Title: Knowing
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Words: 1,000
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Peter knows how scary Sylar is.
Sylar got into bed with the same awkward, stiff manner as he had the night before – no eye contact that Peter could meet, only a profile of his face in the dimness. At least this time when Peter touched his arm, there was no flinch. Instead, Sylar drew in a breath, turned to face Peter, and began to slide downward.
"No," Peter said firmly, grabbing Sylar's upper arm. Sylar stopped. Peter released his grip. "Not tonight."
Sylar's lips pressed together carefully and he made a dip of his head that might have been a nod, or merely hiding his face. It had to be hiding his face, because he kept doing it as he returned to his previous position, as though preparing to sleep.
Peter wasn't done, though. "You wanted to sleep together, for company, so you're not alone." Sylar didn't respond beyond sliding his eyes in Peter's direction without turning his head. "Last night we slept close, holding each other. Or I can be over here, where I am now. Or on the other side of the bed. Which do you prefer?"
"I … whichever you want, Peter."
"I want to know which you prefer."
Sylar's brows lowered for a moment as he finally turned his head a little to face Peter, more or less. "I prefer whichever you want."
Peter chuckled at the idea of them fighting over something like this. He decided to ignore Sylar's challenging tone. It was hard to take it seriously when they were lying next to each other in bed, discussing how much snuggling they might do that night. "Okay. I can sleep any of those ways, but if I start on the other side of the bed, I'm most likely going to be on top of you by the end of the night." Sylar raised a brow. "Okay," Peter amended, "maybe not on top of you. Probably. But next to you. My point being that if you're okay with me close, then I'd rather start there … if I'm welcome." Sylar said nothing, but his actions spoke loudly enough – he scooted over a few inches nearer.
Peter arranged himself as he had the night before, arms prepared to loosely encircle Sylar's upper body, his leg hooking over Sylar's. Sylar settled himself in, but it was a few inches further away than the previous evening. Peter made a mental note of that, adding it to the short list of things he was sure Sylar was okay with, or perhaps even enjoyed.
He leaned over the short distance to touch the tip of his nose to Sylar's forehead before pulling back. "I'm trying to find what we can both enjoy. So the things we do make us both happy."
Sylar looked at him, utterly baffled. "Why? I'll give you whatever you want."
"I want you happy!" From his expression, Peter's answer wasn't convincing. He tried another tack. "You're not going to stay with me long-term if this is miserable for you."
"I have nowhere else to go, Peter." Sylar still looked confused, but there seemed to be some understanding there as well. "No one else to be with. You're safe. You can do whatever you want."
"I am," Peter insisted. "Making you happy is what I want."
Sylar searched Peter's face, then dropped his gaze to Peter's arm. He touched over it gently, his expression concerned and thoughtful. Peter enjoyed the simple touch and wondered how much had gotten through to Sylar. Did he think Peter was telling the truth, or just another in a long line of people trying to manipulate him? It left Peter feeling vulnerable and helpless, wondering if he was trying to tackle something too big. What if it was impossible to ever convince Sylar of his sincerity? With a depressed sigh, Peter asked, "When we're out of here, are you going to kill me to make sure no one knows about us?"
Sylar stiffened, looking at him with alarm. "No!"
Peter nodded to himself. As gratifying as Sylar's outrage was, it was no more convincing to him than his good intentions were to Sylar. He was still so afraid of what might happen when they got out. If Sylar couldn't believe Peter wanted to please him, when they were lovers, then what hope was there for them?
Sylar asked, "You're with me and you think I would do that?"
Peter made a small, ashamed shrug. "I'm just trying to be realistic. No … rose-colored glasses."
"Killing someone who has shared themselves with you like you have is a terrible thing. Horrific. You think I would sink that low?"
Peter's eyes lifted slowly to Sylar's. A lot of thoughts ran through his head. The obvious and reassuring 'no' just didn't fit. There was something odd in Sylar's pronounced disgust. It wasn't that unreasonable a thing to worry about when dealing with a serial killer whose profile you not only fit, but who had tried to kill you before. Peter's eyes narrowed. This was the man who had murdered Peter's brother and was now being dismissive of Peter's concern. Peter wasn't going to lie – not about this or anything else. "Yes."
Sylar met his eyes in a level gaze for several seconds, but he blinked first. "I did," he said, looking to the side with something like a snarl on his face. "You shouldn't be here with me, Peter. It's not safe."
"I think we've already covered that I'm aware of that," Peter said dryly. It was chilling to have that confirmed. He wanted to know the details, but more than that, he was tired of being horrified by Sylar. "It's not that I don't care – I do. I'm not naïve and I'm not suicidal. I need you to stop pretending to both of us that your needs don't matter. Because they do, and I'm going to die if you never trust me enough to be honest."
Sylar stared at him, his eyes a little too wide. He said nothing. Peter just wanted to go to sleep. The whole thing was emotionally exhausting. He exhaled, cuddled Sylar closer, and shut his eyes. He didn't see the wondering stare Sylar sent his way, followed by blinking, opening his mouth to speak, then shutting it before finally settling into the new position.