More Between Us Chapter 30/? "Upper Body"
Chapter 30/? "Upper Body"
Day 10
Sylar huffed out a sigh, rolling his eyes as best he could, releasing his tension. “Fine, I want to know what you’re going to do about my hip. And my stomach.”
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Peter glanced over at the body parts in question, then up to Sylar’s eyes. He drew in a breath and leaned back a little, trying to look calm. Trying intentionally to look like he felt a certain way wasn’t something Peter had much practice at. He knew how to do it - no son of Arthur Petrelli, even the often-disregarded, second-rate one, escaped without that sort of basic training - but Peter tended not to bother. At the moment, though, he really wanted to sell Sylar on the idea that Peter wasn’t pushing.
“For medical examination, the abdomen is divided into four quadrants.” He gestured with his right hand to back up his words. “The line goes breastbone to pubis vertically and horizontally across the navel. I’m going to-“ He paused, blinked once, then started again, “I want to feel of the three quadrants where you don’t have any obvious injury. That will give me a baseline, plus it’s a good idea to check even if a person doesn’t expect problems. I’ll use my left hand, obviously, two fingers, and probe, probably enough to deflect the skin down an inch or two. I’ll move around and feel of where your organs are - are they in the right place, are there masses, is there throbbing, are there hard spots where there shouldn’t be hard spots - that sort of thing. It’ll be a little uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt.”
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The part about ‘two fingers, probing, feeling where your organs are’ seemed pretty damn ironic to a guy whose occupation was poking around inside people’s brains. Aaaand we’ve officially moved out of danger for erections. There’s that at least, Sylar tried to console or pep talk himself. The ordeal was now decidedly unpleasant.
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He stopped speaking for several beats, giving some distance in the conversation. Maybe it would give Sylar time to process. Definitely it was reinforcement for the image of ‘this is no big deal, no hurry’ that Peter was trying to give, and personally felt. He wasn’t trying to project something he didn’t feel - he was just trying to project how he was feeling more strongly and loudly than usual.
“Then I’ll look at the quadrant where you have the bruising. And I’m sorry, but to know what I want to know, I’m going to have to touch it directly and push on it. It will probably hurt. If it doesn’t hurt,” Peter gave a single dry chuckle, “well, let me know that right away, because that means there’s something seriously wrong.” Like nerve damage. “I’ll feel around there same as the others. I’ll need to know how it hurts - sharp or dull, a lot or a little. For your hip …” Peter glanced over, wishing Sylar had on skimpier underwear and somehow managing to think that without a trace of sexual innuendo.
“I would like to see the extent of the bruising. If it’s actually over and on your hip bone like it looks, then I’d want to check hip stability. That involves me putting my hands on either of your hipbones while you’re lying flat and pressing down, then rocking them laterally.” He looked up at Sylar and added sotto voce, “It’s not a lot of rocking. Just a little.” He gestured slightly with his right hand as if trying to demonstrate, but it was probably too general a motion to get much across. He only moved his hand an inch or two back and forth, once.
“The point of that is to make sure all the bones of your pelvis are still firmly connected. Just because you can walk isn’t an indication. People can walk with their backs broken. I saw an x-ray of a guy who walked around with a complete fracture of his femur.” Peter shook his head at how weird the human body was, and that was without abilities. “So, that’s the examination I want to do for your stomach and your hip.”
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I bet he thinks this is just hilarious as can be. So…Peter had to see the inevitable, the hip. And he wanted to prod around on it. Whatever. It wasn’t like Peter wasn’t getting eyefuls to his heart’s content (honestly, the guy didn’t seem to give a fuck!) This was for his own good, he reminded himself, considering chanting that as his mantra to avoid accidental strangulations.
Peter had answered thoroughly so Sylar nodded once, stiffly. He made to lie on his back, assuming Peter wanted his front where all the damage was. He took his time and when he was horizontal, he dragged the pillow under his head, replacing his hands at his sides. “Alright,” he signaled his readiness for Peter to continue.
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Peter shifted up onto his knees, looking over at Sylar’s right thigh. He hadn’t given it a good look earlier, but there was nothing much to see. He gave the groin a visual sweep, but saw nothing unusual. At some point he’d need to see Sylar’s back - again, concern about glass and other debris. Hadn’t Sylar fallen on his back? Or was it his side? Peter wasn’t sure.
He went on to the abdominal palpation he’d outlined before, feeling out the three uninjured quadrants. It took less time than to explain it - only four or five seconds each and he was done. For the last, he stopped and put his hands down for a moment, looking carefully.
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The probing was uncomfortable, but not painful, at least in the three uninjured ‘quadrants’ as Peter referred to them in such a geeky way. It was mercifully brief and he couldn’t help but consider that maybe Peter was rushing it out of fear or disgust; Sylar couldn’t guess. Nothing caused him pain, so he said nothing and made no sound.
The fourth section came around and Sylar took a deeper breath, letting it out, his head propped up barely enough to see so he lifted a bit to get a better view. He winced a little, but he could tell it was merely a muscle/skin pain from denim and shirt grinding into him full-weight. “’S only muscle deep. I skidded off your knee onto that part.”
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Then he looked to Sylar. “Okay. I’m going to probe a bit more here.” He waited for an acknowledgment before setting to it, moving more slowly than he had for the other sections, but still getting done in less than ten seconds.
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Sylar released a ‘hrmph’ of pain, more intense than before as Peter drew closer to his hip and the actual landing zone (not his dick, but the bruise). “Same thing there,” he clarified, really just wanting this to be over, dreading the next parts.
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“Everything seems fine. Hips now.” He glanced up at Sylar attentively, a little wary, then put his right hand on the waistband of his underwear. He’d asked for Sylar to strip as much as he was comfortable with and the underwear had stayed on. That meant Sylar wouldn’t be all that wild about Peter peeling them down, even though Peter had warned him he wanted to.
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Sylar raised his head further so he could see over his ribs, eyes focused on his boxers. His left hand came up to maneuver the waistband down, his right moving up to hold the rest of his the elastic in place (thus minimalizing what he flashed) when he noticed, a bit late, that Peter’s hand was already there. Sylar froze, blinking, confused. He was unable to comprehend why Peter somehow had to be the one to pull his underwear down. He’d assumed, incorrectly it appeared, that he would be the one handling his own drawers.
Sylar was getting quickly sick of these internal battles and mini-dominance wars between them. If he fussed and took control, it made put any previous (flirting and sexual) actions in doubt, made him look weak. If he sat back and let Peter handle his own goddamn underwear, he probably looked weak, too. Or did he look like he had in all under control and Peter was just doing his bidding, following directions to the letter with Sylar’s trust and approval?
Why in God’s name would Peter think that’s okay? Was bouncing around in his head. Sylar was still stuck there as Peter moved on and he realized he missed, by not watching Peter’s face, where the other man looked exactly.
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Peter looked back to what he was doing and bared the minimum he needed, for all of a two second visual check. Had Sylar taken his underwear off, Peter would have touched around it as well, but as the man hadn’t, Peter respected the unspoken request for privacy. He moved on to putting one hand on each hip, grimacing slightly at his right hand. This is going to hurt - me, probably not him. He tightened his jaw and did it anyway, and yes, it did hurt. Peter made a muffled noise of pain in the back of his throat, going through the correct motions anyway and confirming for himself that Sylar’s pelvis was sound.
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His hands hadn’t moved from their paused position over his hips as Peter gave him a cursory glance and replaced his waistband to his proper place. Sylar had time to see that (a significant) edge of his pubic hair was revealed, dark against the light gray waistband and his skin so Peter couldn’t possibly miss it no matter how long he did or didn’t look. He tried not to feel horrified or ashamed, he did, but he doubted sucess.
Peter went for his hips and he grasped the man’s wrists (well, one wrist, one brace), crying out when the man applied pressure and began to rock him because Peter’s palm was rested on the bruise. “Aah!!” He jerked and tightened his grasp on Peter as reflex but after only a few motions his nurse withdrew, breathing heavily.
Sylar heard Peter’s sound of hurt as well and went as still as he could given the painful circumstances, sucking in air through his mouth and staring up at the man, awaiting reaction or action. Ow….Oh, ow. That’s so tender…that’s such a tender spot and I fucking landed on you, Petrelli! He wanted to curl up, but knew that would just hurt worse. See if my pelvis is intact? What the fuck?
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Peter held still for a moment, trying to process all of that: Sylar’s cry, the feel of his hips shifting under Peter’s hands, Sylar’s hands on his wrists and the overwhelming pain from his own right hand. He swallowed roughly, breathed out through his mouth and put his left hand on Sylar’s forearm. It was a light contact, but his fingers curled around to hold gently. “Easy. I’m done. Done.” He breathed out and tucked his right hand flush with his side. That wasn’t because he thought Sylar would do anything to him, but more just an instinct. It was throbbing and Peter knew it would keep doing that for the next minute or two.
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Peter re-gathered, keeping his right hand away and Sylar thought that he’d hurt the guy on accident. Uh-oh. Sylar’s lips were tense, his jaw clenched, recovering his own air, but Peter touched his arm, and did no more than that. He couldn’t help the feeling of instinctive betrayal even while he knew the process would bring pain. He knew Peter was doing what he felt was his job and the injuries had been in the way of that - the hurt was not intentional. That didn’t stop him from wanting to strike back, but maybe he had by grabbing Peter’s brace like that.
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“I … didn’t feel anything out of place.” He glanced to Sylar’s face for reaction, then down his body and around the couch. “Here. Let me get the blanket over you.” He gave Sylar’s arm a squeeze and fished for the blanket awkwardly with his left. He finally noticed how he was holding his right, tight against himself, and loosened up a little. It would hurt no matter where it was. He made an attempt to spread the blanket, then rocked back on his heels and let Sylar finish doing it.
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Sylar just nodded, not knowing what, if anything, to say. “Thanks,” he said to Peter nicely laying the blanket up to his stomach. That was much better - warmer and less exposed. It said a lot in Peter’s favor, too, that he really wasn’t up to anything if he was willing to cover Sylar up. Sylar raised his arms for the blanket, setting them back at his sides atop the material, watching Peter in a more relaxed way now, even if his lower half felt alternately massaged and aching horribly.
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“I’m sorry that hurt you,” he said quietly, looking down at the brace to see if there was any chance it had slipped and maybe he could stop it from hurting by adjusting it. No such luck. He picked uneasily at the Velcro with his left before pulling his hand away and looking back to Sylar. He had a patient and there was nothing he could do for his hand except to quit using it and aggravating the fracture. Small chance of that. “All that’s left is your head and your back.” And technically arms, but Peter had already checked Sylar’s hands and he could see the arms - they were fine. “But I need to know, about your hips: did that hurt anywhere other than the bruise itself? Did it hurt in your tailbone, or anywhere else?”
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“Okay, Peter.” Sylar was attempting to be agreeable to keep even with Peter. He did get tired of being the monster all the time and Peter’s actions said the hip incident had been an honest accident. For reasons strange and beyond his understanding, Sylar felt the desire to continue on, humor Peter and get over what would otherwise result in a thrashing for the nurse. He blamed the raging headache and mental fuckery that came with the concussion. His health was on the line, too, and for once it was being attended to. That was a lot to turn away from, both in regards to medical aid and attention in general.
He shook his head, “No. Nuh-uh.” Something occurred to him and he made a note to bring it up after the exam. It felt great to lie down again, better for his head and he lifted it momentarily to flail his feet around the blanket (limited by his bruises and stiffness) until he could elevate his feet like Peter mentioned. See, I can be a good boy.
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“That’s good to hear,” Peter said. He watched Sylar kick his feet around, wondering what he was doing until Sylar propped one - the one with stubbed toes - on the arm rest of the couch. Nodding in approval, Peter shuffled the opposite way a little and looked to the man’s face. He looked at it first as a gestalt. A day out from the fight, the bruises were apparent against Sylar’s light skin. Peter found himself less sympathetic about these marks than for those on Sylar’s leg. For one thing, other than the first uppercut, he hadn’t managed to tag Sylar very hard in the face. They’d be colorful and painful, but the damage wasn’t that bad.
The concussion was another matter. Peter looked at the man’s eyes, Peter's face very serious. He was mentally measuring pupil diameter and comparing one to the other. Not everyone had symmetrical pupils as a baseline, but it would appear that Sylar did. Peter wished for a flashlight to gauge dilation response. It was probably better that he didn’t have one, as the bright light would be a stabbing pain, not to mention disorienting, for a concussion victim. A motion of Sylar’s expression caught Peter’s notice and the nature of his gaze shifted. Now he was looking at Sylar instead of a body part. Peter’s lips tightened and turned up in a small smile; the lines around his eyes softened. …beautiful eyes. They were dark brown, very clear even given Sylar’s condition, very deep and returning his examination with a sharp interest. Sylar had lovely lashes. Peter didn’t think he’d ever noticed that. Stop that! That has nothing to do with him being hurt!
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The whole…experience, he’d call it that, was interesting to watch, aside from being exposed and having his bruises upset. Peter had quite the game face (different, obviously, from his ‘I’m gonna kick your ass’ face - he’d seen that one plenty). Currently his nurse was eyeing his face…okay. My head was next on the list, he reminded himself, so he let it happen.
It was weird to be looked at by someone with eyes like Peter’s because he just got the feeling there was more going on behind his eyes than most other people. Right now, he pictured Peter making a rundown list of either things he wanted to destroy about Sylar’s face or the possible medical problems it would, well, face. Sylar just gazed back when Peter appeared to want to hold the eye contact.
He would have tilted his head had he not been lying flat when Peter smiled - he’d been doing that a lot more during the course of the exam. That was something he didn’t think he could account for. So Peter truly loves his job. He must, to be able to look you over so thoroughly because it’s obvious he doesn’t want to fuck you. To Sylar that felt…acceptable, actually, much to his own surprise.
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He pulled himself back, literally putting another inch or two between them. Feeling like he needed to say something to distract from the faux pas of his thoughts, even if he’d done nothing (well, not much) inappropriate, he said, “Your pupils look equal, which is a really good sign. I don’t see any internal bleed, either. I’m going to touch where I hit you.” He raised his left hand, turning it slightly to display it to Sylar and make it clear what he was going to do. He waited for some sign of assent before reaching for his forehead.
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Right, pupils. That explained the lingering eye contact. It felt completely strange for Sylar to feel as though he was literally thinking slower than someone else, although social situations he still struggled in. Peter moved in, even moving in a manner that was visibly patient, and it was always just before Sylar could process the actual move or twitch his hands in place for any defense.
Then he was stuck trying to recall where Peter was referring to. I think you hit me all over, man. Sylar kept his eyes on Peter’s after a glance at his displayed hand, calming after that.
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Peter pulled in a deep breath, probing well right of the center of the goose-egg, then to the left, then above. Satisfied there wasn’t anything obviously wrong, he moved his fingers to the injury itself, saying, “This is going to hurt a little.”
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Oh, SHIT! He’d been suckered. Peter’s whole act of ‘look deep into my eyes, I’ll go slow’ and he’d totally fallen for it. At the words ‘this is going to hurt a little’, he had a horrible flash image of being in a similar position with that same hand going for his forehead.
“NO!!” Sylar yelled and thrashed the rest of his body to twist away from that hand, pulling himself back into a not-so-escapable position into the back of the couch. Something pinged in his mind in that moment of panic that Peter said he had Matt’s ability and Sylar thought he’d had Claire’s…it made no sense. He came here to finish the job. Right? Easy to fuck me and feel guiltless if I don’t remember it.
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Startled by the sudden shift, Peter’s eyes flew wide and he froze, wincing inside because he expected to be hit. He didn’t move. Sylar was jerking away, not attacking him directly, and in that second that Peter perceived that, he decided to stay exactly where he was and see what happened.
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Continued...