More Between Us, Chapter 12.5/? "Peter's Ponderings Two"
Title: More Between Us Than A Wall Part 12.5/? "Peter's Ponderings Two"
Characters: Peter Petrelli (mentions of Sylar/Gabriel Gray)
Rating: G-PG
Warnings: None
Setting: Inside the Wall/S4.
Words: 1,040
Summary: Peter ponders his responsibilities and how to handle Sylar.
A/N: Occurs during Chapter 13/between Chapter 12 and 13. Use your imagination. Written solely by Game_byrd.
Day/night 7
Peter felt weirdly cheerful as he headed back to his apartment building. He didn’t give Sylar so much as a second look though. The man was not the source of Peter’s good mood. He took the elevator up to the eighth floor and then, after setting down his finds outside his door, he began a search for the roof access. He had what was a probably disturbing familiarity with getting onto high places he wasn’t supposed to be on, so he wasn’t long in looking. He just had to find the right stairwell. Like nearly all the other doors around here, this one was unlocked. His grin widening, he walked out onto the roof.
The sun hadn’t set yet, which was what he was hoping to catch. He wasn’t a huge fan of sunsets, but there was no TV and really … not much of anything worth seeing. No TV show schedule to watch - not that he’d followed shows for years now; no movies to go to - again, something he’d given up after discovering abilities; no people to call on the phone; no work tomorrow; no schedule to keep; no dates; no obligations; no responsibilities. His smile nearly split his face.
It was weird. He wanted responsibilities. His life for the last few years had been a constant reordering and prioritizing of his responsibilities: to strangers, to his friends, to his family, to the whole freaking world. But now he had none and he was thrilled. He watched as the disk of the sun touched the horizon.
He gave a quick mental review of his situation, in case he was missing something he needed to be doing here. He couldn’t affect the outside world. There was no one here to save. There was no work to be done. There was nothing here to improve or maintain. There weren’t even any novel experiences here that he might need to indulge in just to be able to relate to people. There wasn’t much of a point to rigorous self-improvement, though he sort of hoped his efforts with the guitar and maybe the piano would have an effect later, but that was guessing. He’d like to tell himself he was going to work on music for some practical reason like physical therapy or self-improvement, but really … really he just wanted to play. He wanted to do something for no reason other than to do it, and he finally had a chance to do just that. After years of burning himself out, he had no choice but to reinvigorate. It was an enforced vacation. And God, did he ever need one.
The sun slipped below the horizon. He was still smiling. He leaned over the edge and looked down. It was a long way - maybe a hundred feet. Definitely lethal. No, he had no plans of jumping or killing himself. He’d been threatening Sylar, and not even very seriously. After that episode with the stuffed bear, Peter wanted Sylar to know he wasn’t just a helpless victim plopped down into the man’s prison. He snorted, sure there was some cool prison analogy he could make about Ben Dover and being locked in the same jail cell with a psychotic serial killer who had it in for your family in particular.
He turned to face ‘east’, looking across the roof towards the gradually darkening sky. So what about Sylar, really? He reacted badly to compliments. He was staggeringly intelligent. Peter felt like an idiot around him, which wasn’t entirely a function of his intelligence. More, it was a function of Sylar being an asshole. Peter had been around brilliant people who actually left him feeling smarter when he left their company, proud of himself and like there was a meaning to everything that happened in the world, if only he was clever enough to see it. Being around Sylar made him feel stupid, depressed and angry. His smile finally slipped from his face.
He kicked at the roofing material. Yep. That’s about the long and short of it. He looked at the door that led back inside the building, suddenly less enchanted with being up here, wanting a change of scene to change his thoughts. He refused to be run off though by the mere memory of dealing with the man. He took a stroll around the roof instead, looking over the edge to see what he could see on each side.
So what else about Sylar? He reacted especially well to gratitude and while everyone wanted to be appreciated, this was stronger than usual. He was insecure, which wasn’t surprising with that over-inflated an ego. That he wouldn’t accept ego strokes made him difficult to deal with. He wanted only sincere appreciation and even then it needed to be carefully delivered. He was sensitive - very sensitive - to being manipulated and used. Peter reminded himself yet again to cut it out on the casual maneuvering. If anything would get him abused and killed here, it would be doing something that Sylar interpreted as a betrayal or a lie.
He sighed and stopped at a corner, leaning on the edge and picking at the concrete with his fingernail. He’d come here with the express intention of manipulating Sylar into something - saving Emma, saving the rest at the carnival. But Sylar would not be handled. So how to get him to do it? Peter frowned. He could ask and he had; Sylar could say no and he had, more or less. And that was it. He couldn’t see what else there was to do here, except pass the time. He could try to tell Sylar about the people he might be saving, but the only one Peter really knew was Emma and he was loathe to tell the man too much about her, or anyone who had an ability. And as for those without abilities, he didn’t think Sylar would care.
The smile began to creep back on his face. Yes, that was the long and short of it: there was absolutely nothing he could think of to do here except whatever he damn well pleased. He pushed away from the wall, grinning again, and went back to his apartment.
XXX
Continued...
Characters: Peter Petrelli (mentions of Sylar/Gabriel Gray)
Rating: G-PG
Warnings: None
Setting: Inside the Wall/S4.
Words: 1,040
Summary: Peter ponders his responsibilities and how to handle Sylar.
A/N: Occurs during Chapter 13/between Chapter 12 and 13. Use your imagination. Written solely by Game_byrd.
Day/night 7
Peter felt weirdly cheerful as he headed back to his apartment building. He didn’t give Sylar so much as a second look though. The man was not the source of Peter’s good mood. He took the elevator up to the eighth floor and then, after setting down his finds outside his door, he began a search for the roof access. He had what was a probably disturbing familiarity with getting onto high places he wasn’t supposed to be on, so he wasn’t long in looking. He just had to find the right stairwell. Like nearly all the other doors around here, this one was unlocked. His grin widening, he walked out onto the roof.
The sun hadn’t set yet, which was what he was hoping to catch. He wasn’t a huge fan of sunsets, but there was no TV and really … not much of anything worth seeing. No TV show schedule to watch - not that he’d followed shows for years now; no movies to go to - again, something he’d given up after discovering abilities; no people to call on the phone; no work tomorrow; no schedule to keep; no dates; no obligations; no responsibilities. His smile nearly split his face.
It was weird. He wanted responsibilities. His life for the last few years had been a constant reordering and prioritizing of his responsibilities: to strangers, to his friends, to his family, to the whole freaking world. But now he had none and he was thrilled. He watched as the disk of the sun touched the horizon.
He gave a quick mental review of his situation, in case he was missing something he needed to be doing here. He couldn’t affect the outside world. There was no one here to save. There was no work to be done. There was nothing here to improve or maintain. There weren’t even any novel experiences here that he might need to indulge in just to be able to relate to people. There wasn’t much of a point to rigorous self-improvement, though he sort of hoped his efforts with the guitar and maybe the piano would have an effect later, but that was guessing. He’d like to tell himself he was going to work on music for some practical reason like physical therapy or self-improvement, but really … really he just wanted to play. He wanted to do something for no reason other than to do it, and he finally had a chance to do just that. After years of burning himself out, he had no choice but to reinvigorate. It was an enforced vacation. And God, did he ever need one.
The sun slipped below the horizon. He was still smiling. He leaned over the edge and looked down. It was a long way - maybe a hundred feet. Definitely lethal. No, he had no plans of jumping or killing himself. He’d been threatening Sylar, and not even very seriously. After that episode with the stuffed bear, Peter wanted Sylar to know he wasn’t just a helpless victim plopped down into the man’s prison. He snorted, sure there was some cool prison analogy he could make about Ben Dover and being locked in the same jail cell with a psychotic serial killer who had it in for your family in particular.
He turned to face ‘east’, looking across the roof towards the gradually darkening sky. So what about Sylar, really? He reacted badly to compliments. He was staggeringly intelligent. Peter felt like an idiot around him, which wasn’t entirely a function of his intelligence. More, it was a function of Sylar being an asshole. Peter had been around brilliant people who actually left him feeling smarter when he left their company, proud of himself and like there was a meaning to everything that happened in the world, if only he was clever enough to see it. Being around Sylar made him feel stupid, depressed and angry. His smile finally slipped from his face.
He kicked at the roofing material. Yep. That’s about the long and short of it. He looked at the door that led back inside the building, suddenly less enchanted with being up here, wanting a change of scene to change his thoughts. He refused to be run off though by the mere memory of dealing with the man. He took a stroll around the roof instead, looking over the edge to see what he could see on each side.
So what else about Sylar? He reacted especially well to gratitude and while everyone wanted to be appreciated, this was stronger than usual. He was insecure, which wasn’t surprising with that over-inflated an ego. That he wouldn’t accept ego strokes made him difficult to deal with. He wanted only sincere appreciation and even then it needed to be carefully delivered. He was sensitive - very sensitive - to being manipulated and used. Peter reminded himself yet again to cut it out on the casual maneuvering. If anything would get him abused and killed here, it would be doing something that Sylar interpreted as a betrayal or a lie.
He sighed and stopped at a corner, leaning on the edge and picking at the concrete with his fingernail. He’d come here with the express intention of manipulating Sylar into something - saving Emma, saving the rest at the carnival. But Sylar would not be handled. So how to get him to do it? Peter frowned. He could ask and he had; Sylar could say no and he had, more or less. And that was it. He couldn’t see what else there was to do here, except pass the time. He could try to tell Sylar about the people he might be saving, but the only one Peter really knew was Emma and he was loathe to tell the man too much about her, or anyone who had an ability. And as for those without abilities, he didn’t think Sylar would care.
The smile began to creep back on his face. Yes, that was the long and short of it: there was absolutely nothing he could think of to do here except whatever he damn well pleased. He pushed away from the wall, grinning again, and went back to his apartment.
XXX
Continued...