Day 63, February 11, Morning
"Just some mysteries," he said, holding them up for Peter to read the titles.
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"Cool. I'll have a seat over there until you're done." Peter headed off to skim through his book, wondering if he should have picked out more than one. Nah. I'm still not done with Alive! I have lots of stuff I can do if I get done with reading. Like bother Sylar. Peter smirked to himself, settling in and opening the book.
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When Peter moved away, Sylar was left contemplating the casualness or the indifference behind their distance. He needs space so he thinks I need space? In reality, I just don't want him hovering, asking questions, and judging my choices. Or he wants space so he takes the space. That's probably it. That decided he picked out a handful of suitable mysteries, surprised that there were any that he hadn't read before. It didn't take long. He came back to where Peter sat.
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Peter rose upon Sylar's return. A quick glance at Sylar's face and posture led him to think the man was ready to go. Peter's reading had left him cheerful and upbeat, a good change from the emotional impact of the book about the Andes survivors. "Hey, listen to this: 'God made us all, but some of us are made special … Some people have special resources inside, and when God blesses you to have more than others, you have a responsibility to use it right.' Ali said that." Peter smiled, enthused about the idea that some people (or maybe even all) had greatness inside of them. "I'm not sure which is cooler – to have an ability (or lots of them like you do) and be able to change so much, or to not have one like me and yet work hard enough at things that you end up doing extraordinary stuff anyway." He looked at Sylar expectantly for a moment before animatedly interrupting with another question that popped into Peter's brain as they headed towards the door. "I wonder if some of the great people in history had abilities. What do you think?"
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Sylar blinked and paused, first at the quote, the pros/cons of each of their abilities (he hadn't thought his own had many 'cons'), and then, before he could think through a possible response, Peter was asking an entirely different question. Honestly, he preferred to go back to 'whose ability or abilities is better?' portion but this idea wasn't entirely unfamiliar to him and he thought that Peter had mentioned it once before. "Uh…Um," Sylar recovered, sounding the idiot for a moment. It was like the little guy was on drugs, or rather, like his old, happy self who hadn't been in…a long time (and never around Sylar). Wasn't there something about not talking about abilities? "I think it's possible and probable, with the creation of technology and certain religions worshipping gods or aliens, conquerors, inventors, explorers, tyrants, geniuses…What do you mean, you don't have an ability?"
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Peter's brows furrowed as he tried and failed to make sense of Sylar's answer. It seemed to be 'yes', but Peter didn't know what technology and religion had to do with it. He focused on the question instead. That was easier. "Okay, yes, I have an ability to have other people's abilities. But without them, what am I?" He looked at Sylar for a moment before answering his own question. "Nothing special. But I'm still going to try to be a hero anyway." Rene had helped him find and articulate that answer within himself, which had helped him deal with the depressing truth that without other people to draw from, he wasn't much. He could do right; he could be a hero – that made him something; it made him someone.
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Sylar frowned, completely baffled if not taken aback. It explained wanting to be special and continuing the hero-games, but none of Peter's actions warranted any credit or heroism (stupid though they probably were). As they walked side by side towards and out of the door, he replied, "I thought you said my ability was special because I can put things back together – fix them – even if it isn't 'flashy.' Why wouldn't that apply to you?"
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Peter shrugged. "My ability doesn't do anything other than borrow other people's abilities. And overload when I do it too much, I guess. It's cool – don't get me wrong – except the overloading part. Yours is cool. It does something even if you don't have any other abilities, right?"
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Once more, Sylar smelled a rat. It was New York and he was here with a Petrelli so it wasn't uncommon. "Yes, mine does things without other abilities. But you feel other people's feelings with yours, even without other powers, don't you?"
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Peter's brows furrowed again as he peered intently at Sylar. They walked along in silence for several steps as he struggled to find the words or even the thoughts to express himself. Finally he asked, "How do you know that? How do you know about that?" He wasn't suspicious – only confused. Nathan had refused, right down the line, to talk about abilities with Peter. But there could have been things Peter had done or said that Nathan (or more precisely, Sylar looking back through Nathan's memories) could have interpreted to reach that conclusion. Peter couldn't remember anyone giving a genuine flying flip about his feelings or his ability to process those of others…at least not since Charles Deveaux. Had Nathan talked to Charles? Peter knew his mother had, and frequently. Had any of them cared enough to discuss Peter's issues outside of how they might impact their goals?
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Sylar frowned back. He didn't think the questions were angry but there was something else there. His tone was factual and only slightly defensive, "I told you that I met an empath before; I know how abilities work – that's my ability – and I intellectually know what the word 'empathy' means. Plus, I have Nathan's memories so I can figure out more things and it seems to fit. Is any of that so surprising?" he asked because it seemed fairly obvious to him and Peter had yet to take his eyes off Sylar.
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He shook his head. "I don't care how you know. It's not that important. Mostly it's just…no one's ever asked. Or even really talked about…that – how it feels, that sort of thing. Just about what it does." He gave Sylar a cautious side-eye as they walked, thinking about Sylar's ability and Peter's brief experience with it. "There's more to an ability than that, isn't there?" Of course there was – Peter was sure of it. But did Sylar see it that way? Mentally, he held his breath, waiting for the answer.
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There was something in there, something hidden that Peter had probably never shared! That secret tidbit belonged to him. It enticed him and the empath had his full, if momentarily subtle, attention. "I've found that most abilities come with 'more' to them. Sometimes a lot more, sometimes less." Oh, tell me what yours is! Or have I already guessed it? I think I'm close, from the way he's looking at me. And he thinks he isn't special by himself – I bet he'd love to cuddle up to or…use someone like me. The telling and the knowing would feed some still-ravenous part of himself. "Is that what yours does by itself?"
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"Well," he wasn't sure Sylar was getting it, "I was talking about how my ability didn't do anything by itself. But that doesn't mean I'm saying it doesn't do things to me. You know? It's not the same as yours." He looked over at Sylar again, trying to gage if the man understood him. He wasn't talking about DNA warping or becoming a homicidal maniac. He hoped Sylar didn't think that.
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Sylar's eyes narrowed. Is it something filthy and shameful? Admitting you have a problem is the first step, Peter, he mentally mocked. He wanted to stop walking to pin Peter under the full force of his stare (and get answers quicker) but he had the impression that was the wrong thing to do, that it would take the casual protectiveness away from being involved in another activity. He's making sure I know he's not…like me? Well, he is in a lot of ways, like it or not. "Yes, that happens with abilities. They seem to be unique to the ability." The redundancy and avoidance was annoying him now. "Tell me what your power does to you, Peter," he asked, very gently, almost seductively with a kind of purr. Whatever this was, it was good.
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The question ran all through him – the tone was lovely, but what really struck him was that Sylar was even asking. He didn't think it was curiosity just to make sure Peter's ability was (or wasn't) something he wanted. Sylar was genuinely asking...about him. "What do you want to know?"
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Urgh! He wanted to take Peter by the shoulders and shake him. "Why you're being so slippery about it all of a sudden? You were falling all over yourself earlier to tell me about your sexcapades and now we're playing 20 Questions – and not the fun kind. I'm all ears; so tell me!"
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Peter gave him a small, amused smile and looked at Sylar's ears. Looking back at the conversation, he wondered if he'd built it up as too much of a mystery. The way his ability had worked wasn't mysterious – at least Peter didn't see it that way. He looked at the building to his right and began talking. "When I started getting my ability, I also started getting a lot more...receptive to people. How I felt about them changed. At the time, I thought it had something to do with the residencies I had in that last semester of nursing school and working so much with patients. Plus," he glanced back at Sylar and rolled his eyes, "the long hours. When I would sleep, which wasn't as much as I should have, I'd have crazy dreams sometimes, so I thought maybe how vibrant and fragile everyone seemed was just something I was imagining. I don't know if I felt their emotions, exactly, but I felt like I 'got' them, like I understood them, like everything about them was just on the edge of making sense and if I made them happy, it would. It seemed like everyone I met was so intense and cool and fascinating. I...liked everyone. I wanted to be with them, all of them, but it wasn't really specific. I felt like I was losing myself. And just because I liked everyone didn't mean they necessarily liked me back..." Claude, Angela, Isaac, Nathan, Mohinder, Simone...faces paraded behind Peter's eyes, people he'd tried to reach who had stepped on him or over him as they moved on with their lives.
"When I found out about the abilities – about flight and Isaac's future-paintings and all that – I quit my job. I tried to throw myself into being that person who could make a difference, who could win people over, who could save the world. Then it just...it got out of control. After I met you. All your abilities – they were too much to process. There was that haze in my head of not being able to close myself off. I thought it had something to do with dying. Then I passed out after Nathan got me out of jail."
He hesitated before going on apologetically, "I don't mean to be recounting things you already know. I'm trying to say the ability clouds up my thinking. It's hard to be my own person when everyone is so fucking overwhelming." With a sudden burst of long-repressed frustration, he spat out, "There's no choice! I can't turn it off. It just happens! Even now." He shook his head. "Well, not now. I mean before, with the swapping version. I can make it work intentionally. I have to let that haze in my head and open myself to them and for a moment be with them and for them...and then I have their ability and I can close it off again." He shook his head again. "But sometimes I run into someone, maybe even literally, and I don't know it's happened at all. Just next time I reach for the ability I had, it's gone. I might not even work out what I have instead right away."
I've talked too much. Shut up, Peter. "Does any of that make sense?"
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Sylar felt strangely honored to receive such confessions. He absorbed it all with the utmost seriousness. It both was and was not the ability's 'fault' with Peter – such a familiar story to Sylar by now, when he'd had too many abilities and secondary side-effects. He felt validated in some ways because he knew he'd been right about the damage to Peter's empathy (either the real part of the man or the ability, now apparently dulled or gone forever). For a moment, he felt some manipulative hope that perhaps Peter still couldn't control himself, then Peter clarified. It's intentional now – I bet that's the broken part. That explains a lot. It was comforting to have the similarity regardless. He understood it, the lack of control they both shared and struggled with. He wanted to say, 'Mine feels like that, too, but just the opposite,' but he knew it was off-limits. With his own ability, Sylar felt utterly misanthropic and apathetic and he had no way of knowing with assurance whether it came from himself, some part of himself magnified by the ability, or from the ability alone. There was little proof it wasn't all his own flaws: monster, boogeyman, psychopath.
There was a furrow between his eyebrows by the end. He responded quietly, with feeling. "Yes, it makes perfect sense. I was right about you," he added proudly. "Your empathy isn't the same. That must be nice for you, being here with no people." The last was self-conscious because he knew he didn't count as 'people' and Peter obviously couldn't feel any empathy for him and never intentionally would.
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Peter tilted his head back to eye Sylar. He was glad of the validation, reassured that his rambling had been heard and valued, annoyed by Sylar crowing about whatever he was right about, and irritated by the sarcastic, 'must be nice for you' quip. It was a mixed bag, leaving Peter to choose how to respond, but the morning had started well and despite a little arguing on the way to the library, things were going well. He stepped closer as they walked, reaching out with a quiet, "Come here." He took Sylar's shoulder and gave it a slow shake. "You're my people now," he said with sober confidence. Peter gave Sylar a wry smile and waved at the rest of the world with the hand not occupied by holding Sylar's shoulder. "You're...all of my people." He gave Sylar a pat before moving away to their previous, comfortable walking distance. "What's nice is being able to focus. I've never been with just one person like this. I was sort of alone with Adam, but I couldn't see him, couldn't touch him." Peter extended his nearer hand in Sylar's direction to illustrate his words, but didn't make contact. With a chuckle, he said, "I couldn't punch his lights out or the opposite. This is different. We're more accountable to each other. I like it." He looked over to see if Sylar had anything to say.
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Now I've done it, he sighed, more wary than tense. The only hot button Sylar could imagine unintentionally smacking must be Peter's precious 'people' – the man's family. He had little choice but to obey the command and allow the contact, dreading it. But Peter wasn't upset at all – a little manipulative maybe. It had Sylar introspecting and taking it seriously. He'd really give me that kind of…responsibility? He would…incl- No. He wants to save and protect his people. No pressure. Sylar nodded and faked most of a grin in response, content with…whatever the hell that meant as near as he could tell. He wasn't sure of all the details with Adam and Nathan wasn't partial, either. Sylar made a mental note to inquire about this near friendship of Peter's. There was something more pressing right now, the part about being accountable to each other. Peter even turned to him as if expecting an answer and it thrilled him. "I understand the appeal of punching someone's lights out. But being accountable…Is that like…being close to equals?" Will I believe him if he says yes?
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Why is accountability hard to understand? Lots of doubts about Sylar's moral compass flitted through Peter's head. He dismissed them, assuming he simply needed more information. "What do you mean?"
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"Like…" There was a longer pause as Sylar tried to think back to a personal example of feeling 'equal' – where he was held accountable instead of being held at horrible blame. He supposed Elle was the closest thing he'd ever had to accountability. It wasn't what he had in mind, or it wasn't a better example of what he wanted or what he thought it should be. It hadn't been what he ultimately desired. Nathan had other experiences, with peers, and even a brother. Using both personas, he said slowly, "I guess it's like when you tell Nathan he's doing something wrong? You thought you and him were almost equals? Something…similar to that." He cast a needy look at Peter, trying to answer correctly and express a desire at the same time, concerned he could never make the cut.
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"Yes!" Peter said emphatically. "That's it exactly." He walked a few strides, then elaborated, "There are...consequences to us fighting or getting along. We're not stuck in stasis. Things change. Even if it's...not exactly fast."
After a minute or so of leaving Sylar to think that over, Peter tried to change the subject to something lighter. "So, what if werewolves were real? It wouldn't even be all that complicated an ability, because all you're doing is turning into one specific animal under certain conditions. Do you think they'd still be rabid? Or could they control it and the mythology is all wrong? Maybe it was like your ability and just…hard to control at first – the Hunger, that is."
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"Wait, are you saying I'm in control of my ability or that I'm an animal?" He wasn't offended. Yet. Being called an animal or some raving, out-of-control psychotic would hardly be new insults. He was being compared to a mythological monstrous creature of destruction and fear that was arguably used towards other evil ends. It sadly summed up his recent years. "Or that I have rabies or…some other disease? If you're trying to ask about infectious diseases, you're going about it all wrong," Sylar pointed out. "I don't have any and the Shanti virus – at least, the strain I had – wasn't contagious." That should help clear up any ideas that Sylar was somehow filthy or unfit in those ways.
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"Rabies, huh? So that's why you keep biting me. I thought it was something else." Peter gave him a teasing grin at Sylar's unwarranted defensiveness. "I wasn't talking about us. I was talking about werewolves. But we can make it about us if you want. I don't have any diseases either that I know of. I get tested regularly at work and after any known, possible exposure." He hesitated. That sort of sounds like saying I'm cleared to have sex with him. And that biting thing sounds like I'm flirting. (I think I might be.) Quickly, he changed tack: "Whatever 'scraping me off the floor' you had to do for me week before last, you probably weren't exposed to anything. Thank you for that, by the way – taking care of me. That makes me...feel a lot safer."
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Sylar grumbled, but it was more towards a playful growl, "It is something else." He then snorted about Peter not being exposed, humorous in light of the fatal disease he'd nearly intentionally released some years ago. I bet they don't know about that. And I'm sure they're too stupid to know how to test for it even if they did know about it. Once more, Peter had him thinking back. I…didn't even think of that. I touch other peoples' blood all the time, he thought callously with some sadness about what he and Peter were used to. Of the undeserved gratitude, he hummed. "Still don't feel safe with me?" he noticed the phrasing. "You're a tough nut to crack, Petrelli," then smirked amusement at the pun. "Tell me more about that Adam guy."
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I don't know that I'll ever feel safe with you. How could I? Peter glanced over with a dry smile at the comment, which was replaced by attentiveness with Sylar's command. "What do you want to know?"
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Bluntly and because he noticed Peter puffing up and blushing sometimes at the intimate, personal questions, Sylar said what he wanted to know. "Did you fuck him or want to?" Even though we just established he wanted to (or wants to?) fuck everyone. Because of his ability.
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Peter laughed immediately. Sylar really wants me. Oh, wow. He really does. He's jealous. The ego boost had him grinning. "Yeah," Peter said, intentionally not answering the question the way Sylar wanted.
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Wasn't Adam a bad guy? Like, a killer? Thinking like Peter, though…how evil does he rank on Peter's scale? (He helped save Nathan – that probably gets him forgiveness for anything). He was a little too focused and agreeable to notice the ambiguous answer. "Which? You fucked him?"
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"I dunno," Peter said teasingly, "I thought you didn't want to play 20 Questions about my 'sexcapades'?"
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"I don't want to play when you're making me ask twenty questions by not answering," Sylar retorted quickly, but lightly. "It depends how willing you are to tell me filthy things," he prompted more mischievously.
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He held Sylar in suspense a moment longer, before admitting, "No sexcapades here. I wanted to, would have, but I don't think that's where he was at. Or maybe it was just me and my," Peter shrugged a little bitterly, "family." He remembered an embrace he'd shared with Adam shortly after phase-walking their way to safety. Peter had drank in the man's scent, felt his warmth and elation at being free, and he, Peter, had sank into the hug like it was everything he'd ever wanted. He'd shifted against Adam just slightly, hoping. He'd thought it was subtle, the sort of motion that could easily be explained away if it came to it, but Adam was on to him immediately. The man had moved back to put comfortable hands on Peter's shoulders and asked him if he wanted to hit a bawdy house and get drunk, or vice versa. Shame-faced, Peter had clumsily said something about how his first priority was Nathan. Adam's slightly lofted brows had expressed his doubts, but it had served to keep Peter from making any other unwelcome advances.
"I've never been with anyone who had an ability." He gave Sylar a considering look, but not because he was contemplating Sylar as a partner. Curiosity won out and he asked, "Is it any different?"
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Peter has struck out with guys before. I'll ask about that sometime: 'Hey, Peter. How do you personally seduce a guy?' Sylar noticed the attention but didn't entertain that it pertained to him (Not unless this flirting gets to him…?) His eyes fell away as he considered his experiences. He really hasn't fucked a special? The sum of his own sexcapades were neither here nor there. "Half the sex I've had was without my powers or I was in someone else's body or…I didn't know who I was. I've had…abilities used on me," he smirked humorlessly, "usually just a foreplay thing. Most of the…arrangements weren't…that kind of thing. I think it could be different," he supplied, trying to sound like had some knowledge of it. Hell, I don't even know what good/different/normal sex is. Quieter, almost a mutter as he watched the wet sidewalk, "I think it should make a difference."
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"Foreplay?" Peter asked in a leading tone. His thoughts went to Elle's frequent shocks. While electro-stim wasn't something Peter had ever tried, he'd heard of it (and of course through Elle, experienced...some). But Sylar didn't look willing to discuss it. 'Most of the arrangements weren't that kind of thing' – what does that mean? "Yeah, got it," he said as a way of dismissing his question and leaving Sylar his privacy. He looked away to underscore that he didn't need an answer, then looked back to change the subject. "You never answered about the werewolves."
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Sylar's smirk faded as Peter dismissed his own comment before Sylar could jest, 'you do remember foreplay, right, Peter?' "I have- had shapeshifting, but I couldn't turn into animals. More's the pity. I suppose there could be a specific ability that does that, but I've never heard of it. The DNA is totally different. I mean, all abilities are doing abnormal things under certain conditions - usually adrenaline, that stupid 'fight or flight.' If they were rabid…I think it would affect them in their human form," he said the last slowly, still thinking.
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Peter shrugged. "I don't think...I mean, abilities aren't something that can be explained by science as we know it. I'm not saying it's magic, but I am saying that all the physics and biology we know isn't really applicable. It's like," he thought for a moment, summoning up a memory, "there's an example I heard once, of a three-dimensional being trying to describe its world to a two-dimensional one. It just doesn't work. The two-dimensional one doesn't have the context. And I think that has to be the deal with abilities. There has to be some element of science or reality that we either can't see or haven't realized exists, that abilities tap into or operate out of."
He watched Sylar for a few strides, then shrugged again. "But you're right. Maybe the 'werewolf ability', if there was one, only turned people into big, hairy, angry humans who were prone to rampages on the nights of the full moon. Hey, come to think of it, eclipses involve the lunar position, too. I wonder if there's a connection?"
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His head came up and canted to the side. "Three dimensional being in a two dimensional world – I like that." He thought about the likelihood of Mohinder unlocking any scientific secrets of abilities. It seemed possible given his track record of success or near successes, though it always spelled trouble for current specials and enabling of the Company and its fucked up ideas. "Who knows? Stories of werewolves came before the Dark Ages where everything was scary and deadly and they didn't write anything down."
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Peter nodded in response, letting himself get lost in thought. It could be that they never turned into anything at all. Maybe their ability was to radiate fear or an emotion and it left people thinking they'd seen a monster. I suppose anything's possible, but obviously the 'spread by biting' thing wasn't true or we'd be overrun by them. People bite each other all the time. He glanced over at Sylar – specifically, the man's mouth – and failed in not thinking lewd things.
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In the silence, Sylar injected, "What do you know about Adam?" He wanted to know about this mysterious man who succeeded in catching Peter's interest.
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"Um...," Peter hedged as he pulled his brain out of the gutter, "he was four hundred years old, or maybe older. He said the first thing he remembered was washing up on the western shore of Japan in the 1600s, along with some wreckage. He told me he assumed there was a battle or maybe a storm and that his ability saved him. He didn't know about the ability then, though. He said he worked it out a little while later when he started working as a mercenary. He did that – soldier, mercenary, guard – for most of the rest of his life. He traveled a lot. He had stories about all sorts of places. He'd tell them to me through the air vent of the cell. They were nice to listen to, but...it's weird, but they didn't tell me much about him – about the kind of person he was or what he was after. He asked those things about me a lot. Then he used them to string me along."
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I bet if I asked you right now, you would tell me… "What did he ask you about?" Perhaps it was something Peter subconsciously wanted to talk about.
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"He wanted to know what was important to me. I told him and he promised me he'd get it for me. You know how it works. All I had to do was whatever he told me to do." He gave a short roll of his eyes and frowned heavily. "He saved Nathan and after that, I believed him. I believed in him. He said we were going to save the world. I'm sure he'd argue it, but as far as I'm concerned, he was lying."
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That really worked? Sylar thought with a betraying facial expression (fortunately Peter wasn't looking). Of course, I can't save Nathan himself – that probably earns the most points with him. I can't see how saving Peter or Peter's girlfriend and strangers is going to top that. With a bit of a frown, he had to ask, "Why would you want to be with someone who wanted to kill most of the world? What would he gain from that, especially since he was immortal?"
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Peter felt a twist in his gut, guilt at what he'd almost done. He grimaced and looked away, half missing a step and then recovering. "I don't. And I wasn't." He hadn't even fantasized about Adam after he'd found out what the man was trying to accomplish. A few strides later, he elaborated, "I didn't know what he was planning with the virus. I thought we were going to destroy it – no different than locking me up so I couldn't blow people up. Which I also thought was an okay idea." He looked over at Sylar for a long moment. "I'm...changing my mind about that."
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"O-oh!" Sylar scoffed in sarcastic agreement and understanding. Peter was so self-important and self-righteous. "Don't care for being locked up then – or now – do you?"
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Peter gave Sylar an odd look, not seeing what was unusual about the desire to be free. "Dangerous things...or people...you shouldn't lock them up and throw away the key." It didn't work for me. It's not going to work for you. With difficulty, Peter forced out the words, "There...has to be a better way." I just don't know what it is! He coughed to clear his throat and went on more normally. "I don't know what Adam was trying for, except that I suppose he thought he'd survive it and the world would be a better place with fewer people in it. There was a future version of me who thought the same thing, except about people with abilities – that things would be better if abilities were rare and limited." He hunched his shoulders. "I don't know if that's right. He wasn't right – that future version of me – wasn't right about a lot of things. He was the one who sent me to get your ability and...that didn't work out."
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"Of course there's a better way," Sylar blurted, his anger finally boiling over, "Just kill all the dangerous things. Or better yet, experiment on them before you kill them so that way they're actually doing something useful." He spat the rest, "Or turn them into someone who is valuable. Fuck you, Petrelli!" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. How dare Peter speak of some grand, perfect solution (which surely didn't apply to Sylar) when he'd allegedly chosen to be incarcerated here, with Sylar and now wanted 'out'? And after Peter had more-or-less told Sylar to off himself because there was no 'better way'. "You really should be more supportive of your other hero buddies since you act just like them sometimes. You already know there is no better way! Don't even think about blaming any of this on me," he pointed accusingly at Peter. "It's just us here, until we fucking die, so get used to it," he growled and stomped ahead at a faster pace, not caring if he left Peter behind for a while.
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Peter blinked in surprise, having not realized he'd hit a hot button. Then the insults started and he couldn't resist taking the bait, getting angry right back. "'Not on you'? Like you had nothing to do with any of this?" He waved the hand not holding his book at the mental prison they were both in, but Sylar was headed off and probably didn't see it. Peter quickened his pace to catch up. Sylar wasn't getting away from it this time. "Like you have nothing to do with being dangerous? You never had a choice anywhere in there? I don't believe it! I don't. I think you had choices and you made bad ones – over and over. You have to take responsibility for what you've done. It wasn't all out of your control. Not all the time. Not every time!" He hesitated there before continuing, "I know what I did for myself. It didn't always work and it wasn't always smart, but I tried. What did you do?"
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"I-!" Sylar began, defending himself against the accusation that he had no part in 'this.' In many ways, he had nothing to do with how it came about in itself, but his history, the reason he was abandoned or trapped here…he had part in that. So he shut himself up and walked faster, hunching his shoulders. It wasn't the admission of guilt and responsibility or the possession of choice or being fucked over that bothered him. It was that when he did admit to anything, he knew it would never go away – it would worsen and he'd be left out to dry. He'd become more horrible than he already was to Peter and it had already been established that there was no help. He didn't want to admit that he didn't have the answers to his own fucking power! I should know! That's what he'll say! I don't know how, I don't know why…and that won't cut it. Hell, it doesn't cut it now; he just doesn't know that. He also questioned Peter's interest, the same or different from the usual spectator sport, gory, scandalizing details that others wanted. Or was it merely to humiliate Sylar and prove some unseen point?
"I told you, I already tried everything. Besides, it sounds like you have everything figured out about me."
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Peter furrowed his brow and frowned. That left very little room for him to answer. He's dodging.
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Barely two steps later, Sylar added, "And even if I did explain to you, it still won't be fair because you won't explain yourself to me."
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I won't explain myself? What is there to explain? He pushed past the distracting curiosity, staying focused on what he was after. "Talk me through what you tried. Tell me why. Tell me how. I need to understand."
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That was enough to stop his walking. He stopped short and faced Peter, hands still in his pockets, "And what about my understanding? Huh? Or does it mean less because of who you are and what I am? Cats do not go back into the bag, Petrelli. Ignorance is bliss, trust me."
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He's still dodging. Is this the thing about the price? Soberly, Peter said, "I asked you first. You answer me, I'll answer you. Just like all our other times." He made an incline of his head to indicate his agreement with the unspoken deal.
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Sylar growled and lifted his chin, doubtful and not appreciating that he was being put on the spot first. Begrudging, angry at everything and everyone, he answered as if fulfilling a dare, "I tried prayer, suicide, avoiding human contact, cold turkey, focusing on anything else, running away, asking for help, turning myself into someone else, working for the enemy, working with the enemy, getting locked up, helping others – everything! I tried everything more than once!"
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Peter blinked several times, trying to keep up with the welter of choices and hoping Sylar wouldn't insist the list itself was his answer. "Pick one. Or... prayer. You mentioned that first. Tell me about that." Smaller chunks...
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They were half a block from Sylar's building now. "Fuck, Peter," he huffed with utmost frustration, raking a hand through his hair and stepping out into the road just to do it and have space. "This is fucked up that I have to explain this to a guy who used to have my power. No one ever grills you about it," he growled. "Did you think pause-'n-pray was going to save you in the heat of the moment? I…" Sylar looked away, down the endless, empty road. He's the first person I've ever told any of that. I think he's the first one to ask. And he wants to know about…prayer. That's more important than the rest of it? I suppose talking about suicide with someone who's suicidal isn't very special. That, and he thinks I should off myself.
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Peter glanced in the opposite direction, lips pursed in quiet shame and more than a little concern that Sylar would press him for details on his brief experience with the ability. He was silently thankful he hadn't been asked of it yet...but Sylar's turn was coming up soon, he knew.
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His voice was quieter but still hopeless; "I don't know…I locked myself in my closet for days with a Bible." It had been the one his mother insisted he keep when he'd moved out. Gabriel had stopped believing before then. In the five years he'd lived alone, he'd probably cracked it open a handful of times and only out of curiosity, always dealing with his shame and perverted temptations. "I tried talking and listening, waiting, but there was nothing there, just like before." He turned hardened eyes on Peter, "Happy now?"
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Peter looked at him for a long pause. Okay. He's tried something. His own unanswered pleas to God came to mind. He tried it...sincerely. He wanted to know more, but Sylar had fulfilled his end of the bargain. Peter gave one nod and steeled himself to answer whatever Sylar asked of him. "Your turn then. What do you want to know? Or...understand?"
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"I…" As he thought, Sylar squared off to face Peter, even though he stood apart, still standing in the road. He took a moment (and likely wasted a chance to ask something much better, some question that wasn't coming to mind right now). He frowned and shifted uncomfortably with the attention, knowing that he had to ask something and not knowing what (or if Peter would answer it properly), the cold now that they weren't moving. The entire thing was uncomfortable. Slowly, still turning it over in his head, he voiced finally, "What are you going to do with what I tell you, if I tell you anything? Why does it matter, even the things that have nothing to do with Nathan? Why is it so important for you to dig into that, of all things? Why don't you just think of me like everyone else does and accept that? It's much easier. It's…probably the right thing to do. You can't change it, you'll hate what you hear." It kept coming back to that. He needed to know the source of the interrogating interest.
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It took Peter a moment to figure out what Sylar was even asking for, though as the man continued to speak, it became clearer. "I'm not going to think of you like everyone else does because I'm not everyone else." He remembered what Sylar had said about how 'everyone else' said his name. "I'm Peter Petrelli. And you," he pointed briefly, "your name is Sylar because you told me your name was Sylar. So that's who you are. It's that simple."
He squared off right back at Sylar, though far enough away that it wasn't a confrontation, but rather a display of sincerity. "We're stuck here, like you keep saying. I want to know more about you than just your name. I want to know who you are. That includes your past. I want to know what you'd do if you got out of here. I want to know what you'd do to me if I wasn't literally the last man on Earth to you. The only way I can find that out is by finding out about you. And not just your memories – I've got those, but I don't look at them – but what you think about them and what they mean to you. What I'm going to do with the information..." he paused, having not really thought that far forward, "is just know it. Use it, maybe, to learn how to live with you."
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