Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 84: Escapement
Title: Escapement
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Words: 1,750
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Sylar tries to use the only ability that was ever really his on Peter. I found this useful.
Escapement: One of the most important parts of any watch, the escapement provides impulses that maintain the oscillation of the balance wheel ensuring the rate that the escapement will allow the hands to revolve.
With an intent, focused expression, Sylar watched Peter. Peter was doing nothing particularly interesting at the moment (Sylar thought the man was sketching the piano for some stupid reason) and that was the problem - Peter did not do what Sylar wanted him to. Sylar did not want immediate, constant obedience, but he wasn't getting the reactions he wanted. There was no connection between them and life had pretty definitely narrowed down his choices for a possible connection. Peter was it. There was no backup, no second choice, no alternate. It was Peter or no one, forever, and Sylar had had three long years to deal with that other option. He did not want an eternity of it. That meant he needed to get Peter to play ball with him.
Somehow.
He'd tried all the basic things - explaining that Peter had no other choice, withdrawing his own presence and trying to wait Peter out, making offers of things he knew Peter had to be in need of - but Peter was uninterested or even outright hostile. I'm missing something. Or I'm approaching it wrong. I'm trying to bargain with him and he doesn't want to deal. What if bargaining isn't right? For a moment, his mind floundered as it struggled to find a decent option. Extortion, threats, deceit, and blackmail were considered and discarded. Those … aren't right either. I don't want that. They aren't reliable and it wouldn't last. It wouldn't be real. He dropped his eyes slightly, so lost in thought that it took a moment for him to realize he was staring at Peter's watch, the one that didn't work and yet Peter kept stubbornly wearing it as if to taunt Sylar with its silence.
A watch. I'm good at fixing watches. And figuring things out. Why can't I figure this out? I could imagine him as a watch. His eyes rose to Peter's profile as the man continued to ignore him in favor of drawing the inanimate objects he preferred to focus his attention on. He's a watch that won't give me the time of day. So how do I fix that? Well … what's wrong with him? The battery is still charged, obviously, but … he's not working right. Sylar tilted his head, realizing there was something wrong and different about Peter, something off-kilter that prevented him from functioning as he should, as even Peter wanted to function. He wasn't quite 'right' with the world.
He sorted through Nathan's memories, looking for an easy answer. But there isn't one. Nathan doesn't know. Looking at Nathan is like looking at one Rolex trying to find out what's wrong with another. They're both Rolexes and have a lot in common, but the only way I'll figure it out is to look at the one that's not performing. His mind toyed with the analogy of Petrellis as Rolexes. It's a good brand - a little over-hyped and over-priced, but there's a lot of good craftsmanship in them. They're tough and reliable and the genuine articles are works of art. Not as unique as a Sylar, but their quality is more easily recognized by the public.
There's not a problem with the casing, he thought with a momentary lascivious glance up and down Peter's body. And while I'm sure he's in need of some routine maintenance and … lubrication … Sylar licked his lips briefly, I think the problem is something deeper. It could be something twisted or warped. He's certainly seen some rough use. If I could open him up and see, maybe it's a part I could fix - press it back into shape, make adjustments. He's made it this far, to me, so his basic functioning is intact. It's just his … responses are off. He's not, he looked at the stopped watch, living for the moment as it is now. He's living in the past, or maybe the future, what with how much he seems to approve of that future version of me he ran into. He needs to deal with me, here, now - not some future me with a kid!
"What's important to you?" Sylar asked directly, as the only useful way to get inside of Peter's head was metaphorical.
Peter gave him a moment of attention immediately, then looked back at his paper to finish something. He looked up after. "I've told you that - saving Emma and everyone else at the carnival."
"Her specifically?"
Peter shook his head. "No, not her specifically. She's just … She's the only one I know the name of."
There's some evasion there, but it's not my point. "So it's the … saving people part of it?"
Peter put down his pencil. "I want to save people, yes," he agreed warily.
Sylar didn't see the attraction, even though he'd done it himself. People were messy and complicated and untrustworthy. Each one you saved was a liability. He didn't want people to start expecting mercy (or impotence). But this wasn't about him. "You like to save people." Peter didn't answer. Sylar thought it through. You want to be allowed to save people. That's what's important - getting people to admit they need you, getting them to surrender their life into your hands, so you can save them and get all the glory. Sylar smiled slightly.You're such a Petrelli, Peter. No wonder you go searching after people so messed up that they turn to you. No wonder you're not interested in me. I'm not giving you those signals that you need so badly. "You want to be their hero."
Peter frowned deeply. "I want to help them."
Sylar tilted his head slightly in a nod of ambiguous agreement. There's not much difference. Wait - is there? "You want to be special," he countered, exploring the nuance.
Peter set aside his sketch pad and pencil, turning to face Sylar. "No. It's not about me. It's about them. I want to help people. I want to make them happy."
Happy? I can think of a few ways you could make me happy. "You want to … satisfy them?"
Sylar meant that just as lewdly as it sounded, mostly as a joke, and in reference to himself as a possible recipient of such satisfaction. He didn't expect Peter to take it the way he did. "I … Yeah, I guess so. But ..." Peter sounded thrown and unsettled. "I tried that. It's not really what people want."
Sylar carefully stilled his face so it wouldn't show his surprise at what Peter was implying. What? What is he saying? Did he fuck all those people he was with in the past just to make them happy? Seriously? It wasn't about him, Peter? Well, I guess it was, actually, but it wasn't about Peter wanting to get off - at least not directly. The possibility of this being true was boggling, and made so much more sense in light of Peter's character than him as some kind of determined Lothario. He's like a male nymphomaniac then, but only getting off on the idea of getting someone else off. You tried satisfying them that way, but it didn't scratch your itch. Because it never lasted. They never stayed. They didn't acknowledge it. They thought you were just getting off on it the same as I thought. "But when you offer to save their life, they can't … reject you." All that paramedic stuff - and the dying old people - it's about finding people who can't turn him away. It was sad, really. Sylar felt very strange for having mocked it, but at the same time, it was so … weak. And needy. And vulnerable. It's a vulnerability. I can use that. I can acknowledge him and the sacrifice he wants to be seen to be making.
Peter was eying him with disturbing intensity now.
I should be able to use it, at least. I don't like how he's looking at me - he knows I know how to reach him. "I won't reject you, Peter," he said softly.
Peter stood, threatening in his posture and body language as he moved immediately to loom over Sylar. Oh yes, that hit a button. Sylar looked up at him innocently. He didn't want a fight. Peter though, seemed to want nothing other. He snarled, "You said I didn't have anything you wanted!"
It took Sylar a few seconds to place what Peter was talking about - after Arthur's death, Sylar had left Peter alive and explained it away with a disparaging comment. That was a long time ago and a lot of very different conditions. But he's still resentful about it - because I turned him away. It fits. That's the piece of the mechanism that's out of place. "Nothing I was willing to kill you for," Sylar said equally softly as before. He leaned forward slightly, trying to will Peter to calm down and let it happen.
Peter snorted and reached out to shove Sylar's shoulder in a transparent attempt to start a fight. I'm not going to help you out of this, Peter. Sylar let the motion rock him and gave no other reaction to it. Agitated, Peter stomped away several paces before saying, "I never said I wanted you."
"You don't have to," Sylar answered. You came here for me, you nitwit. Of course you want me. You want things from me; I want things from you. We can work this out so we both get what we want. I know how to fix things between us. Let me do what I'm good at.
Peter glared death at him, then stalked out. If steam could have been shooting from his ears like in the cartoons, it would have. Oh, did that ever wind him up. Sylar leaned back with a pleased smile on his lips despite Peter fleeing the scene. So much tension. He wants me. I can do this. Sylar's mind began running through ways of showing Peter he was approved of and legitimate, making connections with how Peter had lived in Nathan's shadow and was obviously craving the light. I can fix him. And then our time will finally come.