More Between Us, Chapter 18/? "Pools and Pelicans"
Title: More Between Us Than A Wall part 18/?
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: 7,653
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).
Day 8
Peter sighed a little. “Yeah, that’s all I wanted to do, really. Me and my great subterfuge, hidden agenda and all that.” He tried to smile a little and make a joke of it. “What did you think? I was tired of that apartment already and was looking for new digs?” He snorted.
XXX
What did I think? Nothing decent, Peter, that’s for sure. “No, not that,” Sylar said and left it at that.
XXX
Peter went on, “No, I just thought I might want to go swimming eventually. And after all that walking I did the first couple of days here, a hot tub would have been heaven, but I was too busted up to go looking for one. Next time I’ll know where to go.” Not so much a next time of walking, but hot tubs are nice. “I’m sure there’s a regulation pool around somewhere, but I figured a hotel would be easier to find. Let’s go look inside. I want to be sure of what’s in there.” He started inside.
XXX
“Oh, I see.” Peter and pools? Worse, hot tubs. Oh, god…Sylar swallowed. The idea of seeing that much foreign flesh exposed…while wet…“Totally,” he ended up squeaking, “The hotel’s the place to be,” voice rasping as he cleared his throat.
XXX
At Sylar’s strangled tone in regards to the pool and hot tub, Peter thought, Oh my God, he’s into me. He’s … whoa, really into me. It wasn’t a complete surprise - Sylar had telegraphed his interest already, but this wasn’t just interest. It was a reaction. And Peter, instinctively maybe, wanted to make Sylar react again and again. It was very flattering, after all. It was an effort not to follow up on that. He’s probably just lonely and it has nothing to do with me. Get over yourself. That thought calmed Peter down a lot.
He walked into the extravagant lobby, looking around for placards that directed him to the pool and fitness area. He started that way, then detoured unexpectedly into the food service area. “Hang on. Something else I want to do.” He put down the trauma kit and fished through his messenger bag, producing a pill bottle (and this one with a normal cap). He poured out four pills into the lid and went to get himself a cup of water.
XXX
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” the pair passed into the building. Something else? I knew it. The other man set down his bags and left for a minute and returned with water after removing some pills. Sylar was still a little confused because he was sure Peter wasn’t just here for the pool, but…okay, whatever.
XXX
Taking up the conversation from before, he said, “Yeah, there’s other immortals. I met one.” He watched the water fill the cup, thinking over how much he should share with Sylar about Adam. Is he safe from Sylar because Sylar already has Claire’s ability? I suppose I could ask … “What happens if you get more than one copy of the same ability? Is every ability different, just a little? That was the way it felt to me - every ability seemed unique.” He picked up the pills and knocked them back, following with a long drink.
“I’m not going to tell you about people if there’s a good chance you’re just going to track them down later and kill them.” It was incredibly blunt, but Peter didn’t see any point to being indirect about this one. Though, come to think of it, Adam would probably be safe from him just because of his ability. Claire survived. Though it still wouldn’t really be right to point Sylar at him and set him up for assault. Adam was a bigger villain than Sylar, but that doesn’t mean … does it? No, it doesn’t. No more than Sylar deserves to be hurt.
XXX
Peter mentioned Adam and Nathan’s memories collaborated. Aha. He blinked and pulled his head back, insulted even though he understood the need Peter had to cover for his buddies. His face reflected it with a clenched jaw and tight mouth, but his eyes were kept blank as he took the (over)precautionary measures from the medic. That was like throwing the three years of forced/enforced chastity back in his face. And really. No one here, Pete. No. One! Your worry is totally freaking irrelevant.
“Yes, they’re all different. Genetics. I’ve never had any repeats, even after I lost them all and…well, you know.” Went on a rather bloody trip all fucking over again. “I imagine they would layer if the person’s brain can adapt and handle the addition which is pretty much a exercise in futility to even say because to gain another ability as far as I know you have to already be able to access that part of your brain. We both can. If you can’t, say you’re born a special,” because he was aware of that…vague line about Nathan being a tube baby, “and you’re only born with one, the odds of you genetically mutating to be able to use an additional ability are…astronomical assuming the original ability isn’t genetic mutation itself.” He shrugged slightly. I hope that didn’t sound as Mohinder as I think it did…I know when to shut up and he doesn’t, so there.
While he wasn’t a big pill-popper, he was pretty sure Peter was abusing the dosage on the painkillers. He said nothing, just watched. “Does it look like it matters now, Peter?” he gestured loosely around the hotel. “I’m not interested in immortality again. I shouldn’t have taken the first one. There’s no one here to track down so your ‘buddy’ is safe.”Because, yeah. Healing is sooo much better than fucking regen. “I’m not a liar,” he seriously added, his voice dropping in octave to display his sincerity.
Sylar turned away after he was sure Peter got the point, licking his lip as he visually explored the large entry foyer, all glass and gold and faux marble. After that he wasn’t expecting Peter to fill him in on immortals. Anyone with abilities, actually. Ever. Big deal. Just think up another question.
XXX
He listened to Sylar’s answer about abilities. Peter was feeling the emotions and … goddammit he wasn’t following the words. Peter stood there very focused and a little tense, trying to decipher what the hell Sylar was trying to get across with … all of that. “No, I don’t think you’re a liar,” Peter said quietly, looking down a few times so he wasn’t staring so fixedly. Now that Sylar was turned away though, his eyes came back up. You’re not lying. I just don’t understand.
“So,” he started slowly, thinking maybe it would be smarter just to dismiss the whole topic but … well, he actually wanted to know and this was something Sylar might very well be able to answer. If Sylar had an area of expertise, the gaining of abilities was it, and the other man was managing to discuss it without even mentioning murdering anyone. “So, what you’re saying is that yes, you and I and anyone suited to have … anyone who is … well, you and I, could gain multiple copies of the same power, but for anyone else, it would be astronomical odds for them to just happen to manifest more than one power, and even more astronomical,” is there a word for that? I’ll bet there is. Bet he knows it, too. Bet he also thinks I’m an idiot. He sighed and went on, “even more unlikely to get the same power all over again. That’s … that’s what you’re saying, right?”
XXX
Sylar was forced to cover his mouth when Peter reworded Sylar’s own dialogue back at him. Oh, Peter… It took a lot not to at the very least chuckle at the uncomprehending medico. He nodded, serious. “Exactly. You got it,” he encouraged rather helpfully, if he did say so himself. Which he kind of had, but whatever.
XXX
He gathered up the trauma bag, contemplating what Sylar had said. So you’re saying that you wouldn’t go after Adam and you think that should be enough for me to trust you? No, you’re not saying that. You’re saying you wouldn’t bother … you can’t right now because you don’t have your ability. But if you got it back, and you didn’t think you were trapped in here forever, then … you really aren’t saying what you’d do then. So I can’t test his sincerity here, because he’s not going to run off to find Adam any more than he’s after my head, because he’s missing his power. It’s no good.
Peter pushed his hair out of his face, feeling frustrated and like he was back to square one. I want to talk to him, but how the hell do I figure out how to trust him? This is all false! All of this conversation isn’t about what matters! What I really need to know is what he’s going to do when he gets out of here. How the hell can he be so human and yet I can’t rely on him to act human? I know he can. He did in that future. I know he wants to. I can almost feel it.
XXX
Peter started making his ‘I’m thinking’ face as he took up his bags again and Sylar followed him around until they found the pool area. That’s what I’m talking about! I wonder what the odds are of…either stalking him here or just waiting here for him to catch him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve be-” he began before Peter swung around and asked him a rather random question, from his standpoint at least.
XXX
Peter pushed open the door to the pool area, looking at the clear blue waters and catching the scent of chlorine. He looked it over for a moment, then turned to Sylar and asked, “How much can I trust you?”
XXX
How do I answer that? He thought a little helplessly. Does he mean with the pool or in general or…the other specials he thinks still roams this earth…? “I would say as much as you want. That’s not….exactly something I can control, now is it? I mean, I’ll help you blow up your water wings, but I’m not going to drown you or anything.” Sylar gestured at the water, trying to make a light analogy. “Peter, whether you like it or not, we’re the only people here. It’s in my best interest not to…” what? Not to what?! “screw things up beyond measure.” Further, that is, of course.
‘I like trust’ he wanted to add, ‘trust is good!’ but it would mean little to the wronged Petrelli. His hands found his pockets again as his body decided to hunch itself to be smaller. It was a real uphill battle. Yesss, trust me! I killed your brother and your dad and tried for your mom and niece. I’m a known killer and you’re here all alone with me. Are you afraid yet?!
“You used to swim, right, Peter? What’s your favorite stroke?” And don’t give me that swimmer’s joke, please. Just my luck he’ll say ‘breasts!’ and leer. Does he even have swim trunks? Who needs swim trunks…Or better yet, fuck it, strip and get in the water!
“Doggy paddle?” he guessed, teasing with a minor grin to show it.
XXX
“Yeah, okay, it wasn’t a fair question and I knew that when I asked it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Peter stared at the water, thinking about how relaxing a swim would be, if he were alone, just him and the water. His eyes snapped back to Sylar. “Don’t tell me, thanks,” he said with a smile to soften it.
“I like the backstroke - just being propelled along, looking up, watching the ceiling or the sky go by. It’s kind of like flying. Really slow flying, I guess.” He tried very hard to purge thoughts of Nathan, and borrowing West’s ability after the funeral, from his mind. It was tough. “Before I had my ability …” But you know this. Damnit. I get to say it anyway. Fuck losing half of every conversation because you already know my life story. I want to actually say things and be listened to! “Before I knew I had my ability, I was having these dreams of flying. It was like swimming through the air.”
XXX
Sylar nodded and let it pass, allowing Peter to take what he would from his response to it. He swallowed his laughter, but some escaped as a highly amused chuckle. The other man answered and Sylar tilted his head to eye him in curiosity. Part of him answered ‘really?’ while the other half said ‘I know’ at Peter’s…strangely precognizant dreams. Sylar tagged it that Peter in fact possessed Angela’s ability before he knew of flying, which made sense. Nathan of course…had his head up his own ass, busy pretending he was your average card-shark, double-dealing lawyer running for senator.
“I always liked the butterfly,” he stated a little randomly, “Something about…the power behind it, using lots of muscles to propel yourself out of the water. I mean, everyone loves the freestyle, because of the glide and the water rushing past you so easily. Maybe it’s because the fly takes timing.” He thought about his preference from Peter’s point of view. He’s power-hungry and he’s a watchmaker-what a freak. Yup that about sums it up.
XXX
Peter gestured at the far end of the pool. “I think there’s a kiddy section over there. They always have them at hotels. I think I’ll be safe if I just stick to the shallow end, don’t you think?” He looked at Sylar with a fairly straight expression. “Thanks for the offer on the water wings though. That’s very thoughtful of you.” He knew he was teasing back and getting dangerously close to those mixed signals he’d been giving earlier in the day. Fuck it.
XXX
A confused frown twisted over his face. Kiddy pool? It only grew as the younger man, while no giant, was no child (even if he sometimes played pretend more than Sylar (and Nathan) thought he should). Peter’s face gave him nothing, but he continued on about water wi- ooh! His own expression eased as he chuckled. “No problem. It’s the least I can do for a midget with three limbs.” Raising a brow, he gave a slight smirk and stepped towards the pool, crouching down, his back to the medic, to insert a hand into the aquamarine liquid that reeked of chemicals for a temp test.
It didn’t really occur to him that he might be exposing himself to being pushed in; he was confident he wouldn’t be attacked, however. “Hmm,” was his voiced approval of the temperature. “It’s not bathwater, but it’s over-chemicalized. If you want to swim in a good pool, I’ll come fool around with the chemicals-using less, I mean.” In case Peter worried that he would try something sinister, he quickly clarified, “Otherwise it’s actually unhealthy.”
XXX
Peter adjusted the straps on his bags and said, “Well, that’s all I wanted to see here.” He turned to head out. “Was there anywhere else we were going today, or just heading back? I’ve got some stuff I’ve been wanting to do in that apartment anyway.” I need to get some of that crap out of there. And then see if I can actually strum the guitar with this splint on. That might be pushing it a little too fast. I should probably give it a few more days. But I could just try … just a little. That wouldn’t hurt anything, would it? Peter almost smiled. He’d heard the same justifications from plenty of patients to recognize it. And then, Peter wondered, what will I do after that?
XXX
With his back still turned, rubbing his fingers together wetly, Sylar allowed a genuine, full-bodied smirk to himself. “I’ll touch up the kiddy pool for you, too.” He then stood, utterly serious and turned back to the other man. “I can show you the library if you want,” he shrugged, “I’ve got no agenda.” Peter's potential rearranging, which may or may not involve power tools, piqued his interest.
XXX
Peter watched Sylar crouch down to test the water, admiring the way his body curved and bent. He was flexible, a part of Peter’s brain noted. The empath walked a few paces away, saying, “You are just begging to be kicked in there, you know that?” He turned back, seeing Sylar had not reacted defensively. The other man seemed very certain he was safe. The back of Peter’s mind was telling him that a good dunking was physically harmless and Sylar deserved it for being such a smug bastard. That was why Peter had immediately removed himself to a safe distance, where he couldn’t do it without telegraphing his approach. And why he’d said something about it. So, yes, Sylar’s read of the situation, and Peter, was spot-on. Peter itched to do it though.
“I’m not worried about the chemicals. You can do what you want to it, as long as it’s still swimmable.” This is all in Sylar’s head anyway. I suppose if he thinks the pool is unhealthy, then maybe it is. Whatever. Knock yourself out, dude.
Sylar stood with his back fully turned to Peter, still poised, almost balanced, at the edge of the pool. A muscle in Peter’s jaw jumped. He’s gotta be doing this on purpose, just to test me. Dick. I ought to go push him in just because. Instead Peter turned and walked back to the doors out. He waited there until Sylar finally joined him, which seemed to take abnormally long. Peter was feeling a bit cranky, thwarted and put upon by then.
Peter gave him a quick nod and said, “Library’s fine. Let’s go. You mentioned board games the other day. What did you find? What do you like to play?”
XXX
“Games? Oh, mostly the basics-Life, Clue, Monopoly, Scrabble, Pictionary, Yahtzee. But my favorites…I always really liked Scotland Yard and Stratego. And Clue, Scrabble and….Tripoly,” he eventually finished. He didn’t dwell much on the why, and he certainly didn’t linger on the memories surrounding them. “What about you?” Sure, he knew what ones Peter preferred over others, but his favorites? Those he didn’t know.
XXX
Peter shouldered the door open and headed out, letting Sylar catch up with him for once. He slowed down though when Sylar started talking about the games. He calmed and tried to pay attention, rather than being awash in an unfulfilled desire to assert his dominance with a swift shove to Sylar’s exceptionally well-formed posterior.
XXX
As Sylar had expected, Peter did nothing. Now, he wasn’t assuming it was an easy move to avoid making, not at all. Nor did he actually do it on purpose. It had been a long time since he’d swam and he was eager to swim once in a while, too. Not with Peter, obviously; he didn’t think the poor man could relax if he was around. No such luck.
Sylar genuinely desired to test the temperature and he’d been satisfied. The medic was moving away, deeming the library an acceptable destination and he shrugged at Peter’s back as he hurried behind the man, catching and slipping through the door before it shut.
XXX
“I take it you really like Clue. I think its okay. I liked Scrabble a lot. Battleship. For kid’s games I had loads of fun with Sorry - but that was more because of the way we ended up playing than anything else. Nate and Ma would end up ‘sorrying’ each other all the time and me and Maggie - she was one of the maids who used to play with us - would work together and one of us would win. Civilization was cool, when Dad didn’t play. I hated playing games with him. He’s the reason why I hate chess.”
XXX
“Scrabble’s good,” Sylar chuckled. Peter had no idea how sunk he was with that game, “I’ve only played Battleship a few times, but I know how it goes.”
Kid’s games? he thought then. For some reason that struck him as a very odd turn of phrase. All the games he could think of easily off the top of his head were all for children and adults alike. They could be played by nearly any age (provided a player wasn’t in diapers and didn’t try to eat the pieces or snack on the board or something), played and enjoyed equally. The only games Sylar considered childish, rather, for children were things like playing dolls and house. And Candyland. ‘Match’ was another, only due to its tediousness as a rather ingenious adult, but he had great memories of wearing that game out. Again, he had to choke back a snigger. Oh, god…what if I’d said Operation?!
Sylar soaked in the information, of course some of it was actually new to him since it came from the present Petrelli (not the dead ones). He chuckled at the pleasant images, nodding at the ones that weren’t. He couldn’t picture Arthur as a real team player; that much he knew as fact.
XXX
Peter added, “Monopoly is okay. So’s Yahtzee. Never played Scotland Yard or Stratego.”
XXX
“No? They’re lots of fun,” he chuckled, recalling how ‘into’ the games he could get. He took them rather seriously and he suspected he still would. Sylar’s challenging nature was sure to wave its flags at the nearest opportunity and he made mental notes that if he ever managed to lure Peter into a game of…well, anything, to rein in his current, rather aggressive playing tactics. Surprisingly enough, he’d never once thrown a game board away or at someone, so it wasn’t that he was violent with it.
XXX
Peter gave Sylar wondering look. What kind of a loser is he? What kind of a winner? Does he cheat? Does he spend the whole game trying to tell other people how to play? Or does he play like Ma and I always did when it was just the two of us, messing with the game while we talked? Nathan had been a poor loser, but an okay winner. His father didn’t seem to notice whether he won or lost, too wrapped up in pointing out how everyone else needed to play. Nathan sucked it up, followed instructions and won; Peter would play contrary just because.
I’ll bet I could learn a lot about him by playing a few games. With deceptive mildness, Peter said, “You’ll have to show me how to play a few of those. It’ll pass the time, I guess.”
XXX
Grinning at Peter’s hint at interest in the games, he nodded, happy as a clam. “Sure,” he replied, trying to keep his enthusiasm from his voice, the satisfaction and desire to play a freaking board game with Peter Petrelli. ‘You’ll like it’ sat on the tip of his tongue. Sylar found the last question to be an odd one, but he assumed it was because of his own upbringing. Nathan wouldn’t have batted an eye at it-that’s just how he’d been raised, basically with other people around, exposure.
XXX
Another question came to Peter’s mind that might indirectly give him some information he’d been wanting. “Did you mainly play with your family, or with friends?”
XXX
“Family. I did play a few games of various things at school sometimes.” But really I can’t figure what he’s gaining with my answer… “And you? Family or friends?” Because it will totally make sense if he answers it. Right.
XXX
“Both,” Peter said. “We used to play on Sundays after church if we didn’t have anything planned and the weather wasn’t good for going out. Or sometimes one of Dad or Ma’s friends would drop by and Nathan would set up a game with me to keep me busy.” That had been mainly while Nathan was in college and would meet them at church in the morning, go to lunch with them and then drop by the house for the early afternoon before taking off again.
“When I was older I’d have friends over and we’d play.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Those games were different though. When it was just a bunch of us, all the same age, friends playing, we had a different style to playing. When it’s family and really different ages, people play differently. Like when my parents played cards with their friends, my dad didn’t tell anyone else how to play and Ma sure didn’t go light on anyone.”
XXX
Angela going light? Okay, maybe on Peter, but… //”She warms up…sorta.”// Different games? Oh, I’m sure. The Petrelli virus had had killings committed in their own pool. Sylar purposefully avoided thinking of another house murder that hit him closer to the heart, whatever heart existed. Kelly was just a girlfriend, but Virginia…Both were accidents, he knew. As a lawyer and a morally ambiguous killer, he was aware that none of the actions on his or Nathan’s part had been premeditated.
XXX
‘Family’ though wasn’t the answer Peter was looking for. Fine. I’ll get to the point: “Did you have brothers or sisters?”
XXX
Ooh, so that’s what he wanted to know. “No. At least…none that I know of,” Sylar winced at how that sounded, especially to someone of upper class like Peter. “I hope not,” he muttered. I’m too old to play nice any more, yet here I am. I couldn’t…couldn’t do it for family. Not again. Clearly Peter isn’t family so we’re all good.
Honestly there was a time when he suspected a kid by the name of Luke Campbell might have been his half-brother at one point on a road trip to find Samson. The kid was a pain in the ass, unlearnable and more than a little crazy and that all added up that the boy hadn’t, hadn’t been related to him. He had to pause his own thoughts; what if it had been a sister?
Somehow he pictured something between Lydia, closer to him in age and temperament. Or Claire, young enough to be his daughter-ha! And perfectly annoying, whiny and bratty as could be. Or maybe that girl Molly. That was disturbing to him on many levels and he dropped the thoughts immediately. So what if his eyes had lingered on Peter when he’d thought he’d been a Petrelli the same as the medic? Peter was the only one who almost gave a shit, but didn’t give him an ounce either. Such odd…family dynamics. “I didn’t grow up with any,” was his clarification.
“Sorry, you struck out on that count,” he droned. I found my father and almost wished I hadn’t, but Peter doesn’t know anything about that, neither does he care. It probably shows, too. Sibling interactions show up in how the person, me, handles social dealings. Peter’s probably all over that. He was tempted to blurt ‘your mom hasn’t found anyone to replace me?’ intending it as a slightly suggestive comment, but he didn’t voice it because it would only get himself smacked.
“No, I just played with my mom or with myself.” Again, with the wonderful imagery Peter’s getting here. Should I add that I don’t ‘play with myself’ in any form at this current day and age? Well, I do, but….ugh!
XXX
“So, uh, library. We already, I guess, kind of talked about books. You got a lot in your apartment. Not that it’s a crime or anything, what with,” Peter waved vaguely at their surroundings, knowing that he meant the imaginary aspect of the place and that Sylar would probably think he meant the absence of people, “everything, but do you just take the books you like back your apartment?” Stupid ass question. What the hell am I supposed to say here?
XXX
Sylar glanced at the other man out of the corner of his eye, noting that the other man was ignoring his presence for the moment. It only amused him more. “No, actually, I eat the books and hold them in my throat,” he gestured to his Adam’s apple, looking towards the other man, “like a pelican, just because it’s easier to keep your hands free for more books and opening doors and things like that. Then when I get home, I just reach in and pull them out. It’s a really neat trick.” It was complete, glaringly pure sarcasm and he’d come up with a shitty reply to a rather- no, it was a dumb question. His tone was informative, which worked in his favor because it wouldn’t piss Peter off tremendously and would reinforce the sarcasm via seriousness.
“I never really fell into video games, but I can ask about any of your favorites,” he asked after he allowed his pelican-snark to sink in a moment.
XXX
Peter reached out without thinking and shoved Sylar on the shoulder with his left. “Like a pelican?!?” He laughed and rolled his eyes. You are seriously messing me up. What the hell am I supposed to do here? It was tough to stay angry at the other man when they were both so determinedly avoiding the reasons why Peter might be angry. And so he avoided them now, too, focusing instead on how funny Sylar’s comments were.
XXX
Sylar was sent stumbling, but not tripping, away in an elongated step before he caught his balance solidly. Eyes wide and shocked, he looked at Peter, wary, but more so surprised by the shove that had been, for him, completely out of the blue. They were both New York boys, they knew that drill. Sylar had been away from any form of civilization beyond Frito-Lay chips and skyscrapers for three years, so any touch was like a blowtorch. That was probably also accurate given the other man’s affinity for power tools.
XXX
Peter looked over at him and grinned, seeing uncertainty on Sylar’s face. The empath let his grin fade to a mere smile, nodding slowly and looking away. There was nothing in Peter’s demeanor that was threatening or bullying. “That would be a really neat trick, yeah,” Peter said. Give a whole new meaning to ‘deep throat.’ Peter started snickering to himself. There is something wrong with me. Seriously, something is wrong with me. I’ve been trapped in here too long. Matt’s ability is making me nuts. Sylar’s brain is making me nuts. I think I’m going crazy.
Peter let the chuckles subside. He actually was worried about his sanity. He wasn’t unaware that he’d been having mood swings all freaking day, but he didn’t know what to do about them. He didn’t want to be friendly with this man, but the other choice was being a rude asshole and sabotaging the very mission that had brought him here. Things were very much not helped by Sylar expressing an interest in him and then backing off, leaving Peter unthreatened and wanting more, but not getting it. It left Peter kicking himself for liking the attention. It was almost enough for Peter to think it was calculated. Maybe it is. Maybe he’s trying to pull a mind-fuck on me. That sobered him.
His mood did not swing to the opposite side this time. “You could have a pouch in there like a kangaroo,” he offered, finding a non-sexual take on it to mention.
XXX
Peter was grinning and it was genuine so Sylar immediately relaxed what little guard he’d raised, several steps brought him back to his previous distance from the medic, grinning back a little himself. Hey, I made him bust a gut. His own chuckle rumbled from his chest, getting louder as Peter’s did, following it down into eventual silence. “Yeah, a pelican. Kangaroo crossed my mind, too,” he admitted, feeling warmed from something good-natured. “What can I say, I’m a regular Reed Richards,” Sylar gave half an effort to appear modest, but it was another joke of course. I hope he doesn’t take that one…funny, either. Why is everything out of your mouth suddenly all about…that?
XXX
Moving along to the next subject, Peter said, “I didn’t hang around arcade halls a whole lot. No one in my family liked them for some reason, but there was a game next to the band room - actually, there were a couple of them - but the Mortal Kombat game was different. Someone had pried the back off and someone small, flexible and not afraid of getting electrocuted could crawl in there and manually trigger the credit counter by toggling this switch. I suppose I should be embarrassed to say I ended up doing it most of the time. I didn’t play very often, but I’d fit back there and I spent a lot of time in the band room goofing off, so …” He shrugged. Free games for everyone - not very honorable (which was why he always paid for his own games), but even as a kid he couldn’t turn down the opportunity to be everyone’s hero.
XXX
The Petrelli clan looking down on arcades? This surprises him? Then Peter being a sneaky little cheat? I have some new respect for him. Somehow Sylar, and the man’s brother, weren’t all that surprised by the admission. The empath would risk electrocution and even go against his morals, sacrificing for others despite any consequences. What a weirdo, he thought, but at the same time he was left wondering how effective that…lifestyle plan was.
“Okay, so…what was your most exciting day at work? And by exciting I mean…doing plenty of good deeds,” or whatever the hell it is you consider to be an ‘exciting’ day. C’mon, it beats asking about his worst day…because I think I know what that one is.
XXX
Sylar’s question put Peter off a little. The empath briefly gave him another of those piercing looks, with just a hint of ‘are you fucking with me?’ before Peter blinked and decided Sylar was being completely sincere. It wasn’t like Peter hadn’t been asked similar questions before. ‘Have you ever saved a life?’ was neck and neck with ‘what was your roughest day’ as common questions, though both paled behind ‘what’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen?’ Those were asked equally innocently he suspected after a second, more observational look at his companion, but it struck him as weird to be coming from Sylar.
Why would he ask that? Good deeds? … Sylar? Peter’s mind flashed to the wall of clippings he’d kept for so long, trying to remind himself that he really did make a difference, trying to dig himself out of the pit of depression he’d found himself in after the debacle of losing his ability and Nathan selling out everyone who had powers. Why does he want to know what I’ve done that’s worthwhile? Does he think … I’ve done good things? As opposed to being an annoying pain in the ass to him? What does he see me as - ‘Nathan’s kid brother, the one with the ability I want’?
Peter cleared his throat and pulled his thoughts away from that. “Um, uh.” He reached up and scratched at his forehead with his right. The rest of his hand gave him a mild, dull ache just for flexing his fingers. He ignored it and went on to push his bangs off to the side. “Well … I guess it would be that train derailment they had a few mon- um, yeah, a few months ago. Years ago, to you, I suppose,” Peter conceded with an apologetic look.
“It was in New York. I was on shift. We made seven different runs to the accident site. At the time …” Peter paused, doing a quick mental check of whether to mention his ability du jour, but Jeremy was dead, gruesomely. Peter risked no one by mentioning him or his power. “At the time I had an ability that let me heal people.” He paused to chew on his upper lip. “I’ve run into limits with abilities before of course, but that one I ran into time after time. It seemed to work okay for one or two people a day, but … uh … I was trying to use it a lot more than that.”
Peter was quiet for a bit, thinking about his patients that day. His expression was introspective and somber. He could still remember them, as he’d always had an excellent memory for people, especially his patients - Patrick, with the broken spine; Scott, the young man who died of cardiac arrest; Patricia, who had had the broken ribs; even Megan, though Peter didn’t credit her save to himself, but rather to Emma.
He spoke up finally, getting back to what Sylar had asked, specifically. “It was exciting. A train had derailed and hit another. There were four or five hundred people affected.” Peter’s memory for numbers wasn’t as good as for names. “Nearly two hundred were transported and treated, I remember them saying. A lot of people died. I overused healing until I blacked out a little. It wasn’t enough.” It’s so fucking easy to hurt people. So fucking hard to help them. He sighed, thinking about how easy it had been to wreck that storefront and how the damage might be basically irreparable.
Quietly enough that Sylar probably had to strain to hear, Peter said, “I think I did some good deeds that day.” He cleared his throat again. In a slightly more normal voice, he added in a tone that was half-joking, “After it was all over, Hesam asked me, ‘Can't you even go to the bathroom without saving somebody's life?’” He laughed just a little. “That’s because when I went to the supply room to restock, I found a little girl in a pink outfit, passed out. The next time we needed stuff Hesam went to the supply room. He told me that with his luck, he’d find someone in there passed out, too, but it would be a big, fat, ugly guy - but still in a frilly pink outfit.” Peter grinned.
Peter tried to think of what to ask Sylar in turn, but he sort of doubted the opportunity for ‘good deeds’ came up much in watch repair. And he certainly wasn’t going to ask about Sylar’s most exciting day. It probably involved killing people. He grunted, something occurring to him that struck Peter as neutral, yet interesting. “What’s the most expensive, complicated or unusual watch you’ve ever worked on? Or clock, if you did those, too.”
XXX
Sylar stared right back, unfazed by Peter’s disbelieving look, but why he was given it, he didn’t know. The men’s mutual gaze was broken and he wondered why Peter seemed so stunned or…offended, maybe? by the question. Or was that one of those things I have no right to be asking? He let go another one of Peter’s mistakes-months in “Peter’s time”, based on what he’d said earlier, weeks having passed since Mercy, would equate to people still roaming the earth, Sylar amongst them, supposedly.
Ooh. See, now, that was a much better ability than regeneration. Sure that came in handy when one would have otherwise died instantly-pencils, glass, knives to the head or by bleeding out or being charred like a burnt steak even, but it spelled immortality. It had sounded a wonderful idea at the time-he’d wanted to avoid his sins, hell, permanent death, retribution. It was highly useful for that sort of avoidance behavior, but it (he chose not to notice what people had told him was ‘guilt’) was proving to be inhibiting to living his life. Yes, he could wait until everyone he knew died off (minus the obvious few), but he feared then that there would be no one to help him, like he’d been told he needed help. No one to run from…no aid to be given and still connection-less.
But a train accident would have been something to see, even in ruins, a real crash and burn. He opened his mouth to add something about how he thought the person’s own limits would be reflected in how they used their abilities. Peter wasn’t a great thinker so cerebral abilities weren’t his forte, but healing….Sylar would have thought Peter would be able to go all day. Unless…but of course…something in him is still broken; he should be able to use it day-in-day-out.
Two hundred people, wow. Sylar tried to wrap his mind around the possibility of saving so many, but of course the medic informed him that there had been heavy casualties. He stopped breathing to listen to the other man’s whisper and somehow it made him feel better. /”Tell me something, anything; just make me believe you’re not the same as me!”/ That Peter could believe he’d done some good, in spite of all the damage Sylar had done in contrast made him feel a little less…hopeless. Peter blacking out to do it was worrisome, but he ignored that for now as it was irrelevant.
Hesam….oh, yeah, his partner. Sylar laughed the same because Nathan knew Peter wouldn’t break to use the urinal until he knew everyone was safe and happy. What was a little girl doing in a store room in a hospital? Don’t they code-lock those things? Sylar would have suspected an illusion had he been the one to come across that. He broke down and sniggered, “He sounds like a nice guy, Hesam.” Funny at least.
His reverie was disturbed by the man’s next question. What….does that have to do with anything? And why does he wanna know? It was his turn to give Peter a calculating look for a moment before he gave a decided ‘what the hell?’ “Um, I’ve had an IWC Grande Complication that’s worth about two-hundred eighty-thousand. Six-hundred fifty-nine parts with seventeen functions like chronograph, perpetual moon phase, small seconds with a stop function, four-digit year display, perpetual calendar, minute repeater… parts of it are gold, yellow gold or platinum. The one I fixed was self-winding and the band was alligator.” He shrugged. “Something as simple as a tourbillion that needed to be fixed, but it was a very nice watch.”
XXX
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You … need to repeat that. Two-hundred and eighty-thousand … dollars? Was it covered with diamonds or something?!?” He’d seen expensive watches, but the priciest he’d ever seen anyone wear on a regular basis was a high-end Rolex Linderman had worn. It was something like thirty grand - the subject having come up after Peter criticized Nathan for wearing a five thousand dollar watch their father had given him for his birthday. Nathan had laughed and pointed out that it was hardly expensive as watches went. Peter was happier with something that didn’t ostentatiously proclaim his wealth to all and sundry. If he was going to be differentiated from the crowd, he wanted it to be based on what he did, not what he owned, or wore.
“Are there people who actually wear those regularly, or are they just stage pieces? Or … what’s the word I’m looking for … like the jewelry actors and actresses wear to promote a brand? Maybe that’s it - promotional pieces. People do not-“ He caught himself. Sylar worked on watches. Sylar knew a lot about watches. Sylar, despite having listened attentively earlier, probably did not want to hear Peter talk about how the cutting edge of his profession was a form of conspicuous consumption that Peter disapproved of. He immediately changed what he had been about to say.
“People do not take the sort of care with the things they wear day to day, to justify putting something that valuable on regularly. It must be like a work of art.” Art, Peter was more forgiving of. It could inspire and uplift, give meaning and show depth. No one argued that a bunch of tinted petroleum on a canvas had much in the way of practical value. People paid for it what they thought it was worth, either in the regard others would give them for owning the piece, or insomuch as they thought they would enjoy looking at it personally.
He smiled suddenly, head jerking back towards Sylar as he realized something. “So, does that make you an artist?” Segueing smoothly into a similar question, he asked, “Can you draw, or paint? I’m pretty lousy at both, myself. Unless I have an ability that grants it. It was all stick figures for me until I got Isaac’s power, then suddenly I was good at it.” That was one that hadn’t entirely faded, Peter had been pleased to note. There remained some residual sense in his mind of how to frame a subject, shade a scene and draw the eye; much like how even without flight he remembered the sensations and experience.
He listened to Sylar’s answers with an active, engaged interest, his own words punctuated by loose gestures. Peter was getting more relaxed with his companion.
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: 7,653
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).
Day 8
Peter sighed a little. “Yeah, that’s all I wanted to do, really. Me and my great subterfuge, hidden agenda and all that.” He tried to smile a little and make a joke of it. “What did you think? I was tired of that apartment already and was looking for new digs?” He snorted.
XXX
What did I think? Nothing decent, Peter, that’s for sure. “No, not that,” Sylar said and left it at that.
XXX
Peter went on, “No, I just thought I might want to go swimming eventually. And after all that walking I did the first couple of days here, a hot tub would have been heaven, but I was too busted up to go looking for one. Next time I’ll know where to go.” Not so much a next time of walking, but hot tubs are nice. “I’m sure there’s a regulation pool around somewhere, but I figured a hotel would be easier to find. Let’s go look inside. I want to be sure of what’s in there.” He started inside.
XXX
“Oh, I see.” Peter and pools? Worse, hot tubs. Oh, god…Sylar swallowed. The idea of seeing that much foreign flesh exposed…while wet…“Totally,” he ended up squeaking, “The hotel’s the place to be,” voice rasping as he cleared his throat.
XXX
At Sylar’s strangled tone in regards to the pool and hot tub, Peter thought, Oh my God, he’s into me. He’s … whoa, really into me. It wasn’t a complete surprise - Sylar had telegraphed his interest already, but this wasn’t just interest. It was a reaction. And Peter, instinctively maybe, wanted to make Sylar react again and again. It was very flattering, after all. It was an effort not to follow up on that. He’s probably just lonely and it has nothing to do with me. Get over yourself. That thought calmed Peter down a lot.
He walked into the extravagant lobby, looking around for placards that directed him to the pool and fitness area. He started that way, then detoured unexpectedly into the food service area. “Hang on. Something else I want to do.” He put down the trauma kit and fished through his messenger bag, producing a pill bottle (and this one with a normal cap). He poured out four pills into the lid and went to get himself a cup of water.
XXX
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” the pair passed into the building. Something else? I knew it. The other man set down his bags and left for a minute and returned with water after removing some pills. Sylar was still a little confused because he was sure Peter wasn’t just here for the pool, but…okay, whatever.
XXX
Taking up the conversation from before, he said, “Yeah, there’s other immortals. I met one.” He watched the water fill the cup, thinking over how much he should share with Sylar about Adam. Is he safe from Sylar because Sylar already has Claire’s ability? I suppose I could ask … “What happens if you get more than one copy of the same ability? Is every ability different, just a little? That was the way it felt to me - every ability seemed unique.” He picked up the pills and knocked them back, following with a long drink.
“I’m not going to tell you about people if there’s a good chance you’re just going to track them down later and kill them.” It was incredibly blunt, but Peter didn’t see any point to being indirect about this one. Though, come to think of it, Adam would probably be safe from him just because of his ability. Claire survived. Though it still wouldn’t really be right to point Sylar at him and set him up for assault. Adam was a bigger villain than Sylar, but that doesn’t mean … does it? No, it doesn’t. No more than Sylar deserves to be hurt.
XXX
Peter mentioned Adam and Nathan’s memories collaborated. Aha. He blinked and pulled his head back, insulted even though he understood the need Peter had to cover for his buddies. His face reflected it with a clenched jaw and tight mouth, but his eyes were kept blank as he took the (over)precautionary measures from the medic. That was like throwing the three years of forced/enforced chastity back in his face. And really. No one here, Pete. No. One! Your worry is totally freaking irrelevant.
“Yes, they’re all different. Genetics. I’ve never had any repeats, even after I lost them all and…well, you know.” Went on a rather bloody trip all fucking over again. “I imagine they would layer if the person’s brain can adapt and handle the addition which is pretty much a exercise in futility to even say because to gain another ability as far as I know you have to already be able to access that part of your brain. We both can. If you can’t, say you’re born a special,” because he was aware of that…vague line about Nathan being a tube baby, “and you’re only born with one, the odds of you genetically mutating to be able to use an additional ability are…astronomical assuming the original ability isn’t genetic mutation itself.” He shrugged slightly. I hope that didn’t sound as Mohinder as I think it did…I know when to shut up and he doesn’t, so there.
While he wasn’t a big pill-popper, he was pretty sure Peter was abusing the dosage on the painkillers. He said nothing, just watched. “Does it look like it matters now, Peter?” he gestured loosely around the hotel. “I’m not interested in immortality again. I shouldn’t have taken the first one. There’s no one here to track down so your ‘buddy’ is safe.”Because, yeah. Healing is sooo much better than fucking regen. “I’m not a liar,” he seriously added, his voice dropping in octave to display his sincerity.
Sylar turned away after he was sure Peter got the point, licking his lip as he visually explored the large entry foyer, all glass and gold and faux marble. After that he wasn’t expecting Peter to fill him in on immortals. Anyone with abilities, actually. Ever. Big deal. Just think up another question.
XXX
He listened to Sylar’s answer about abilities. Peter was feeling the emotions and … goddammit he wasn’t following the words. Peter stood there very focused and a little tense, trying to decipher what the hell Sylar was trying to get across with … all of that. “No, I don’t think you’re a liar,” Peter said quietly, looking down a few times so he wasn’t staring so fixedly. Now that Sylar was turned away though, his eyes came back up. You’re not lying. I just don’t understand.
“So,” he started slowly, thinking maybe it would be smarter just to dismiss the whole topic but … well, he actually wanted to know and this was something Sylar might very well be able to answer. If Sylar had an area of expertise, the gaining of abilities was it, and the other man was managing to discuss it without even mentioning murdering anyone. “So, what you’re saying is that yes, you and I and anyone suited to have … anyone who is … well, you and I, could gain multiple copies of the same power, but for anyone else, it would be astronomical odds for them to just happen to manifest more than one power, and even more astronomical,” is there a word for that? I’ll bet there is. Bet he knows it, too. Bet he also thinks I’m an idiot. He sighed and went on, “even more unlikely to get the same power all over again. That’s … that’s what you’re saying, right?”
XXX
Sylar was forced to cover his mouth when Peter reworded Sylar’s own dialogue back at him. Oh, Peter… It took a lot not to at the very least chuckle at the uncomprehending medico. He nodded, serious. “Exactly. You got it,” he encouraged rather helpfully, if he did say so himself. Which he kind of had, but whatever.
XXX
He gathered up the trauma bag, contemplating what Sylar had said. So you’re saying that you wouldn’t go after Adam and you think that should be enough for me to trust you? No, you’re not saying that. You’re saying you wouldn’t bother … you can’t right now because you don’t have your ability. But if you got it back, and you didn’t think you were trapped in here forever, then … you really aren’t saying what you’d do then. So I can’t test his sincerity here, because he’s not going to run off to find Adam any more than he’s after my head, because he’s missing his power. It’s no good.
Peter pushed his hair out of his face, feeling frustrated and like he was back to square one. I want to talk to him, but how the hell do I figure out how to trust him? This is all false! All of this conversation isn’t about what matters! What I really need to know is what he’s going to do when he gets out of here. How the hell can he be so human and yet I can’t rely on him to act human? I know he can. He did in that future. I know he wants to. I can almost feel it.
XXX
Peter started making his ‘I’m thinking’ face as he took up his bags again and Sylar followed him around until they found the pool area. That’s what I’m talking about! I wonder what the odds are of…either stalking him here or just waiting here for him to catch him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve be-” he began before Peter swung around and asked him a rather random question, from his standpoint at least.
XXX
Peter pushed open the door to the pool area, looking at the clear blue waters and catching the scent of chlorine. He looked it over for a moment, then turned to Sylar and asked, “How much can I trust you?”
XXX
How do I answer that? He thought a little helplessly. Does he mean with the pool or in general or…the other specials he thinks still roams this earth…? “I would say as much as you want. That’s not….exactly something I can control, now is it? I mean, I’ll help you blow up your water wings, but I’m not going to drown you or anything.” Sylar gestured at the water, trying to make a light analogy. “Peter, whether you like it or not, we’re the only people here. It’s in my best interest not to…” what? Not to what?! “screw things up beyond measure.” Further, that is, of course.
‘I like trust’ he wanted to add, ‘trust is good!’ but it would mean little to the wronged Petrelli. His hands found his pockets again as his body decided to hunch itself to be smaller. It was a real uphill battle. Yesss, trust me! I killed your brother and your dad and tried for your mom and niece. I’m a known killer and you’re here all alone with me. Are you afraid yet?!
“You used to swim, right, Peter? What’s your favorite stroke?” And don’t give me that swimmer’s joke, please. Just my luck he’ll say ‘breasts!’ and leer. Does he even have swim trunks? Who needs swim trunks…Or better yet, fuck it, strip and get in the water!
“Doggy paddle?” he guessed, teasing with a minor grin to show it.
XXX
“Yeah, okay, it wasn’t a fair question and I knew that when I asked it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Peter stared at the water, thinking about how relaxing a swim would be, if he were alone, just him and the water. His eyes snapped back to Sylar. “Don’t tell me, thanks,” he said with a smile to soften it.
“I like the backstroke - just being propelled along, looking up, watching the ceiling or the sky go by. It’s kind of like flying. Really slow flying, I guess.” He tried very hard to purge thoughts of Nathan, and borrowing West’s ability after the funeral, from his mind. It was tough. “Before I had my ability …” But you know this. Damnit. I get to say it anyway. Fuck losing half of every conversation because you already know my life story. I want to actually say things and be listened to! “Before I knew I had my ability, I was having these dreams of flying. It was like swimming through the air.”
XXX
Sylar nodded and let it pass, allowing Peter to take what he would from his response to it. He swallowed his laughter, but some escaped as a highly amused chuckle. The other man answered and Sylar tilted his head to eye him in curiosity. Part of him answered ‘really?’ while the other half said ‘I know’ at Peter’s…strangely precognizant dreams. Sylar tagged it that Peter in fact possessed Angela’s ability before he knew of flying, which made sense. Nathan of course…had his head up his own ass, busy pretending he was your average card-shark, double-dealing lawyer running for senator.
“I always liked the butterfly,” he stated a little randomly, “Something about…the power behind it, using lots of muscles to propel yourself out of the water. I mean, everyone loves the freestyle, because of the glide and the water rushing past you so easily. Maybe it’s because the fly takes timing.” He thought about his preference from Peter’s point of view. He’s power-hungry and he’s a watchmaker-what a freak. Yup that about sums it up.
XXX
Peter gestured at the far end of the pool. “I think there’s a kiddy section over there. They always have them at hotels. I think I’ll be safe if I just stick to the shallow end, don’t you think?” He looked at Sylar with a fairly straight expression. “Thanks for the offer on the water wings though. That’s very thoughtful of you.” He knew he was teasing back and getting dangerously close to those mixed signals he’d been giving earlier in the day. Fuck it.
XXX
A confused frown twisted over his face. Kiddy pool? It only grew as the younger man, while no giant, was no child (even if he sometimes played pretend more than Sylar (and Nathan) thought he should). Peter’s face gave him nothing, but he continued on about water wi- ooh! His own expression eased as he chuckled. “No problem. It’s the least I can do for a midget with three limbs.” Raising a brow, he gave a slight smirk and stepped towards the pool, crouching down, his back to the medic, to insert a hand into the aquamarine liquid that reeked of chemicals for a temp test.
It didn’t really occur to him that he might be exposing himself to being pushed in; he was confident he wouldn’t be attacked, however. “Hmm,” was his voiced approval of the temperature. “It’s not bathwater, but it’s over-chemicalized. If you want to swim in a good pool, I’ll come fool around with the chemicals-using less, I mean.” In case Peter worried that he would try something sinister, he quickly clarified, “Otherwise it’s actually unhealthy.”
XXX
Peter adjusted the straps on his bags and said, “Well, that’s all I wanted to see here.” He turned to head out. “Was there anywhere else we were going today, or just heading back? I’ve got some stuff I’ve been wanting to do in that apartment anyway.” I need to get some of that crap out of there. And then see if I can actually strum the guitar with this splint on. That might be pushing it a little too fast. I should probably give it a few more days. But I could just try … just a little. That wouldn’t hurt anything, would it? Peter almost smiled. He’d heard the same justifications from plenty of patients to recognize it. And then, Peter wondered, what will I do after that?
XXX
With his back still turned, rubbing his fingers together wetly, Sylar allowed a genuine, full-bodied smirk to himself. “I’ll touch up the kiddy pool for you, too.” He then stood, utterly serious and turned back to the other man. “I can show you the library if you want,” he shrugged, “I’ve got no agenda.” Peter's potential rearranging, which may or may not involve power tools, piqued his interest.
XXX
Peter watched Sylar crouch down to test the water, admiring the way his body curved and bent. He was flexible, a part of Peter’s brain noted. The empath walked a few paces away, saying, “You are just begging to be kicked in there, you know that?” He turned back, seeing Sylar had not reacted defensively. The other man seemed very certain he was safe. The back of Peter’s mind was telling him that a good dunking was physically harmless and Sylar deserved it for being such a smug bastard. That was why Peter had immediately removed himself to a safe distance, where he couldn’t do it without telegraphing his approach. And why he’d said something about it. So, yes, Sylar’s read of the situation, and Peter, was spot-on. Peter itched to do it though.
“I’m not worried about the chemicals. You can do what you want to it, as long as it’s still swimmable.” This is all in Sylar’s head anyway. I suppose if he thinks the pool is unhealthy, then maybe it is. Whatever. Knock yourself out, dude.
Sylar stood with his back fully turned to Peter, still poised, almost balanced, at the edge of the pool. A muscle in Peter’s jaw jumped. He’s gotta be doing this on purpose, just to test me. Dick. I ought to go push him in just because. Instead Peter turned and walked back to the doors out. He waited there until Sylar finally joined him, which seemed to take abnormally long. Peter was feeling a bit cranky, thwarted and put upon by then.
Peter gave him a quick nod and said, “Library’s fine. Let’s go. You mentioned board games the other day. What did you find? What do you like to play?”
XXX
“Games? Oh, mostly the basics-Life, Clue, Monopoly, Scrabble, Pictionary, Yahtzee. But my favorites…I always really liked Scotland Yard and Stratego. And Clue, Scrabble and….Tripoly,” he eventually finished. He didn’t dwell much on the why, and he certainly didn’t linger on the memories surrounding them. “What about you?” Sure, he knew what ones Peter preferred over others, but his favorites? Those he didn’t know.
XXX
Peter shouldered the door open and headed out, letting Sylar catch up with him for once. He slowed down though when Sylar started talking about the games. He calmed and tried to pay attention, rather than being awash in an unfulfilled desire to assert his dominance with a swift shove to Sylar’s exceptionally well-formed posterior.
XXX
As Sylar had expected, Peter did nothing. Now, he wasn’t assuming it was an easy move to avoid making, not at all. Nor did he actually do it on purpose. It had been a long time since he’d swam and he was eager to swim once in a while, too. Not with Peter, obviously; he didn’t think the poor man could relax if he was around. No such luck.
Sylar genuinely desired to test the temperature and he’d been satisfied. The medic was moving away, deeming the library an acceptable destination and he shrugged at Peter’s back as he hurried behind the man, catching and slipping through the door before it shut.
XXX
“I take it you really like Clue. I think its okay. I liked Scrabble a lot. Battleship. For kid’s games I had loads of fun with Sorry - but that was more because of the way we ended up playing than anything else. Nate and Ma would end up ‘sorrying’ each other all the time and me and Maggie - she was one of the maids who used to play with us - would work together and one of us would win. Civilization was cool, when Dad didn’t play. I hated playing games with him. He’s the reason why I hate chess.”
XXX
“Scrabble’s good,” Sylar chuckled. Peter had no idea how sunk he was with that game, “I’ve only played Battleship a few times, but I know how it goes.”
Kid’s games? he thought then. For some reason that struck him as a very odd turn of phrase. All the games he could think of easily off the top of his head were all for children and adults alike. They could be played by nearly any age (provided a player wasn’t in diapers and didn’t try to eat the pieces or snack on the board or something), played and enjoyed equally. The only games Sylar considered childish, rather, for children were things like playing dolls and house. And Candyland. ‘Match’ was another, only due to its tediousness as a rather ingenious adult, but he had great memories of wearing that game out. Again, he had to choke back a snigger. Oh, god…what if I’d said Operation?!
Sylar soaked in the information, of course some of it was actually new to him since it came from the present Petrelli (not the dead ones). He chuckled at the pleasant images, nodding at the ones that weren’t. He couldn’t picture Arthur as a real team player; that much he knew as fact.
XXX
Peter added, “Monopoly is okay. So’s Yahtzee. Never played Scotland Yard or Stratego.”
XXX
“No? They’re lots of fun,” he chuckled, recalling how ‘into’ the games he could get. He took them rather seriously and he suspected he still would. Sylar’s challenging nature was sure to wave its flags at the nearest opportunity and he made mental notes that if he ever managed to lure Peter into a game of…well, anything, to rein in his current, rather aggressive playing tactics. Surprisingly enough, he’d never once thrown a game board away or at someone, so it wasn’t that he was violent with it.
XXX
Peter gave Sylar wondering look. What kind of a loser is he? What kind of a winner? Does he cheat? Does he spend the whole game trying to tell other people how to play? Or does he play like Ma and I always did when it was just the two of us, messing with the game while we talked? Nathan had been a poor loser, but an okay winner. His father didn’t seem to notice whether he won or lost, too wrapped up in pointing out how everyone else needed to play. Nathan sucked it up, followed instructions and won; Peter would play contrary just because.
I’ll bet I could learn a lot about him by playing a few games. With deceptive mildness, Peter said, “You’ll have to show me how to play a few of those. It’ll pass the time, I guess.”
XXX
Grinning at Peter’s hint at interest in the games, he nodded, happy as a clam. “Sure,” he replied, trying to keep his enthusiasm from his voice, the satisfaction and desire to play a freaking board game with Peter Petrelli. ‘You’ll like it’ sat on the tip of his tongue. Sylar found the last question to be an odd one, but he assumed it was because of his own upbringing. Nathan wouldn’t have batted an eye at it-that’s just how he’d been raised, basically with other people around, exposure.
XXX
Another question came to Peter’s mind that might indirectly give him some information he’d been wanting. “Did you mainly play with your family, or with friends?”
XXX
“Family. I did play a few games of various things at school sometimes.” But really I can’t figure what he’s gaining with my answer… “And you? Family or friends?” Because it will totally make sense if he answers it. Right.
XXX
“Both,” Peter said. “We used to play on Sundays after church if we didn’t have anything planned and the weather wasn’t good for going out. Or sometimes one of Dad or Ma’s friends would drop by and Nathan would set up a game with me to keep me busy.” That had been mainly while Nathan was in college and would meet them at church in the morning, go to lunch with them and then drop by the house for the early afternoon before taking off again.
“When I was older I’d have friends over and we’d play.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Those games were different though. When it was just a bunch of us, all the same age, friends playing, we had a different style to playing. When it’s family and really different ages, people play differently. Like when my parents played cards with their friends, my dad didn’t tell anyone else how to play and Ma sure didn’t go light on anyone.”
XXX
Angela going light? Okay, maybe on Peter, but… //”She warms up…sorta.”// Different games? Oh, I’m sure. The Petrelli virus had had killings committed in their own pool. Sylar purposefully avoided thinking of another house murder that hit him closer to the heart, whatever heart existed. Kelly was just a girlfriend, but Virginia…Both were accidents, he knew. As a lawyer and a morally ambiguous killer, he was aware that none of the actions on his or Nathan’s part had been premeditated.
XXX
‘Family’ though wasn’t the answer Peter was looking for. Fine. I’ll get to the point: “Did you have brothers or sisters?”
XXX
Ooh, so that’s what he wanted to know. “No. At least…none that I know of,” Sylar winced at how that sounded, especially to someone of upper class like Peter. “I hope not,” he muttered. I’m too old to play nice any more, yet here I am. I couldn’t…couldn’t do it for family. Not again. Clearly Peter isn’t family so we’re all good.
Honestly there was a time when he suspected a kid by the name of Luke Campbell might have been his half-brother at one point on a road trip to find Samson. The kid was a pain in the ass, unlearnable and more than a little crazy and that all added up that the boy hadn’t, hadn’t been related to him. He had to pause his own thoughts; what if it had been a sister?
Somehow he pictured something between Lydia, closer to him in age and temperament. Or Claire, young enough to be his daughter-ha! And perfectly annoying, whiny and bratty as could be. Or maybe that girl Molly. That was disturbing to him on many levels and he dropped the thoughts immediately. So what if his eyes had lingered on Peter when he’d thought he’d been a Petrelli the same as the medic? Peter was the only one who almost gave a shit, but didn’t give him an ounce either. Such odd…family dynamics. “I didn’t grow up with any,” was his clarification.
“Sorry, you struck out on that count,” he droned. I found my father and almost wished I hadn’t, but Peter doesn’t know anything about that, neither does he care. It probably shows, too. Sibling interactions show up in how the person, me, handles social dealings. Peter’s probably all over that. He was tempted to blurt ‘your mom hasn’t found anyone to replace me?’ intending it as a slightly suggestive comment, but he didn’t voice it because it would only get himself smacked.
“No, I just played with my mom or with myself.” Again, with the wonderful imagery Peter’s getting here. Should I add that I don’t ‘play with myself’ in any form at this current day and age? Well, I do, but….ugh!
XXX
“So, uh, library. We already, I guess, kind of talked about books. You got a lot in your apartment. Not that it’s a crime or anything, what with,” Peter waved vaguely at their surroundings, knowing that he meant the imaginary aspect of the place and that Sylar would probably think he meant the absence of people, “everything, but do you just take the books you like back your apartment?” Stupid ass question. What the hell am I supposed to say here?
XXX
Sylar glanced at the other man out of the corner of his eye, noting that the other man was ignoring his presence for the moment. It only amused him more. “No, actually, I eat the books and hold them in my throat,” he gestured to his Adam’s apple, looking towards the other man, “like a pelican, just because it’s easier to keep your hands free for more books and opening doors and things like that. Then when I get home, I just reach in and pull them out. It’s a really neat trick.” It was complete, glaringly pure sarcasm and he’d come up with a shitty reply to a rather- no, it was a dumb question. His tone was informative, which worked in his favor because it wouldn’t piss Peter off tremendously and would reinforce the sarcasm via seriousness.
“I never really fell into video games, but I can ask about any of your favorites,” he asked after he allowed his pelican-snark to sink in a moment.
XXX
Peter reached out without thinking and shoved Sylar on the shoulder with his left. “Like a pelican?!?” He laughed and rolled his eyes. You are seriously messing me up. What the hell am I supposed to do here? It was tough to stay angry at the other man when they were both so determinedly avoiding the reasons why Peter might be angry. And so he avoided them now, too, focusing instead on how funny Sylar’s comments were.
XXX
Sylar was sent stumbling, but not tripping, away in an elongated step before he caught his balance solidly. Eyes wide and shocked, he looked at Peter, wary, but more so surprised by the shove that had been, for him, completely out of the blue. They were both New York boys, they knew that drill. Sylar had been away from any form of civilization beyond Frito-Lay chips and skyscrapers for three years, so any touch was like a blowtorch. That was probably also accurate given the other man’s affinity for power tools.
XXX
Peter looked over at him and grinned, seeing uncertainty on Sylar’s face. The empath let his grin fade to a mere smile, nodding slowly and looking away. There was nothing in Peter’s demeanor that was threatening or bullying. “That would be a really neat trick, yeah,” Peter said. Give a whole new meaning to ‘deep throat.’ Peter started snickering to himself. There is something wrong with me. Seriously, something is wrong with me. I’ve been trapped in here too long. Matt’s ability is making me nuts. Sylar’s brain is making me nuts. I think I’m going crazy.
Peter let the chuckles subside. He actually was worried about his sanity. He wasn’t unaware that he’d been having mood swings all freaking day, but he didn’t know what to do about them. He didn’t want to be friendly with this man, but the other choice was being a rude asshole and sabotaging the very mission that had brought him here. Things were very much not helped by Sylar expressing an interest in him and then backing off, leaving Peter unthreatened and wanting more, but not getting it. It left Peter kicking himself for liking the attention. It was almost enough for Peter to think it was calculated. Maybe it is. Maybe he’s trying to pull a mind-fuck on me. That sobered him.
His mood did not swing to the opposite side this time. “You could have a pouch in there like a kangaroo,” he offered, finding a non-sexual take on it to mention.
XXX
Peter was grinning and it was genuine so Sylar immediately relaxed what little guard he’d raised, several steps brought him back to his previous distance from the medic, grinning back a little himself. Hey, I made him bust a gut. His own chuckle rumbled from his chest, getting louder as Peter’s did, following it down into eventual silence. “Yeah, a pelican. Kangaroo crossed my mind, too,” he admitted, feeling warmed from something good-natured. “What can I say, I’m a regular Reed Richards,” Sylar gave half an effort to appear modest, but it was another joke of course. I hope he doesn’t take that one…funny, either. Why is everything out of your mouth suddenly all about…that?
XXX
Moving along to the next subject, Peter said, “I didn’t hang around arcade halls a whole lot. No one in my family liked them for some reason, but there was a game next to the band room - actually, there were a couple of them - but the Mortal Kombat game was different. Someone had pried the back off and someone small, flexible and not afraid of getting electrocuted could crawl in there and manually trigger the credit counter by toggling this switch. I suppose I should be embarrassed to say I ended up doing it most of the time. I didn’t play very often, but I’d fit back there and I spent a lot of time in the band room goofing off, so …” He shrugged. Free games for everyone - not very honorable (which was why he always paid for his own games), but even as a kid he couldn’t turn down the opportunity to be everyone’s hero.
XXX
The Petrelli clan looking down on arcades? This surprises him? Then Peter being a sneaky little cheat? I have some new respect for him. Somehow Sylar, and the man’s brother, weren’t all that surprised by the admission. The empath would risk electrocution and even go against his morals, sacrificing for others despite any consequences. What a weirdo, he thought, but at the same time he was left wondering how effective that…lifestyle plan was.
“Okay, so…what was your most exciting day at work? And by exciting I mean…doing plenty of good deeds,” or whatever the hell it is you consider to be an ‘exciting’ day. C’mon, it beats asking about his worst day…because I think I know what that one is.
XXX
Sylar’s question put Peter off a little. The empath briefly gave him another of those piercing looks, with just a hint of ‘are you fucking with me?’ before Peter blinked and decided Sylar was being completely sincere. It wasn’t like Peter hadn’t been asked similar questions before. ‘Have you ever saved a life?’ was neck and neck with ‘what was your roughest day’ as common questions, though both paled behind ‘what’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen?’ Those were asked equally innocently he suspected after a second, more observational look at his companion, but it struck him as weird to be coming from Sylar.
Why would he ask that? Good deeds? … Sylar? Peter’s mind flashed to the wall of clippings he’d kept for so long, trying to remind himself that he really did make a difference, trying to dig himself out of the pit of depression he’d found himself in after the debacle of losing his ability and Nathan selling out everyone who had powers. Why does he want to know what I’ve done that’s worthwhile? Does he think … I’ve done good things? As opposed to being an annoying pain in the ass to him? What does he see me as - ‘Nathan’s kid brother, the one with the ability I want’?
Peter cleared his throat and pulled his thoughts away from that. “Um, uh.” He reached up and scratched at his forehead with his right. The rest of his hand gave him a mild, dull ache just for flexing his fingers. He ignored it and went on to push his bangs off to the side. “Well … I guess it would be that train derailment they had a few mon- um, yeah, a few months ago. Years ago, to you, I suppose,” Peter conceded with an apologetic look.
“It was in New York. I was on shift. We made seven different runs to the accident site. At the time …” Peter paused, doing a quick mental check of whether to mention his ability du jour, but Jeremy was dead, gruesomely. Peter risked no one by mentioning him or his power. “At the time I had an ability that let me heal people.” He paused to chew on his upper lip. “I’ve run into limits with abilities before of course, but that one I ran into time after time. It seemed to work okay for one or two people a day, but … uh … I was trying to use it a lot more than that.”
Peter was quiet for a bit, thinking about his patients that day. His expression was introspective and somber. He could still remember them, as he’d always had an excellent memory for people, especially his patients - Patrick, with the broken spine; Scott, the young man who died of cardiac arrest; Patricia, who had had the broken ribs; even Megan, though Peter didn’t credit her save to himself, but rather to Emma.
He spoke up finally, getting back to what Sylar had asked, specifically. “It was exciting. A train had derailed and hit another. There were four or five hundred people affected.” Peter’s memory for numbers wasn’t as good as for names. “Nearly two hundred were transported and treated, I remember them saying. A lot of people died. I overused healing until I blacked out a little. It wasn’t enough.” It’s so fucking easy to hurt people. So fucking hard to help them. He sighed, thinking about how easy it had been to wreck that storefront and how the damage might be basically irreparable.
Quietly enough that Sylar probably had to strain to hear, Peter said, “I think I did some good deeds that day.” He cleared his throat again. In a slightly more normal voice, he added in a tone that was half-joking, “After it was all over, Hesam asked me, ‘Can't you even go to the bathroom without saving somebody's life?’” He laughed just a little. “That’s because when I went to the supply room to restock, I found a little girl in a pink outfit, passed out. The next time we needed stuff Hesam went to the supply room. He told me that with his luck, he’d find someone in there passed out, too, but it would be a big, fat, ugly guy - but still in a frilly pink outfit.” Peter grinned.
Peter tried to think of what to ask Sylar in turn, but he sort of doubted the opportunity for ‘good deeds’ came up much in watch repair. And he certainly wasn’t going to ask about Sylar’s most exciting day. It probably involved killing people. He grunted, something occurring to him that struck Peter as neutral, yet interesting. “What’s the most expensive, complicated or unusual watch you’ve ever worked on? Or clock, if you did those, too.”
XXX
Sylar stared right back, unfazed by Peter’s disbelieving look, but why he was given it, he didn’t know. The men’s mutual gaze was broken and he wondered why Peter seemed so stunned or…offended, maybe? by the question. Or was that one of those things I have no right to be asking? He let go another one of Peter’s mistakes-months in “Peter’s time”, based on what he’d said earlier, weeks having passed since Mercy, would equate to people still roaming the earth, Sylar amongst them, supposedly.
Ooh. See, now, that was a much better ability than regeneration. Sure that came in handy when one would have otherwise died instantly-pencils, glass, knives to the head or by bleeding out or being charred like a burnt steak even, but it spelled immortality. It had sounded a wonderful idea at the time-he’d wanted to avoid his sins, hell, permanent death, retribution. It was highly useful for that sort of avoidance behavior, but it (he chose not to notice what people had told him was ‘guilt’) was proving to be inhibiting to living his life. Yes, he could wait until everyone he knew died off (minus the obvious few), but he feared then that there would be no one to help him, like he’d been told he needed help. No one to run from…no aid to be given and still connection-less.
But a train accident would have been something to see, even in ruins, a real crash and burn. He opened his mouth to add something about how he thought the person’s own limits would be reflected in how they used their abilities. Peter wasn’t a great thinker so cerebral abilities weren’t his forte, but healing….Sylar would have thought Peter would be able to go all day. Unless…but of course…something in him is still broken; he should be able to use it day-in-day-out.
Two hundred people, wow. Sylar tried to wrap his mind around the possibility of saving so many, but of course the medic informed him that there had been heavy casualties. He stopped breathing to listen to the other man’s whisper and somehow it made him feel better. /”Tell me something, anything; just make me believe you’re not the same as me!”/ That Peter could believe he’d done some good, in spite of all the damage Sylar had done in contrast made him feel a little less…hopeless. Peter blacking out to do it was worrisome, but he ignored that for now as it was irrelevant.
Hesam….oh, yeah, his partner. Sylar laughed the same because Nathan knew Peter wouldn’t break to use the urinal until he knew everyone was safe and happy. What was a little girl doing in a store room in a hospital? Don’t they code-lock those things? Sylar would have suspected an illusion had he been the one to come across that. He broke down and sniggered, “He sounds like a nice guy, Hesam.” Funny at least.
His reverie was disturbed by the man’s next question. What….does that have to do with anything? And why does he wanna know? It was his turn to give Peter a calculating look for a moment before he gave a decided ‘what the hell?’ “Um, I’ve had an IWC Grande Complication that’s worth about two-hundred eighty-thousand. Six-hundred fifty-nine parts with seventeen functions like chronograph, perpetual moon phase, small seconds with a stop function, four-digit year display, perpetual calendar, minute repeater… parts of it are gold, yellow gold or platinum. The one I fixed was self-winding and the band was alligator.” He shrugged. “Something as simple as a tourbillion that needed to be fixed, but it was a very nice watch.”
XXX
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You … need to repeat that. Two-hundred and eighty-thousand … dollars? Was it covered with diamonds or something?!?” He’d seen expensive watches, but the priciest he’d ever seen anyone wear on a regular basis was a high-end Rolex Linderman had worn. It was something like thirty grand - the subject having come up after Peter criticized Nathan for wearing a five thousand dollar watch their father had given him for his birthday. Nathan had laughed and pointed out that it was hardly expensive as watches went. Peter was happier with something that didn’t ostentatiously proclaim his wealth to all and sundry. If he was going to be differentiated from the crowd, he wanted it to be based on what he did, not what he owned, or wore.
“Are there people who actually wear those regularly, or are they just stage pieces? Or … what’s the word I’m looking for … like the jewelry actors and actresses wear to promote a brand? Maybe that’s it - promotional pieces. People do not-“ He caught himself. Sylar worked on watches. Sylar knew a lot about watches. Sylar, despite having listened attentively earlier, probably did not want to hear Peter talk about how the cutting edge of his profession was a form of conspicuous consumption that Peter disapproved of. He immediately changed what he had been about to say.
“People do not take the sort of care with the things they wear day to day, to justify putting something that valuable on regularly. It must be like a work of art.” Art, Peter was more forgiving of. It could inspire and uplift, give meaning and show depth. No one argued that a bunch of tinted petroleum on a canvas had much in the way of practical value. People paid for it what they thought it was worth, either in the regard others would give them for owning the piece, or insomuch as they thought they would enjoy looking at it personally.
He smiled suddenly, head jerking back towards Sylar as he realized something. “So, does that make you an artist?” Segueing smoothly into a similar question, he asked, “Can you draw, or paint? I’m pretty lousy at both, myself. Unless I have an ability that grants it. It was all stick figures for me until I got Isaac’s power, then suddenly I was good at it.” That was one that hadn’t entirely faded, Peter had been pleased to note. There remained some residual sense in his mind of how to frame a subject, shade a scene and draw the eye; much like how even without flight he remembered the sensations and experience.
He listened to Sylar’s answers with an active, engaged interest, his own words punctuated by loose gestures. Peter was getting more relaxed with his companion.
XXX
Continued...