Wall Verse, Chapter 14, Marking Time
First Day After
The next day, for Sylar, was very quiet. He stayed in his apartment all day, which should have made it easy for Peter to find him. He managed to finish repairs on all the watches he had currently on his desk. He still had some that he'd long since relegated to the spare parts bin as too damaged to be worth the effort. He sat down over a dinner of cheese and sliced circles of hot dog heated on Ritz crackers and re-examined the contents of the spare parts bin.
Peter had never come by. No matter how much he tried not to think about that, it lurked in the back of his mind nonetheless. While he was tinkering, he could direct his thoughts elsewhere, but when he lay in his bed, in the still moments between slipping under the covers and slipping off to sleep, the thoughts ceased to lurk and made themselves front and center of his attention.
He thought about how he'd been the one to start most of their fights; he'd been the one who laid on the innuendo; he'd been the one to talk Peter into their first kiss; he'd been the one who had risen and crowded close to Peter as he stood next to the piano. Sylar had also been the one to kick Peter out after the camping trip and that absolutely lovely night on the couch where Peter had slept with his head on Sylar's shoulder and then on his lap. Peter had stopped in the doorway to protest Sylar's boorish behavior and he'd slammed the door on him, catching him between door and frame, then cuffed him on the head and kicked him in the leg, booting him out before locking the door behind him for good measure - and all because Sylar had become too embarrassed to admit he was attracted to the man.
Because if he admitted that, he'd be giving Peter … everything, too much power over him. But the problem was Peter already had that power over him and clearly Peter knew it. The admission still seemed impossible. If it was out in the open between them, then Peter would abuse it - he'd tease, he'd avoid him, he wouldn't talk to him. Everything would become conditional - do this for me or I won't do this other for you. Or it might. Right now it was okay; it was safe. Sylar knew what was going on: Peter was trying to manipulate him. And that was acceptable because he understood the stakes - his feelings didn't have to be involved. Peter just thought they were. Sylar was used to pretending like that; he could let it happen. But if he had to admit his real feelings then he was … lost. He had no idea how to handle that, especially with a man, especially with Peter.
The whole man-on-man thing was bad enough. He felt downright queasy about it. It wasn't like he wasn't going to burn in hell before, but this was … well. It was gross. It was messy. It was unnatural. And oh god, had it felt nice. He shuddered. Another man turned me on like that. There's something wrong with me. … Okay, that was never in doubt. But there's something different wrong with me!
Peter hadn't talked to him for two weeks after Sylar had so rudely thrown him out of his apartment after the camping trip. Sylar stared up at the mottled ceiling, chewing his lip. How long would it be this time? And was it possible that Peter would cut back on everything else, too? Sylar licked his lips, remembering, imagining the taste of Peter's lips there on his own. He shouldn't like it, but oh, he did. What if Peter never touches me again at all? What if, instead of giving himself up like he did, now he won't give me anything, even just pretending to be friendly unless I agree to help this Emma person?
Fine, then I'll agree. It wasn't that tough a choice. It wasn't like Emma was around anymore anyway. All Sylar would be doing was playing along with Peter's persistent fantasy that they were trapped in a mental construct - which seemed as likely as any other explanation of the warped reality they were in, but Sylar knew how much time had gone by. Whatever pressing reason that had brought Peter into Sylar's hell had long since passed.
He did a mental review of everything that had happened, what Peter had done, what he'd done in reaction, what he had been feeling and why. I didn't do anything wrong - a few mixed signals maybe, but that's normal, isn't it? What did he expect, for me to be perfectly cool with him pushing his erection against me like I was a sex doll or something? No. He had to expect a few false starts. I have what he wants. He'll be back. But if I want him here faster, I'll need to go to him.
Tomorrow - he'd do it tomorrow, first thing, instead of waiting weeks like before. He'd find Peter and make it clear he was okay with playing Peter's game. He'd do whatever it was he needed to do or agree to, to make this awkwardness and distance go away. Of course it has to be me who's making things right. Wouldn't want to have a Petrelli admitting they were doing anything wrong. He snorted. Of course I'm the one who has to fix things because he wouldn't bother. He doesn't want me like that - he just wants to mind-fuck me so I'll do whatever he tells me to do. There's no way he could really want me, not with what I am.
He was finally able to sleep.
Second Day After
Sylar waited patiently outside of Peter's apartment building. It had been nearly two full days since he'd punched the guy out. Peter was around somewhere and he wouldn't stay in his apartment forever. Peter did tend to avoid him after their little spats, but he'd never actually hid. In fact he usually seemed to be making an effort to show that Sylar hadn't run him off, parading around and acting like Sylar didn't exist, refusing to talk to him, alternating between glaring at him and looking through him. It was enough to make Sylar want to smack him again. He'd done that once - one of the few times Peter got him down and kicked the shit out of him, not stopping when he'd clearly won but instead hammering it home. Lesson learned. Peter seemed a little downright triggery at times, best not to set him off if he could avoid it.
Sylar sighed and leaned back against the brick, staring up at Peter's window. He'd brought a book, but it lay to the side, unopened. In the day, he couldn't see if Peter's light was on or not, so he'd have to depend on catching a glimpse of him at the window.
Why did Peter want to fuck me? Why didn't he just lead me on? Why would he actually let me touch him? He put my hand right on his … thing. Well, through pants, but still. I could feel it. He swallowed and quickly hustled his thoughts away from what that had felt like. He didn't have to do that. If he just wanted me to save all those people, then why not make out with me a little and promise to fuck me, or let me fuck him, after I did it? Fucking me first doesn't make much sense, unless he thinks sex with him is so awesome that once I have a taste, I'd do anything to keep it.
He contemplated how it had been, how much he'd liked it and what he might do to have that again. What I'm already doing, waiting here for him to come out like I'm desperate for it! He growled and looked away from the window, snatching up his book, angry and resentful of the grip Peter had on him. He even managed to read a few forgettable paragraphs before his thoughts strayed back to the more important issue.
I still think he wants something; I just don't know what it is. All he's claimed to want is my help with Emma and that's just dumb and harmless, so … I guess being 'manipulated' for sex is okay … it's just sex. Maybe that's all Peter wants … no, not all … but maybe that's why he went all the way. He's horny. If Peter's kink is making me pretend I really want to be with him, then I kind of have to do it or go without, right?
Desperate again. He sighed. It was a long day, and it was just getting started.
Third Day After
The next day found Sylar waiting again, but less patiently. Is Peter even in there? He's got to run out of food eventually. Of course, he has an entire apartment building to raid, I guess. Asshole.
A few fruitless, boring hours later, his thoughts wandered again. Why does Peter act like he likes me? It's not just the sex, but the other stuff too? He smiles at me. Sometimes when he looks at me … he looks friendly, I guess. He looks like he cares, like he's really listening. Why does he do that? He doesn't have to do that. I'd be sucking up to him even if he was kicking me in the teeth. Hell, he has kicked me in the teeth in a few of those fights and I've come right back. He knows that. Not for the first time, Sylar wished he could crack Peter's skull open and see what was going on with him.
He got up and stretched, wandering up and down the street a few score of paces and then returning, getting the circulation going in his legs again. He stood in the middle of the street and pondered. Every time I've kicked him in the teeth, metaphorically of course, because I wouldn't risk fucking his mouth up like that, he hasn't been the one to come back. He doesn't leave, really, but he avoids me if the fight was a big deal and not something where I poked him until he lashed out and then I let him patch me up.
He grimaced and raked his hand through his hair as he realized what that might mean. He's not going to come back, even if he was fucking me to try to manipulate me, because I punched him in the fucking face! I didn't stick around. I didn't make it right. I didn't take care of him like he's always taking care of me after a fight that he wins. Whenever I win, he stomps off and won't talk to me. That's the pattern. There's no reason why that would change if he was trying to con me. The man has an ego, dammit. It's got to be doubly bruised if I caught him at his game and knocked him out over it. Hell, he might not even think he should try that anymore. Maybe just like I learned not to slap him for giving me the cold shoulder, maybe he thinks he should never be with me because I might hit him afterward. Dammit!
He cursed himself and hung his head, stalking back over to his book where he threw himself on the hard ground. That whole patient/kind routine was throwing me off, so … I overreacted … by a mile. And I hit him … shit. This is Peter; he doesn't play like that. If he hurts me, he usually tries to make it right. If I hurt him, and I don't try to make it right, which I never have, then he avoids me … he hates me and he doesn't hide it. I don't even have any excuse for this. We weren't fighting. We weren't even really arguing. This isn't good. This is seriously not good.
Fourth Day After
That morning, Sylar took clear tape and a spool of black thread around to each door on Peter's apartment. He put a bit of tape on the door and the frame, with a short length of string between them. If the door was opened, the string would be pulled loose. Sitting outside of Peter's apartment wasn't doing any good. At least this way he'd know if Peter had gone in at all.
He was beginning to panic at Peter's continued absence. Even when Peter was not talking to him, he'd usually seen him by now, walked in on him working out (the equipment was untouched), found him playing music (so were the instruments), or caught a glimpse of him on the streets. But now there was nothing. It was like he was alone all over again and fear was starting to torment Sylar's every waking hour.
The strings remained in place, untouched, all day.
Fifth Day After
The strings were there in the morning too, which dismayed Sylar even more. He'd clung to the hope that maybe Peter was going out at night and the string would show that. Unless the medic was rappelling down the side of the building, that wasn't the case. Did he move? Maybe he moved. Or maybe he left altogether. He might be in another city by now. I wonder how he's going to rationalize that to himself and his crazy worldview?
As Sylar walked by on his way to his apartment for lunch, he finally had a positive sign. The thread was pulled from the front door of Peter's apartment building. Sylar felt that a weight was lifted from him. He waited for an hour, but there was no sign of Peter and the thread didn't indicate whether Peter had gone in or come out. Sylar taped the string back and went to his apartment for a hurried lunch. He returned to find the string in place. He waited patiently until long past sunset.
Sixth Day After
Even knowing Peter was around didn't mean Sylar got to spend any time with him. He sat patiently outside the apartment building the next day, too, seeing Peter look down at him through the window a couple times, but Peter didn't come out. A full day of waiting drove the point home well enough - Peter wasn't going to come out that door while Sylar sat outside of it. Feeling frightened and rejected by Peter's change in habits, Sylar skulked off to find more watches to fix.
At least he's still here, sort of. If I could just talk to him and if he'd just tell me what I need to do to fix this …