More Between Us, Chapter 14/? "Coffee Confessions"
Title: More Between Us Than A Wall part 14/?
Characters: Peter Petrelli and Sylar/Gabriel Gray (Matt and Nathan if you squint?)
Rating: PG-13/T to eventual NC-17/M
Warnings: Language, mind fuckery (no pun intended), violence, angst (?), dirty language/thoughts/actions but nothing explicit.
Setting: Inside the Wall, S4.
Words: 7, 092
Summary: Peter has hacked into Sylar's mind on a rescue mission. Everything goes to Hell. Welcome to Sylar's mind!
Notes (Must Read): In collaboration with the wonderful Game_byrd (Gamebird- FFN) who writes for Peter (I write for Sylar). This is everything that goes on 'behind the scenes' of the episode. The story begins after Peter telepathically joins Sylar in his Matt-induced nightmare (The Wall) in the episode. Based on CANON with fanon and intellect, imagination and a thing called common sense filling in all those nasty plot-holes, but we won't point fingers.
One deviation from canon: In The Fifth Stage when Peter wipes Sylar's memory after the fight, he gained all of Sylar's memories via Rene/The Haitian's ability that allows the user to remember the person's memories in addition to erasing them from the person. AKA Peter has every single one of Sylar's memories stored in his subconscious. They appear from time to time when Peter sleeps or becomes distracted or experiences one of Sylar's deja vu's. Sylar has since recovered his memories with a combination of IA and regeneration. Sylar still has Nathan's memories from Matt Parkman's previous mind-fuck in Invisible Thread. The boys are powerless inside the Wall.
Things you'll need: // // denotes a Nathan Petrelli memory from Sylar's head. Sylar/Gabriel's memories are within singular lines / /. Peter's are \ \ and Peter’s recollection of a Sylar memory (via Rene/the Haitian's ability) is \\ \\. 'Posts' are separated between the boys by XXX (no, that's nothing naughty).
A/N: Brief M/M innuendo and general innuendos and hints at other pairings. Discussions of sex.
Day 8
“I wasn’t thinking about her either, man. At least I don’t think I was.” He gave Sylar a sidelong glance at the man’s renewed intensity when he asked what Peter had meant and what he’d seen. Peter turned to the side and paced a little. He gave a little evasion to that question - but only a little. “I was having a dream at first, a normal dream. We …” Hm, this has the potential to be embarrassing fast unless I watch my words. “You and I were exploring apartments.” He waved a hand generally back the way they’d come. “Then you were gone and she was there, but I was having trouble seeing her face. I …”
Peter stopped pacing and drew up. “I tried. I tried to see her face and I focused on her. Then everything shifted and I remembered …” He looked over at Sylar thoughtfully. “I remembered the image of her face from your memory.” Of course the image of her inflamed with passion would brand itself into Sylar’s head. Maybe that was his single strongest memory of her, or maybe it just correlated with Peter’s because of the sexual content of Peter’s dream.
He chewed his lip. “Maybe I did do something.”
XXX
Peter’s descriptions didn’t match any of Sylar’s memories-it sounded more like a dream. It was very likely Peter was (literally, this time) dreaming it all up. Her face from my memory? You expect me to buy that?
Sylar couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the man's density and long-winded, rather unnecessary explanation. If the ability didn’t work, it didn’t work and as he would never know the difference (honestly the idea of Peter with telepathy was bad enough); there was nothing either of them could do about it. He waved a hand in the air towards the other man, dismissing. “That’s wonderful; I can’t prove you wrong otherwise. And that’s not intimate, Peter.” He and his tone moments ago implied Peter had seen something potentially graphic.
His thoughts stuttered off the track. Has he seen me naked through…memories? How much more awkward…Can you focus on nothing else? Really. That is the least of your problems. He says he’s not doing it on purpose; he says he’s not doing it at all; so why would he purposefully go through your mind for anything with bare skin? Then what would he have been looking for?
This-he is worse than Lydia!
“What did you mean exactly about you. and. her?” This time his voice telegraphed that he wasn’t messing around. Asking the man directly would surely yield the answer. I can always rebreak his fingers; I can always rebreak his fingers…“How do you know her? You have a history? What?” All this was useless in the present, sure, but it meant that his one halved-relationship might be…what, tainted? Not what he thought it was, regardless. His only consolation at this point was that Peter didn’t know that it had been his only significant ‘relationship’ of sorts to date, meaning he still didn’t know Sylar was kinda pathetic on that front. Yet.
“You said….you said something about….watchmaking,” Sylar purposefully avoided saying ‘you said something about ME being a watchmaker”, but the last word did exit his mouth a little whispery, trying not to call attention to it. These are the things I need to know. For god’s sake, tell me! Am I gonna have to stay up at nights so he doesn’t fucking dream? Or keep him up? His ability is so busted his powers won’t work, he doesn’t know what he has, he can’t use them and they’re probably using him!
He was completely frustrated, Peter was being frustrating on purpose probably in hopes of avoiding letting something slip that Sylar would find…a need for violence in. Annoyed and on edge were his coinciding emotions as he considered the depth of the damaging leak that had mysteriously sprung between them.
Peter could potentially know everything about him if this continued-every one of his regrets; suicide attempts and murders; all of his feelings; how he thought; what he desired; the things he liked and those he didn’t; how he’d changed and why; the things that bothered him and set him off; how he groomed; how he ate; how he slept; the things that terrified him and what kept him up at night; worse still, his history, the people he’d known. Hell, Peter might manage to dig up the things Sylar had totally forgotten, childhood memories that he himself didn’t even possess. Peter would essentially be inside his head, just wandering instead of looking for something specific to pluck out and ogle.
His breath escaped him in a small sighed gasp. Guy’s gotta have some secrets…
XXX
Peter eyed Sylar at his insistent question about what was between Peter and Elle. He didn’t say anything right away. It gave Sylar time to elaborate and he did it with enough apprehensiveness that Peter knew what he was dealing with: jealousy, insecurity, and fear. Peter knew he had a knife in his hand, metaphorically speaking, and Sylar’s heart was bare. He remembered himself years before, standing invisible on a rooftop, watching Simone with Isaac. Claude had been standing next to him radiating ‘I told you so.’ Even though Peter wasn’t the jealous type, he’d still felt hurt that she’d dumped him a second time.
“You remember that I said I was locked up by the Company for months, right?” He spoke slowly, giving himself time to think about his choice of words, what to say and what not to say. It also gave him the opportunity to watch Sylar’s face. “She was my jailor, most days. It was usually her bringing me my neutralizing pills, clothes, and food.” He looked off to the side briefly, then back, meeting Sylar’s eyes without blinking. “She had a lot of time to torture me. It didn’t leave a real good impression. So yeah, she and I have a history.” He looked away again.
He was leaving out something important here - kissing, playing (a dangerous game; he had been at a dark point in his life), and being toyed with. But Elle did not belong to Sylar, not that Peter had ever been all that respectful of such boundaries anyway, as Isaac could have attested, had Sylar not murdered him, too.
How did this work for Sylar anyway - him and Elle? Did he trust her? What was he afraid of discovering between her and Peter? Peter was too much of a Petrelli to leave this alone right away. “You know her. I saw that well enough. What do you think she’d do with me if she had me locked in a Company cell?” He looked back, eyes slightly narrowed. Peter was locked here, with Sylar. There were parallels, which had a lot to do with Peter’s paranoia. There were no cameras, no guards and no Daddy Bishop to encourage Sylar to treat Peter well. And of course Sylar had been in a Company cell as well. Peter knew his own treatment, as a son of one of the directors, had been VIP compared to whatever Sylar had received; so he was interested to see what Sylar imagined had happened. Peter had, after all, spent a little time as a Level Five detainee, a nobody named Jesse.
“As for the watch-making … Yeah, you were working as a watchmaker. You were younger, I think, or at least you sounded younger, thought … well, you were younger. You were working on a watch. A guy came in.” Peter made an empty gesture with his left hand. “You told him you had his order ready and you rang him up.” It wasn’t a big deal. Everyone had something in their past. What, did Sylar want people to think he’d grown up as a rabid serial killer, terrorizing his school and secretly offing the other kids in Gifted and Talented class? Sylar stressing over this would be like Peter getting bent out of shape that someone knew he’d worked in a pizza shop briefly in his freshman year of college, until his father caught wind of it. Honestly, he’d just been trying to fit in. He tried a half-smile. “I don’t really think I got any deep secrets about you out of that. Nothing embarrassing happened.” Come on, man, it was nothing that like that crap with the bear you pulled. That was mean. And on purpose.
XXX
Sylar grunted in response; he recalled being a little surprised that the Petrelli clan hadn’t yanked him from his ‘self-imposed’ therapy or whatever Peter saw it as. She was his what? Sylar hadn’t gotten so much as a visit from her and he’d been there probably the same amount of time Peter had, all in all. Not a good impression.
As much as he longed to relax, forgive and forget over that, something wasn’t hitting him right about Peter’s demeanor. He snorted in partial amusement, but failed to look away from Peter. Maybe staring continuously at him would prod any lingering…guilts. He placed emphasis on ‘history’.
“I don’t know, Peter; that’s what I’m hoping to find out. Clearly your eyeballs aren’t ash, so she didn’t rough you up too bad,” he delivered with a hunk of snarky condescension. Again, he doubted Peter had been fried inside-out at any given time. Of course, Peter didn’t deserve it. “So how did you escape? Or did mommy pull strings when she got sick of you? Did Nathan sue to get you out?” He highly doubted it was the last two.
Elle would have thought him quite the pet-amusing, probably squirming and screaming just right to keep her interest, funny, dramatic, trapped, and what she would have labeled ‘a cutie’.
Basically, Peter was a potential threat to Sylar’s memories as he was attractive, available and, as far as he knew, virile enough to do the job. Yes, the idea that they’d fooled around was prominent on him mind. It didn’t fail to make him queasy. As far as Sylar was concerned, she’d never treated him like a ‘pet’. Not really. She knew when not to fuck around on someone after the first time, but fool him once…
Social graces were demanding he relinquish his hold on the conversation and its subject, so he did, if only temporarily. Peter suddenly got dodgy about it so he hadn’t reached the bottom of the barrel yet. He released Peter from his piercing gaze to at least affect at relaxed as Peter touched on the secondary subject of watch-making.
Would he lie about this? Is he really just pulling my leg, getting a kick out of this while feeding me a story? Peter seemed determined about his innocence, rather, the innocence of the dream’s contents. His lips pursed for all of two seconds when Peter stumbled on the part about ‘deep secrets’. Wonderful, so he’s onto it, too.
He kept his body language, though calm, at an ‘in charge’ tension to let Peter know he wasn’t through with this talk as he began walking again, shaking his head. Sylar now had to sort through the information and his feelings, the instincts he had on it. Peter was smart, smarter than he looked, anyway, and if he’d been doing his ‘empathy powers activate!’ thing he surely picked up on the fact that it was sensitized content.
He might also have passed up an opportunity to do real emotional harm to Sylar, something that hadn’t been covered in their agreement on mental patients and adult-to-child behaviors. Is he sparing me something? If so what was it and why was he doing it? Does he know she’s dead? Was the next thought in his head. Maybe that explained Peter’s apparent befuddlement as to why Sylar cared. Then, Should I tell him?
Sylar heaved a sigh and looked up at the sky as he walked, quite sure Peter was tagging behind him since he wasn’t looking to get away, exactly-he just needed space. “She’s dead, Pete. About four years ago. She won’t come back and fry your balls because you told me something,” he said quietly, loudly enough for Peter to hear.
XXX
When Sylar turned and began to walk away, that was when Peter started to worry. He bared his teeth and looked around for … a weapon, a defense, an ally … something. Anything. There was nothing. He had a moment to decide whether to stalk off on his own and hope for the best, or to try to recover this. After a beat, he hurried to follow, trailing a little behind though. He hoped like hell he wasn’t letting Sylar lead him to something lethal and that this was just a normal tense, pissy moment - always questionable when dealing with a killer.
Sylar was just walking down the middle of the street, so it wasn’t like an attack was imminent. Peter went back over the conversation. Maybe if I just answer some of his questions? I’m already answering some of his questions though. Not telling the whole truth though and obviously he can tell that. I’m a terrible liar. Why am I not being totally forthcoming here? 1) That wasn’t the agreement - Bad form, Peter. That’s petty. 2) He’s a murderer - which should be, you know, all the more reason not to cause problems without good cause. 3) I’m embarrassed - um … yeah, I think that’s accurate. 4) I’m not sure how he’ll react - so? See reason #2.
I’ve got one decent reason: it’s embarrassing that I tried to seduce her and she turned on me. I failed in manipulating her and I was willing to use sex to do it. To someone as damaged as she was. That’s low. I should be ashamed of that. He eyed Sylar’s back. He wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to confess another sin at the moment.
That was when Sylar made his addendum to the conversation. “What?” Peter said, surprised. “She’s dead?” How? He remembered the bullet that had slammed into the flooring a fraction of a second after she’d yanked Sylar out of the way. Then? Wait, four years ago? His brow furrowed. No, he must be counting three here. So one year ago. He pondered, but couldn’t place the news. Of course, he hadn’t exactly kept up on the life and times of Elle Bishop; ever.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said in a quiet, sober voice. Did he kill whoever did it? Was it just an accident? Was it whoever was shooting at them in that house? Was it Sylar?
“She didn’t rough me up … that much.” Of course, I had Claire’s power, even if the pills were keeping it down. “As for how I got out, there’s a trick to swallowing pills and being able to retch them back up. I had plenty of opportunity to work on it. Once I figured it out, I just walked out. They couldn’t stop me.” Of course it helped a lot to have Adam’s advice.
XXX
The walking did help in easing Sylar's worries. They were still irrelevant here and today. While he couldn’t explain his need to know, at least, not in a way that wouldn’t sound crazy to the psyche ward that walked behind him, it was what he felt. Sylar kept quiet as he walked; attempting to leave the subject behind as he they moved on, but he was almost relieved when Peter piped up again after a few moments. The silence had been strange, probably uncomfortable if he had to label it; the lack of sound had been filled only with the sound of their footsteps, echoing throughout the city.
He let out a shuddering breath, letting Peter come to terms with whatever he needed to. She didn’t help Peter out and that made him feel a little better. Yeah, you’re jealous. She’s dead; it’s over. You’re callous enough to make moves on him, too, so you’re not so fucking righteous. God, what happens tonight when he sleeps? Does he get the night at the beach? How does it operate; is it based on what one or both of us are thinking when we sleep? Do we…meet up in dreams or something corny?
XXX
Peter walked silently a little further, still unnerved by the lack of engagement. While Sylar was talking, venting and giving him reactions, Peter was fine. The silent act unsettled him, especially the ‘going away mad’ part. Even though Peter’s overactive paranoia had calmed down, he still wanted to get things back to where they’d been before. He felt deflated. For a few minutes there, someone had been paying attention to him. Then he’d run his mouth without thinking first and now he was trailing along behind the other man like a lost puppy. I’m not even sure where we’re going, he thought with a pout.
“What is it you really want to know here?” He didn’t expect an answer, but he thought maybe he could toss that out there and see what response it garnered.
XXX
Sylar stopped then, not suddenly, but at a normal speed, almost hesitant, half-turning towards the other man, his hands long since returned to his pockets to walk. “Did you sleep with her?” his voice was pitched low and unhurried at a conversational volume, wavering only a little as an eyebrow quirking slightly, his face disguising hurt with question. He internally braced for the answer, determining himself that it didn’t matter. Of course it wouldn’t matter if the closest, most real relationship, (which isn’t saying much given the circumstances) I’ve ever had with someone has been ruined after/before the fact by him.
Peter Petrelli, the man who could have anything and the odds of him screwing something over for Sylar, unwittingly, for his own gain was…actually a long shot, but it might have happened. God, how ironic. “I….I don’t know what you saw, Peter, and what you’ve mentioned is a lot of private stuff you’re getting into. I’ve never had my mind fucked over then had someone…question me about it like this.” Nathan didn’t count because that wasn’t Sylar’s mind, in a sense; it wasn’t his own consciousness. The overall point he was trying to get across was about how he wasn’t sure at all how to handle this situation.
He’d also never been able to talk to someone about girls; or Elle; or sex; or why he didn’t have someone to call his own (which should be fairly obvious) or what he could do about that. It felt like such a normal thing to do, something that happened all the time and should happen all the time, but for someone special and as power-hungry as Sylar it felt out of place and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be taken well by his audience. A sort of ‘So I’m supposed to feel sorry you screwed up your own ‘best-shot’ at a relationship when you killed my brother?’ thing. Heck, even ‘you have the right to have something private after what you’ve done? Go to hell!’
“I don’t…appreciate mind-fuckery in any form and I’m not…I’m not accusing you of it. But it’s still there and I can’t change it,” was the closest explanation he could make, a sort of apology in it as well. I can’t change much of anything in here, Peter, wish though I do. He knew the ‘walk-away’ trick worked when one was upset-it helped avoid damaging his only companion over a suspicion. She wasn’t ever really yours, either, you idiot. You’ve had years to think on this, don’t let whatever he says deter your making peace with it.
XXX
“I’m not trying to fuck with you,” Peter answered quietly and steadily. “I have absolutely no interest in that. I know some people think that sort of thing is funny - I never have.” It didn’t keep him from trying to get people to do what he wanted, but that was different. Peter tried to be careful about his goals there and let that guide his actions. Of course Peter also had a sense of humor, but this was not the sort of circumstance where he let it out.
He looked down for a little bit. I ought to just tell him. He knows now and he’s not doing anything. At least, I don’t think he’s going to do anything. Sylar’s calmer demeanor was reassurance of that. If I don’t come clean, he’ll always wonder. There’s no reason to let the uncertainty tear him up. Hell, he should be happy with the answer. Am I not telling him because I’m trying to be cruel and make him think I did something I didn’t? Peter frowned for a moment, brows furrowed. That last thought made up his mind for him.
He cleared his throat and smoothed his expression. “Okay. About Elle,” he looked Sylar dead in the eye again. “No, I didn’t sleep with her.” Then he looked away, eyes darting uneasily. “We … we played around a lot though.” He gave a quick, wary glance back at Sylar, then looked down, ducking his head in guilt. A little more quietly he added, “I tried to use her to get out. It didn’t work.” He sighed and muttered with disgust, “God, I sound like Nathan.”
XXX
Sylar gave a snorted chuckle. Yeah, ‘some people’ like me. Peter still hesitated and the longer he took to ‘answer’ (if he even would), the worse Sylar dreaded anyway. He nodded, still facing partly away, slowly turning as Peter spoke. Peter was too honest to lie about fucking him over; he was, after all, a (rather) straightforward man. The medic had passed by multitudes of opportunities to fuck Sylar over and it was beginning to sink in that he wouldn’t. Sylar looked Peter in the face as the other man did the same, his gaze merely searching this time and he found it odd that he wasn’t missing his lie detection.
A muscle in his eye twitched without orders at the news, but the worst was unconfirmed and he could live with that. He would have had to in either case. His eyes tracked Peter’s guilty movements before he nodded once. He knew the other man was paying attention to his response. You just told him that she was something to you. Eventually he’s gonna ask about it. Or see it in his dreams. He knew there was nothing he could do about it, so he might as well not worry about every single eventuality.
A copious eyebrow raised at a second (third?) confession. Okay, not that you wouldn’t have done the same to get out of there, even if it had been another girl, but from him…? Suddenly he found himself laughing aloud; yeah, kind of at Peter. “Nathan? You? Oh, Peter…” he shook his head, smiling to himself since Peter probably wouldn’t see the humor.
XXX
Peter turned and walked away several strides, fussing with his hair compulsively. He swept it out of his face, then carded it back with his fingers, then tousled it a little, then carded it back again and made motions as if to push it off his forehead, but no stray hair was there to be pushed. He put his hands down to stop himself from fidgeting. It occurred to him that Sylar might not even understand why Peter was upset by the whole episode. He was upset by his own conduct and no amount of pointing out to himself that he thought he’d killed Nathan, thought his powers were out of control, thought maybe he’d gone crazy … none of it justified trying to play on the affections of a woman who appeared vulnerable and needy and twist that to his own ends. While he would have tried to get her out as well (and he believed she was trapped by the situation and her oppressive family much as he was), it didn’t change the essential nature of what he’d been trying to do. He’d been trying to do something wrong.
He sighed and turned back towards Sylar. Why do I end up confessing these things to him? Is it because he’s done worse and I feel like I won’t be judged too harshly? That was funny. Sylar struck him as nothing if not judgmental. Of course, if you want to build a link with someone, if you want to build a bridge with them, you do it by sharing your weaknesses, not by flaunting your strengths. Maybe if he thinks I’m a fuck-up, he’ll have a little more empathy with me. He swallowed and fell back into step, mulling things over, mentally chipping away at his own pride and self-righteousness.
XXX
The empath then began pacing, nervous and guilt-ridden over something that really didn’t matter anymore. Very strange that you’re the one who’s brushing things off like this instead of guilting over them for a few years like you used to.
Sylar thought on that for a second, but no more before mentally instructing himself-with great growth comes great forgiveablility. Oh, if only that were true. “Relax, man. There’s a reason I call you the Boy Scout. You said you tried, you failed. In the end, she’s not your concern.” Or mine.
XXX
It’s not about her! Peter wanted to snap, but he kept his mouth shut. ‘It’s about me’ sounded self-centered to say, even if the subject at hand - his adherence or not to moral behavior - was all about him. He didn’t expect Sylar to understand why that mattered so much, so Peter dropped it.
What he picked up loud and clear was that Sylar wasn’t going to kill him over him being with Elle in some manner. The other man had been pretty heavily freaked out there at first. He’d calmed down and at least appeared to be dealing with it. Peter studied him, trying to get a feel for the other man’s emotions. Was he genuinely calmed down, or was it an act?
XXX
“Now, we’re gonna go get you a pick so you can mangle the hell out of that poor guitar, okay?” Sylar said by way of soothing Peter’s feathers. “I’m not much of a shoulder to cry on, but if it helps…” giving a light shrug, Sylar’s voice was miming sincerity, which in a sense it was, but it hid sarcasm designed to give Peter a moment of ‘Ugh! You sicko!’ to get back to himself. He didn’t anticipate Peter having a breakdown in front of him (the phrase ‘of all people’ was kind of meaningless now), but if he did, Sylar would do his best to help. Does he know about that scientific study about tears being a turn-off?
Something in him felt the need to go over and grab Peter by his shoulders, get very close to him for the Petrelli shoulder squeeze. Sylar walked over with a purpose, extending his arms at the proper time and laid his big paws over Peter’s admittedly buff shoulders, giving him a light squeeze and shake-it felt familiar and natural to him and he didn’t question it. He gave the smaller man a serious ‘get it together’ look and hoped it didn’t come across as giving him ‘kid brother’. Do I remind him of his brother? And dear god, I am not coping a feel on him, I’m not… Because, oh, how easy it would have been to do that.
XXX
Peter nodded briefly to the comment about the guitar, giving a small smile. It chilled a bit with the next statement, trying to sift through fake sincerity and actual sarcasm to divine if that was a joke because Sylar was trying to make light of it; a joke because he genuinely didn’t care (which would be creepy), or a calculated affectation because Sylar was boiling inside and was just sociopathic enough to hide his feelings behind a convincing mask.
Peter’s doubting expression must have been clear on his face, because Sylar came over with intent. Peter stood straighter, eyes darting and hands raising just a bit when Sylar extended his. Peter canvassed the man’s face and body language again - the set of his shoulders, angle of head, the way he was reaching, his posture and footwork - and by then Sylar’s hands were closing over Peter’s shoulders in a reassuringly firm, but not threatening, grip. Peter relaxed. Sylar gave him a shake and the empath even smiled a little, letting his too-alert eyes fall to half-lidded. “Yeah, okay,” he said easily, not even completely sure what he was agreeing to. His empathy had informed him all was good, without giving him much of an intellectual explanation to go on. That was okay. He didn’t need one.
Peter started to turn and Sylar removed his hands. Peter made a jerk of his head. “How about we stop over here and get some coffee?” He gestured at the diner. “You say the first place we’re headed towards is the music store?” They walked along beside each other down the street, nearing the place Peter had indicated. “What kind of coffee do you drink, anyway? I don’t think they have anything special in here. It’s just kind of a greasy spoon.”
XXX
Peter affirmed that he would let it drop and take it easy on himself, so Sylar nodded and moved back, falling into step beside the other man as they had before the whole incident began. His shoulders sure felt- Eh-hem? Do you mind? No, I really don’t mind. No wonder his family can’t keep their lecherous hands off him. Sylar couldn’t help his hands, aching for more, but he ignored them.
The other man seemed at ease enough as they walked before he brought up coffee again. Coffee? Had it been anything closer to a normal situation, Sylar would have gaped and thought something along the lines of ‘Coffee? With me? You’re crazy’. But Peter was equally alone. It wasn’t like it was a date or a get-to-know-you event.
“S-sure,” he choked out, his surprise just a touch evident. I can just go inside, let him get his coffee. “Yeah, that’s right.” The pair walked meanwhile in the middle of the road, something rebellious and uncaring and somehow resigned in the act. Taking up all the would-be used space here in New York and Peter seemed to be settling into that reality.
Peter wasn’t nitpicking or demanding they walk in the sidewalk, he was marching down the centerline like it belonged to him. He found himself wondering if that was an ingrown Petrelli mindset (he doubted it, at least for Peter. To a degree)
The medic led him towards the diner and he followed gamely behind. “Um…not much of a coffee drinker, actually. I was…kind of raised with the idea that it would stunt your growth and rot your teeth. Kind of had to drink it four or five years ago…well, more like six is when it started. When you’re on the run and all that.” Sylar didn’t add the part about living in hotels and his victim’s residencies, even whatever car he’d stolen on occasion.
XXX
“Yeah, I heard that stuff about it being bad for you, too.” Peter paused to consider the thought of Sylar ‘on the run.’ Peter assumed he meant after getting his ability and roaming around looking for more. ‘Why?’ ‘How?’ and ‘Did you have any control over yourself?’ came to him as questions. When he’d had Sylar’s ability, everything lined up in his head as a neatly logical progression that just happened to include picking up abilities from everyone he ran into except for Sylar. He didn’t really understand that - the one person responsible he didn’t feel any hunger towards, although Peter’s willingness to dish out violence to the man had gone through the roof.
XXX
Sylar continued, “I like it black; sometimes creamer and sugar if I’m not in the mood for the full kick,” he gave a small chuckle as they passed through the door, “I like the smell and taste of coffee beans.” Perhaps because they were a wholesome, ancient ingredient and it was generally considered to be something to look forward to in the mornings when all he usually had was a road trip by himself. And it wasn’t something that was really found in Virginia’s household when he grew up.
“And you?” This is…surreal. I already know the answer, but still that I’m asking Peter Petrelli about his coffee… Sylar managed to bite his tongue over spewing out Peter’s response before he voiced it. It wouldn’t do him any favors.
XXX
Peter walked behind the counter, heading right to the coffee machine. He shook his head, popping in a new filter and pulling out another coffee pack. “I prefer a café mocha or a cocoa cappuccino, and most of the lattes are fine, too.” He pressed the button to get the machine started. “But black’s good. I suppose all I really want is the caffeine and sugar. I never got into all the different kinds of beans and roasts, but I’ve had truly fresh roast a few times and wow, I see why that’s a big deal.” He hadn’t seen a coffee house around here, but he knew how to operate a cappuccino machine. Should they find one, he’d be set.
XXX
Huh? Was Sylar's first reaction. Nathan filled him in on what they tasted or looked like respectively, but Sylar didn’t have the first clue as to what the drinks (he assumed) actually were. Literally hundreds of coffee opportunities-outings, dates, meetings, casual hook ups, heck, just by himself; Nathan was a real coffee man, but Sylar suspected it was a tool like everything else in that Petrelli’s arsenal.
Nathan liked it for the caffeine and the act of holding a mug or cup in his hand. “I’ve heard that about fresh roast, too,” he nodded, “Supposedly better health benefits or something; I could be wrong. But the bean probably does make a difference.”
Pausing in thought, he recalled something he’d read about once. “Dark roasts have less caffeine than a medium roast because the heat burns away the caffeine,” Sylar frowned to himself a little. That was informed of you. “The human body can take in about three hundred milligrams of caffeine, about four cups before it stops having any effect. And coffee is made up one-thousand two-hundred chemical components, half of which make up the taste itself.”
Sylar finally had to make an effort to stop jabbering Peter’s ears off, rubbing at a deep scrape in the counter top, eyeing it intently for a moment as the other man worked around. Peter’s preferences were good to know in any event.
It still struck Sylar as odd to watch someone else do what he did-waltz around and use the objects around like they belonged to him. Something about the etiquette of it perhaps. He sat on a stool and plopped his elbows onto the bar counter, watching Peter’s hands mostly.
XXX
Peter turned around and stared at Sylar when he started spouting weird facts. Encyclopedia, much? After a long beat, he grinned and shook his head. “Wow. You are really smart.” Too bad you didn’t use that brain to accomplish something. Actually, you did. You became probably the most powerful man in the world. How’s that working for you, Sylar? Of course, even Einstein had socialization problems. Come to think of it, a lot of smart people do. Then again, so do a lot of dumb people. He smiled again suddenly, an uncommonly warm and friendly expression even from Peter, like he had found or made some empathic connection, which he felt he had. “That’s cool, man. Keep the facts coming. Maybe I’ll learn something.”
XXX
Sylar gratefully missed the stare; it would have made him shrink more. Really smart. It’s only gotten me into lots of trouble. The words ‘wow’ and really smart’ in the same sentence failed to read genuine. He supposed it was intended to be condescending or sarcastic; then again, that wasn’t something Peter excelled at necessarily, so he let the statement lie. He blinked at the response he garnered verbally. Ducking his head he chuckled a little, “Coffee wasn’t something I studied religiously, not being much of a coffee worshipper, but okay.”
XXX
Peter set out two cups next to the coffee machine. He turned and found a canister of sugar on the counter. He set it out in front of Sylar. “Maybe I can teach you something, too.” The words just slipped out and he thought he’d meant them innocently. God, that sounded almost flirty. He caught the other man’s expression. No, that sounded definitely flirty. Peter turned away and found something else to do immediately.
XXX
Then, T-teach me something? Like what? Sylar raised his eyes from the bar’s surface to give Peter’s…back a rather heated look. What did you have in mind, Peter Petrelli? By some small miracle he kept his gaze from wandering over the other man’s body.
The other man disappeared for a few moments and Sylar ended up chuckling to himself behind his hand. Was Peter deliberately teasing him? Probably not…but he was still teasing and he could make use of that. When Peter returned with a pitcher, it was back to business and so was Sylar’s face, although it hid his glee (some arousal) and humor behind it.
XXX
Peter left entirely, fleeing the scene. He went back into the kitchen on the excuse to himself of searching for cream or half and half. He found something that had to be either in one of the industrial/commercial refrigerators the place had. What he found was thick and cream-like, in a small pitcher covered with cellophane. He brought it out and set it in front of Sylar; eyes down, face straight, studiously minding his own business and not making eye contact.
Peter spoke nervously, “You want anything else while we’re here? I think I’m going to have a piece of toast. What about you? You want one?” He dug out bread and put it in the toaster like he owned the place. That still felt weird to him. It did not feel weird to be offering to serve Sylar, even though he was picking up that the other man was put-off by it. At some point he figured their positions would flip. He recalled how put-off he’d been about Sylar’s invitation to lunch the first day he’d been here. It wasn’t that Peter was feeling friendly towards the other man, but simply getting resigned. As long as Sylar was polite … well …
Peter glanced over at him. Yeah, perverse and strange as it was, he didn’t think ‘friendly’ was going to take too long to arrive. If he really was going to be trapped here for years, the idea of spending all of that time seething with anger just wasn’t realistic. Peter knew how people worked; how emotions worked. The rage he felt inside, the ache, the hurt - it might last forever, but lashing out because of it wasn’t going to.
XXX
“No thank you, Peter,” he said quickly and quietly, “I already ate.” It felt weird for Sylar to be asked if he wanted anything. By Peter Petrelli no less. Perhaps it was crossing his mental boundaries when it came to gifts and food and people and the like.
It sucked to know Peter’s favorite foods already. That meant he would have to ask something Nathan did not or would not know. “You should probably eat more, Peter. I know you’re not working any more, but still.” Sylar still didn’t eat as much as he should either, but that was different. “I didn’t mean to make you nervous…you know, earlier,” he said a little absentmindedly as he watched the ingredients Peter put on his toast.
XXX
“Nervous? Sylar, you make me nervous all the time.” Peter said that perfectly matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. “Why do you think I’m so jumpy around you?” I keep over-reacting. Maybe that’s it. It’s just an over-reaction. He tended to his toast. He took one of the little single serving jelly packs and peeled off the top. He spread the grape jelly over half the toast, then opened another and doubled it.
Peter said, “I ate some at my apartment. I’m fine.” Little weird that you’d worry about me though. Not sure what to make of that. He licked the jelly off the knife. Wait, did that just look suggestive? I’ll bet that looked suggestive. What the hell am I doing here? Just stop it!
XXX
Sylar tilted his head, “That bad, huh,” he said in partial question, frowning slightly. Oh, so…you’re eating again…okay, makes perfect sense. Grape, too, he thought. Go figure. I guess he isn’t completely like me then after all, he’ll be thrilled to hear.
But Sylar let it pass. Food, healthy food at that, was good for Peter whether he’d bulked up or not. The hero-drive would be harder to kill and he kind of assumed and pieced together that Peter was rather lax in his eating habits. Which had…suddenly become Sylar’s business overnight. Fuck. He knew who to blame for it.
Sylar's attention wasn’t caught by the empty diner and its kitchen, surprise, surprise. It was too interesting watching Peter-Uuh. His mouth dropped open a little at the sight of the other man’s tongue doing some very interesting things to the knife. I think most people would suck that clean, but that wouldn’t help his case any. Sylar made it a point to swallow and shift on the stool, clearing his throat as Peter turned, a little embarrassed (so he knew!), towards the coffee. Screw the coffee, Petrelli, do that again.
Sylar bit his lip and prayed to whatever god of coffee not to get any physical reactions what would be visible to…uninterested and probably unsympathetic eyes, namely Peter’s.
XXX
Peter didn’t look at Sylar, turning to look back at the percolator. “Ah. Coffee’s done.” He poured up two cups and put one in front of his companion. He blew on his coffee a little and sipped at it, then grimaced, either from the heat or taste. “Gimme that cream when you’re done with it, will you?” Wait, is that suggestive too? God, Pete, quit it! He shook his head, his expression caught between frowning and smirking.
XXX
Continued...
Characters: Peter Petrelli and Sylar/Gabriel Gray (Matt and Nathan if you squint?)
Rating: PG-13/T to eventual NC-17/M
Warnings: Language, mind fuckery (no pun intended), violence, angst (?), dirty language/thoughts/actions but nothing explicit.
Setting: Inside the Wall, S4.
Words: 7, 092
Summary: Peter has hacked into Sylar's mind on a rescue mission. Everything goes to Hell. Welcome to Sylar's mind!
Notes (Must Read): In collaboration with the wonderful Game_byrd (Gamebird- FFN) who writes for Peter (I write for Sylar). This is everything that goes on 'behind the scenes' of the episode. The story begins after Peter telepathically joins Sylar in his Matt-induced nightmare (The Wall) in the episode. Based on CANON with fanon and intellect, imagination and a thing called common sense filling in all those nasty plot-holes, but we won't point fingers.
One deviation from canon: In The Fifth Stage when Peter wipes Sylar's memory after the fight, he gained all of Sylar's memories via Rene/The Haitian's ability that allows the user to remember the person's memories in addition to erasing them from the person. AKA Peter has every single one of Sylar's memories stored in his subconscious. They appear from time to time when Peter sleeps or becomes distracted or experiences one of Sylar's deja vu's. Sylar has since recovered his memories with a combination of IA and regeneration. Sylar still has Nathan's memories from Matt Parkman's previous mind-fuck in Invisible Thread. The boys are powerless inside the Wall.
Things you'll need: // // denotes a Nathan Petrelli memory from Sylar's head. Sylar/Gabriel's memories are within singular lines / /. Peter's are \ \ and Peter’s recollection of a Sylar memory (via Rene/the Haitian's ability) is \\ \\. 'Posts' are separated between the boys by XXX (no, that's nothing naughty).
A/N: Brief M/M innuendo and general innuendos and hints at other pairings. Discussions of sex.
Day 8
“I wasn’t thinking about her either, man. At least I don’t think I was.” He gave Sylar a sidelong glance at the man’s renewed intensity when he asked what Peter had meant and what he’d seen. Peter turned to the side and paced a little. He gave a little evasion to that question - but only a little. “I was having a dream at first, a normal dream. We …” Hm, this has the potential to be embarrassing fast unless I watch my words. “You and I were exploring apartments.” He waved a hand generally back the way they’d come. “Then you were gone and she was there, but I was having trouble seeing her face. I …”
Peter stopped pacing and drew up. “I tried. I tried to see her face and I focused on her. Then everything shifted and I remembered …” He looked over at Sylar thoughtfully. “I remembered the image of her face from your memory.” Of course the image of her inflamed with passion would brand itself into Sylar’s head. Maybe that was his single strongest memory of her, or maybe it just correlated with Peter’s because of the sexual content of Peter’s dream.
He chewed his lip. “Maybe I did do something.”
XXX
Peter’s descriptions didn’t match any of Sylar’s memories-it sounded more like a dream. It was very likely Peter was (literally, this time) dreaming it all up. Her face from my memory? You expect me to buy that?
Sylar couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the man's density and long-winded, rather unnecessary explanation. If the ability didn’t work, it didn’t work and as he would never know the difference (honestly the idea of Peter with telepathy was bad enough); there was nothing either of them could do about it. He waved a hand in the air towards the other man, dismissing. “That’s wonderful; I can’t prove you wrong otherwise. And that’s not intimate, Peter.” He and his tone moments ago implied Peter had seen something potentially graphic.
His thoughts stuttered off the track. Has he seen me naked through…memories? How much more awkward…Can you focus on nothing else? Really. That is the least of your problems. He says he’s not doing it on purpose; he says he’s not doing it at all; so why would he purposefully go through your mind for anything with bare skin? Then what would he have been looking for?
This-he is worse than Lydia!
“What did you mean exactly about you. and. her?” This time his voice telegraphed that he wasn’t messing around. Asking the man directly would surely yield the answer. I can always rebreak his fingers; I can always rebreak his fingers…“How do you know her? You have a history? What?” All this was useless in the present, sure, but it meant that his one halved-relationship might be…what, tainted? Not what he thought it was, regardless. His only consolation at this point was that Peter didn’t know that it had been his only significant ‘relationship’ of sorts to date, meaning he still didn’t know Sylar was kinda pathetic on that front. Yet.
“You said….you said something about….watchmaking,” Sylar purposefully avoided saying ‘you said something about ME being a watchmaker”, but the last word did exit his mouth a little whispery, trying not to call attention to it. These are the things I need to know. For god’s sake, tell me! Am I gonna have to stay up at nights so he doesn’t fucking dream? Or keep him up? His ability is so busted his powers won’t work, he doesn’t know what he has, he can’t use them and they’re probably using him!
He was completely frustrated, Peter was being frustrating on purpose probably in hopes of avoiding letting something slip that Sylar would find…a need for violence in. Annoyed and on edge were his coinciding emotions as he considered the depth of the damaging leak that had mysteriously sprung between them.
Peter could potentially know everything about him if this continued-every one of his regrets; suicide attempts and murders; all of his feelings; how he thought; what he desired; the things he liked and those he didn’t; how he’d changed and why; the things that bothered him and set him off; how he groomed; how he ate; how he slept; the things that terrified him and what kept him up at night; worse still, his history, the people he’d known. Hell, Peter might manage to dig up the things Sylar had totally forgotten, childhood memories that he himself didn’t even possess. Peter would essentially be inside his head, just wandering instead of looking for something specific to pluck out and ogle.
His breath escaped him in a small sighed gasp. Guy’s gotta have some secrets…
XXX
Peter eyed Sylar at his insistent question about what was between Peter and Elle. He didn’t say anything right away. It gave Sylar time to elaborate and he did it with enough apprehensiveness that Peter knew what he was dealing with: jealousy, insecurity, and fear. Peter knew he had a knife in his hand, metaphorically speaking, and Sylar’s heart was bare. He remembered himself years before, standing invisible on a rooftop, watching Simone with Isaac. Claude had been standing next to him radiating ‘I told you so.’ Even though Peter wasn’t the jealous type, he’d still felt hurt that she’d dumped him a second time.
“You remember that I said I was locked up by the Company for months, right?” He spoke slowly, giving himself time to think about his choice of words, what to say and what not to say. It also gave him the opportunity to watch Sylar’s face. “She was my jailor, most days. It was usually her bringing me my neutralizing pills, clothes, and food.” He looked off to the side briefly, then back, meeting Sylar’s eyes without blinking. “She had a lot of time to torture me. It didn’t leave a real good impression. So yeah, she and I have a history.” He looked away again.
He was leaving out something important here - kissing, playing (a dangerous game; he had been at a dark point in his life), and being toyed with. But Elle did not belong to Sylar, not that Peter had ever been all that respectful of such boundaries anyway, as Isaac could have attested, had Sylar not murdered him, too.
How did this work for Sylar anyway - him and Elle? Did he trust her? What was he afraid of discovering between her and Peter? Peter was too much of a Petrelli to leave this alone right away. “You know her. I saw that well enough. What do you think she’d do with me if she had me locked in a Company cell?” He looked back, eyes slightly narrowed. Peter was locked here, with Sylar. There were parallels, which had a lot to do with Peter’s paranoia. There were no cameras, no guards and no Daddy Bishop to encourage Sylar to treat Peter well. And of course Sylar had been in a Company cell as well. Peter knew his own treatment, as a son of one of the directors, had been VIP compared to whatever Sylar had received; so he was interested to see what Sylar imagined had happened. Peter had, after all, spent a little time as a Level Five detainee, a nobody named Jesse.
“As for the watch-making … Yeah, you were working as a watchmaker. You were younger, I think, or at least you sounded younger, thought … well, you were younger. You were working on a watch. A guy came in.” Peter made an empty gesture with his left hand. “You told him you had his order ready and you rang him up.” It wasn’t a big deal. Everyone had something in their past. What, did Sylar want people to think he’d grown up as a rabid serial killer, terrorizing his school and secretly offing the other kids in Gifted and Talented class? Sylar stressing over this would be like Peter getting bent out of shape that someone knew he’d worked in a pizza shop briefly in his freshman year of college, until his father caught wind of it. Honestly, he’d just been trying to fit in. He tried a half-smile. “I don’t really think I got any deep secrets about you out of that. Nothing embarrassing happened.” Come on, man, it was nothing that like that crap with the bear you pulled. That was mean. And on purpose.
XXX
Sylar grunted in response; he recalled being a little surprised that the Petrelli clan hadn’t yanked him from his ‘self-imposed’ therapy or whatever Peter saw it as. She was his what? Sylar hadn’t gotten so much as a visit from her and he’d been there probably the same amount of time Peter had, all in all. Not a good impression.
As much as he longed to relax, forgive and forget over that, something wasn’t hitting him right about Peter’s demeanor. He snorted in partial amusement, but failed to look away from Peter. Maybe staring continuously at him would prod any lingering…guilts. He placed emphasis on ‘history’.
“I don’t know, Peter; that’s what I’m hoping to find out. Clearly your eyeballs aren’t ash, so she didn’t rough you up too bad,” he delivered with a hunk of snarky condescension. Again, he doubted Peter had been fried inside-out at any given time. Of course, Peter didn’t deserve it. “So how did you escape? Or did mommy pull strings when she got sick of you? Did Nathan sue to get you out?” He highly doubted it was the last two.
Elle would have thought him quite the pet-amusing, probably squirming and screaming just right to keep her interest, funny, dramatic, trapped, and what she would have labeled ‘a cutie’.
Basically, Peter was a potential threat to Sylar’s memories as he was attractive, available and, as far as he knew, virile enough to do the job. Yes, the idea that they’d fooled around was prominent on him mind. It didn’t fail to make him queasy. As far as Sylar was concerned, she’d never treated him like a ‘pet’. Not really. She knew when not to fuck around on someone after the first time, but fool him once…
Social graces were demanding he relinquish his hold on the conversation and its subject, so he did, if only temporarily. Peter suddenly got dodgy about it so he hadn’t reached the bottom of the barrel yet. He released Peter from his piercing gaze to at least affect at relaxed as Peter touched on the secondary subject of watch-making.
Would he lie about this? Is he really just pulling my leg, getting a kick out of this while feeding me a story? Peter seemed determined about his innocence, rather, the innocence of the dream’s contents. His lips pursed for all of two seconds when Peter stumbled on the part about ‘deep secrets’. Wonderful, so he’s onto it, too.
He kept his body language, though calm, at an ‘in charge’ tension to let Peter know he wasn’t through with this talk as he began walking again, shaking his head. Sylar now had to sort through the information and his feelings, the instincts he had on it. Peter was smart, smarter than he looked, anyway, and if he’d been doing his ‘empathy powers activate!’ thing he surely picked up on the fact that it was sensitized content.
He might also have passed up an opportunity to do real emotional harm to Sylar, something that hadn’t been covered in their agreement on mental patients and adult-to-child behaviors. Is he sparing me something? If so what was it and why was he doing it? Does he know she’s dead? Was the next thought in his head. Maybe that explained Peter’s apparent befuddlement as to why Sylar cared. Then, Should I tell him?
Sylar heaved a sigh and looked up at the sky as he walked, quite sure Peter was tagging behind him since he wasn’t looking to get away, exactly-he just needed space. “She’s dead, Pete. About four years ago. She won’t come back and fry your balls because you told me something,” he said quietly, loudly enough for Peter to hear.
XXX
When Sylar turned and began to walk away, that was when Peter started to worry. He bared his teeth and looked around for … a weapon, a defense, an ally … something. Anything. There was nothing. He had a moment to decide whether to stalk off on his own and hope for the best, or to try to recover this. After a beat, he hurried to follow, trailing a little behind though. He hoped like hell he wasn’t letting Sylar lead him to something lethal and that this was just a normal tense, pissy moment - always questionable when dealing with a killer.
Sylar was just walking down the middle of the street, so it wasn’t like an attack was imminent. Peter went back over the conversation. Maybe if I just answer some of his questions? I’m already answering some of his questions though. Not telling the whole truth though and obviously he can tell that. I’m a terrible liar. Why am I not being totally forthcoming here? 1) That wasn’t the agreement - Bad form, Peter. That’s petty. 2) He’s a murderer - which should be, you know, all the more reason not to cause problems without good cause. 3) I’m embarrassed - um … yeah, I think that’s accurate. 4) I’m not sure how he’ll react - so? See reason #2.
I’ve got one decent reason: it’s embarrassing that I tried to seduce her and she turned on me. I failed in manipulating her and I was willing to use sex to do it. To someone as damaged as she was. That’s low. I should be ashamed of that. He eyed Sylar’s back. He wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to confess another sin at the moment.
That was when Sylar made his addendum to the conversation. “What?” Peter said, surprised. “She’s dead?” How? He remembered the bullet that had slammed into the flooring a fraction of a second after she’d yanked Sylar out of the way. Then? Wait, four years ago? His brow furrowed. No, he must be counting three here. So one year ago. He pondered, but couldn’t place the news. Of course, he hadn’t exactly kept up on the life and times of Elle Bishop; ever.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said in a quiet, sober voice. Did he kill whoever did it? Was it just an accident? Was it whoever was shooting at them in that house? Was it Sylar?
“She didn’t rough me up … that much.” Of course, I had Claire’s power, even if the pills were keeping it down. “As for how I got out, there’s a trick to swallowing pills and being able to retch them back up. I had plenty of opportunity to work on it. Once I figured it out, I just walked out. They couldn’t stop me.” Of course it helped a lot to have Adam’s advice.
XXX
The walking did help in easing Sylar's worries. They were still irrelevant here and today. While he couldn’t explain his need to know, at least, not in a way that wouldn’t sound crazy to the psyche ward that walked behind him, it was what he felt. Sylar kept quiet as he walked; attempting to leave the subject behind as he they moved on, but he was almost relieved when Peter piped up again after a few moments. The silence had been strange, probably uncomfortable if he had to label it; the lack of sound had been filled only with the sound of their footsteps, echoing throughout the city.
He let out a shuddering breath, letting Peter come to terms with whatever he needed to. She didn’t help Peter out and that made him feel a little better. Yeah, you’re jealous. She’s dead; it’s over. You’re callous enough to make moves on him, too, so you’re not so fucking righteous. God, what happens tonight when he sleeps? Does he get the night at the beach? How does it operate; is it based on what one or both of us are thinking when we sleep? Do we…meet up in dreams or something corny?
XXX
Peter walked silently a little further, still unnerved by the lack of engagement. While Sylar was talking, venting and giving him reactions, Peter was fine. The silent act unsettled him, especially the ‘going away mad’ part. Even though Peter’s overactive paranoia had calmed down, he still wanted to get things back to where they’d been before. He felt deflated. For a few minutes there, someone had been paying attention to him. Then he’d run his mouth without thinking first and now he was trailing along behind the other man like a lost puppy. I’m not even sure where we’re going, he thought with a pout.
“What is it you really want to know here?” He didn’t expect an answer, but he thought maybe he could toss that out there and see what response it garnered.
XXX
Sylar stopped then, not suddenly, but at a normal speed, almost hesitant, half-turning towards the other man, his hands long since returned to his pockets to walk. “Did you sleep with her?” his voice was pitched low and unhurried at a conversational volume, wavering only a little as an eyebrow quirking slightly, his face disguising hurt with question. He internally braced for the answer, determining himself that it didn’t matter. Of course it wouldn’t matter if the closest, most real relationship, (which isn’t saying much given the circumstances) I’ve ever had with someone has been ruined after/before the fact by him.
Peter Petrelli, the man who could have anything and the odds of him screwing something over for Sylar, unwittingly, for his own gain was…actually a long shot, but it might have happened. God, how ironic. “I….I don’t know what you saw, Peter, and what you’ve mentioned is a lot of private stuff you’re getting into. I’ve never had my mind fucked over then had someone…question me about it like this.” Nathan didn’t count because that wasn’t Sylar’s mind, in a sense; it wasn’t his own consciousness. The overall point he was trying to get across was about how he wasn’t sure at all how to handle this situation.
He’d also never been able to talk to someone about girls; or Elle; or sex; or why he didn’t have someone to call his own (which should be fairly obvious) or what he could do about that. It felt like such a normal thing to do, something that happened all the time and should happen all the time, but for someone special and as power-hungry as Sylar it felt out of place and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be taken well by his audience. A sort of ‘So I’m supposed to feel sorry you screwed up your own ‘best-shot’ at a relationship when you killed my brother?’ thing. Heck, even ‘you have the right to have something private after what you’ve done? Go to hell!’
“I don’t…appreciate mind-fuckery in any form and I’m not…I’m not accusing you of it. But it’s still there and I can’t change it,” was the closest explanation he could make, a sort of apology in it as well. I can’t change much of anything in here, Peter, wish though I do. He knew the ‘walk-away’ trick worked when one was upset-it helped avoid damaging his only companion over a suspicion. She wasn’t ever really yours, either, you idiot. You’ve had years to think on this, don’t let whatever he says deter your making peace with it.
XXX
“I’m not trying to fuck with you,” Peter answered quietly and steadily. “I have absolutely no interest in that. I know some people think that sort of thing is funny - I never have.” It didn’t keep him from trying to get people to do what he wanted, but that was different. Peter tried to be careful about his goals there and let that guide his actions. Of course Peter also had a sense of humor, but this was not the sort of circumstance where he let it out.
He looked down for a little bit. I ought to just tell him. He knows now and he’s not doing anything. At least, I don’t think he’s going to do anything. Sylar’s calmer demeanor was reassurance of that. If I don’t come clean, he’ll always wonder. There’s no reason to let the uncertainty tear him up. Hell, he should be happy with the answer. Am I not telling him because I’m trying to be cruel and make him think I did something I didn’t? Peter frowned for a moment, brows furrowed. That last thought made up his mind for him.
He cleared his throat and smoothed his expression. “Okay. About Elle,” he looked Sylar dead in the eye again. “No, I didn’t sleep with her.” Then he looked away, eyes darting uneasily. “We … we played around a lot though.” He gave a quick, wary glance back at Sylar, then looked down, ducking his head in guilt. A little more quietly he added, “I tried to use her to get out. It didn’t work.” He sighed and muttered with disgust, “God, I sound like Nathan.”
XXX
Sylar gave a snorted chuckle. Yeah, ‘some people’ like me. Peter still hesitated and the longer he took to ‘answer’ (if he even would), the worse Sylar dreaded anyway. He nodded, still facing partly away, slowly turning as Peter spoke. Peter was too honest to lie about fucking him over; he was, after all, a (rather) straightforward man. The medic had passed by multitudes of opportunities to fuck Sylar over and it was beginning to sink in that he wouldn’t. Sylar looked Peter in the face as the other man did the same, his gaze merely searching this time and he found it odd that he wasn’t missing his lie detection.
A muscle in his eye twitched without orders at the news, but the worst was unconfirmed and he could live with that. He would have had to in either case. His eyes tracked Peter’s guilty movements before he nodded once. He knew the other man was paying attention to his response. You just told him that she was something to you. Eventually he’s gonna ask about it. Or see it in his dreams. He knew there was nothing he could do about it, so he might as well not worry about every single eventuality.
A copious eyebrow raised at a second (third?) confession. Okay, not that you wouldn’t have done the same to get out of there, even if it had been another girl, but from him…? Suddenly he found himself laughing aloud; yeah, kind of at Peter. “Nathan? You? Oh, Peter…” he shook his head, smiling to himself since Peter probably wouldn’t see the humor.
XXX
Peter turned and walked away several strides, fussing with his hair compulsively. He swept it out of his face, then carded it back with his fingers, then tousled it a little, then carded it back again and made motions as if to push it off his forehead, but no stray hair was there to be pushed. He put his hands down to stop himself from fidgeting. It occurred to him that Sylar might not even understand why Peter was upset by the whole episode. He was upset by his own conduct and no amount of pointing out to himself that he thought he’d killed Nathan, thought his powers were out of control, thought maybe he’d gone crazy … none of it justified trying to play on the affections of a woman who appeared vulnerable and needy and twist that to his own ends. While he would have tried to get her out as well (and he believed she was trapped by the situation and her oppressive family much as he was), it didn’t change the essential nature of what he’d been trying to do. He’d been trying to do something wrong.
He sighed and turned back towards Sylar. Why do I end up confessing these things to him? Is it because he’s done worse and I feel like I won’t be judged too harshly? That was funny. Sylar struck him as nothing if not judgmental. Of course, if you want to build a link with someone, if you want to build a bridge with them, you do it by sharing your weaknesses, not by flaunting your strengths. Maybe if he thinks I’m a fuck-up, he’ll have a little more empathy with me. He swallowed and fell back into step, mulling things over, mentally chipping away at his own pride and self-righteousness.
XXX
The empath then began pacing, nervous and guilt-ridden over something that really didn’t matter anymore. Very strange that you’re the one who’s brushing things off like this instead of guilting over them for a few years like you used to.
Sylar thought on that for a second, but no more before mentally instructing himself-with great growth comes great forgiveablility. Oh, if only that were true. “Relax, man. There’s a reason I call you the Boy Scout. You said you tried, you failed. In the end, she’s not your concern.” Or mine.
XXX
It’s not about her! Peter wanted to snap, but he kept his mouth shut. ‘It’s about me’ sounded self-centered to say, even if the subject at hand - his adherence or not to moral behavior - was all about him. He didn’t expect Sylar to understand why that mattered so much, so Peter dropped it.
What he picked up loud and clear was that Sylar wasn’t going to kill him over him being with Elle in some manner. The other man had been pretty heavily freaked out there at first. He’d calmed down and at least appeared to be dealing with it. Peter studied him, trying to get a feel for the other man’s emotions. Was he genuinely calmed down, or was it an act?
XXX
“Now, we’re gonna go get you a pick so you can mangle the hell out of that poor guitar, okay?” Sylar said by way of soothing Peter’s feathers. “I’m not much of a shoulder to cry on, but if it helps…” giving a light shrug, Sylar’s voice was miming sincerity, which in a sense it was, but it hid sarcasm designed to give Peter a moment of ‘Ugh! You sicko!’ to get back to himself. He didn’t anticipate Peter having a breakdown in front of him (the phrase ‘of all people’ was kind of meaningless now), but if he did, Sylar would do his best to help. Does he know about that scientific study about tears being a turn-off?
Something in him felt the need to go over and grab Peter by his shoulders, get very close to him for the Petrelli shoulder squeeze. Sylar walked over with a purpose, extending his arms at the proper time and laid his big paws over Peter’s admittedly buff shoulders, giving him a light squeeze and shake-it felt familiar and natural to him and he didn’t question it. He gave the smaller man a serious ‘get it together’ look and hoped it didn’t come across as giving him ‘kid brother’. Do I remind him of his brother? And dear god, I am not coping a feel on him, I’m not… Because, oh, how easy it would have been to do that.
XXX
Peter nodded briefly to the comment about the guitar, giving a small smile. It chilled a bit with the next statement, trying to sift through fake sincerity and actual sarcasm to divine if that was a joke because Sylar was trying to make light of it; a joke because he genuinely didn’t care (which would be creepy), or a calculated affectation because Sylar was boiling inside and was just sociopathic enough to hide his feelings behind a convincing mask.
Peter’s doubting expression must have been clear on his face, because Sylar came over with intent. Peter stood straighter, eyes darting and hands raising just a bit when Sylar extended his. Peter canvassed the man’s face and body language again - the set of his shoulders, angle of head, the way he was reaching, his posture and footwork - and by then Sylar’s hands were closing over Peter’s shoulders in a reassuringly firm, but not threatening, grip. Peter relaxed. Sylar gave him a shake and the empath even smiled a little, letting his too-alert eyes fall to half-lidded. “Yeah, okay,” he said easily, not even completely sure what he was agreeing to. His empathy had informed him all was good, without giving him much of an intellectual explanation to go on. That was okay. He didn’t need one.
Peter started to turn and Sylar removed his hands. Peter made a jerk of his head. “How about we stop over here and get some coffee?” He gestured at the diner. “You say the first place we’re headed towards is the music store?” They walked along beside each other down the street, nearing the place Peter had indicated. “What kind of coffee do you drink, anyway? I don’t think they have anything special in here. It’s just kind of a greasy spoon.”
XXX
Peter affirmed that he would let it drop and take it easy on himself, so Sylar nodded and moved back, falling into step beside the other man as they had before the whole incident began. His shoulders sure felt- Eh-hem? Do you mind? No, I really don’t mind. No wonder his family can’t keep their lecherous hands off him. Sylar couldn’t help his hands, aching for more, but he ignored them.
The other man seemed at ease enough as they walked before he brought up coffee again. Coffee? Had it been anything closer to a normal situation, Sylar would have gaped and thought something along the lines of ‘Coffee? With me? You’re crazy’. But Peter was equally alone. It wasn’t like it was a date or a get-to-know-you event.
“S-sure,” he choked out, his surprise just a touch evident. I can just go inside, let him get his coffee. “Yeah, that’s right.” The pair walked meanwhile in the middle of the road, something rebellious and uncaring and somehow resigned in the act. Taking up all the would-be used space here in New York and Peter seemed to be settling into that reality.
Peter wasn’t nitpicking or demanding they walk in the sidewalk, he was marching down the centerline like it belonged to him. He found himself wondering if that was an ingrown Petrelli mindset (he doubted it, at least for Peter. To a degree)
The medic led him towards the diner and he followed gamely behind. “Um…not much of a coffee drinker, actually. I was…kind of raised with the idea that it would stunt your growth and rot your teeth. Kind of had to drink it four or five years ago…well, more like six is when it started. When you’re on the run and all that.” Sylar didn’t add the part about living in hotels and his victim’s residencies, even whatever car he’d stolen on occasion.
XXX
“Yeah, I heard that stuff about it being bad for you, too.” Peter paused to consider the thought of Sylar ‘on the run.’ Peter assumed he meant after getting his ability and roaming around looking for more. ‘Why?’ ‘How?’ and ‘Did you have any control over yourself?’ came to him as questions. When he’d had Sylar’s ability, everything lined up in his head as a neatly logical progression that just happened to include picking up abilities from everyone he ran into except for Sylar. He didn’t really understand that - the one person responsible he didn’t feel any hunger towards, although Peter’s willingness to dish out violence to the man had gone through the roof.
XXX
Sylar continued, “I like it black; sometimes creamer and sugar if I’m not in the mood for the full kick,” he gave a small chuckle as they passed through the door, “I like the smell and taste of coffee beans.” Perhaps because they were a wholesome, ancient ingredient and it was generally considered to be something to look forward to in the mornings when all he usually had was a road trip by himself. And it wasn’t something that was really found in Virginia’s household when he grew up.
“And you?” This is…surreal. I already know the answer, but still that I’m asking Peter Petrelli about his coffee… Sylar managed to bite his tongue over spewing out Peter’s response before he voiced it. It wouldn’t do him any favors.
XXX
Peter walked behind the counter, heading right to the coffee machine. He shook his head, popping in a new filter and pulling out another coffee pack. “I prefer a café mocha or a cocoa cappuccino, and most of the lattes are fine, too.” He pressed the button to get the machine started. “But black’s good. I suppose all I really want is the caffeine and sugar. I never got into all the different kinds of beans and roasts, but I’ve had truly fresh roast a few times and wow, I see why that’s a big deal.” He hadn’t seen a coffee house around here, but he knew how to operate a cappuccino machine. Should they find one, he’d be set.
XXX
Huh? Was Sylar's first reaction. Nathan filled him in on what they tasted or looked like respectively, but Sylar didn’t have the first clue as to what the drinks (he assumed) actually were. Literally hundreds of coffee opportunities-outings, dates, meetings, casual hook ups, heck, just by himself; Nathan was a real coffee man, but Sylar suspected it was a tool like everything else in that Petrelli’s arsenal.
Nathan liked it for the caffeine and the act of holding a mug or cup in his hand. “I’ve heard that about fresh roast, too,” he nodded, “Supposedly better health benefits or something; I could be wrong. But the bean probably does make a difference.”
Pausing in thought, he recalled something he’d read about once. “Dark roasts have less caffeine than a medium roast because the heat burns away the caffeine,” Sylar frowned to himself a little. That was informed of you. “The human body can take in about three hundred milligrams of caffeine, about four cups before it stops having any effect. And coffee is made up one-thousand two-hundred chemical components, half of which make up the taste itself.”
Sylar finally had to make an effort to stop jabbering Peter’s ears off, rubbing at a deep scrape in the counter top, eyeing it intently for a moment as the other man worked around. Peter’s preferences were good to know in any event.
It still struck Sylar as odd to watch someone else do what he did-waltz around and use the objects around like they belonged to him. Something about the etiquette of it perhaps. He sat on a stool and plopped his elbows onto the bar counter, watching Peter’s hands mostly.
XXX
Peter turned around and stared at Sylar when he started spouting weird facts. Encyclopedia, much? After a long beat, he grinned and shook his head. “Wow. You are really smart.” Too bad you didn’t use that brain to accomplish something. Actually, you did. You became probably the most powerful man in the world. How’s that working for you, Sylar? Of course, even Einstein had socialization problems. Come to think of it, a lot of smart people do. Then again, so do a lot of dumb people. He smiled again suddenly, an uncommonly warm and friendly expression even from Peter, like he had found or made some empathic connection, which he felt he had. “That’s cool, man. Keep the facts coming. Maybe I’ll learn something.”
XXX
Sylar gratefully missed the stare; it would have made him shrink more. Really smart. It’s only gotten me into lots of trouble. The words ‘wow’ and really smart’ in the same sentence failed to read genuine. He supposed it was intended to be condescending or sarcastic; then again, that wasn’t something Peter excelled at necessarily, so he let the statement lie. He blinked at the response he garnered verbally. Ducking his head he chuckled a little, “Coffee wasn’t something I studied religiously, not being much of a coffee worshipper, but okay.”
XXX
Peter set out two cups next to the coffee machine. He turned and found a canister of sugar on the counter. He set it out in front of Sylar. “Maybe I can teach you something, too.” The words just slipped out and he thought he’d meant them innocently. God, that sounded almost flirty. He caught the other man’s expression. No, that sounded definitely flirty. Peter turned away and found something else to do immediately.
XXX
Then, T-teach me something? Like what? Sylar raised his eyes from the bar’s surface to give Peter’s…back a rather heated look. What did you have in mind, Peter Petrelli? By some small miracle he kept his gaze from wandering over the other man’s body.
The other man disappeared for a few moments and Sylar ended up chuckling to himself behind his hand. Was Peter deliberately teasing him? Probably not…but he was still teasing and he could make use of that. When Peter returned with a pitcher, it was back to business and so was Sylar’s face, although it hid his glee (some arousal) and humor behind it.
XXX
Peter left entirely, fleeing the scene. He went back into the kitchen on the excuse to himself of searching for cream or half and half. He found something that had to be either in one of the industrial/commercial refrigerators the place had. What he found was thick and cream-like, in a small pitcher covered with cellophane. He brought it out and set it in front of Sylar; eyes down, face straight, studiously minding his own business and not making eye contact.
Peter spoke nervously, “You want anything else while we’re here? I think I’m going to have a piece of toast. What about you? You want one?” He dug out bread and put it in the toaster like he owned the place. That still felt weird to him. It did not feel weird to be offering to serve Sylar, even though he was picking up that the other man was put-off by it. At some point he figured their positions would flip. He recalled how put-off he’d been about Sylar’s invitation to lunch the first day he’d been here. It wasn’t that Peter was feeling friendly towards the other man, but simply getting resigned. As long as Sylar was polite … well …
Peter glanced over at him. Yeah, perverse and strange as it was, he didn’t think ‘friendly’ was going to take too long to arrive. If he really was going to be trapped here for years, the idea of spending all of that time seething with anger just wasn’t realistic. Peter knew how people worked; how emotions worked. The rage he felt inside, the ache, the hurt - it might last forever, but lashing out because of it wasn’t going to.
XXX
“No thank you, Peter,” he said quickly and quietly, “I already ate.” It felt weird for Sylar to be asked if he wanted anything. By Peter Petrelli no less. Perhaps it was crossing his mental boundaries when it came to gifts and food and people and the like.
It sucked to know Peter’s favorite foods already. That meant he would have to ask something Nathan did not or would not know. “You should probably eat more, Peter. I know you’re not working any more, but still.” Sylar still didn’t eat as much as he should either, but that was different. “I didn’t mean to make you nervous…you know, earlier,” he said a little absentmindedly as he watched the ingredients Peter put on his toast.
XXX
“Nervous? Sylar, you make me nervous all the time.” Peter said that perfectly matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. “Why do you think I’m so jumpy around you?” I keep over-reacting. Maybe that’s it. It’s just an over-reaction. He tended to his toast. He took one of the little single serving jelly packs and peeled off the top. He spread the grape jelly over half the toast, then opened another and doubled it.
Peter said, “I ate some at my apartment. I’m fine.” Little weird that you’d worry about me though. Not sure what to make of that. He licked the jelly off the knife. Wait, did that just look suggestive? I’ll bet that looked suggestive. What the hell am I doing here? Just stop it!
XXX
Sylar tilted his head, “That bad, huh,” he said in partial question, frowning slightly. Oh, so…you’re eating again…okay, makes perfect sense. Grape, too, he thought. Go figure. I guess he isn’t completely like me then after all, he’ll be thrilled to hear.
But Sylar let it pass. Food, healthy food at that, was good for Peter whether he’d bulked up or not. The hero-drive would be harder to kill and he kind of assumed and pieced together that Peter was rather lax in his eating habits. Which had…suddenly become Sylar’s business overnight. Fuck. He knew who to blame for it.
Sylar's attention wasn’t caught by the empty diner and its kitchen, surprise, surprise. It was too interesting watching Peter-Uuh. His mouth dropped open a little at the sight of the other man’s tongue doing some very interesting things to the knife. I think most people would suck that clean, but that wouldn’t help his case any. Sylar made it a point to swallow and shift on the stool, clearing his throat as Peter turned, a little embarrassed (so he knew!), towards the coffee. Screw the coffee, Petrelli, do that again.
Sylar bit his lip and prayed to whatever god of coffee not to get any physical reactions what would be visible to…uninterested and probably unsympathetic eyes, namely Peter’s.
XXX
Peter didn’t look at Sylar, turning to look back at the percolator. “Ah. Coffee’s done.” He poured up two cups and put one in front of his companion. He blew on his coffee a little and sipped at it, then grimaced, either from the heat or taste. “Gimme that cream when you’re done with it, will you?” Wait, is that suggestive too? God, Pete, quit it! He shook his head, his expression caught between frowning and smirking.
XXX
Continued...