To Rise and Fall and Rise Again.
Title: To rise and fall and rise again.
Pairing: Peter/Sylar
Length: ~2600 words
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer: Not for profit, just for fun. I do not own anything. No copyright infringement intended.
Beta by themaskedmckay. Thanks again.
Continues the Symphysis series. Earlier parts found here
.
"Peter, wake up."
Silence.
"Peter."
Mumble. "M'sleepin' Ma"
"Peter, I'm not going to ask you again."
"Jus' five more minutes, promise,” followed by a soft snore.
He dreamed of floating, weightless, he spun effortlessly from horizontal to vertical and then....
"Jesus fucking Christ! What the hell?" he screamed.
Peter snapped awake under a torrent of freezing water. He flinched, trying to back out of the shower but he was held in place. Turning his head he caught sight of Sylar, leaned against the bathroom wall holding a mug.
"Let me out!" Peter demanded. "Now, you bastard!"
Sylar smiled slightly at the insult. "Peter, you have exactly seventeen minutes and forty-two seconds before your shift starts. I suggest that you wash quickly."
Peter’s eyes widened slightly in shock, he felt the bonds around him loosening and he spun round to grab a bottle of shower gel. He turned the dials in the shower cursing again when the temperature didn't increase.
"There's no hot water," Sylar informed him. "You're wasting time."
Scowling, Peter continued his litany of curses, though he noticed that he seemed to have some assistance in washing his back. After two minutes he jumped out.
"Towel," he gasped, shivering.
Sylar shook his head. "Hold still," he instructed.
All of a sudden the air surrounding Peter pressed in and then it's as if he were caught inside a cyclone. The moving air chafed across his skin unpleasantly and if he didn't have Claire's power he’s sure he would have a terrible case of wind burn. Then, as quickly as it started, it's over and Peter is left standing there - naked, cold and raw.
"You now have thirteen minutes and eleven seconds,” Peter is informed.
He is about to tell Sylar just where he can stick his perfect timekeeping when he hands Peter the mug. It’s full of hot coffee.
"You're an angel,” Peter asserted, gulping down the steaming liquid.
"I hardly think so. I'd say you were more accurate two minutes and nine seconds ago when you were calling me a sadistic son of a bitch"
Peter looked embarrassed. "Sorry,” he apologised. "I didn't mean it."
Sylar nodded. Apology accepted it seemed, either that or he's planning on delaying his revenge.
"Your clothes are next door,” he told Peter, taking the now empty mug from him.
Peter pulled on his suit as quickly as humanly possible. It's far from ideal to turn up at work in last night’s clothing but there isn't time for anything else. Besides he has a spare uniform that he keeps in his locker for emergencies - even if this wasn't exactly why he thought he would need it.
"Nine minutes, twenty-seven seconds,” Sylar informed him and if the constant updates weren't so useful Peter would be bugging him about his autistic tendencies. Sylar handed him a paper bag. “Pancakes,” Sylar explained. "Now go."
Sylar hustled Peter out the front door and pointed him in the right direction. “Fly,” he commanded with a shove.
Once he was in the air navigation became simple. He landed on the hospital roof less than five minutes later and ran down the stairwell to the locker room.
Crossing the main foyer he caught the gaze of Amelia sitting at reception. She didn't say anything to him just smiled knowingly and Peter is certain that by mid-morning everyone who knows him will have been told about him turning up to work in his best suit. It didn't bother him exactly, he wasn’t ashamed of what he was doing. It was just that the situation was way more complex than most of his colleagues could even imagine and he didn't like lying to his friends, even if it was in every one's best interests.
Pulling on his scrubs he headed down to the ambulance bays to check on the stock of medical supplies in the back of the ambulance. Hesam was already there, leaning against the front bumper, book in hand. He looked up as Peter approached.
"So," he said, smiling, "I hear you got lucky last night."
Peter was thinking seriously of checking the company files for Amelia's name. No normal human can spread gossip that quickly. He smiled and nodded at Hesam.
"No point in hiding it," he acknowledged. He was setting himself up for a day of sly innuendos but he found that he didn't care. He was actually...happy. It was weird. He wasn't a naturally unhappy person, but ever since his power manifested it had been one crisis after another and they had taken their toll. It was some strange twist of fate that Sylar, the bogeyman who caused most of his stress and grief over the last four years, should be the one to make him happy again.
"Oh, yeah. You've got it bad," Hesam laughed, as he watched Peter staring into space smiling.
Peter shook his head at him. "You know what, I've just got that feeling that it's going to be a good day."
They spent some time waiting for their first call and they easily fell into their routine of chatting about football scores and TV. They know each other well enough to handle deeper topics without accidental insult but today they seem to be playing it safe. Peter was thankful for that, getting into another situation where he was expected to defend his brother's policies would have ruined his mood so they both kept to the basics. Hesam showed him a new photo of his niece, all dark curls and bright smile. She was due to start school next year and they both shrugged ruefully at how quickly time seemed to pass these days.
When their first call came they jumped into action. Hesam flicked on the sirens and pulled out of the garage. He was just about to drive off the hospital grounds onto the highway when a woman stepped out in front of them.
"What the hell?" Hesam demanded, leaning on the horn. "Get out of the way."
Peter had a sinking feeling as he recognised the journalist from last night. She was saying something to him but he couldn’t make it out over the noise of the horn. As he wondered what to do Hesam got out and walked around to the front of the ambulance. She backed away from him and moved towards Peter's door, knocking on his window.
But before she could ask her questions Hesam was there yelling at her.. He was leaning right into her face, gesturing sharply to emphasise his points. Peter caught accusations of crazy and suicidal before Hesam lapsed into Farsi, his hands waved faster and whatever insults he was shouting became a melodic pattern of syllables. His anger was clear though and Peter was glad to spot hospital security coming to help for more than one reason.
At the approach of the uniformed security guards the woman backed away and Hesam jumped back into the driver’s seat and hit the accelerator. Reaching the scene they found a man dead from heart attack. They tried resuscitation but it doesn’t work this time. He was only in his fifties and there are photo's on the walls of smiling children. Some of them still in high school. His wife was crying silently in a chair. She looked lost. Peter wanted to hit something. Or someone. Maybe the delay hadn’t made a difference, but maybe it did, it was impossible to know for sure.
The drive back was tense, angry. Both of them held their anger in - too professional to let rip in public. Peter could see the way Hesam's hands gripped the steering wheel, a vein pulsing in his neck. His good feeling about the day had vanished.
Back at the hospital Peter de-stressed by kicking the crap out of some garbage cans. Then he texted Micah asking him to find out who this crazy bitch was. He was considering a second round with the cans when he is paged. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before responding.
He ended up cooling his heels outside the office of the head of HR, Rhonda Matthews. He tried pacing for a while but that was only getting him more worked up and he forced himself to sit back down. He watched the clock tick slowly. After about twenty minutes the office door opened and she beckoned him inside.
"Peter," she welcomed him. "Please take a seat. How are you?"
"I've been better," Peter admitted.
"I heard about the incident earlier. Did you know the woman was a reporter?"
Peter nodded. "She tried to ambush me last night. I can't believe she was crazy enough to step in front of an ambulance."
"I hear the patient died?"
Peter nodded again, mutely.
"Did the delay contribute to his death?"
Peter sighed. "I don't know," he replied. "We can't be sure."
"But it's possible?"
"It's possible," Peter agreed.
"Peter, did you know that she isn't the only reporter we've had here today? Two more have been hanging around reception asking for you."
Peter hadn’t known. "I don't want to talk to them."
Rhonda nodded her head sympathetically. "It must be hard. Not knowing about your brother." It's fake, the sympathy, the soft voice. Peter knew it, he could feel it. He wondered fleetingly if she practiced in the mirror. After a moments pause with no response she starts speaking again.
"This is difficult for me Peter. But I've spoken with the hospital manager and we agree that it would be best if you took some time off."
"What?" Peter exclaimed. "Why? I'm fine. I don't want to take time off, I want to work."
Rhonda nodded again. "I understand. But we have to consider what is best for the hospital. This press attention is causing problems for us. We've been left open to a lawsuit by this morning's delay and there's no guarantee it won't happen again."
"But that isn't my fault," Peter protested. "Can't we have her arrested for jaywalking or something."
"In a perfect world we would," she agreed. "But having a reporter arrested is a sure way to garner bad press and we don't want to do that. Please, Peter, consider what is best for your patients and take some personal time. I really don't want to make this mandatory."
It wasn’t fair and that burned Peter up inside but he’d been left with no option but to agree.
Peter exited the hospital in his scrubs. He didn’t have the energy to get changed and he just wanted to get out of there. Usually in these situations he would have run to his brother. Nathan would always be there for him, ready to give out some words of advice or to commiserate over a few glasses of scotch. But Nathan was gone now and the lack of him was like an aching wound.
Briefly he thought of seeking out Sylar before he dismissed the idea. Gabriel was touchy at the best of times and confronting him while Peter was so angry would have been a monumentally bad idea. Their relationship was new, tentative. Sylar wasn't secure with idea that Peter could care for him. Right now Peter needed to vent and a typically Italian session of shouting and hand waving would have likely caused a physical confrontation if not a murder.
Peter trudged through the snow aimlessly for some time before he realised that he has walked himself back home to the Petrelli mansion. Looking up it occurred to him that he was cold and that the snow has soaked through his shoes. They were probably ruined. Going inside seemed the only option.
He wondered up the stairs to his old room, grabbing some old clothes from the wardrobe he got changed before flopping down on his bed. He wasn't sure how long he stared at the ceiling before there was a knock at his door and his mother was coming in.
"You look awful, Peter." she told him, seating herself on the corner of his bed. "What's wrong?"
That was all it took for the floodgates to open and Peter told her about his day, about every bad thing that happened and the injustice of it all. Then he started to talk about Nathan and how he missed him so much. Before long he was crying. Angela wrapped an arm around him and let him sob. She stroked his hair and comforted him in a way that she hasn't since he was in his early teens, when her attitude changed from unconditional sympathy to assertions that he had to grow up and learn to deal with his own problems.
Once he has cried himself out Peter looked up to find tear tracks falling silently down his mother's face. He realised that he wasn't the only one trying to hold in all his grief, which makes what he had to do now even harder, but she had a right to know. He told her about meeting Millie at the restaurant, about what Sylar said about her knowing something about Nathan's disappearance.
The look of pain and betrayal on Angela's face was clear. It's one more straw and Peter doesn't know how many more she could take before her back breaks.
"Thank you for telling me." she said quietly. "It's always better to know these things. In the long term anyway."
Peter tried to hug her, but she moved away.
"I need to be alone now, Peter" she told him, getting up. "I'm sure you can find your own way out when you're ready to leave."
For a while he considered staying the night, but the knowledge that his mother was in the same house crying was too much for him, so he returned to his apartment. When he got in the light on his answering machine was flashing but he just couldn’t be bothered dealing with it. His stomach growled but eating seemed like too much effort. He just wanted to sit and not think and not feel anything anymore. He wanted to be numb.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there before someone knocked at his door. Peter was deciding that whoever it was could go away when the lock clicked and the door swung open. Gabriel stood at the threshold, not moving. His arms were full of Tupperware containers. He looked awkward and unsure.
"Your Mom called me," he began. "I don't know how she got my number. She asked me to go over to pick up some food for you. She said it was your favorite and you always asked for it when you were having a bad day."
He looked down. "I don't know why she called me. I'm no good at sympathy. I always say the wrong thing and ruin everything. I always did."
He looked so torn that Peter couldn't help going over and tugging him inside. He sat them down together on the couch.
"Just hold me." Peter told him. "You don't have to talk."
Peter wasn't sure how long they stayed there, holding each other. Gabriel may not know what to say but his physical presence was comforting in a way that words could never be. Peter leaned in to kiss him, slowly and gently, a mute expression of need and before long they were lying down together, wriggling out of their clothes. It wasn’t like last night. There's no competition here. This was about comfort rather than Sylar showing off.
Once they were both naked they twined around each other, trying to get ever closer as they thrust lazily. There was no rush to completion, just a slow build up to their release. When it was over Gabriel wrapped his long arms around him and Peter fell asleep almost immediately, wrung out by his day and lulled by the slow rise and fall of Gabriel's breathing. They didn't say anything.
A/N If anyone is still reading and wants to see this continued please comment.
Pairing: Peter/Sylar
Length: ~2600 words
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer: Not for profit, just for fun. I do not own anything. No copyright infringement intended.
Beta by themaskedmckay. Thanks again.
Continues the Symphysis series. Earlier parts found here
.
"Peter, wake up."
Silence.
"Peter."
Mumble. "M'sleepin' Ma"
"Peter, I'm not going to ask you again."
"Jus' five more minutes, promise,” followed by a soft snore.
He dreamed of floating, weightless, he spun effortlessly from horizontal to vertical and then....
"Jesus fucking Christ! What the hell?" he screamed.
Peter snapped awake under a torrent of freezing water. He flinched, trying to back out of the shower but he was held in place. Turning his head he caught sight of Sylar, leaned against the bathroom wall holding a mug.
"Let me out!" Peter demanded. "Now, you bastard!"
Sylar smiled slightly at the insult. "Peter, you have exactly seventeen minutes and forty-two seconds before your shift starts. I suggest that you wash quickly."
Peter’s eyes widened slightly in shock, he felt the bonds around him loosening and he spun round to grab a bottle of shower gel. He turned the dials in the shower cursing again when the temperature didn't increase.
"There's no hot water," Sylar informed him. "You're wasting time."
Scowling, Peter continued his litany of curses, though he noticed that he seemed to have some assistance in washing his back. After two minutes he jumped out.
"Towel," he gasped, shivering.
Sylar shook his head. "Hold still," he instructed.
All of a sudden the air surrounding Peter pressed in and then it's as if he were caught inside a cyclone. The moving air chafed across his skin unpleasantly and if he didn't have Claire's power he’s sure he would have a terrible case of wind burn. Then, as quickly as it started, it's over and Peter is left standing there - naked, cold and raw.
"You now have thirteen minutes and eleven seconds,” Peter is informed.
He is about to tell Sylar just where he can stick his perfect timekeeping when he hands Peter the mug. It’s full of hot coffee.
"You're an angel,” Peter asserted, gulping down the steaming liquid.
"I hardly think so. I'd say you were more accurate two minutes and nine seconds ago when you were calling me a sadistic son of a bitch"
Peter looked embarrassed. "Sorry,” he apologised. "I didn't mean it."
Sylar nodded. Apology accepted it seemed, either that or he's planning on delaying his revenge.
"Your clothes are next door,” he told Peter, taking the now empty mug from him.
Peter pulled on his suit as quickly as humanly possible. It's far from ideal to turn up at work in last night’s clothing but there isn't time for anything else. Besides he has a spare uniform that he keeps in his locker for emergencies - even if this wasn't exactly why he thought he would need it.
"Nine minutes, twenty-seven seconds,” Sylar informed him and if the constant updates weren't so useful Peter would be bugging him about his autistic tendencies. Sylar handed him a paper bag. “Pancakes,” Sylar explained. "Now go."
Sylar hustled Peter out the front door and pointed him in the right direction. “Fly,” he commanded with a shove.
Once he was in the air navigation became simple. He landed on the hospital roof less than five minutes later and ran down the stairwell to the locker room.
Crossing the main foyer he caught the gaze of Amelia sitting at reception. She didn't say anything to him just smiled knowingly and Peter is certain that by mid-morning everyone who knows him will have been told about him turning up to work in his best suit. It didn't bother him exactly, he wasn’t ashamed of what he was doing. It was just that the situation was way more complex than most of his colleagues could even imagine and he didn't like lying to his friends, even if it was in every one's best interests.
Pulling on his scrubs he headed down to the ambulance bays to check on the stock of medical supplies in the back of the ambulance. Hesam was already there, leaning against the front bumper, book in hand. He looked up as Peter approached.
"So," he said, smiling, "I hear you got lucky last night."
Peter was thinking seriously of checking the company files for Amelia's name. No normal human can spread gossip that quickly. He smiled and nodded at Hesam.
"No point in hiding it," he acknowledged. He was setting himself up for a day of sly innuendos but he found that he didn't care. He was actually...happy. It was weird. He wasn't a naturally unhappy person, but ever since his power manifested it had been one crisis after another and they had taken their toll. It was some strange twist of fate that Sylar, the bogeyman who caused most of his stress and grief over the last four years, should be the one to make him happy again.
"Oh, yeah. You've got it bad," Hesam laughed, as he watched Peter staring into space smiling.
Peter shook his head at him. "You know what, I've just got that feeling that it's going to be a good day."
They spent some time waiting for their first call and they easily fell into their routine of chatting about football scores and TV. They know each other well enough to handle deeper topics without accidental insult but today they seem to be playing it safe. Peter was thankful for that, getting into another situation where he was expected to defend his brother's policies would have ruined his mood so they both kept to the basics. Hesam showed him a new photo of his niece, all dark curls and bright smile. She was due to start school next year and they both shrugged ruefully at how quickly time seemed to pass these days.
When their first call came they jumped into action. Hesam flicked on the sirens and pulled out of the garage. He was just about to drive off the hospital grounds onto the highway when a woman stepped out in front of them.
"What the hell?" Hesam demanded, leaning on the horn. "Get out of the way."
Peter had a sinking feeling as he recognised the journalist from last night. She was saying something to him but he couldn’t make it out over the noise of the horn. As he wondered what to do Hesam got out and walked around to the front of the ambulance. She backed away from him and moved towards Peter's door, knocking on his window.
But before she could ask her questions Hesam was there yelling at her.. He was leaning right into her face, gesturing sharply to emphasise his points. Peter caught accusations of crazy and suicidal before Hesam lapsed into Farsi, his hands waved faster and whatever insults he was shouting became a melodic pattern of syllables. His anger was clear though and Peter was glad to spot hospital security coming to help for more than one reason.
At the approach of the uniformed security guards the woman backed away and Hesam jumped back into the driver’s seat and hit the accelerator. Reaching the scene they found a man dead from heart attack. They tried resuscitation but it doesn’t work this time. He was only in his fifties and there are photo's on the walls of smiling children. Some of them still in high school. His wife was crying silently in a chair. She looked lost. Peter wanted to hit something. Or someone. Maybe the delay hadn’t made a difference, but maybe it did, it was impossible to know for sure.
The drive back was tense, angry. Both of them held their anger in - too professional to let rip in public. Peter could see the way Hesam's hands gripped the steering wheel, a vein pulsing in his neck. His good feeling about the day had vanished.
Back at the hospital Peter de-stressed by kicking the crap out of some garbage cans. Then he texted Micah asking him to find out who this crazy bitch was. He was considering a second round with the cans when he is paged. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before responding.
He ended up cooling his heels outside the office of the head of HR, Rhonda Matthews. He tried pacing for a while but that was only getting him more worked up and he forced himself to sit back down. He watched the clock tick slowly. After about twenty minutes the office door opened and she beckoned him inside.
"Peter," she welcomed him. "Please take a seat. How are you?"
"I've been better," Peter admitted.
"I heard about the incident earlier. Did you know the woman was a reporter?"
Peter nodded. "She tried to ambush me last night. I can't believe she was crazy enough to step in front of an ambulance."
"I hear the patient died?"
Peter nodded again, mutely.
"Did the delay contribute to his death?"
Peter sighed. "I don't know," he replied. "We can't be sure."
"But it's possible?"
"It's possible," Peter agreed.
"Peter, did you know that she isn't the only reporter we've had here today? Two more have been hanging around reception asking for you."
Peter hadn’t known. "I don't want to talk to them."
Rhonda nodded her head sympathetically. "It must be hard. Not knowing about your brother." It's fake, the sympathy, the soft voice. Peter knew it, he could feel it. He wondered fleetingly if she practiced in the mirror. After a moments pause with no response she starts speaking again.
"This is difficult for me Peter. But I've spoken with the hospital manager and we agree that it would be best if you took some time off."
"What?" Peter exclaimed. "Why? I'm fine. I don't want to take time off, I want to work."
Rhonda nodded again. "I understand. But we have to consider what is best for the hospital. This press attention is causing problems for us. We've been left open to a lawsuit by this morning's delay and there's no guarantee it won't happen again."
"But that isn't my fault," Peter protested. "Can't we have her arrested for jaywalking or something."
"In a perfect world we would," she agreed. "But having a reporter arrested is a sure way to garner bad press and we don't want to do that. Please, Peter, consider what is best for your patients and take some personal time. I really don't want to make this mandatory."
It wasn’t fair and that burned Peter up inside but he’d been left with no option but to agree.
Peter exited the hospital in his scrubs. He didn’t have the energy to get changed and he just wanted to get out of there. Usually in these situations he would have run to his brother. Nathan would always be there for him, ready to give out some words of advice or to commiserate over a few glasses of scotch. But Nathan was gone now and the lack of him was like an aching wound.
Briefly he thought of seeking out Sylar before he dismissed the idea. Gabriel was touchy at the best of times and confronting him while Peter was so angry would have been a monumentally bad idea. Their relationship was new, tentative. Sylar wasn't secure with idea that Peter could care for him. Right now Peter needed to vent and a typically Italian session of shouting and hand waving would have likely caused a physical confrontation if not a murder.
Peter trudged through the snow aimlessly for some time before he realised that he has walked himself back home to the Petrelli mansion. Looking up it occurred to him that he was cold and that the snow has soaked through his shoes. They were probably ruined. Going inside seemed the only option.
He wondered up the stairs to his old room, grabbing some old clothes from the wardrobe he got changed before flopping down on his bed. He wasn't sure how long he stared at the ceiling before there was a knock at his door and his mother was coming in.
"You look awful, Peter." she told him, seating herself on the corner of his bed. "What's wrong?"
That was all it took for the floodgates to open and Peter told her about his day, about every bad thing that happened and the injustice of it all. Then he started to talk about Nathan and how he missed him so much. Before long he was crying. Angela wrapped an arm around him and let him sob. She stroked his hair and comforted him in a way that she hasn't since he was in his early teens, when her attitude changed from unconditional sympathy to assertions that he had to grow up and learn to deal with his own problems.
Once he has cried himself out Peter looked up to find tear tracks falling silently down his mother's face. He realised that he wasn't the only one trying to hold in all his grief, which makes what he had to do now even harder, but she had a right to know. He told her about meeting Millie at the restaurant, about what Sylar said about her knowing something about Nathan's disappearance.
The look of pain and betrayal on Angela's face was clear. It's one more straw and Peter doesn't know how many more she could take before her back breaks.
"Thank you for telling me." she said quietly. "It's always better to know these things. In the long term anyway."
Peter tried to hug her, but she moved away.
"I need to be alone now, Peter" she told him, getting up. "I'm sure you can find your own way out when you're ready to leave."
For a while he considered staying the night, but the knowledge that his mother was in the same house crying was too much for him, so he returned to his apartment. When he got in the light on his answering machine was flashing but he just couldn’t be bothered dealing with it. His stomach growled but eating seemed like too much effort. He just wanted to sit and not think and not feel anything anymore. He wanted to be numb.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there before someone knocked at his door. Peter was deciding that whoever it was could go away when the lock clicked and the door swung open. Gabriel stood at the threshold, not moving. His arms were full of Tupperware containers. He looked awkward and unsure.
"Your Mom called me," he began. "I don't know how she got my number. She asked me to go over to pick up some food for you. She said it was your favorite and you always asked for it when you were having a bad day."
He looked down. "I don't know why she called me. I'm no good at sympathy. I always say the wrong thing and ruin everything. I always did."
He looked so torn that Peter couldn't help going over and tugging him inside. He sat them down together on the couch.
"Just hold me." Peter told him. "You don't have to talk."
Peter wasn't sure how long they stayed there, holding each other. Gabriel may not know what to say but his physical presence was comforting in a way that words could never be. Peter leaned in to kiss him, slowly and gently, a mute expression of need and before long they were lying down together, wriggling out of their clothes. It wasn’t like last night. There's no competition here. This was about comfort rather than Sylar showing off.
Once they were both naked they twined around each other, trying to get ever closer as they thrust lazily. There was no rush to completion, just a slow build up to their release. When it was over Gabriel wrapped his long arms around him and Peter fell asleep almost immediately, wrung out by his day and lulled by the slow rise and fall of Gabriel's breathing. They didn't say anything.
A/N If anyone is still reading and wants to see this continued please comment.