Title: Venting
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Words: 1,500
Rating: R
Warnings: None.
Setting: The Wall
Summary: They argue.

"Since I have been here," Peter said, "I have not made any serious attempt to kill you. We've fought. I've lashed out in anger or fear or because you started it. But the fact that you're here with all your fingers and toes, both eyes, and nothing wrong with you is because even at my angriest, I know I shouldn't murder someone!"

"Get off your high horse, Petrelli. You're lying and we both know it."

"If I wanted you dead, Sylar, then you'd be dead! How many times do I have to say that?"

"Actions speak louder than words."

"What?" Peter looked confused. "The concussion?"

Viciously, Sylar snapped, "You used your ability and tried to wipe me out! Is that somehow not death to you?"

"That- but-" Peter hesitated, then raised his mobile brows. "That wasn't what I was going for. Remember the drugs? And you seemed pretty fucking gung-ho about it at the time. And it didn't take. And it was before I came here. Three strikes, you're out!"

Sylar barked a single, loud, angry laugh. "So you think I asked you to kill me, is that it?"

Peter bobbed his head to the side and shot his eyes that way as well for a moment. "That's exactly what you told me to do. Yes, Sylar."

"You proposed a one-sided deal." Sylar got in his face, teeth bared. "I'd rather die." He glared until Peter faltered, then said, "That's what I meant in context and you know it!"

"It was still before I came here," Peter said, not backing down an inch.

"So it doesn't count? Is that it?" Sylar jeered, putting some distance between them again. "How about everyone I killed doesn't count either, because they were before all of this, too!"

"What are we even arguing about here?" Peter threw his arms up in frustration. "I was trying to say we're both basically safe with each other!"

"I'm saying you're lying! I'm not buying the Petrelli bullshit this time!"

Peter hesitated again, looking lost as his eyes darted back and forth across the floor. He looked up. "What? Seriously – what, Sylar?"

"I told you!"

"You told me something that happened before I came here. But I don't think you'd be acting this way about that. It's something different. What is it?"

Sylar narrowed his eyes at Peter for a long moment. Slowly he said, "You grabbed me with your hand. You used your ability on me. And you tried to wipe me out."

Peter was still hopelessly lost. "When?"

"In the rec room. I beat you unconscious for it!"

Peter flinched and compulsively touched the back of his head. "I don't remember that." Sylar gave him a very doubting look. Peter went on, "I'm not denying it happened. You're telling the truth. I'm telling the truth. You wouldn't lie to me about something like this! I know you. That's not how you act."

"Of course not. I'm not a real Petrelli, I just play one on TV."

Peter gave him a sour look for the interjection, but went on, "I remember … reading that book," he shook his head, "and then the next stuff was just disjointed – you taking care of me after I'd been fucked up."

Sylar gave him a long look, then asked, "All this time, you didn't know? You thought I just snapped and beat you within an inch of your life because …?" He lifted his brows in question.

Peter shrugged. "I didn't know! I was fucked up. You were helping me. Nothing made sense. I sure as hell wasn't going to go pissing you off when I could barely keep from pissing myself. I just tried not to be a problem."

Sylar was still staring at Peter intently. Dryly he observed, "You didn't do a very good job."

"Well, you didn't kill me, so it must have been good enough." Peter shrugged one shoulder this time. "Why … did I do that, though? Try to," he waved his hand to indicate it, "use an ability on you?"

"How would I know, Petrelli? You woke up and attacked me." But Sylar's tone had calmed remarkably. He was still watching Peter suspiciously, but he sounded almost conversational now, rather than agitated and lashing out as he had been before.

"I woke up? I was asleep?"

"You woke," Sylar paused, seeming to consider his words, or word, in this case, "up."

"Tell me what happened."

Sylar put his thoughts aside and described it. "You were reading on the couch, as you remember. You put the book down and fell asleep. You were having … a nightmare. You grabbed me in your sleep. You used your ability."

"In my sleep?"

"Listen!" Sylar snapped, getting louder for that one word. Peter shut up and obeyed. "I shook you off. You woke up. You paced. You yelled about how you didn't need me conscious for whatever it was you were going to do, then you came at me again, trying to do the same thing. You were awake. You knew what you were doing! I should have killed you for it!"

Peter was pale and quiet. His swallow was noisy. "Why didn't you?"

"I beat you so badly, you threw up on yourself," Sylar snarled. "It was disgusting. I didn't want to get your filth on my hands."

Still subdued, Peter asked, "What happened then?"

"I left you until the next day, when I found you huddled in a corner, unable to take even the most basic care of yourself. You know the rest."

"It was the next day?" Peter's voice was faltering.

"Yes, Peter. I left you there overnight to wallow in your own puke and blood. I thought you'd do your 'physician, heal thyself' thing, but I'd forgotten Petrellis never clean up their own messes."

"That's not fair."

"Neither was you attacking me out of the blue!"

Peter bit his lips and hunched his shoulders, shifting his weight a little. "How can you sleep with me, Sylar?" He looked up to quickly add, "I'm not threatening that or saying we shouldn't, but if I did that to you, then how can you … what if I do something like that again?"

"You were awake the second time you did it. Clearly awake. If you do it again, you won't be sleeping with anyone."

"And … yeah. Okay." He was quiet for a moment, looking down at his hand. "I wish I remembered. I didn't even know I could do anything here – with my ability."

"Don't bullshit me, Peter."

"I'm not, Sylar."

"You told me you have … tingles or something like that. When you showed up, you tried to get us out of here and something happened then, too. You can do something and you know it. Now, you might be too incompetent to know what it is or how to trigger it, but you have the ability." Sylar said it so matter-of-factly that it didn't even sound insulting.

"Okay, yeah, I have something. But trying to use it is stupid. Not unless you agree. And even then it would be stupid."

"You didn't care about my consent then, or the time before it."

Peter sat down, shoulders drooping. "I'm sorry."

"That … shouldn't make it better." Sylar sounded angry, pent-up.

Peter shook his head. "It doesn't. What makes it 'better' is you telling me about this, us believing each other, and," Peter sighed, "trying to work together to figure out how to never have it happen again."

Sylar lunged at Peter, going from casual to full assault in a second. He slammed his hands into Peter's shoulders hard enough he almost knocked over the chair with Peter in it. "DON'T DO IT AGAIN!"

Peter jumped, like any normal human being would at the sudden attack, but then his lip curled. "Don't tell me what to do."

Sylar shoved, rocking the chair again, and stalked away. "Then how does this work, Petrelli? You tell me!"

"I could sleep with restraints."

Sylar stopped and spun to face Peter, studying him. "You're serious."

"It's," Peter looked uncomfortable, "an idea."

"Could you handle that?"

Peter exhaled heavily. "Probably not. But maybe. If I had to. If you were … alright … about it."

"It's not sexy for you, is it?"

Peter shook his head with a tiny, tense shake.

Sylar sighed. "Too bad. Other ideas?"

"I don't know! I'm assuming sleeping apart is off the table." Sylar said nothing, but tensed enough that Peter went on, "Is there some way I could be depowered?"

Sylar laughed hollowly. "How fitting that you supposedly have Matt Parkman's power."

"Supposedly?" Peter scowled. "But fine, can his ability take away powers?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I had that information from him directly, while he was highly incentivized not to lie. If he could have done it, he would have. And killed me immediately after, which he obviously didn't do, so there's your answer."

Now it was Peter's turn to study Sylar. Though eventually, he nodded. "Okay. I don't know what else. Gloves, maybe."

"Does your power require skin-to-skin contact?"

"Not really. Touching through clothing has worked before, so you're right – gloves probably wouldn't work. Maybe boxing gloves, though. There has to be some degree of padding it won't get through. But … I don't know what to suggest here, Sylar."

Sylar let out a deep breath. "Neither do I, Peter. That's why I hadn't brought it up until your little self-righteous, holier-than-thou spiel."

"Yeah, that was wrong."

"You say that, even though you can't remember what it was you did?"

"Yes, I say that. I trust you, Sylar."

"That's all we have to rely on anyway."