Day 52, January 31, Morning
Sylar sighed and truly rolled his eyes. Can't take a joke. Everyone pity poor Petey. It solidified Peter's goal for the day – companionship, even if it was Sylar's. Peter's companionship also belonged to Sylar. I don't see how what I want suddenly plays any part – didn't I say that earlier? Why take a hint now, Petrelli? "No, you don't." The piano project wasn't viable and that was equally amusing to point out. "You can't walk into a library and not leave with a book." Just saying that aloud sounded sacrilegious to his ears. He said it like it was one of the rules, but really it was just common sense, wasn't it? They'd walked all the way here, why not take a book? "We can even stamp the card if it will help your conscience," he included, gesturing for Peter to come back and walk with him once more.
XXX
Peter came back slowly. You actually want me around? He wanted to ask that out loud, but it was a ridiculous question. And unwise. Ridiculous because Sylar had no one else to be with, he was human, of course he wanted someone around. (Of course. Just like it was 'of course' he wants me gone.) Peter would do even if Sylar would be just as happy to punch him in the face. Unwise because it sounded pleading, which wasn't entirely true. Sylar might be just as happy to coexist with violence between them, but Peter was not. The piano really was a lot more attractive than being the butt of Sylar's mistreatment, should it come to that. "Okay," he said quietly, glancing around the library again. Just grabbing a book and running wasn't what Sylar was offering. He was suggesting Peter stick around. That was nice. Peter came back to Sylar's side and waited for what would happen next. This was very much Sylar's ball game.
XXX
"What do you want – Bible, biography, romance, comic book?" Sylar managed to say the last without so much as cracking a mocking grin. He reiterated his pseudo-invitation as a sort of tour guide once more, offering to take Peter to his desired section. If he's this desperate, I wonder how easy it will be to manipulate him into thinking I 'like' him? That was the next tactic to take, assuming he could fake it well enough. He couldn't deny that the idea of fooling around in a library was a taboo turn-on. (And he likes being watched).
XXX
Peter considered the choices briefly. Why does he keep mentioning the Bible? Does he think I need to read one? Comic book's loaded, too. And then there's romance. Those are weird choices. I'd rather re-read Journey to the Center of the Earth. "Uh, a biography, I guess." The question felt uncomfortably like a trap or a test, but since Sylar was including one of the categories Peter had already said he liked to read, he went with that instead of insisting on an adventure story.
XXX
Peter didn't fall for any of it and that amused him. He doesn't want to be left alone even for a moment. That was most gratifying, whatever pain he still held against Peter. Poor clarity from earlier meant that Peter hadn't understood the offer, "That's up on the second floor, too," Sylar pointed to show their mutual destination. He felt stupid to have to say everything aloud when he himself thought his words and actions sufficient. He does nice things for me; maybe this is nice for him? And he likes to chit-chat about nothing important, "When was the last time you were in a library?" Does he know the proper etiquette for a library? Sylar worried.
XXX
Peter followed Sylar to the elevator. "Um …" He thought about it. "I've never taken a medical call in a library … None of the EMT training required going to one for books or anything. Most of the nursing school stuff was class work or interning or lab stuff." He scratched at the back of his head. "I guess five or six years ago, when I was in college." As they left the elevator on the second floor, he said, "I did a lot of searching when I was trying to find something on specials. It didn't occur to me that abilities might have been around for a long time, like my parents might have them," Peter glanced at Sylar and chuckled ruefully. "I thought it was something new, like a mutation or maybe something epidemiological." He caught himself and immediately dumbed down his language out of habit. "I mean like it was a transmitted condition, like a disease, but you know, like a disease that's a good thing." He waved at himself, getting freer with his gestures as he relaxed a little. "Which for me, with the way I was 'catching' abilities, I guess it did kind of work that way." He frowned, trying to think of a way that this didn't sound like 'Peter the magical disease vector'.
XXX
Sylar blinked at the unfamiliar word and at the reminder of their differences. They'd both been somewhat intentional about their search for abilities but Peter's required no effort to acquire. A disease. That sounds like something Nathan would say; and something Arthur would want. Gabriel hadn't considered the familial history of abilities, either, since his 'parents' had obviously been less than special and he'd wanted to attribute his own specialness to himself. Still thinking, he mused aloud, "You're not far wrong. It is a mutation, technically speaking."
XXX
He was distracted from those thoughts by their arrival at the biography section – several rows of stacks, neatly ordered shelving full of hundreds or perhaps thousands of titles which were mostly meaningless to him. The best had names of the people they featured visible on them, but even then Peter didn't always know who they were. Others had vague, ostensibly descriptive titles that merely obfuscated who they were about. How do I pick something out? Is he going to leave if I take too long? He might, and it doesn't matter what I pick. Wait, what's that? On the end of a row, he spotted a book with forbidding, snowclad mountains on the cover and the exciting-looking title of 'Alive!' Maybe some arctic explorer? That's fine. It might be like Call of the Wild, except about people. At least it doesn't look boring. He took it without further examination and turned to Sylar. "I'm good."
XXX
Sylar had leaned himself against the end of the shelf, looking into the aisle to watch Peter and his process. It was anticlimactic. He turned and led them to the non-fiction history section, aiming for another baseball-related book because the first one had been a hit with Peter (no pun intended). Maybe I need a biography of some New York baseball player…but Peter's probably read them all. There might be more options in other sections.
XXX
"Do you spend a lot of time here?" The huge structure was vacant in a way that went beyond mere emptiness. It gave off an abandoned feeling, the absence of usual patrons giving it an unsettling vibe. Peter would just as soon take their books and get out of here.
XXX
Still scanning the shelves, Sylar answered, "Oh, yeah. I could spend days here. It's more comfortable in my apartment, but I'd stay here and pick a bunch of books. It's wonderful. A totally quiet library? Any book I want for as long as I want? It's heaven. I mean…I guess it's creepy because there are no people. The…atmosphere is different." Because libraries were supposed to be quiet, it didn't seem that shocking a change, especially since there were no people here anyway. He did miss the camaraderie with complete strangers who gathered with one purpose and a single appreciation or goal. It was as close to a welcoming community as he'd ever found.
XXX
"Yeah, the atmosphere is really different." Peter didn't sound pleased about it. He followed Sylar until the man found an area that appealed to him – at least he started looking at the books themselves rather than just the numbers on the ends of the rows. "I'm going to find a seat," Peter said, not wanting to hover over Sylar while the other decided what to read. He located the nearest seat, none too comfortable, and settled in to wait. He assumed they were going to be here for a while. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he'd left his apartment with no more than an oversugared coffee for breakfast, so intent had he been on not missing Sylar this morning. He cracked his book, but didn't read enough to see who or what it was about. Instead, he kept his attention on Sylar, though he tried to be discreet about it by continuing the pretense of reading.
XXX
Even with a goal in mind, he still wanted to absorb the experience and at least glance at all the titles. Sylar nodded to Peter (his duty complete in getting the man a book) and went back to his own search. It took him several minutes before he felt Peter's prolonged attention. A quick side-glance told him that Peter had been watching him. The reason for it escaped him, unless it was similar to his own staring – Sylar was the only person to look at, just like Peter was for him. It didn't mean anything (not when Peter did it, anyway). Mystery solved, Sylar made a note to pick up a good mystery to read before he left. He found some baseball texts – statistics, specific teams, coaches, players, World Series', even seasons. It wasn't as relevant as he would like it to be. 'Baseball and Philosophy' stood out at him as more of a personal interest; 'The Great Book of Baseball Knowledge' and a few others would be more useful.
XXX
"Have you eaten breakfast?" Peter asked after Sylar selected a pair of books.
XXX
"Huh?" Sylar was broken from his reverie. (What is he asking me about?) "I had a small one, yes. Took the painkillers," he murmured, going back to poring over the front and back covers.
XXX
"I know you said you like the quiet here, but I'd like to take the books somewhere where we can get a bite to eat and read there." Peter phrased it carefully, respectfully, and indirectly. He was hungry and felt out of place here, but at the same time he didn't want to ditch Sylar or get ditched. He's still looking at books. Maybe he's not done? Should I shut up and leave him alone?
XXX
Like a book club? (I assume they ate food while they read or something). That sounded like an excellent idea to suit the needs for food and information/entertainment. Perhaps his appetite was returning. Reading together, maybe sharing interesting portions (and food) sounded like the ultimate reading experience. Providing…Peter didn't get food on the books or lick his fingers before turning pages. It made him shudder to think. "That's fine. I need one more book before we go," he decided. Sylar paused for Peter to stand and follow him back to the elevator. He was in the mood for a fictional mystery – they tended to be a more gripping read than one bent on preserving facts. On the ride down, he asked, "What does Emmy like to read?"
XXX
"Emmy?" It took Peter a moment to realize who Sylar meant. "Emma!" he said emphatically, not quite willing to go so far as to glare at Sylar, but he wanted to. "I don't know. It never came up." He shifted uneasily, grouchy about the name thing.
XXX
Sylar gave him a look that clearly said he thought Peter was falling down on the boyfriend duties if he didn't know what his own not-girlfriend liked to read. But I'm here, having to lead him to books and make him take one; he hasn't been reading on his own and he never was particularly fond of it as an activity. He prefers…activity. (Like fucking his girlfriend, I bet. I'll revisit that later). "You probably never read any baseball books, did you? You didn't need to," he remarked without judgment, with more envy. Sports and access to sporting events came easily to the Petrellis. Peter wouldn't be a helpful guide in what to read on the subject. He complained for both of them, "They never write books for swimmers." Probably because Peter was busy fucking half his swim team.
XXX
Peter raised a brow at Sylar's odd statement, 'You didn't need to'. What does that mean? About the swimmers, he quipped, "That's because they get the pages all wet and the ink tends to run." He smiled a little, deciding to ignore the, 'you didn't need to' and all it implied. "I read a couple rule books for baseball when I was a kid." He looked at the titles of the books Sylar had picked. "Those look interesting," he said politely. His eyes went to Sylar's face. He's reading those for me! His eyes widened slightly at the realization. Peter looked back at the books before leaving the elevator and watching where they were going. He's reading those so we can talk about baseball. He wants to talk to me about something and he's going out of his way to find something other than abilities to talk about. Wow.
XXX
By then, they had entered the proper section and Sylar was scanning for a mystery book. Sylar straightened quickly as an ugly thought came into his head. Does he think I like murder mysteries or that it has something to do with…? He sent a self-conscious look towards Peter. "Is this going to offend you?" he asked with an edge and a wave to indicate the section, being partly sarcastically rhetorical.
XXX
Peter was standing there barely avoiding staring at Sylar like the man had grown a second head. "What?" he asked, then went on after Sylar's wave at the books, "No, not at all." His first assumption was that Sylar thought Peter thought he was taking too long. Peter turned and firmly fixed his attention on the shelf to his left, examining what looked like a Sherlock Holmes spin-off. A few moments later, it occurred to him that maybe Sylar meant the material, in that mysteries and criminal dramas could be taken as researching how to get away with things. It's not like he needs it. Other than the Company and people with abilities, I think he got away with everything. He flipped a SWAT van and snatched Ted right out of police custody, after all, and that was back when he was just getting started. Peter shrugged. Maybe he's reliving glory days. It's just a book. A book Sylar seemed to have settled on, too. Sylar made his choice and they started for the exit.
"Why do you keep getting Emma's name wrong?" Peter asked as they paused near the door to adjust coats and jackets. He popped his collar and put his headband on. "You know what it is."
XXX
"Unless you go fucking around in my head, again; my memory will never be bad enough to forget her name. Obviously, I do it to bother you." Sylar was a little gleeful to voice this.
XXX
Peter frowned at him – not severely, more like thoughtfully – and followed Sylar out into the cold. So he's teasing me. Is that playful or mean-spirited? I suppose it could be both. "Let's go to that diner we started to eat at before," he suggested, jerking his chin in what he thought was the right direction. 'Fucking around in my head' – there's no reason why I would. (Not now. Not unless it would give me back Nathan.) He's concerned about me doing it. (Because Nathan's not dead? No, probably because he thinks I think Nathan might not be dead. He's smart.) He said I should take it all when he broke down in that police station here. 'You violated my mind! It was the one thing I had left.' And he hates manipulation and being lied to. If Nathan's not there, then yeah, that's something to be scared of. I should reassure him, but … I can't. How do I know where Nathan is or how to get him back? Peter felt a sudden lump in his throat and an itch in his eyes. This is like that thing with Caitlin. He shook his head. I don't want to fuck it up (again), but I don't know what to do. And here Sylar's getting baseball books so he can talk to me. He's trying to be considerate while I'm over here thinking that yeah, maybe there's some other form of brain-murder I can do on him to get what I want. He stared down at the cover of the book instead, eyes perceiving the letters without his mind being able to assemble them into words. He walked with Sylar on auto-pilot, hoping the man was taking him to wherever they were headed.
XXX
Peter was quiet all of a sudden. That was odd. Sylar kept checking him to gauge his mood. Offended; thinking; focused (which Sylar could appreciate if it was mission-focused on either food or reading); hunger? Perhaps it was all of them because Peter looked sad and withdrawn. Offended, then. (Reminding him of murder is a great conversation starter, he berated himself). On top of that, he didn't know if he was supposed to revive the conversation (whatever the topic had been) or let Peter alone. It wasn't a horrible walk, but he was aware he'd done something wrong and that wasn't exactly pleasant, either.
XXX
As they approached the diner, Peter tried to pull himself out of the low mood he'd fallen into. There was nothing he could do about Caitlin or Nathan in his current situation, so he put his attention on his interactions with Sylar. Last time we came here, he was insulting when he opened the door. He acted smug about walking in the library when I opened it for him. 'Obviously, I do it to bother you'. So that's the game, huh? Peter let Sylar get to the door first and open it. As Peter walked by, he reached out and clapped Sylar twice on the shoulder. "Sometimes," he said in a friendly tone, "I do things to bother you, too." He shrugged out of his coat and hung it over a chair, tossing headband and gloves on the table.
XXX
Sylar was too lost in thought to notice Peter doing anything out of the ordinary. On instinct, he opened the door first and was too slow to react better. He saw Peter's hand reaching up, at a normal speed but that made no difference, while he was stuck holding the door. Sylar straightened and froze. It wasn't a blow or a grab of any kind but the contact anywhere near his head or throat had been…He allowed the firm shoulder patting because there was nothing to really be done about it (and hoped he wasn't as wide-eyed and stiff as he feared). Peter was so casual, friendly, and pointed about it that it tipped the balance of suspicion. Sylar narrowed his eyes, which went unnoticed at first as Peter walked in and Sylar followed. "That doesn't bother me," he lied. I told him that already! Since Peter had already homed in on a weakness, Sylar tried to divert the attention by issuing a more general challenge, "You're going to have to do better than that."
XXX
Uh-huh. Right. He looked over to Sylar to give him a smile. Peter went behind the bar and flipped on the waffle iron. "I'm going to make waffles. Do you want some, or are you making for yourself?"
XXX
Sylar smirked back, like getting Peter to make breakfast was a 'win' for him. "No, go ahead and bother yourself on my behalf. I'll watch."
XXX
Peter snorted. "You like watching me be bothered, huh? That's kind of a dangerous habit." He poured batter, then got out plates and some fruit, setting them next to the double-sided waffle iron.
XXX
"Not as much as you might think." Sylar settled in at the bar. I'm still alive and…mostly fully-functional, so he's not as dangerous as he'd like to think.
XXX
The bastard was too smug about Peter's restraint for his liking. Peter snagged a strawberry and chucked it at Sylar without warning. "You like getting me wound up, then you're going to have to deal with the fastballs."
XXX
Startled, Sylar ducked way too much and too suddenly because he couldn't see what was being thrown and he had enough time to react to the words. "What is it with you making messes you never clean up?" he said sharply and defensively, glancing behind him at the bruised fruit on the floor. Such a waste.
XXX
Peter sighed. "That hurts, Sylar," he said honestly. He wasn't unaware of the ruined storefront, or the kicked in liquor boxes in the pub (although he'd cleaned that one up), or a score of other events in his life where he'd made a complete fuck-up of things. Sylar didn't even know the half of it. Peter shot back, "What is it about you provoking me so much?"
XXX
"We've already gone over that." He looked Peter up and down. "I like you hot and bothered." It only challenged him further, to find the pressure point to…relieve all Peter's ongoing stress. The challenge was as delicious as the payoff was sure to be.
XXX
You like me off-balance and upset, you mean. Peter rolled his eyes and threw another strawberry at him, slower this time and more obvious.
XXX
Sylar snatched it from the air, checked it, and made a show of eating it.
XXX
Peter watched, face neutral. What Sylar was doing was sexy, and attractive, and he was telling Peter he was interested in him. But I'm a challenge to him; he's intimidated and he wants me weak. I'm not going to fit inside someone else's shadow anymore. If he's going to poke at me, I'm going to poke back. He was still watching Sylar's face when the waffle-machine beeped. Peter turned to unload it.
XXX
Sylar was very pleased with himself. After he'd lost Peter's devoted attention to the damned waffle machine, he slunk into the kitchen to cut up the fruit and gather other food items. With laden plates, they returned to the table.
XXX
Peter settled into a chair opposite the one he'd put his coat on, thinking about what strategy he should use to get under Sylar's skin. He lifted his feet to rest rudely on the seat. He pushed his headband and gloves in front of his coat in preparation for Sylar sharing the same table with him, and pulled over his plate after Sylar delivered it. He tore off a bit of waffle with his fingers and ate it. He had eschewed butter, syrup, or whipped cream, going with a plain waffle with a bunch of fresh fruit on the edge of the plate. He cracked open the book, holding it with his left hand. It would be weeks before his right hand had the dexterity and strength to hold it the same way, one-handed, so that hand was left for page-turning and waffle-pinching. He read.
XXX
Sylar took his indicated place, pleased that it had been cleared for him. He had a lightly buttered and syruped waffle with fruit on the side. It smelled delicious and his awakened appetite rumbled after what felt like an age of being nauseous. They needed to stock the Pegasus suite with better food- That was when he remembered that he wasn't going back to the suite, or anywhere else, to sleep with Peter. He made a face and went to cut more waffle just as Peter tore off part of his own waffle, stuck it in his mouth and then turned a page – all with the same hand. He gaped for a moment. "Peter!" he hissed. "Wipe your hands before you turn pages. That's what napkins are for." Rich and well-mannered my ass! I can see why they had such a handful with him, everything they tried to teach the little barbarian and he just refuses to use it. It's a wonder they could take him anywhere.
XXX
"Oh?" Peter asked with faux innocence as he briefly sucked the tip of his right thumb, index, and middle finger in lieu of using the napkin. He rubbed them together afterwards. "I thought you said I had to do better than that. Is this good enough?" He turned a page with his newly licked fingers, deliberately slouching a bit further and tossing his hair out of his eyes like an insolent teen.
XXX
Sylar stared at him, withholding his jerk and violent reaction at the book abuse. More than good enough, you uncivilized punk. It went against every rule. He was so enraged for those initial seconds he had time to review his options: ignore it, verbalize Peter down a notch, grab the book to save it, make demands, try and rationalize with him…maybe slam his hand on the table and tell him off…From somewhere, he knew what would get Peter to behave but it was counterintuitive to what he would normally do, what he wanted to do. Sylar wanted to rip the book away from him and never let him near another again; to let this pass was to encourage more of the same, challenging Peter further. Nathan – damn him – knew what to do. Sibling logic. He's the one acting like a child, he rationalized. He just wants attention. Sylar could understand that since he knew how much it hurt to have it taken away. He raised a judgmental eyebrow; face unamused, and went back to reading his own book, though he was still prepared to enact any of the other more active options.
XXX
Peter snorted. When that didn't gain him anything, he rolled his eyes and made a loud, huffy sigh, then wiped his fingers pointedly on the napkin. He put one of his feet down to change his posture to something a bit more adult. During this, he shot Sylar several looks, waiting for a reaction. That he didn't get one was a mixed victory. That got under his skin alright. Peter smirked and went back to reading.
XXX
Sylar reluctantly relaxed with a small sense of relief. He wouldn't know a good book if it hit him upside the head – which still might happen. Peace was restored and he congratulated himself for the successful slyness of that distinctly Petrelli maneuver.
XXX
After the table of contents, acknowledgements and foreword, Peter's brows pulled together and he looked at the teaser text on the back of the book. "Oh," he said softly, a dismayed expression coming over his face. "This isn't about the Arctic or the Himalayas or anything like that. I've heard of this. I think they eat each other in this book." He blinked at it, grossed out and yet fascinated at the same time. He blanched and looked over at his companion: Sylar the serial killer whom only a week ago Peter had implied might have eaten parts of his victims.
Peter cleared his throat, gave his head a single shake, and forged on in the book. "This is going to be interesting," he murmured.
XXX
Sylar chewed and raised an eyebrow. The Arctic or Himalayas reference meant nothing to him at first. A glance at the cover showed that it could have been mistaken as the topic of the book. It still didn't seem like much of a biography…Peter seemed surprised now and explained it. Sylar's face was cloudy and suspicious to the point of glaring. Is he studying serial killers or something? (That's not what a serial killer is – does he know that?) The man's surprise could be fake. "Do you have some obsession with cannibalism you'd like to get off your chest?" he asked, not sure what tone he should take or how personal he should take this; hopefully the question would answer some concerns and clear up Peter's intentions as he intended to finish the book despite the discovery, it seemed. He could fathom the human interest, Peter's investment was…unexpected, being a nurse and humanitarian. This will be interesting. Sylar looked forward to interrogating him about his thoughts on the book upon finishing it. Surely Peter would have some scathing condemnations about morality in emergency situations, since he enjoyed judging others on similar things. He itched to snatch the book away and read some of it for himself.
XXX
Peter gave Sylar his best disapproving look, learned from his father. "Says the man who tried to bite a chunk out of my shoulder last week." Peter blew air from his nose and added, "You take 'eat me' to a whole new level." He picked up a grape, considered it briefly, and popped it in his mouth. Peter waggled his brows up and down before thoroughly wiping his fingers on the napkin as Sylar had said he desired.
XXX
Again, Sylar waited to see exactly how Peter intended those words. He didn't recall being in any particular 'trouble' over biting Peter before…Then, with the flirty behavior, he grasped the joke. Or was it in invitation? The breath left him as he recalled Peter having stroked himself off and pinched the bruise for pleasure. And the lack of 'firm' denial in the eventuality of sucking Peter's dick when he'd been on his knees in front of that erection. And the last time they'd consumed strawberries, Sylar had got in his lap and confessed all sorts of sexual deviancy. In a deep voice, he rumbled with a flirtatious head tilt of his own, "I'm known for being…thorough."
XXX
A nervous flutter ran through Peter's gut. He colored and smiled, looking away to try to hide it and to get a better handle on himself. The idea of Sylar's 'thoroughness' had the porny part of his mind going wild for a few seconds. "Yeah, I'll bet," Peter said weakly, shooting Sylar one short look before trying to bury himself behind the too-small paperback. Even then, the image of Sylar on his knees, demonstrating just how thorough he could be, was running rampant, doing battle with the moral part of his brain – if I'm not doing anything back, then it's just a domination trip, right? That's not really wrong … (Of course it is! And it's not like I'm not going to do anything back. This is stupid. And dangerous.) And hot. Peter cleared his throat, shifted in his chair, and kept his eyes glued to the page until he finally started registering the words printed there.
XXX
Not wanting to let the tension between them slip away, he mocked with a little challenge, stating, "I give you….three maybe four days until you quit. The realism and gore is probably too traumatic for you." This wasn't Peter's sort of book at all. Coupled with being alone and with his most hated enemy, it wasn't going to do good things for Peter's head, either. Sylar recalled Peter's nightmare about being stuck in a cargo box for weeks and he could understand that kind of thing so vividly that he didn't want Peter to undergo it – or undergo more of it, here, half-alone. Yes, definitely too realistic and traumatic. "Um…wouldn't you rather read something else?" he suggested, changing to yet a different tone than he'd yet tried, just as genuine as the others but with a better purpose. "Baseball book?" he offered, sliding it towards Peter.
XXX
"Ha." Peter shook his head at the baseball book, but he was glad of the distraction from his libido trying to make an end run around his conscience. Feeling a need to defend himself against the accusation of being soft (which wasn't even a bad thing to be), he said, "Three or four days until I'm done with this." He waved the book he held to indicate how quickly he'd finish reading it. "This is a book. It's nothing like the real thing and I've seen plenty of that."
XXX
You have not seen intentional gore like that a lot and you have never seen cannibalism, Sylar rolled his eyes. Fine. Do come crying to me because you gave yourself nightmares. He exhaled a huffy sigh. I could always hide the book…As was typical, Peter was more interesting than any baseball book. Sylar kept glancing at him as he dutifully read. It was…pleasant, rare, unanticipated. It made it easier to bear his pain and burdens with this kind of companionship, which he'd never had before. It had been a very good idea of…theirs – his books, and Peter's food. It seemed so heart wrenchingly mundane and normal, like he was acceptable and normal himself. "This was a good idea," he said clearly, then continued immediately with, "How is your hand?" because he'd noticed (not for the first time) that Peter wasn't wearing his brace but wasn't fully utilizing the limb.
XXX
"Eh, it's getting better." He flexed it slightly to show his range of motion. On the last two fingers, it wasn't much – they bent noticeably, but that was it without hurting like hell. There was no way he was going to make a fist or hold something securely. His middle finger was somewhat better. His thumb and index finger were fine. "It'll probably be a few more weeks before I can do much of anything with it," Peter said, hoping Sylar would take the hint and continue to avoid doing anything that might delay healing. Peter had noticed Sylar was going light on him – he didn't attribute the lack of re-injury to luck. "It's nice to be out of the brace, but I still have to be really careful with it."
He read for a while and finished eating, getting sucked into the story despite the stilted style of writing. "This thing reads like a textbook," Peter muttered at one point as he finished off the last bit of waffle. One waffle and some fruit wasn't enough to fill him up, so he set the book down and went to make another one. "You want another waffle?" he asked as he poured batter on one side.
XXX
Sylar snorted, amused at Peter's luck and doubly amused because Peter had sworn to finish it. He looked up, "Yes, please." In light of perfectly cooked breakfast, he thought, I guess he can't screw up waffles with an automatic machine. Many appetites, it seemed, were returning today.
XXX
He turned and leaned on the counter as the waffle cooked, eyes taking in Sylar's form until the other looked up at him. There's no way I wouldn't do something back. Peter gave a slight smile and said, "You're right. This is good. It's nice." Softer, he added, "I like it," then turned to pretend to mess with the controls on the waffle iron. I am so fucked.
XXX
It was cute to watch Peter's consistent naïveté. Sylar had every intention of 'reapplying' a bite mark, as he'd promised. The only question was 'where' – the 'when' was also undecided, but it wasn't nearly as interesting as the location of the next bite. Come with me to get books, read them, make me breakfast, obey me, seduce me, oh, yes; he was ready to pounce. Sylar feigned studying, if not reading, his book, "You must have done this all the time with your…fuck buddies and college friends. Is it weird to be doing it with me or are you pretending I'm someone else?" he asked casually.
XXX
The term 'fuck buddies' got a frown. "Those are my choices – it's either weird, or I'm pretending? I think I'll go with neither. This feels comfortable, finally." Aside from the flirting, which is making me tense. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the waffle iron beeped. Peter loaded both steaming, aromatic waffles onto his plate and brought them to the table, pushing the top one off onto Sylar's. "I've eaten and read and spent time with other people in the past, yeah," Peter said, sitting and pouring a light drizzle of maple syrup on his waffle. He picked up fork and knife. "None of them were you, but this is okay. We're not at each other's throats. I don't know about you," Peter tilted his head for a moment, lifting a bite of waffle on his fork, "but I could do with more of that." After chewing and swallowing, he added, "It's been a long time since I've been able to – to spend time with someone - if anything's weird, it's that."
XXX
Sylar thanked him for the waffle, buttered it and gave it a decent amount of syrup as he listened and watched carefully. He didn't know what to make of the non-decisive answer, but Peter did seem to be comfortable. That was…good, he supposed; it meant he was safer and more likely to be treated well. Ironically, that led to the next point – being at each other's throats. You were the one at my throat. So I must be 'behaving' well enough for him...to be comfortable. At least in this moment. We've been apart for nearly a week. He's desperate. I'm not doing anything much different. In the end, it was neither here nor there, he concluded. He didn't count the obvious things, like avoiding Peter's family or abilities. Sylar shrugged and cut his waffle bite by bite to preserve the syrup, "Always weird for me." Peter was using proper utensils this time. Before his second bite, he added in a low mutter, "Regardless of what face I'm wearing," and went back to reading. Spending time with someone could be good or bad; the good interactions were never automatic for him and he couldn't accept it without wonder.
XXX
Peter gave him a slightly wide-eyed, wary look about 'what face' Sylar was talking about. Nathan wasn't able to spend time with people? Or does he just mean that he's been on the move all the time for the last few years, just like me? That's probably it. He turned to his book, leaving the matter at that.
It was about thirty minutes into reading before Peter had to put the book down and get up, too unsettled by what he was reading to go on without a break. His lips were pursed, expression frozen. He went behind the bar, pretending he needed coffee to replace the milk he'd finished with his waffle earlier. He returned to the table with a full cup, steeling himself to continue. To Sylar's look, he answered soberly, "The plane crash," as he picked up the book again. Images of that night danced behind his eyes – Noah, Nathan's body, the parachutes, the drone of the engine – so many unprocessed, shut-away moments. His chest ached. If there was cannibalism in the book, which he understood there was, he suspected it would upset him less than the so-much-more-mundane event of the plane going down. He swallowed tensely, rubbed at his eyes, and focused on the page with an effort.
XXX
Sylar frowned after he chanced to look up at Peter's pale, upset face. He'd wanted to see what the man was getting up for. The empath's color and expression leant his motions and activity a nervous atmosphere. Plane crash, repeated in his head, connecting only with the incident where Claire caused the plane crash (and death or escape of others). Sylar supposed he couldn't blame her too much: she was young and inexperienced, naïve, and indestructible and unaware that danger would affect those she might have been trying to save (or so Sylar assumed). There was the story of Nathan publicly 'dying' in a freak plane crash but he'd been long since dead by then. "What did happen with that?" he asked, partly because he didn't understand what could be so upsetting. Peter had seen people die before – he'd died before himself. Nathan's life had been so hectic and then dangerous; he'd never received the time-consuming, completed report of the incident – who caused it and how, how many bodies, post-crash bodies, escapees?
XXX
Peter braced himself, tense and unhappy. He didn't feel it was a memory Sylar was entitled to, despite how much Peter wanted to share it with someone – anyone. "Which one?"
XXX
Sylar clarified the real event, not the book, "The plane crash with Claire and Tracy. What ability did you have then?"
XXX
Oh. Peter relaxed. He hadn't even thought about that one, so overshadowed had it been in his mind by the other. "I … had a couple. One after another, that is." He took his seat, remembering himself as the cause of the accident. Claire had been helping them escape. It was his incompetence that turned it into a disaster. "The last was freezing – Tracy's ability. I didn't know it when I got it. I was being knocked around, into people, and I couldn't control the transference. I didn't know how to do it intentionally yet and the drugs were still muddying everything up for me." Including his judgment, he supposed, but he treated that the same as he had when he'd told Hesam that he should have been stronger – in the plane, he should have been smarter. He licked his lips and swallowed, finding himself unwilling to confess to his role. He didn't want to hear from Sylar what he told himself. "It was pretty fast – the crash. A few people were out of their seats, unstrapped. I don't think the guards survived. It was amazing the rest of us did." Or at least as many as did. He didn't know the body count. He fidgeted with the book.
XXX
"Hmm," Sylar said noncommittally. He didn't know how those drugs would work on regeneration, but based on the survival of normal people like Bennet and specials like Claire and Peter, he could assume it had little affect. Peter might not have known if he would survive. That would have been…intense. For Sylar, brushes with mortality had become mundane and expected. But falling out of the sky in a huge, weighted 'flying' coffin, with no control must be one of those natural fear instinct occurrences. Or perhaps Peter was used to falling when he tried to fly – intentionally or otherwise. With a wry expression, he went back to his own book; not entirely satisfied with the details but not interested enough to press it.
XXX
Peter had been reading for three or four hours total when the hard seats of the diner began to bother him. He was stiff, tired of reading, and where he should have been hungry, reading about the expedition making their very personal decisions to cannibalize the dead had left him nauseous instead. So this is how Sylar's been feeling since the concussion and I've been trying to shove food in him the whole time. He smiled faintly at the how unpleasant that must have been to Sylar. All things considered, I think he's been as cooperative and compliant as he could be. Reading about people cursing and screaming at those who tried to help them, and subsequently dying because of it, helped put a few things about Sylar's recalcitrance in perspective. After standing and stretching, Peter said, "Hey, let's go back to the rec room. If you want to grab lunch, go ahead. I want to sit on something softer and that couch sounds perfect."