Day 70, February 18, Mid-morning

Again, Sylar huffed, then rolled his eyes when Peter began to walk away. My bad, I mistook you pushing me down and yelling about your feelings as you 'asking' me for an explanation. Then Peter did turn and ask him something. He shrugged in response, "I guess so." He waited until the other was beside him before walking towards the library, like nothing had happened. It was quiet except for a light, brisk breeze. And it was awkward. He won't let it go. Will I let it go? That Peter kept to the deal and didn't overreact comforted him. He placed hands in pockets, opening his mouth a few times to speak. Finally, a couple blocks later he got out, "Deals with Petrellis are the worst kind. What…what did you think I meant?"

XXX

"That's not something I would disagree with," Peter said with a quiet sigh. He gathered his thoughts for a few strides, deciding to focus on what he thought Sylar was requesting rather than his own emotional reaction to it. "I was...thinking you were asking for something like flogging, or self-flagellation, except you needed someone else to be the one doing it to you. There's a bunch of monks that used to do that, or maybe even still do, certain orders. I'm not sure. I've heard about it, but never looked into it. I just know they talked about it in Bible history class as a way some people use or have used to purge the body of evil and drive out sinful thoughts." Peter shrugged a shoulder ambivalently. "I suppose it works. It's pain. It gives a person something else to focus on. The body releases endorphins..." Like with cutters. But I shouldn't mention that. He might think I'm saying he has a...behavioral issue or something. "Some American Indian tribes do things like that, too. And there's kink, but I didn't think that was what you meant at all."

A few more strides passed. He decided to address the interactive part of what he'd thought Sylar was aiming at, still skirting his own motivations. "Whatever you meant by 'make me pay' would have to be something that I had your permission to do. That was the 'deal' – you have to actually, you know, let me do it. It's consensual. And I realize we're not just talking 'I beat your ass and walk off'. I thought it was...a kind of emotional process you were asking for. I've been through...something like that." He looked over at Sylar inquiringly, not sure if the oblique reference to Ricky and his gang was clear enough for Sylar to follow. "Being hurt and taken care of? I know you'd need help pulling yourself together afterward. I'd have to make sure nothing happened that couldn't heal." Peter gave an amused wag of his head and half-smile. "Something I'm more qualified to do than most." There's that at least. I can be good for that, right? (Well, I thought I could be. But if I was wrong, then he doesn't need my help that way, either. And he doesn't trust me enough for any of this.)

"What I meant about it not working is even if you felt better after, like the sin was expiated somehow, it's not like I, or anyone else who lost someone they loved to you, is going to feel any different." That was all he wanted to volunteer about his own feelings on the matter. Anything more would require direct questions.

XXX

"Oh," Sylar voiced, frowning almost sadly – at least, it wasn't a frown of usual anger. Monks, Bible class, Indians, kink, consensual, emotional…It happened to Peter? (When? Who? Why?)It was a lot to take in. "That…sounds about right," he said quietly, clearing his throat, embarrassed for several reasons now and it possibly bordered on shame for his freakish masochism. "Usually there's a big emphasis on…torturing me somehow. It's easy enough to do. They're all so good at it." He was babbling and blurting things that Peter probably made too much sense of and understood better than he did himself. Roughly with some anger he didn't want to evaluate, he asked, "Why would you bother asking for my…permission?" He paused to let his thoughts come full circle because he was so close to putting it together. "You're doing what everyone else does," it was half a question. They hurt me and say they're helping (helping themselves, others, or even me). But it's really just fucked up because it doesn't help and they don't care what I want or what I need. Is that what he means by a deal? That it's okay to agree to it? Because he's going to do what he wants anyway and I'll be miserable. He agrees that it's...'the right thing to do.' Dipping his chin down a moment, Sylar skipped over his mental process and continued aloud, "I'm not picky about…surviving any given experience, but if you maim or even kill me, I can't save your girlfriend and you'd be left here alone. You know that, right?" He was appealing to what logic Peter had – both self-serving and self-sacrificing.

XXX

Peter listened without interrupting to answer. They were nearly to the library building now. "I know that," he said quietly as they mounted the steps to the big, imposing building. This place still gives me the creeps. "I'm not everyone else. If I wanted to torture you...I've had my chance. It's hollow. I don't want to. Not in reality. Stupid, angry fantasies are one thing. Actually doing things to you is another. Which is why I'd have to get your permission. It's the right thing to do. I like to think I'm the kind of person who values that." Despite what you might think. "And not the kind who hurts other people for kicks. Besides, logistically, there's no way for me to do what I thought you were asking for without you cooperating. If you don't want me doing it then we're just fighting. I don't want to fight with you. We get hurt. It's dangerous. I don't like it. It doesn't accomplish much of anything, either. It's frustrating."

"But if you wanted my...passion? I thought you were saying you wanted me angry and to show how what you've done has made me feel towards you." I must have misunderstood. But I'm not sure I did. Maybe I just moved too fast and these questions are his way of double-checking what I was up to, and that I'm not a 'maniac with no control'. He gave Sylar a level look. "Yeah, no one else is going to be the guy who killed Nathan." He looked away briefly to add, "It's always been you or me, one way or another."

XXX

He couldn't bring himself to believe this good news, not completely, not with Peter's history of lying and changing his mind. It was damn close, though. God, the idea of what Peter appeared to be offering was making his head spin with things he couldn't even name. It felt like something between them. He felt himself hardening with excitement. It would be too easy for Peter to agree and make this deal for Sylar's compliance then go off-script, with torture or worse, and justify it completely. He was still so tempted, curious even. Peter Petrelli, playing along? Giving me what I want? (He offered to take care of me after…) Could it be any more perfect? Even if Peter did accidentally slip into real torture or maiming…then the empath was smart to think ahead and he'd be correct – Sylar couldn't blame him. He would be helpless against the man's righteous, deserved rage and grief.

"Right, because it's all about me," he intoned with amused sarcasm. "You don't have to shoulder that particular burden, I'll settle for doing it for you. It's probably better that way anyway. But while you're on the subject of what I want…" Sylar snuck ahead of him to block the doorway efficiently with both arms, casual and confident, giving Peter the patented cat/canary look. "You said you didn't care what I get out of it. Are you sure about that? I want your passion…I like knowing you're feeling every emotion you can about me all at once." Once more, he raked Peter up and down with a possessive gaze. "I like the idea of getting you off in every way humanly possible within my creative if restricted means." He then rolled his eyes with a tilt of his head about the lack of powers here.

XXX

Peter pulled up, lifting his head and gazing up at Sylar blocking the way. He noticed the wandering eyes (how could he not?) To be looked at so openly and with such desire gave him an illicit thrill up his spine. He could swear the hair at the nape of his neck prickled. He swallowed and kept his own eyes fixed on Sylar's, refusing to respond to the idea of Sylar getting him off. "I might care about what you get out of it, yeah," he hedged, because it was true. Hurting Sylar solely as an exercise in gratifying Peter's darker urges – that was wrong. If it were empty of meaning and merely sadism, then Peter knew it would be sickening instead of satisfying. Sylar had to be getting something out of it to make it okay. "I'm more curious about what you get out of satisfying me. Repentance is one thing. But you've said you hate me."

XXX

Peter's reaction was impressively subtle, aside from the swallowing. Sylar gave a brief smirk. "It's not a religious thing. I told you I'm not a religious man, you may recall," that was delivered with an edge. It was yet another example of Peter not paying attention - not listening, stressful situation notwithstanding. "I'm not into any form of brainwashing," he said as they walked in towards the bookshelves. The mention of religion was a reminder and a bit of a smokescreen to lead up to what he really wanted to say. "Why do you assume it would be an 'emotional process'?"

XXX

Peter followed Sylar, sticking close and staying very attentive to the conversation. Wait a second, he's exploring this. That's why he's not dropping it and changing the subject. He's…considering it. Maybe I didn't misunderstand him at all earlier and he's the one who misunderstood me. (I was kind of over-the-top there.) This…this is serious! "Because it is an emotional process. I don't think you want to just be hurt; physical pain with nothing else. That's torture. You've had it. You didn't like it. That's not what you're asking for. You're asking for my emotions. You're asking me to be involved." He hesitated. "To…engage. Right?"

XXX

"That's ideal," he said simply, his tone intentionally blank. He had to play this right, not too eager or fucked-up in the head and, of course, Peter had to get something out of it. It felt like it might be something like a connection. We…bond over beating me up?

XXX

"Okay," Peter said, composed. "What I did earlier – I was definitely engaged, but you laughed me down." Peter pursed his lips and shifted his weight, uncomfortable to be asking this of anyone, especially Sylar, but there was no help for it. "What was I doing wrong?"

XXX

Sylar exhaled something of a snorted chuckle. "Why would I think you suddenly know how to 'play'? Forcing one-sided deals on people all the time maybe isn't the best way to go." That had been, and still was, off-putting. He didn't like it but sensed that was what would ultimately come to pass – with him agreeing to Petrelli's little cop-out deal.

XXX

Peter gave a very tight smile and nodded to acknowledge Sylar's words. He jerked his head back towards a reading area they'd passed on their way to the stacks. "I'll be over there. Come get me when you're done." He headed over and took a seat, turning up his collar and sinking into it, hands deep in his pockets as he brooded. I'm not sure what to make of this. Is this right? Wrong? I'm not even sure what he's proposing. (Sounds like he doesn't know, either.) There can't be anything wrong with me just…hating him. Or at least hating what he's done. Those are my emotions. There's nothing wrong with that. He was lost enough in his thoughts not to be paying too much attention to where Sylar was. The man was stirring around the shelves within Peter's hearing and occasionally within his line of sight, which was all Peter needed to know.

XXX

Sylar knew Peter would be stewing over the whole incident, words and all. The library had been Peter's idea. He browsed with intent for while, glancing over every few minutes just to see Peter. The little man was curled up, covered up, and looked lonely and appealing. It was the familiar razor's edge he was walking with Petrelli. Fighting with Peter Petrelli, maybe winning, possibly losing (perhaps even on purpose), experiencing pain and care, and basking in the empath's emotions, his lusts of one shade or another was a heady thought. Add some form of sex to that and it would be irresistible. It felt like the beginnings of understanding each other, of being understood – an exorcism without any deities, just the raw human power within Peter Petrelli. Sylar found himself staring at his companion through the racks of books and doing little else. Peter was paying him no attention, too absorbed in his own thoughts. Casually walking around the perimeter of the shelves, he circled around behind Peter. He trusts me enough to take his eyes off me. That boded well and excited him further. Sylar was very good at sneaking, not that he probably needed to use that skill much right now. He approached Peter, bent down and whispered not five inches from the man's delectable ear and throat, "So you admit you have fantasies. What goes on in these fantasies of yours, Peter? In any of your fantasies," he stressed.

XXX

He tensed, straightening in the chair noticeably, but not enough to bring him into contact with Sylar or change their relative positions much. Muscles corded on Peter's neck as Sylar's breath puffed past his ear. He breathed out in a rush, turning his head just enough to see Sylar out of the corner of his eye. "You…" he said huskily. Peter smiled, showing teeth as he relaxed from the moment of surprise. He didn't object. Somehow, it was hot and sexy (far more than it had any right to be) to be ambushed by Sylar. The little jolt of adrenaline was neat. So was the idea that Sylar was interested enough in him to do it. He's really happy about what we were talking about.

Peter pushed his chair back, telegraphing his motion well enough that Sylar had plenty of time to move out of the way. He turned in his seat, looking Sylar up and down as he considered the very personal question. "You want to know what gets me off?" He never answered about why he wants to know that. Peter had an active imagination and at times, a healthy libido. There was no shortage of things he might relate, should he want to. But then there was the matter of what his audience might like to hear. Talking about tearing Sylar a new one wasn't going to go over well. Peter was feeling buoyed enough by how their conversation had gone to flirt back. "My most recent favorite has you on your knees, sucking me off," he stated baldly, watching Sylar closely for his reaction. "You're looking up at me. You have this expression on your face that's hard to describe, but it's really the key to the whole thing. It's like…angry and eager at the same time." He smiled slightly.

XXX

Sylar didn't encourage the revelation further; he merely waited, unmoving. There was a little surprise at how unsurprised Peter was. I doubt he was testing me. He wasn't particular about what type of fantasy he heard just now, just some symbolism that he was burrowed deep in Petrelli's brain. Peter was like the ultimate drug dispensary – push a button, make a comment, ask a question, a little touch here…and the man reacted and emoted. The fantasy was sexual and approximately what he anticipated in the most basic sense. It was devoid of much detail to better gauge it and he wondered if that was intentional or just Peter's typical lack of planning. I bet sex with him is chaos, he thought with some judgment. There was an interesting key point; Peter even singled it out: My face. The thought was a restatement. My face? My expression. He reads my face, doesn't he? Or tries to. That's why he looks at me so often. He's actually paying attention. It was interesting in a way that was nearly irrelevant to sex or power, but of course, they did factor in. On my knees – submission. Sucking him off – humiliation. Eye contact – clear submission. Probably no hands. I'm angry because of something he's doing or just because I have to do it? And I'm eager…Huh. He didn't make much of that but he did note it. It was so barren of any explicit malice.

Sylar didn't react much; a single slow blink, a glance down to Peter's zipper but there was nothing to see, then looking back to the eyes. Peter was still seated, did that mean he was expectant? "You want a blowjob?" Sylar asked, aiming for 'sexy' but confusion tingeing his voice slightly. That was the relevant question he had to ask, but he wanted to know why his face, his expressionwas so important – it mattered to the man who used to be able to change his face and never expected it to be the source of fantasy, not in this way. It's specific to me because I'm me, I assume. That's all he wants? It's so…so tame. He wasn't certain if he should feel disappointment at the admission.

XXX

Does he think I meant I wanted one right now?! The answer was 'no' in any case. A fantasy was a fantasy. Peter shook his head. "Despite what my family thinks, I know the difference between daydreams and reality." He did note, though, the absence of indicators of negativity from Sylar. There was no laughter, no 'fat chance of that ever happening', no scoffing. The question and the look at his crotch seemed to be halfway to an offer. Peter filed that away, next to Sylar's previous almost-an-offer of a massage and his statements appreciating Peter's 'passion'.

XXX

Sylar straightened, rolled his eyes, and dropped it with a sardonic, "Right." He didn't want to let it pass completely, not without pushing for more. Reaching out to cover the small distance between them, he slid his fingers into Peter's lush hair, brushing the scalp. He didn't care if it was 'allowed' but Peter had shown in the past that his hair wasn't off limits (how could it be, with the man parading it around). Sylar lingered, petting for a moment. The hair was a beautiful deepest dark brown that was almost black, soft and thick. Sometimes he would have the urge to groom the man's hair when it fell just right around his neck, clothing, ear, or face. He knew when he drew his hand away it would likely smell of Peter or his hair products; either was sufficient. With Peter sitting like this it made Sylar feel that he was petting Peter for his recent good behavior, which amused him even though the empath was far from being his pet or his property. His hand stroked free of the hair before he could lose himself in...whatever highly perverted thing he was doing or cross into Peter's idea of unacceptable. Turning back the way he'd come, he intended to get back to at least scanning the titles of the books over there.

XXX

Peter saw the hand coming in; wondered what the hell Sylar thought he was doing in being so familiar. After a few seconds, Peter shook his head as though to dislodge Sylar's hand, but he didn't do it decisively or strongly, because honestly, Peter didn't mind. He rather liked it, despite and because of the familiarity. When Sylar didn't let himself be brushed off that easily, Peter's expression shifted from annoyed to…accepting. Peter had made his token objection and could simply enjoy it now, being with someone in such a small way. He looked up at Sylar with attention, studying his face. He likes this. He almost never touches me in a way that's not strictly practical. Is it my hair? That's what he wanted to touch for that New Year's Eve dare. Or is it some big brother thing from Nathan? Because the stuff he does verbally, talking like Nathan, probably isn't the only thing – there'd be behaviors, too. Nathan usually grabbed my shoulder, though. I think this is Sylar, not something from Nathan. That's cool. He watched as Sylar ended the confusing, but pleasant, contact and headed back to the books.

Peter swallowed and straightened in his chair, mood buoyed. He wanted more of that, even though he didn't want to ask for it. Not from Sylar. He called out, "You haven't said what you had in mind. You're a lot more likely to get it if you do."

XXX

Nearly in the aisle, Sylar paused, tilting his head. He considered that request and other things associated with it. He really likes me to say things, aloud, doesn't he? I can't blame him entirely because of his constant misunderstandings. Does it make it more real for him or something? He likes my admissions, my…secrets. It was the exact opposite of Gabriel's upbringing, where genuine discussion and asking questions was severely frowned upon, by now, it was a deeply ingrained habit or belief system. Peter had always been this way, regardless of any Petrelli disciplines.

And what was this about the likelihood of satisfying his needs and wants? Historically, it was the opposite for that, too. The likelihood of Peter switching to torture down the road was treated as a 'when', not an 'if.' With that in mind, Peter knowing exactly what Sylar wanted would backfire with horrible consequences and he would be assured of never getting what he wanted. He'd more or less assumed that agreeing with the other man's description of 'what he had in mind' had been sufficient – again, Petrelli misunderstandings and interrogations. He was left feeling…vulnerable. I don't know that I know what I have in mind. It still circled back to why Peter wasn't doing whatever Peter fucking wanted to do, instead of this overly polite asking-for-permission going on. "Hmm," Sylar hummed assent, at least to the first part of the request. He was aware of where things stood. It was both a pressure and a comfort to be somewhat 'in charge' for the moment because Peter wouldn't proceed without him and he wanted to enjoy that feeling.

XXX

Peter sighed, sinking back in his chair at the non-answer. We're doing the same thing here – wanting things from each other, not wanting to admit it. Does he have the same reason? Doesn't want to ask for things from someone whose brother he killed? (He shouldn't go around killing people, then.) Stubborn as ever, Peter tried another tack. "What do you get out of satisfying me?"

XXX

Again, Sylar paused mid-read of a sideways book cover. He concealed the pause by keeping it brief and only glancing at Peter from the corner of his eye. It was a good question, even if Peter was somewhat foolish to press it. "If you understood the game you would know that, Petrelli," he began in a warning tone. "There are many reasons, most of them too complicated to explain. I suppose you could say it amuses me." That much was true. "Besides, this is better than any of the offers and ideas you haven't had."

XXX

"The game, right!" Peter said sarcastically and much too loudly in the quiet library. He huffed at the way his voice echoed, but it only made him double-down. "It's that game where I can do whatever I want and you'll adjust, but you won't tell me the rules other than to tell me I'm not doing it right. What part of 'I can do whatever I want' am I not doing right, Sylar?" His eyes bored into the back of Sylar's head.

XXX

Sylar sighed, then turned to glare. "How about all of it, Petrelli?" That was the source of the entire misunderstanding. If Peter was doing what he wanted, then why did the rules matter to him?

XXX

"You know, I'm thinking the game might be you trying to coerce me into acting different for you. Like, you'll only approve of me if I play by your rules. It's a bait-and-switch. I've seen this before, Sylar. You know the house I grew up in. I've played that game before. I moved out, became a nurse, talked Nathan into taking the case against him, and eventually I tried to kill the son of a bitch. You're not even related to me. You're not my mentor like Claude-" Peter paused in his rant to roll his eyes, "like I wanted Claude to be. You didn't save Nathan's life like Adam did. You're not my niece's adoptive father like Noah. You're the guy who killed my brother. There's no reason why I should put up with your shit. Quit fucking around with me!" All of this was angrily said without rising from his chair or even significantly changing position. His hands were back in his pockets. The lack of body language was because he felt painted into a corner, disregarded, and disrespected. "I'm not a kid! And if I'm too stupid to understand your over-complicated crap, then you'd better use that big brain of yours to cut it down to little words that I can understand!"

XXX

Sylar lifted his head and straightened back and shoulders as his expression shifted to annoyed. There was a significant grain of truth to what Peter said, he realized quickly. (Yes, why am I trying to get him to act differently?) Because I don't measure up to being anything for him, not a brother, a savior, an acquaintance, nothing. He can't be normal with me, so I have to…change the situation so he can interact with me. In the back of his mind, he noted the lack of gesturing with Peter's apparent anger but he was more involved with figuring out his own motives (if Peter's accusation required any defense) and what his response should be. (Arthur – he thinks I'm channeling Arthur? Who he didn't specifically name, not even as 'Dad.' Huh). Why would my approval matter?

"You're right!" Sylar bit out, more harshly and defensively than he felt. He breathed harder for a moment, just staring at the other man. It sounded like an admission to fucking around with Peter and intentionally treating Peter like a kid; perhaps he had been. I'm not like any of his other, good people who do good things.

Sylar disliked being put on the spot for this and having to articulate what he felt could barely be explained. "If you want my approval, such as it is, then act like a fucking hero. Or a villain, I don't care. This good-guy, middle of the road crap doesn't work because…because I'm me. Everything you've done shows that I-I'm…" I'm so far away from ever being okay with you, he couldn't say. "I expect you to know the rules because you're smart enough to figure them out and I don't know if it's something anyone can teach. I had to learn them myself and by the time I did…" Sylar pursed his lips over a grimace, glancing away with a bitter snorted laugh, "It was practically useless because it's a fucking…game, Petrelli. The rules are in your favor. I hate the rules. I always have. Why would I enjoy talking about them? They're part of the reason I…" Another set of pursed lips cut him off from describing his lifelong struggle. "The Peter Petrelli I know wouldn't ask me if I was 'okay,' if I was comfortable. He wouldn't ask how I wanted to be tortured," that was delivered in a building growl. "He sure as hell wouldn't give a shit of what I approve of."

XXX

Peter shifted his chair so he could study Sylar as the other man spoke. He was very focused on him. It's like he's talking about social rules of high school – the soshes, the jocks, the nerds – who's on top of the social hierarchy and who's not. Peter's lips tensed and brows pulled together. The society of specials isn't all that different – the Company are the teachers and hall monitors, the heroes are the popular kids who can get away with anything and the villains...can't. He cocked his head a little as Sylar wrapped up.

"That's not the Peter Petrelli sitting in front of you. It's the one in your head that you're thinking of – the one you have memories of, the one you ran into a few times while we were trying to destroy or save the world. It's not the Peter Petrelli who has lived with you for the last couple months or who expects to be dealing with you for months or years to come. That Peter Petrelli does care if you're okay and what you approve of, because he's not as stupid as you think he is. He's not- I'm not going to torture you when I have to deal with you tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. Or when I have to depend on you to be the one there for me when I need scraping off the floor. You are that person now, Sylar. We're not going back to being strangers just because that's what you've always known." He was quiet for a long moment before adding, "I've mentioned this before, but here it is again: Nathan didn't really know me. A twelve year age gap meant there was a lot we never shared and we sure as hell never shared it as equals. He knew me just as much as he wanted to and that was it. If you have this image in your head that's coming from him? It's wrong."

XXX

Sylar crossed his arms with a roll of his eyes and a sigh. He knew Peter was defending himself as he felt he needed to but it was far from the point – it was off topic. And he halfway embraced it so he could delay voicing what he wanted from the man. "Quit trying to put words in my mouth. You're obviously not stupid. You do stupid things and you have moments of stupidity but I'm not stupid enough to discount what /I-/…What Nathan and I know about your stubbornness." That ended his irritated bickering portion.

XXX

Peter frowned at him, but held his peace. He'd made his point and Sylar seemed to have absorbed it.

XXX

"Don't tell me what I know! I've got…fuck, four people? More? In my head," he pointed viciously at his own temple. "I know you as m-…" he took a longer pause to regroup. "I've told you before how confusing that is. I know so much more than he ever did, Peter. While he may not have had a use for you, I do." Now his voice was cajoling, inviting, sharing his plans and views, desiring Peter to be on his side and intentionally not mentioning the love Nathan had harbored for Peter, in his own, neglectful way. "I see your potential. All of it; I'm not blind." His arms dropped to his sides as he walked forward, towards Peter a few paces. Peter was as dangerous as he was useful – a temporarily evenly balanced scale ready to be tipped in either direction at any minute. "I know how things work. I know what I want," he insisted, voice deep with internal thought and seduction to include Peter.

XXX

Peter shifted his chair another quarter-turn to get closer to facing Sylar. His eyes were engaged – with Sylar's hands and posture, but mostly with his face and his eyes. Sylar was radiating a lower-key version of that focus, that aura, that so turned Peter on at times. He swallowed, mouth dry. "My potential? You've mentioned that before." He doesn't mean fucking me. That's not the use he means. He's the one who said, 'The world ain't seen nothing yet' on the roof at Mercy. That was Sylar. Peter cocked his head slightly, thinking. He was still looking up at Sylar, working his way through what the man meant. The biggest potential I've ever had was when I could hold so many abilities all at once. "You think you could fix my ability, don't you?" Peter asked it wonderingly, not even sure if he would accept that from Sylar (or anyone) if it were possible. He'd never thought about Sylar doing anything with Peter's ability besides killing him for it, but now that he did, he could see why that would fascinate Sylar and why it made Peter unique beyond all others.

But does he want me, or just my ability? Are the two even separable? I don't think they are. Carefully, Peter said, "You could take it and maybe use it…better." He didn't know if 'better' meant the fully powered version, to gain abilities by borrowing them rather than killing people, or just being smarter about how he used it. In any case, it would be a huge addition to Sylar's repertoire. "Is that the…use…you have for me?" Peter asked warily. "An ability on tap for you?" If so, it shed a different, more disappointing light on Sylar's comments regarding Peter's broken empathy. If that's true, then he wasn't asking about me; he was asking if my ability was intact for him to…harvest.

XXX

Sylar blinked once, slowly, applying his patience. I assume he isn't offering himself up that way, but the thought was tinged with a little doubt because Peter would like to be a martyr. Fortunately he didn't need to beat around any bushes to reply. It was simpler to answer this insecurity. "Like I told you before, I don't want your ability. For a number of reasons. I have many other uses for you."

XXX

"Okay," Peter nodded, noting the lack of comment about Sylar fixing Peter's ability. It wasn't something Peter wanted to dig at, though – not until he'd thought more about it himself. He moved on to a more current interest. "That's what you get out of satisfying me then, isn't it?" Slowly, Peter added, "I'm worth something to you. And me happy, liking you, and enjoying being with you is worth something to you, too." Peter studied Sylar, weighing the answer and feeling it out in his mind. It fit. It was good enough. It made sense. Despite how abrasive, confrontational, and defensive Sylar was, he needed Peter's 'engagement'. He's just crap at arranging it, so he's offering to let me hurt him because that's what he thinks turns my crank – my passion. He nodded again and moved on without requiring confirmation from Sylar. "What do you mean by having four people in your head? There's more than just Nathan?"

XXX

Sylar looked aside, hastily trying to piece together Peter's thought process that led him to that apparent conclusion. It didn't sound like Peter misunderstood something important that Sylar would later have to correct – that was relevant because Peter had grasped the his point and if there was no cause to argue, then Sylar was content to let it lie. It seemed too easy, getting Peter where he wanted him. Suspicion gnawed at him. Sylar wasn't certain he should agree to that in its entirety. Wait, he 'likes' me now? No. No, he doesn't. (It's worth a lot to me, actually). He was stuck on that, his own response, before Peter moved on. "No, not…It's different. Just…people that I knew. It…used to happen when I shapeshifted." That doesn't make me sound any less crazy.

XXX

Peter's eyes widened as he thought he realized what Sylar meant. "You'd get their memories when you shapeshifted into them?"

XXX

"Oh, God, no." Sylar shook his head as a shiver ran down his spine at the very thought. Imagine how fucked up I would be if that was the case. I would barely be able to use it. I don't even know if I could use it now, not that I'd have much choice. His heart beat faster as he was unable to think of anything but his body painfully, unwillingly turning from form to form at random, often staying that way on its own. Maybe if I explain it, he'll drop it…(Like that ever works). "It's more of their…body affecting the mind – my mind – with their personality and the feeling of being that person. It," he took a deeper breath, "gets worse the longer I stay…that way."

XXX

"Oh. That makes more sense, but I can't really say why. Abilities do so many things already. I didn't expect to get your memories when I-" He exhaled slowly, not finishing. "That must have been really fucked up then, to be shapeshifted as Nathan for weeks while having to deal with thinking you were him." Peter's brows drew together slightly in compassion. "Is that anything I can help you with?"

XXX

Many nameless emotions burst, sizzled, and swirled through him lightening quick. It was…strange, he decided, to have someone appear to understand what that had been like and voice it. It sounded like sympathy, well-deserved, and Peter definitely deserved to give it, but he couldn't stand pity. All his muscles felt tight. "No," he rasped, sounding less offended than he was, and feeling less than he thought he should.

XXX

"Okay," Peter said softly. "If you want to go pick some books," Peter offered, "I'll wait here." His main question had been answered – why Sylar would pursue Peter's happiness. It left a lot to consider and ramifications to explore. The details of 'how' were murky, too, but Peter was going to leave that alone for the time being. He found it likely that Sylar didn't know either and the whole 'rules' thing was just a cover for ignorance. At least he hoped it was, because if Sylar had a plan and wouldn't share it, then he was a bigger asshole (and possibly dangerous) than if he were simply trying to pretend to know what was going on.

XXX

All the acquiescence was making his head spin. He kept it together on the outside, nodding and disappearing because he'd needed space twenty minutes ago. Sylar perched upstairs, angled behind and to Peter's left to keep an eye on him and not be seen. He wasn't here for books. Curled in on himself, elbows around bent knees over crossed ankles, he felt completely vulnerable and pathetic because of it. What should he feel at the possibility of getting what he wanted? It was both exciting and terrifying with a lingering sense of self-disgust. I should think it's fucked up for Peter to agree at all, let alone as quick as he did. (What does that do to my opinion of him? He said he'd take care of me after. He knows I'm not…normal). Does this mean I owe him? His stare at Peter became shrewder.

Does that include sex? It would be easy to seduce him that way, make him think he's getting what he wants. (He'd 'take care of me' after that, too?) How do I get around this 'deal'? (It's no different than saying I'd fuck him however, whenever, wherever). Does he know what he's…agreeing to? (No. How could he, I haven't told him yet). I look like a pussy for taking so long. (He's the closest thing to a connection I'll ever have. I'm not alone anymore). Sylar knew that in assuming this role, he would never be anything more to Peter. That was saddening but it was also the price to be paid. There was no way he could resist this double-edged temptation even knowing it was going to spiral out of control. It was an arrangement, not a relationship, and it was a familiar struggle. It would take longer than a few minutes to shove Nathan from his consciousness. I'm barely anything to him.

XXX

Peter waited quietly, picking at the edge of the table and trying to keep his mind blank. He failed after a while. If he thinks he can fix my ability, then what's the deal with wanting this…passion from me? Wait, what if that's the key to fixing my ability? What was it he said? Something about me feeling every emotion about him all at once. That's...that's how my old ability worked – feeling things about people. If that's the case, shouldn't it have already worked, flipped a switch and given me back my old power? No, I was...I was always controlling it. I didn't want to get carried away, there at Mercy. I had to get Nathan back, so no matter how much I hated him, I was channeling it, holding down my feelings so I could do what I had to do. What would happen if he got me to really let go? But I'm not going to do that here either, because I've got to make sure I don't hurt him too bad. If hurting him is what I'm supposed to be doing. This better not be another way for him to try to get laid.

Peter cocked his head, listening. It had been a long time since he'd heard anything from Sylar. There was no whisper of the man's shoes against the floor, no shuffling of books as he pulled one out or replaced it. Either the guy was reading avidly somewhere, or he'd left. Without rising or turning his chair, Peter shifted to look around him, obviously checking behind him because Sylar hadn't been in his line of sight for quite a while.

He caught sight of a knee, elbow, and a shock of Sylar's hair. The man was sitting on the landing of the next level, almost entirely hidden. But Peter could see enough to tell Sylar wasn't reading a book. He's just sitting there. Folded in on himself. Peter turned back, thinking through their day. It had been stressful, to say the least – ups and downs, things realized and incorrectly acted upon, invitations issued and then retracted, the relationship renegotiated without enough specifics to know what either of them was agreeing to...except that they were both agreeing to try to work something out. That much, Peter was sure of. And now, he's hiding. He rose from the table, intending to find out what was going on.