Author's Note: Sylar decides to get a little payback...
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or Angel
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Fred showed him her lab and pointed out many of things that interested her. She even, a blush tinting her cheeks, told him that she sometimes named them. He really found her too cute for words.
So that was where Angel found him a few days later, helping Fred with a particularly difficult experiment, his super hearing coming in handy as she dropped tiny particles onto the surface of the only wooden bench in the room. He watched Sylar and Fred interact, a small smile gracing his otherwise taciturn face. Peter's plan was working far better than he'd imagined. Although, technically, introducing Sylar to Fred (albeit 'accidentally') had been Spike's idea. He had to admit, although grudgingly, that Spike was more intelligent that he looked.
He waited a moment and, when he saw that the experiment was coming to a close, cleared his throat. Sylar didn't so much as blink at the sudden noise although it made Fred jump and spin around, only to blush when she realised it was only Angel.
"Is it alright if I take Sylar off your hands for a minute, Fred?" he asked, smiling. "We need him for something.
Sylar's dark eyes grew wary but he followed after Angel when Fred gave her approval. She gazed after them for a while and then resumed her work, humming softly.
Angel brought him down to one of the basement training rooms, after an uncomfortably silent elevator ride. Angel had thought he would say something and yet no words came to mind. He decided instead to remain silent. It would, at the very least, increase the serial killer's dislike in him which was always fun.
Claude, who had been leaning against a wall speaking quietly to Spike, straightened when they entered the room. Grinning (he did have a particularly sick sense of humour), he handed Angel a very sharp looking sword as well as a wooden pole which looked similar to the one he had used to beat up Sylar, who winced at the memory. He'd been several different shades of black and blue for at least two days after that session.
Sylar wondered absently as Angel circled him why their idea of redeeming him appeared to be to beat him with sharp objects until he collapsed or grew angry.
Angel thrust the sword towards him while simultaneously moving the pole so that it could potentially trip him up. He dodged the sword, although not by much, and used his telekinesis to push the pole away.
This went on for some time, the vampire seemingly filled with unlimited strength and stamina while Sylar gradually grew weaker with every passing moment. When Angel finally managed to graze him with the sword he almost gave up. Almost. Somehow he couldn't give up though, not with everyone watching. And anyway, thanks to Claire, the graze healed instantly.
The pole came out of nowhere, striking him behind the knees and he collapsed. His breath was noisy in his ear, much louder than it had been a moment ago. He felt Angel raise the sword above his head, preparing to strike. He roared his rage at his unexpected humiliation and rose up, almost floating even though his feet were planted firmly on the ground.
He gestured and the sword flew towards the wall. Spike and Claude scattered as it struck the space between them, wobbled for an instant and then was still. Angel's brows rose in surprise and he gripped the pole.
The pole flew out his grip and snapped in the air. Sylar, his eyes blazing, grabbed one of the ends out of the air and threw it towards the vampire who had begun to seriously piss him off, aiming directly at the heart. He pushed it mentally with his telekinesis, strengthening its speed.
It stopped half way there as though it had collided with a wall. Sylar pushed even harder, beads of sweat appearing on his face. He felt the invisible wall give way little by little.
"Sylar..." a familiar voice whispered and he felt a hand on his chest, his cheek, through his hair. He shuddered, a sigh raking through him. The pole dropped to the ground, although he didn't notice.
He half closed his eyes and growled softly in his throat. Really, Peter was going to pay for interrupting him and, using the information he'd garnered from that conversation he'd eavesdropped on, he knew exactly what to do.
Claude was also not pleased with Peter's interruption and yelled at him for nearly an hour as Spike smirked nearby. Angel merely went back to work. Really, he didn't understand why someone else couldn't have done that. He'd almost feared for his life.
That night, just as with any night for the past two months, Sylar's head hit the pillow and he was immediately dreaming.
He was standing in the middle of his hotel bedroom, looking at Peter who was sitting on the bed, a small smile on his face. He felt very happy and almost couldn't go through with his plan. He reminded himself that this happiness wasn't real, that Peter was merely inducing it, probably using that telepathy he'd sponged off the ex-L.A. cop.
"Peter, wake me up," he said, trying to keep his voice as cold and un-mushy as he could. He thought he succeeded.
Peter stood up and walked towards him. "But aren't you happy?" he said, his voice tinged with sadness.
He bunched his hands into fists, his fingernails drawing blood. "Yes," he said, through clenched teeth. "But only because you're making me feel that way. Outside these dreams I hate you." Liar. He resisted the urge to kiss Peter's very inviting mouth.
Sylar felt fingers caress him even though he could clearly see Peter was a few feet away. "As you wish..."
His eyes snapped open. Peter's face was inches from his. The word 'distance' was sorely lacking since it usually described some sort of space and it really could not be said that there was that much space between them. He tried very hard not to move.
"What are you doing here?" he whispered. He hadn't realised that Peter would be in the room with him, let alone that he'd be this close. He watched his plan disappear down the metaphorical drain hole.
Peter just smiled. "I can leave if you want."
He felt the grip on his arms tighten. Sylar didn't want him to leave even though that had been the whole point to his entire plan. Well, that and a little revenge. Neither appeared to be close at hand.
Sylar didn't say anything however, merely watched him with wary eyes. "You..." he hissed awhile later when he could trust himself to beg. "...are going to pay for this."
Peter pouted and caressed his cheek with a fingertip, murmuring, "Oh, poor baby."
Sylar half closed his eyes and tried very hard not to moan (thus giving Peter exactly what he wanted, he thought). He hated this. Or, well, actually he loved it, although that fact was going to stay buried deep.
And then Peter leaned down and whispered in his ear.
That was it. His self-control was but a distant memory after that.
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Self-control should be thrown to the wind when it comes to these two. Mark my words. It would make for some interesting entertainment.
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