Vindicta part one
Title: Vindicta Part One.
Length: 1400 words
Pairing: Peter/Sylar
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up to 4x10. AU from there
Disclaimer: Heroes is not mine. Just for fun. No copyright infringement intended.
Beta'd once more with style by themaskedmckay.
A/N Continues the Symphysis series. Earlier parts can be found here.
Peter was tired. Angry and tired and truly pissed off. He had spent most of the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Usually the unsatisfied condition Sylar had left him in could have been easily remedied. Unfortunately for the empath, the damage to his hands had made it too painful to relieve the tension himself so he had been left frustrated. He had even tried rubbing himself against his mattress but found that he couldn't quite get the right amount of friction and all the attempt did was leave him even hornier. Between the ache in his groin and the ache in his hands it had been a long, wakeful night.
Adding to his annoyance was the fact that he didn't know why Sylar had left him like that. His first thought had been that he was taking revenge for the beating, but Sylar had seemed a lot less disturbed by that than he was. The second thought was that it was some kind of object lesson that he should have got off his moral high horse and taken the offered healing ability but that didn't seem right either. His third guess was that Sylar was being a dick. While that was almost certainly true, it didn't give him any deeper insight. The empath was usually extremely good at understanding the motivations of others but this time he was still unsure what game Sylar was playing.
Peter had taken painkillers first thing that morning after wincing at the swollen mess that was his hands. He had debated going to the ER for what he suspected were a couple of fractured metacarpals. He had decided against it though. Other than splinting his hand there was little they could do and since he planned on swallowing his pride and borrowing the healing ability from Sylar that evening he decided not to bother. The other reason he had stayed away was the risk of meeting somebody that he knew and having to explain exactly who he had been hitting. The lack of other bruising on Peter added to his being a terrible liar would have meant that either his friends would not believe him or worse; would think that he was an abusive partner.
He was trying hard not to consider himself as an abusive partner. He was well aware that many would consider that he had excellent reasons for beating on Sylar. He was also aware that Sylar had provoked the fight. But he was also acutely aware that the man had allowed Peter to beat him. Sylar could have thrown him off at any time but instead had lain there without trying to defend himself. Peter thought it was probably some twisted form of apology, that Sylar had thought he deserved it, which opened up a whole new can of worms. It was a horribly perverse kind of dynamic that Peter's mind shied away from. If Sylar felt that he needed some kind of penance they would have to find an alternative way for him to make amends, for both their sakes.
To stop himself brooding Peter went grocery shopping, only to find that Nathan's disappearance had already made the front page of the newspapers. Fortunately no one had been waiting outside his building with a microphone but he was worldly-wise enough to know that sooner or later someone would become determined enough to try for an exclusive story. Keeping his head down. Peter grabbed whatever essentials he thought he would need before returning home. In the time that he had been away two reporters had left messages on his answering machine requesting interviews. Peter deleted both. He was sure that his mother had already formulated a response to the media, one that was formal and measured and would not rely on his self-control in any way.
Unpacking his bags Peter tried to decide on the least painful way to prepare lunch. He was almost ready to give up on the whole idea of cooking and run down to the nearest deli when there was a knock on his door. Sylar wasn't due to arrive for another three hours and he wasn't expecting any other visitors. Praying that it wasn't some over-eager reporter he opened his door. It was Claire.
Peter beamed at her. "Claire," he exclaimed "I didn't think you were talking to me. Come on in."
His niece smiled thinly and entered his apartment, edging around him, careful not to touch.
"Still not friends I guess." murmured Peter as the girl stepped past him.
Unusually for her, Claire was dressed in loose jogging pants and a hooded sweatshirt, she carried a large holdall over one shoulder.
"Going to the Gym?" Peter guessed.
"I made an early New Year's resolution." she replied, glancing around the apartment.
"Can I get you a drink?" he offered trying to ease the tension.
"A soda would be good." she replied, perching herself on the edge of one of the new recliners.
Grabbing two cans from the fridge, Peter passed one to his guest before attempting to open his own. It took a few attempts and more than a few winces before he finally succeeded. Taking a long drink he noticed Claire watching his hands.
"Did you get into a fight?" she wanted to know.
"Not really a fight," Peter replied "More of a...well. I'm not sure what to call it, but it wasn't exactly a fight."
"You hit Sylar." Claire guessed.
"Yeah. I did," he admitted glumly.
"Well it's about time you came to your senses." Claire smiled approvingly.
"Claire, no, it wasn't like that." Peter tried to explain "He wanted me to hit him, I think he was trying to make me feel better, maybe trying to apologise."
The smile disappeared from the girl's face. "So are you still trying your crazy plan?" she asked, disappointed.
"I know you don't understand."
"That's right I don't understand. He's hurt so many people, killed so many. Meredith, Nathan, my Dad. How can you do this?" she appealed to her Uncle.
"Because I think it's more important to save those people that he would kill in the future than it is to take revenge for those that are already dead."
"Are you really sure that you're doing the right thing?"
"Not really," he admitted "But I'm sure that I have to try."
"Isn't there anything that I can say to make you change your mind?" Claire begged.
Peter shook his head, "I don't think so. I'm sorry."
Claire's face hardened, her mouth thinning to a line.
"I don't think I want this anymore." she said flatly. handing back her can of soda.
Wordlessly he took the can back from her, pain etched clearly on his expressive face. "I, er, I'll just put this back in the kitchen."
Pouring the unwanted soda down the kitchen sink, Peter was surprised to hear Claire's voice behind him.
"I know you said we couldn't fight Sylar," she began her voice tight, "But there's something you didn't think of."
"Really?" Peter began, glad his niece was still talking to him. "What did I miss?"
"This." she replied.
Peter felt something hit his lower back, shoving him forwards against the counter. Looking round he found Claire had already stepped back into the doorway, her face white. He felt unsteady, his legs were beginning to tremble but he didn't know why. Then pain started to flow outwards from his back. Reaching down he felt warmth, wetness and something sticking out of him. Panicked he tried to look around to see what it was, glimpsing a knife handle before a wave of agony brought him to his knees.
"Claire," he appealed "What did you do?"
His niece lifted her chin. "What I had to," she replied, her voice cold. "You said we didn't have a chance against Sylar, that we could only beat him in an ambush and we had no way of knowing where he would be. Well I know where he'll be. He's coming here, to see you and I will be waiting for him."
"Don't." Peter begged, sliding down onto the floor.
Claire shook her head. "Once I've killed him I'll give you my healing ability. As long as you don't pull the knife out or try to move it should take hours for you to bleed to death."
"Please," muttered Peter weakly, "Stop." He was struggling to talk.
"Just sleep," Claire advised him. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, but it will all be over soon enough."
tbc
Length: 1400 words
Pairing: Peter/Sylar
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up to 4x10. AU from there
Disclaimer: Heroes is not mine. Just for fun. No copyright infringement intended.
Beta'd once more with style by themaskedmckay.
A/N Continues the Symphysis series. Earlier parts can be found here.
Peter was tired. Angry and tired and truly pissed off. He had spent most of the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Usually the unsatisfied condition Sylar had left him in could have been easily remedied. Unfortunately for the empath, the damage to his hands had made it too painful to relieve the tension himself so he had been left frustrated. He had even tried rubbing himself against his mattress but found that he couldn't quite get the right amount of friction and all the attempt did was leave him even hornier. Between the ache in his groin and the ache in his hands it had been a long, wakeful night.
Adding to his annoyance was the fact that he didn't know why Sylar had left him like that. His first thought had been that he was taking revenge for the beating, but Sylar had seemed a lot less disturbed by that than he was. The second thought was that it was some kind of object lesson that he should have got off his moral high horse and taken the offered healing ability but that didn't seem right either. His third guess was that Sylar was being a dick. While that was almost certainly true, it didn't give him any deeper insight. The empath was usually extremely good at understanding the motivations of others but this time he was still unsure what game Sylar was playing.
Peter had taken painkillers first thing that morning after wincing at the swollen mess that was his hands. He had debated going to the ER for what he suspected were a couple of fractured metacarpals. He had decided against it though. Other than splinting his hand there was little they could do and since he planned on swallowing his pride and borrowing the healing ability from Sylar that evening he decided not to bother. The other reason he had stayed away was the risk of meeting somebody that he knew and having to explain exactly who he had been hitting. The lack of other bruising on Peter added to his being a terrible liar would have meant that either his friends would not believe him or worse; would think that he was an abusive partner.
He was trying hard not to consider himself as an abusive partner. He was well aware that many would consider that he had excellent reasons for beating on Sylar. He was also aware that Sylar had provoked the fight. But he was also acutely aware that the man had allowed Peter to beat him. Sylar could have thrown him off at any time but instead had lain there without trying to defend himself. Peter thought it was probably some twisted form of apology, that Sylar had thought he deserved it, which opened up a whole new can of worms. It was a horribly perverse kind of dynamic that Peter's mind shied away from. If Sylar felt that he needed some kind of penance they would have to find an alternative way for him to make amends, for both their sakes.
To stop himself brooding Peter went grocery shopping, only to find that Nathan's disappearance had already made the front page of the newspapers. Fortunately no one had been waiting outside his building with a microphone but he was worldly-wise enough to know that sooner or later someone would become determined enough to try for an exclusive story. Keeping his head down. Peter grabbed whatever essentials he thought he would need before returning home. In the time that he had been away two reporters had left messages on his answering machine requesting interviews. Peter deleted both. He was sure that his mother had already formulated a response to the media, one that was formal and measured and would not rely on his self-control in any way.
Unpacking his bags Peter tried to decide on the least painful way to prepare lunch. He was almost ready to give up on the whole idea of cooking and run down to the nearest deli when there was a knock on his door. Sylar wasn't due to arrive for another three hours and he wasn't expecting any other visitors. Praying that it wasn't some over-eager reporter he opened his door. It was Claire.
Peter beamed at her. "Claire," he exclaimed "I didn't think you were talking to me. Come on in."
His niece smiled thinly and entered his apartment, edging around him, careful not to touch.
"Still not friends I guess." murmured Peter as the girl stepped past him.
Unusually for her, Claire was dressed in loose jogging pants and a hooded sweatshirt, she carried a large holdall over one shoulder.
"Going to the Gym?" Peter guessed.
"I made an early New Year's resolution." she replied, glancing around the apartment.
"Can I get you a drink?" he offered trying to ease the tension.
"A soda would be good." she replied, perching herself on the edge of one of the new recliners.
Grabbing two cans from the fridge, Peter passed one to his guest before attempting to open his own. It took a few attempts and more than a few winces before he finally succeeded. Taking a long drink he noticed Claire watching his hands.
"Did you get into a fight?" she wanted to know.
"Not really a fight," Peter replied "More of a...well. I'm not sure what to call it, but it wasn't exactly a fight."
"You hit Sylar." Claire guessed.
"Yeah. I did," he admitted glumly.
"Well it's about time you came to your senses." Claire smiled approvingly.
"Claire, no, it wasn't like that." Peter tried to explain "He wanted me to hit him, I think he was trying to make me feel better, maybe trying to apologise."
The smile disappeared from the girl's face. "So are you still trying your crazy plan?" she asked, disappointed.
"I know you don't understand."
"That's right I don't understand. He's hurt so many people, killed so many. Meredith, Nathan, my Dad. How can you do this?" she appealed to her Uncle.
"Because I think it's more important to save those people that he would kill in the future than it is to take revenge for those that are already dead."
"Are you really sure that you're doing the right thing?"
"Not really," he admitted "But I'm sure that I have to try."
"Isn't there anything that I can say to make you change your mind?" Claire begged.
Peter shook his head, "I don't think so. I'm sorry."
Claire's face hardened, her mouth thinning to a line.
"I don't think I want this anymore." she said flatly. handing back her can of soda.
Wordlessly he took the can back from her, pain etched clearly on his expressive face. "I, er, I'll just put this back in the kitchen."
Pouring the unwanted soda down the kitchen sink, Peter was surprised to hear Claire's voice behind him.
"I know you said we couldn't fight Sylar," she began her voice tight, "But there's something you didn't think of."
"Really?" Peter began, glad his niece was still talking to him. "What did I miss?"
"This." she replied.
Peter felt something hit his lower back, shoving him forwards against the counter. Looking round he found Claire had already stepped back into the doorway, her face white. He felt unsteady, his legs were beginning to tremble but he didn't know why. Then pain started to flow outwards from his back. Reaching down he felt warmth, wetness and something sticking out of him. Panicked he tried to look around to see what it was, glimpsing a knife handle before a wave of agony brought him to his knees.
"Claire," he appealed "What did you do?"
His niece lifted her chin. "What I had to," she replied, her voice cold. "You said we didn't have a chance against Sylar, that we could only beat him in an ambush and we had no way of knowing where he would be. Well I know where he'll be. He's coming here, to see you and I will be waiting for him."
"Don't." Peter begged, sliding down onto the floor.
Claire shook her head. "Once I've killed him I'll give you my healing ability. As long as you don't pull the knife out or try to move it should take hours for you to bleed to death."
"Please," muttered Peter weakly, "Stop." He was struggling to talk.
"Just sleep," Claire advised him. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, but it will all be over soon enough."
tbc