisin bread would make a nice lunch. Or hummus ..." Chips? Do I have chips? Some pita chips would be perfect. He seemed to have overlooked getting chips. Whatever. There's probably some around here somewhere. Would toast work? "... and some of the vegetables. Or cheese toast. Cheese toast is good." Would cheese toast and hummus work? Hey, that sounds good. I ought to try that.

XXX

"Exactly. Rabbit food. That's why I'm trying to cook. Now will you shut up if you have no useful suggestions and let me get back to it?" He didn't really wait for an answer; instead snatching the biscuits to replace them on the counter and turning away back to his contemplations, ignoring the other's presence. Go away! he spared the time to think.

XXX

Peter snorted. But since he was really looking forward to not having to do it himself, he put his hands up in surrender and vacated the kitchen. "Let me know if you want any help," he said, knowing the moment the words left his mouth that it virtually guaranteed Sylar wouldn't ask. He thought about it and made a mental shrug. As long as Sylar didn't catch the place on fire or hurt himself, it didn't matter. He certainly wasn't going to stay in the kitchen with an irate Sylar and risk some repeat of the boiling eggs incident. Peter got his sketchpad, moved it from the night stand to the living area (where he had an indirect line of sight to the kitchen), and settled in.

XXX

It took him much longer than he would have liked to make a plan and to complete it. Thank God Peter wasn't hovering or talking and otherwise wasting time. Steaming carrots and broccoli (those damned fresh vegetables with no correlating main dish), mixing and making pancakes went smoothly, if slowly, by himself. When he was done, he raised his voice a little, "It's ready. Get your plate." There was maple syrup around here somewhere but in the process of getting out serving utensils he forgot about it.

XXX

Peter put his stuff aside and hurried to set the table, leaving Sylar to manage getting the food on the table. He craned his neck to look at the meal as Sylar carried things by, perplexed by the dishes. He was still perplexed when he sat down, turning from the stack of pancakes to the steamed vegetables. Um … what am I supposed to do with this? Is this how Sylar feels about my meals? Huh. He gamely forked over a couple pancakes, noticing they were … well, cooked properly, not burned, and so on. That was a good sign. Maybe I can treat it like a crepe? Peter put a thin layer of carrots and broccoli down the middle and rolled the pancake around them like it was a cannoli. He picked it up, caught the look on Sylar's face, and took a bite anyway.

XXX

Um…Sylar frowned and stared rudely, waiting for Peter to…quit whatever the hell he was doing and eat like a normal person. Maybe that's asking too much of him. It's pancakes and vegetables. If it's gross, it's his own fault – I didn't make them to be eaten together like that.

XXX

"Mm!" Peter said, surprised the taste was okay. It would be better with some herbed butter, or even just butter period since he wasn't sure how 'herbed butter' was made (he only knew he'd had it in restaurants and it needed something savory to offset the vegetables). He fetched some after taking another bite, unrolling his pancake to add plain butter (the only kind they had), then finishing it off. "I bet this would be pretty good with just carrots and some of that maple syrup." His second (and then third) pancake featured that combination, which wasn't the sort of thing he'd go out of his way to eat, but it was definitely edible and ... interesting. He liked interesting.

"You should make sure you take your pills." Peter thought about the day so far, from Sylar's perspective – there was whatever he'd done while Peter was working out and cleaning up, the trip to the store, getting assaulted, coming back, handling cooking all by himself … He was pretty grouchy earlier. Does that mean he's worn out? Or was he just grouchy? He was forgetting things, too. Well … it's not like I'm in a hurry to get back out in the cold. "The hot meal was good. Thank you." It weighed pleasantly in Peter's stomach. "I was thinking maybe we could put off the rest of the stuff until tomorrow, and stay in and get some rest. What do you think?"

XXX

Oh yeah. Sylar felt dense as he didn't notice or remember the bottle on the table with them, taking his dose anyway. Again, he looked at Peter funny. You told me to cook, so I did. It wasn't that strange because he knew it was a social custom but those things didn't usually apply to him. Sylar lifted his chin once in a sort of nod, going back to his own dinner – eating pancakes with fork and syrup as God intended. The medic had continued to eat in his own weird way, seemingly happy about it, too. "I don't mind if you want to rest." It would be a relief not to have to do more, though the hot meal did help, the effort to make it didn't. I must still be fucked up. I wonder if he can tell that? What happens if he makes me push too far? I'll ask him later. It was still light out but digestion made his eyelids heavy. Sylar anticipated sleeping with Peter and dreaded it – the slightest wrong thing could be disastrous.