Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 73: Make It So
Title: Make It So
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Words: 600
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Peter and Sylar argue over who steers the boat.
"Hey, there's a rowboat!"
Sylar lagged behind as Peter jumped down the rocks to where the boat was moored on the little bit of sand and muck at the edge of the river. By the time Sylar joined him, Peter had it untied and was pulling out the oars. He handed one to Sylar, who was standing on the last rock, reluctant to go further. He'd leave tracks and he might get his shoes dirty.
"Come on," Peter urged, as though this was the whole point of their stroll down the riverside. Peter had professed a desire for a change of scenery, which Sylar had interpreted as 'I'm bored'. With a put-upon sigh, he took the offered oar and gingerly climbed into the tiny boat, using the oar to keep his balance as he passed Peter and headed to the other end.
"Where are we going?" he said in a complaining tone as he nonetheless stuck the oar in the water and prodded at the silt.
"Downstream, across, I dunno," Peter said, grunting as he shoved the oar into the soft riverbank. They came free at last. The boat rocked as they sat, having the sense not to remain standing and thereby tip them both into the water. They ended up at the opposite ends of it with an empty seat between them. Peter leaned across it with his hand palm up. "Here, give me the oar."
Sylar looked at him steadily, making no motion to surrender the cedar stave. "You give me your oar," he countered. The boat was too narrow for both of them to sit side by side. There would be only a single rower.
Peter pulled his hand back and gave a confused tilt of his head. "You're going to paddle us? What do you know about boats?"
"I know this one is too small to have a rudder, so whoever controls the oars controls our destiny," Sylar quirked a brow, amused by his own wordplay, "and our destination."
Peter looked from his oar to Sylar's, hands tightening restlessly across the smooth wood. "That's not how it works," he said after a pause long enough for nearly a hundred feet of shoreline to drift past.
"Oh?"
"Boats have captains."
Sylar cocked his head slowly, considering what Peter was working himself up to offering. It was a concession of sorts. Rather than beat around the bush, he asked directly, "And am I the captain of this boat?"
"You can be," Peter said with a false-looking shrug, pretending he didn't care.
"You'll go where I say we go?" Sylar wanted to be sure he knew what he was getting. People didn't let him in the driver's seat very often, if ever.
A smile flitted across Peter's face and he moved into the middle seat, fitting his oar to the eyelet like the matter was decided. "Yes." He waited for Sylar to give him the other. "That's the deal."
After letting Peter cool his jets for a few more moments to make it clear who was in charge, Sylar magnanimously handed him the other oar. "We'll go across then." Peter had wanted to see something new, after all.
Peter set up the oar, gripped both of them, and looked around to get his bearings. "Yes sir," he said quietly, but without sarcasm or disrespect, like it was Sylar's due. It was weird how that small thing ran through Sylar like electricity, making him sit straighter and his skin prickle. It was shaping up to be a good outing after all.