A/N: Apologies for my juvenile sense of humor in titling some of these chapters. There's only one more chapter after this one. It wraps things up. It's written, but I want to fiddle with it some more. I'll post it today or tomorrow.

They showered. It was brief, as the little solar-powered desalinization unit hadn't processed much additional water since they'd emptied it that morning. Fortunately there was a gage in the shower stall to let you know this, so they just kept the cleaning to the essentials and left it at that.

Peter fetched the implements for shaving without being asked and moved a chair out onto the patio, next to one of the recliners. He sat in the chair, duplicating their pattern of the first and last time they'd shaved one another by assuming Sylar would do Peter first. Sylar followed him out on the balcony and made no objection to it. He ruffled Peter's hair, noting that Peter tensed at the touch.

"Alright, pet?"

Peter nodded and rubbed the back of his head. "Scalp hurts." Sylar had yanked him around by the hair a bit. He dropped his gaze down and to the side, saying quietly, "Please don't ask me to heal again. I don't want to argue."

Sylar leaned down and kissed him on the top of the head. "I wouldn't. You see, that was me hurting you, so that doesn't count." Sylar didn't want to argue either, but there were some things he needed to know about Peter, about how he really felt and what was motivating him. They weren't the kind of things he was likely to glean from conversation, though. He pondered this as he wrapped a hot, wet towel around Peter's face and took up the shaving cream. Peter had already inexpertly mixed it and Sylar began finishing the job, getting it creamier and worked into a lather.

Peter made a neutral sound and watched what Sylar was doing. He'd wondered why it didn't look the same when he was done with it. He'd assumed it was the brand. Apparently it was technique. Sylar worked at it until it was making stiff peaks like a meringue.

"I have to confess though," Sylar said in a quiet, calm tone. "I'm not real sure what was going on between us a little earlier." He put the bowl down and used one hand to strip off the towel and gently turn Peter's face. He brushed him with shaving cream, covering him fully. He kept his tone soft and unaccusing, suitable to the closeness they were sharing. "Are you saying I'm acting like Nathan? That you want me to act like him? Or just that you expect me to?"

Peter blinked and looked aside. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't… I don't know." He glanced at the razor in Sylar's hand and turned back to face him. His expression was as trusting and accepting as it had been before, even if his eyes now also held more knowledge of who he was and the nature of their relationship. Knowing that didn't change how completely he gave himself over to Sylar, or at least how total it looked.

The Petrellis were far more manipulative than Sylar had given then credit for. He knew Peter manipulated him constantly and shamelessly, but he needed to know how real the adoring look was that Peter was giving him at the moment. Sylar took his time with honing and stroping the blade, as he wasn't familiar with the quality of the steel or entirely satisfied with the sharpness of it. He did touch up on the lather before tilting Peter's head back to work his neck with careful strokes. He didn't nick him this time. As he wiped the blade clean, he asked, "You really don't know what you want me to act like, or you don't want to say?"

Peter looked at him with a guarded expression. "What's the difference? I can't say it either way."

"Well, if you really don't know, I can find out, or at least I'd know enough that maybe we could talk it out. If you don't want to say, then I'll respect your privacy." Though if it was the latter, then that was going to eat at Sylar. It already was. He began working along Peter's cheeks, stretching the skin to get a close shave.

Peter looked at Sylar like he was an alien for a moment, then darted his eyes away without moving his head. "I really don't know."

"Hm." Sylar finished the first pass, being meticulous about it and repeated for a second. He didn't think Peter's face warranted a third. He was silent and speculative throughout and Peter let him keep the quiet. It was comfortable… and probably unwise to try to talk while Sylar was shaving him. He had not a mark on him when he was done.

I need to know. Sylar took a single finger and slid it under Peter's chin, turning him to face him. He leaned in, rubbed his lips together briefly, and touched them to Peter's. Little flashes and snippets of Peter's intention, desire and emotion flowed through the contact: I want you; I'm afraid; I'm upset; I'm lonely; I miss my brother; That's wrong; I'm wrong; I'm a freak; I don't deserve to be this happy; I should make you leave; Go away.

Peter pulled back with a jerk. He reached up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes flashed for a moment, scanning over Sylar's surprised face, not sure what he'd seen. He calmed. Quietly he said, "You should have warned me."

Sylar blinked at him. "I'm sorry? I did say…" He knew full well he hadn't been explicit in his warning. He hadn't wanted to give Peter a chance to turn him down. It was too important.

Peter shook his head. "It's okay. I think… you meant well." He didn't look upset anymore, just a little put off. "Next time, be a little clearer on what you're going to do, before you do it."

"Hm. Yeah." Sylar exhaled. That went better than I'd expected. He considered what he'd seen. He reached out and stroked Peter's thigh above the knee, a consoling gesture. All the things he'd feared were addressed. Things he hadn't thought about much were the real issue and there was not much he could do about them other than support Peter and be there for him, be understanding and steady and take up the role of the responsible, strong person in the relationship. That was something Sylar could do.

Peter exhaled too and picked up the shaving cream. He rose and Sylar sat down, taking up the damp towel, heating it with an ability and draping it over his face. Peter put down the shaving cream and worked with the razor, exactly duplicating Sylar's earlier actions.

Sylar glanced over, suddenly smiling in realization. Muscle Memory - it was another ability. All Peter had to do was see something and he could do it himself. Well. That was probably why he knew how to make whipped cream but not cook a steak - he'd probably seen a cooking show once and while Sylar could imagine them covering how to whip cream, he couldn't see a TV chef going over how to grill a steak. It explained certain things in bed as well. Sylar made a note to himself to start using that ability himself more. It also told him that Peter had been seriously holding back in their fights, entirely turning off his abilities, including that one. Huh.

After enough time, he rubbed himself thoroughly with the towel and set it aside. Peter applied the lather. As Sylar had noticed before, it was really tough to be in someone's face and not communicate. Peter asked him, "What did you see?"

Sylar smiled a little. It was funny to think that the person who had the feelings and was experiencing them most directly probably wasn't able to understand them as well as someone else. They were too close to it, he suspected. He recalled that Peter had read him like a book after Peter got his abilities back, discerning things that Sylar didn't think he'd made up his mind about yet. He had a sudden understanding of why the ability demanded intimacy. It was quite possibly the most intimate thing he'd ever done.

Sylar said, "I saw that you don't think you deserve me, which is ridiculous. You're not a freak. You're fantastic." Peter gave a sardonic lift of his brows and looked away, taking up the razor. Sylar said, "Wait a little bit and let the shaving cream work. It softens the hairs. Just replicating the motions isn't everything."

"Oh. Okay." Peter sat down on the recliner. He rubbed at his own face, appreciating the smoothness. He reached out suddenly, compulsively, and put his hand on Sylar's knee. "I love you," he blurted out.

"I know," he said softly. He was sure now that Peter did and that surety was a warm blanket around his heart. Sylar went on, "I saw that you're grieving, even if you won't admit it to yourself. Everything's changed for you. You do a good job of acting like it doesn't matter, but it does."

Peter was breathing harder. He swallowed, eyes darting at Sylar uneasily. Sylar covered Peter's hand with his own, curling his fingers into it firmly. Peter bowed his head. Quietly Peter said, "I was the one who did it. I planned it. I… killed him. I shouldn't feel this way. It should be over. I should just be able to go on."

"You are going on, Peter." He gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm going to go on with you. This is good. Can you shave me now?"

Peter wiped at his eyes. "Yeah." He moved into position. "It's a good thing you've got regeneration." He fumbled the blade a bit, inhibited by his swollen index finger and the cloth wrapped tightly around it.

Sylar grinned. "Yeah, it is." He suspected this might be messy. "We're going to have a long time together, Peter." Peter's eyes widened slightly. "I love you too. You'll have plenty of chances to get better at it."

Peter blinked and smiled. "I wish I could just duplicate what you did on me earlier, but the perspective is wrong. If I could watch you shave someone else, I'd be fine."

"No. I like that this is just between us. There are some things I don't want to ever do with anyone else," Sylar said. Peter nodded and began, accidentally cutting Sylar almost immediately. Sylar considered whether that was a metaphor for anything. He decided it wasn't.

He held very still through the process and let Peter learn this skill in the normal fashion - by practice and experience. He still cut him six times, although as promised, Sylar healed. He considered that if the muscle memory only worked from watching as an outsider, rather than a participant, then he needed to start watching porn. It was an amusing thought. Or he could learn the same way Peter was learning shaving - the old fashioned way. There was certainly a lot to be said for practice.

When his face was wiped clean with a chilled towel, Sylar's fingers caught on Peter's arm and tried to pull him to him. Peter stiffened, a little wary. Sylar said, "It's just a kiss. I saw everything I needed to see earlier. If you don't want me to know more, I don't have to. I was only trying to help."

Peter nodded and kissed him. After he leaned his forehead against Sylar's and said, "Knowing what's up with me doesn't make it easier."

"Huh. Yeah. I suppose. It makes it easier for me though." Peter looked at him and Sylar said, "I thought you were just being an immature asshole, that you wanted me to be Nathan… or like a different version of Nathan who was easier for you to manipulate. And maybe that is what you want on some level, but your motivations are way different than I thought they were and somehow that makes a world of difference."

"I… what are my motivations?" He smiled, sort of embarrassed. "I feel stupid for having to ask someone else that." He leaned away and finished cleaning and drying the blade before packing everything away.

"You're trying to run me off. But it's not because you're tired of me already or anything I've done. It's because you don't like yourself right now. Has nothing to do with me. I'm not going to let you run me off. At least, not over something like that." He stood and hugged Peter to him from behind. He bit Peter's shoulder and then kissed the spot. "This does answer a very important question," he said, twisting forward to steal a kiss on that baby-smooth cheek.

Peter waited a beat and when Sylar didn't elaborate, he asked, "What question is that?"

Sylar let him go and moved around to collect up towels. He hung them over the balcony rail to dry. "It's one of those important questions: If I was going to be stranded on a desert island and could take one person with me…"

They both laughed. Peter asked, "You'd take me?"

"You even need to ask? Of course I'd take you."

Peter shrugged and gave him a brief peck. He took the shaving tools inside and came back out. "So." He looked at his finger and chilled the wrap for it. "What are we going to do today?"

"Same thing we do everyday, Pinky."

Peter laughed again and punched Sylar in the arm. Sylar gave him a light jab in the gut. Peter jumped back, light on his feet. "You want to go again, big guy?"

Sylar backed up and put some distance between them. He looked around, concerned about what a fight would do to the balcony. "Let's go back to the beach."

"Sure."

"You need to show me some of your moves, too. You've been holding out on me."

"Ha. Yeah, a little bit. You didn't realize I've been letting you win all this time?" Peter's tone was teasing.

Sylar didn't take offense at that. Sometimes (pretty frequently, actually), Peter managed to say things just right so that the most obnoxious assertions didn't ruffle feathers. Sylar retorted, "That's because you want me so bad. You know it."

"Well… yeah, I do." They both laughed.

A/N: Review please! (Yes, I really am that needy and insecure.)