A/N Peter has convinced a worn-out Sylar to take a holiday with him, and after careful consideration they chose a lovely little holiday resort, Amity Island...

Also, I'm not sure how they happened to be in this setting, maybe they time traveled, maybe it's just not important, and hopefully you can read this without thinking too much into it... Anyway, enjoy :)

SYLAR GOES TO THE BEACH (JAWS)

People are screaming, running, the beach is a crowded hoard of trampling feet and mass hysteria. Everyone is blinded by terror and fear, and all they can think is toget out of the water.

But Sylar tries to ignore them. He frowns behind his sunglasses and focuses his attention deeper on his book, trying to block out the noise as best as he can. He doesn't go on holiday often, and it irritates him that the one time he's actually doing nothing but try to relax innocently in the sun,this has to go and spoil it.

"We can't just sit here, we have to do something!"

"I thought the whole point of this holiday was to do exactly nothing." Sylar states, surveying Peter over the top of his shades. His partner's creased brow and pursed lips clearly state his disapproval, but it's true: that was what they agreed on. It's obvious he wants to jump up and help shepherd these people to safety, and Sylar smiles a little at that never faltering goodness. Then goes back to his book and spares no further thought to the panic-stricken crowd.

He works very hard at what he does, and deserves a break now and then, just like everyone else. Killing really can take a lot out of a guy. He hadn't even noticed how desperately he needed a break until Peter had coaxed him into booking a week here. The couple thought that Amity Island would be the perfect escape from all things special and company-related. They knew the warnings, as did everyone, but unlike ordinary people, they knew an attack such as this wouldn't mean a thing to them. Unfortunately, they just hadn't considered how much it would mean to the other holiday-goers, and therefore of course would affect them by association.

Sylar has been itching to get down here since arriving last night, but Peter had insisted they spend the night at the hotel instead. True, it had turned out to be a very productive night, but now Sylar will be furious if all he gets is fifteen minutes on the sand before he's chased away for something this irrelevant. He curses Peter for keeping him in bed so long this morning, although he doesn't really mean it. Always one to need to be active, Peter has spent the past few minutes fidgeting and very pointedly ignoring their rule to "sit and do nothing". What a joke of a rule anyway, Sylar huffs, as his chair is jostled by the mass of running pedestrians.

After almost a full minute of failing to concentrate, Sylar admits defeat: there will be no relaxing until this debacle is over. The yelling and crying is too loud, and he can't stand feeling Peter's agitation poking him in the side of the head for much longer. There's even talks of closing the beach - he can hear the lifeguards shouting to each other. So unless he does something, his short-lived holiday will be over before he has the chance to even catch a tan.

"Stay here." He grumbles and gets up from his sun lounger. He knows Peter would do this himself, but unable to both heal and attack simultaneously would make that rather counter-productive. Peter lunges to catch hold of his hand before he takes two steps.

"Be careful." He says and squeezes Sylar's fingers, and that gives him just a little reason to maybe think this is a good decision after all.

"Won't be a sec." He replies, kisses the top of Peter's still drying, salty hair and stalks over to the sea, flip-flops flapping. It proves to be a bit of a struggle going against the pull of the crowd, but the beach is steadily emptying now. Irritated and cranky, he wastes no time on theatrics or showing off, and wades right into the water and over to the darkening blood stain and frothing, bubbling water.

The tide is barely deep enough to need to swim, but Sylar employs a handy hint of telekinesis to keep his head well and truly out of the water. He doesn't fancy getting blood in his mouth or on his new sunglasses. Unafraid by the epic mass of flesh and teeth, he approaches the thrashing bulk of the killer shark while it's still busy finishing off it's victim, and places his palm flat against its body before it even notices he's there.

It only takes a few seconds of Ted's condensed radioactive power to cook the shark to death from the inside out. When it falls still the water continues bubbling, but this time it's steaming and sizzling from the heat. Sylar is already more than irritated at his disturbance, and barely notices his skin healing over the scald marks from the boiling water. He adds one last, powerful blast to the shark for good measure, out of spite, mostly, and wonders if he should confess to his deed and be hailed a hero...? But then he thinks against it. He's had enough of so-called "heroes" to last him a lifetime. Peter is the only one worthy of the title, in his eyes.

By the time the lifeguards have gathered at the scene, scratching their heads and dumbfounded as to how the shark was somehow fried in the middle of the ocean, Sylar is happily back beside Peter on an identical sun lounger, legs crossed and once again deeply engrossed in Peter's copy of Pillars of the Earth, with the whole beach to themselves.