Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 51: Regret 2
Title: Regret 2
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Rating: PG
Words: 1,400
Summary: Peter wants to know the details of Nathan's death. Sylar starts seeing things from a new perspective.
Notes: I see this as happening about a year after Peter entered the Wall world. You can read this as something that happens a few days after the first 'Regret' story, or as a stand-alone. They're different ways of me working out the same concept, which is Sylar making a small step from being less self-absorbed.
“I wanna know how it happened - Nathan's death.”
Sylar paused, ham and cheese sandwich halfway to his mouth. Peter had been avoiding him for the last couple days, although this time the parting of ways wasn't due to an argument. Sylar assumed it had been a bad move to tell him it was the one-year anniversary of Nathan's demise. Peter seemed determined to be oblivious to the passage of time. “Good afternoon to you, too,” he snarked.
Peter slid out the chair on the opposite side of the table, plopping himself down as if he'd been invited. “Tell me.”
Sylar raised his brows at the rude demand. “Right now?”
Peter opened his mouth, then closed it as he looked at the untouched sandwich still midway to being Sylar's lunch. He sighed. “No, fine. Finish eating. Sorry. I'll wait.” He looked away and crossed his arms, fingers moving restlessly as nervous energy ran through his frame.
Sylar looked from his sandwich to where Peter's fingers were clenching erratically against his bicep. There was no way he could eat like this, with Peter hovering impatiently. He set the sandwich down. “I'm not that hungry at the moment,” he said dryly. “What did you want to know?”
Peter turned back to face him, sparing the sandwich a glance, but accepting Sylar's offer to talk instead of eat. “I want to know how Nathan died.”
“I killed him.” Sylar straightened, stiffening, waiting for the expected fury or even physical altercation that usually followed the bald reminder of Sylar's role in the world. He refused to sugar-coat it and he'd refused for all of the last year. Sometimes he'd thrown it in Peter's face, other times it just slipped out. It was his life, his identity, his past - and he'd talk about it whether Peter hit him for it or not.
Peter breathed in deeply, then expelled the air. No attack was launched. “I know. I want to know … how it happened.”
Sylar tilted his head to one side in curiosity. Peter had seen the corpse. It didn't take a nurse or a paramedic to know a person didn't do well with their veins severed. (Sylar would have done arteries, but he'd learned the hard way that they were more messy.) But if Peter wanted it blurted out, then Sylar would oblige. “He knocked me out the window and dropped me. I caught myself after a few floors and tried to slam him into the building. He had more control over his course than I expected, and he went through a window.” He paused then. Peter was watching, leaning forward with narrowed, intent eyes as he listened with every part of his being. Sylar didn't (yet) regret what he'd done - it had been simple self defense, after all, maybe with a little self-indulgence tossed in but Nathan deserved it for being such a stupid, arrogant prick (and if they were willing to strip his identity after, then it made his sins equal at the least) - he still recognized what effect this might have on Peter. By way of affecting Peter, it affected Sylar and this roundabout concern for his own welfare gave him an unprecedented interest in that of someone else. If he hurt Peter's feelings, then Sylar would, in turn, suffer - maybe not physically, but at least in Peter's willingness to talk with him and tolerate his presence. Perhaps it was better to be gentle, if he could figure out what that was.
“What happened next?”
Sylar leaned back, asking quietly, “Why do you want to know this, Peter? You know how it ends.”
Peter sighed, pursing his lips, and leaned back in mirror to Sylar's body language. “Because … things … so many things that I've believed haven't turned out to be true. I think I know what happened, but I want to know. I want to know for real. You were there. You know what you did and why. I need to know that.”
Sylar's face stilled, becoming an expressionless mask. “I'm evil, he got in my way, so I killed him.”
Peter shook his head, brushing that aside like it was unimportant. He leaned forward again. “Tell me what happened.”
Now Sylar sighed, looking away and then back. He had no idea how to relate 'gently' to someone that you killed their brother on a whim, when it would have been just as easy to incapacitate him in any number of other ways. Peter was looking at him, expecting an answer, demanding one. Buckling under the unfamiliar social pressure, Sylar reverted to 'blunt'. He knew blunt. Maybe 'blunt' would make Peter quit looking at him like that. “I followed him in. He got to his feet. I cut his throat. That's it.”
“With telekinesis?”
Sylar nodded, brows drawing together as he stared at the table and hunched his shoulders a little. The whole conversation made him unhappy, but mostly it was the realization that his mode of communication was all wrong for this sort of thing. He prided himself on being able to play roles and be what people wanted him to be, but that wasn't going to work here. It just wasn't. Peter didn't want an act. He wanted the truth. But the truth was going to hurt him, and it wasn't in Sylar's interest to hurt him, so how was he supposed to handle this?
Peter wasn't done yet. “What was he doing when you did that?”
Sylar shrugged and looked off to the side guiltily. Once Sylar stopped looking at it from his own point of view, with consequences and ex post facto justifications, it started to look pretty indefensible. He could see how this had to look to Peter and he could even, now, see why Peter wanted to know. Nathan … hadn't been doing much of anything. “He … he took a step towards me.” It was a really flimsy reason to unleash lethal force on someone, especially when you were able to regenerate.
“Then you cut his throat. And that was,” Peter swallowed roughly, “all you did?”
It took Sylar a moment to realize Peter was asking if he'd tortured him somehow. He shook his head in answer to the unspoken, then realized what it looked like given Peter's specific question. “Yes, that's all I did. It was … it was quick.” At least he had that much. He hadn't tortured or molested or done anything sick and perverted. He wondered if Peter had ever asked Claire about the time he'd had her alone in the hotel room before the Petrelli brothers had shown up. He hunched in on himself even more determinedly. He felt so worthless. He knew he'd failed.
Peter gave one nod. Voice clipped, he said, “Okay. That's what I wanted to know,” and rose to leave.
“Peter, I ...” He didn't know what to say. He felt … sorry, in a different way than he had before. Before, he'd been sorry that killing Nathan was clearly coming back to affect him, Sylar, negatively. His concern was selfishly motivated. Now he was thinking through how Peter had to feel about it, thinking about how that was going to affect them both in future. It was definitely going to affect it. In the past he'd just walked away from the people he'd hurt, or he'd killed them. That wasn't applicable here. If he wanted a connection, then this … his past, and how Peter was affected by it, how he saw him as a result … it was a problem and not one Sylar knew how to solve.
“No. You were right. But I needed to know for sure.” Peter stalked off stiffly, the diner door swinging shut behind him.
Sylar pushed the uneaten sandwich away, stomach churning as the meaning of Peter's parting words sunk in. He was evil. He didn't want to be.
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Rating: PG
Words: 1,400
Summary: Peter wants to know the details of Nathan's death. Sylar starts seeing things from a new perspective.
Notes: I see this as happening about a year after Peter entered the Wall world. You can read this as something that happens a few days after the first 'Regret' story, or as a stand-alone. They're different ways of me working out the same concept, which is Sylar making a small step from being less self-absorbed.
“I wanna know how it happened - Nathan's death.”
Sylar paused, ham and cheese sandwich halfway to his mouth. Peter had been avoiding him for the last couple days, although this time the parting of ways wasn't due to an argument. Sylar assumed it had been a bad move to tell him it was the one-year anniversary of Nathan's demise. Peter seemed determined to be oblivious to the passage of time. “Good afternoon to you, too,” he snarked.
Peter slid out the chair on the opposite side of the table, plopping himself down as if he'd been invited. “Tell me.”
Sylar raised his brows at the rude demand. “Right now?”
Peter opened his mouth, then closed it as he looked at the untouched sandwich still midway to being Sylar's lunch. He sighed. “No, fine. Finish eating. Sorry. I'll wait.” He looked away and crossed his arms, fingers moving restlessly as nervous energy ran through his frame.
Sylar looked from his sandwich to where Peter's fingers were clenching erratically against his bicep. There was no way he could eat like this, with Peter hovering impatiently. He set the sandwich down. “I'm not that hungry at the moment,” he said dryly. “What did you want to know?”
Peter turned back to face him, sparing the sandwich a glance, but accepting Sylar's offer to talk instead of eat. “I want to know how Nathan died.”
“I killed him.” Sylar straightened, stiffening, waiting for the expected fury or even physical altercation that usually followed the bald reminder of Sylar's role in the world. He refused to sugar-coat it and he'd refused for all of the last year. Sometimes he'd thrown it in Peter's face, other times it just slipped out. It was his life, his identity, his past - and he'd talk about it whether Peter hit him for it or not.
Peter breathed in deeply, then expelled the air. No attack was launched. “I know. I want to know … how it happened.”
Sylar tilted his head to one side in curiosity. Peter had seen the corpse. It didn't take a nurse or a paramedic to know a person didn't do well with their veins severed. (Sylar would have done arteries, but he'd learned the hard way that they were more messy.) But if Peter wanted it blurted out, then Sylar would oblige. “He knocked me out the window and dropped me. I caught myself after a few floors and tried to slam him into the building. He had more control over his course than I expected, and he went through a window.” He paused then. Peter was watching, leaning forward with narrowed, intent eyes as he listened with every part of his being. Sylar didn't (yet) regret what he'd done - it had been simple self defense, after all, maybe with a little self-indulgence tossed in but Nathan deserved it for being such a stupid, arrogant prick (and if they were willing to strip his identity after, then it made his sins equal at the least) - he still recognized what effect this might have on Peter. By way of affecting Peter, it affected Sylar and this roundabout concern for his own welfare gave him an unprecedented interest in that of someone else. If he hurt Peter's feelings, then Sylar would, in turn, suffer - maybe not physically, but at least in Peter's willingness to talk with him and tolerate his presence. Perhaps it was better to be gentle, if he could figure out what that was.
“What happened next?”
Sylar leaned back, asking quietly, “Why do you want to know this, Peter? You know how it ends.”
Peter sighed, pursing his lips, and leaned back in mirror to Sylar's body language. “Because … things … so many things that I've believed haven't turned out to be true. I think I know what happened, but I want to know. I want to know for real. You were there. You know what you did and why. I need to know that.”
Sylar's face stilled, becoming an expressionless mask. “I'm evil, he got in my way, so I killed him.”
Peter shook his head, brushing that aside like it was unimportant. He leaned forward again. “Tell me what happened.”
Now Sylar sighed, looking away and then back. He had no idea how to relate 'gently' to someone that you killed their brother on a whim, when it would have been just as easy to incapacitate him in any number of other ways. Peter was looking at him, expecting an answer, demanding one. Buckling under the unfamiliar social pressure, Sylar reverted to 'blunt'. He knew blunt. Maybe 'blunt' would make Peter quit looking at him like that. “I followed him in. He got to his feet. I cut his throat. That's it.”
“With telekinesis?”
Sylar nodded, brows drawing together as he stared at the table and hunched his shoulders a little. The whole conversation made him unhappy, but mostly it was the realization that his mode of communication was all wrong for this sort of thing. He prided himself on being able to play roles and be what people wanted him to be, but that wasn't going to work here. It just wasn't. Peter didn't want an act. He wanted the truth. But the truth was going to hurt him, and it wasn't in Sylar's interest to hurt him, so how was he supposed to handle this?
Peter wasn't done yet. “What was he doing when you did that?”
Sylar shrugged and looked off to the side guiltily. Once Sylar stopped looking at it from his own point of view, with consequences and ex post facto justifications, it started to look pretty indefensible. He could see how this had to look to Peter and he could even, now, see why Peter wanted to know. Nathan … hadn't been doing much of anything. “He … he took a step towards me.” It was a really flimsy reason to unleash lethal force on someone, especially when you were able to regenerate.
“Then you cut his throat. And that was,” Peter swallowed roughly, “all you did?”
It took Sylar a moment to realize Peter was asking if he'd tortured him somehow. He shook his head in answer to the unspoken, then realized what it looked like given Peter's specific question. “Yes, that's all I did. It was … it was quick.” At least he had that much. He hadn't tortured or molested or done anything sick and perverted. He wondered if Peter had ever asked Claire about the time he'd had her alone in the hotel room before the Petrelli brothers had shown up. He hunched in on himself even more determinedly. He felt so worthless. He knew he'd failed.
Peter gave one nod. Voice clipped, he said, “Okay. That's what I wanted to know,” and rose to leave.
“Peter, I ...” He didn't know what to say. He felt … sorry, in a different way than he had before. Before, he'd been sorry that killing Nathan was clearly coming back to affect him, Sylar, negatively. His concern was selfishly motivated. Now he was thinking through how Peter had to feel about it, thinking about how that was going to affect them both in future. It was definitely going to affect it. In the past he'd just walked away from the people he'd hurt, or he'd killed them. That wasn't applicable here. If he wanted a connection, then this … his past, and how Peter was affected by it, how he saw him as a result … it was a problem and not one Sylar knew how to solve.
“No. You were right. But I needed to know for sure.” Peter stalked off stiffly, the diner door swinging shut behind him.
Sylar pushed the uneaten sandwich away, stomach churning as the meaning of Peter's parting words sunk in. He was evil. He didn't want to be.