He didn’t like the arrangement. Hell - no one liked the arrangement save for his mother who thought ‘brother bonding’ was a good excuse to pair them up. Noah, on the other hand, was all guns-a-blazing when he heard that Angela was pairing Sylar and Peter together within the company. Statistically they were a good match. One who had the ability to take any power and keep it and the other being able to do the same, with stipulations of course. Together they could be unstoppable, a force that couldn’t be reckoned with but only if they had the mutual understanding that the one needed the other. Peter was in the understanding that this was all a very bad idea. This was the same man who believed in redemption for all and that the world, despite the bad happenings with in it, was in fact a very good place to live. It was how he then found himself turning from nurse to hunter.
It was originally his mother who approached him, of course, after they had captured Sylar, asking him to reconsider his options of how he fit into the world. Saying that he could do so much more with his ability than work at a hospital and save the few lives of New York that he touched. He could save thousands, millions even, by taking the preventive route. To bag and tag just like Claire’s father did. Just like the Haitian. And now, just like Sylar. That was a whole other issue that was discussed after he agreed to take on the job that Angela wanted him to do. When the words ‘Sylar’ and ‘partner’ fell from her lips both him and Nathan, who decided it was a good idea to come along at that point in time, had shouted their disgruntled thoughts but only after some time of reconsideration did Peter then understand why his mother thought the pair was a winning combo.
Not just statistically did they fit, but they fit in a way where one completed the other. Where one could find the justification of sparing a life and the other could find the justification to take it. It went further than the ying and yang complex and it would work. It was why at 9 o’clock in the morning did Peter find himself outside the meeting room in a suit, gun strapped to his hip and badge in his coat pocket. He kept an open mind in hopes that this would work, in hopes that Sylar really was reformed and ready to step into the real world to try and undo his wrongs. He let out a deep breath before he pushed his way inside, fingers just too tight on the bar as he opened the door. He knew what lay inside.
He was met instantly with the gazes of his mother and Nathan, one unsure - hidden behind the mask of defiance, and the other sharp and calculating. By the window he saw Sylar, looking out into the world below. How long has it been since he stepped foot outside these walls? Hell, how long has it been since he’s seen real sunlight? Silently the softer part of his heart ached for the mistreatment of a human being yet it was quickly swallowed up by the fact that that man had once been, and could still quite possibly be, a killer. His attention instead turned to his mother who sat at the head of the table, Nathan standing behind her. Two files lay between them, no doubt their first case.
Peter cleared his throat, not sure how to proceed. Training didn’t prepare him for the initial awkwardness of meeting one’s ex-killer partner and having a stare down from his mother, though he honestly should be used to the latter.
“Hello, mother.” His steps were quick as he came to her side, kissing her cheek automatically, watching as her eyes softened a bit from the gesture.
"Hello, Peter. It is good to see you. Please, sit down so we can go over your case." She gestured out before her to the empty chairs and Peter took one closest to her right, eyes flicking over to Sylar.
Pain. Searing pain. Heat. Cold. Every breath stank of burning flesh. Every breath hurt as it passed into his freshly reformed lungs. Muscles that hadn’t been there before lurched when he coughed and tried to curl into a ball on the concrete slab that passed as a bed. Wide restraints were locked over his chest, arms, and legs. He couldn’t move. All Sylar could do was scream as the soft tissues and organs bonded to his burnt to a crisp skeleton that they’d dragged from the ashes of the Company.
When he next was aware of his surrounding, familiar perfume filled the air. He didn’t want to look at her—not Angela. She’d saved him again, and that could mean only one thing. She wanted to use him. It sure as shit couldn’t be because she’d grown to care about him while he’d done her dirty work and kept Peter alive. Angela never did anything without good reason—her good reasons—and it didn’t matter how harmful those reasons might be to someone else.
“Who do you want me to kill this time, mom?” he said with a sneer, his voice croaking from disuse as he glared at her. At least this time she wasn’t holding his hand and playing with his hair while she played with his hair. He’d liked it. It was motherly attention when he didn’t deserve to be cared for that way after what he’d done to his real mother.
“I have a proposition for you, Gabriel,” her voice was as always polished and if he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn she had the same power as Eden.
“I don’t suppose telling you to go fuck yourself would do me any good?”
It wasn’t a great suit, but then Sylar wasn’t expecting Armani. He leaned against the window, looking out into a world that had been denied him for two months. When he touched the glass he could feel the warmth of the sun that fought off the chill of the air conditioning in the room. He felt Peter before he came through the door. It wasn’t the same mind-numbing blast of power that used to surround him of course, but Peter still had power. And last time Sylar saw him, he didn’t.
“Peter?” His head tilted slightly to the side as he looked over Nathan’s little brother and then took the seat across from the Petrellis. “You’ve done something different with your hair.”
His head jerked up for a moment, then smiled and nodded. ”Yeah, a date if you want to call it that and you don’t have to dress up if you don’t want to.” He knew Sylar was trying to push his buttons but he wouldn’t let him get away with it. Peter wanted this too much, needed it too badly to let Sylar push him away. It wasn’t going to be easy, he could feel his hackles rising already from the man’s snide remarks. Was it really worth all this? Was he really that desperate for someone to touch him that he’d put up with all of Sylar’s shit? Yeah, it was.
"You wouldn’t be my pack mule, Sylar, I just thought it’d be nice if we were able to work together for once." He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I figured you were as tired of all this bullshit as I was. I know that I caused a lot of it but," he shrugged. "I realized that it wasn’t doing any good." He glanced up again. There were so many ways he could answer that and he couldn’t help the snort as his mind went where it probably shouldn’t. Good thing Sylar couldn’t read minds.
"We could eat each other but I don’t think it would be very fun." Unless we’re talking about what I’m thinking about. "Or very tasty. You’ve been here a long time and even with the Wall, I think we’ll be okay on food. Besides, I’m hoping we’ll find a way through before we completely run out of food." Otherwise things were going to get very ugly.
“I know where there are some places; warehouse stores are good for supplies.” He zoned out on Peter’s chatter after a time. Sylar knew he wanted something other than to find a stash of Pop Tarts and canned tuna. Peter wasn’t the slick liar the rest of his family were, and even with none of his powers working; he could read the man like a book—shared experience of his and Nathan’s.
Sylar finished his plate and then leaned back with his glass of wine. He narrowed his dark eyes at Peter, waiting until his mouth was full to ask his next question. “Let’s cut the bullshit, shall we? You’re a Petrelli which means 90% of what comes out of your mouth is either manipulation or a downright lie. Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”
He knew Peter was lonely. He wasn’t cut out for isolation. Sylar didn’t mind it all that much, not really, he was used to it. He’d never had real friends. He had no siblings, and he didn’t work with people like Peter did. “You want me to trust you? Then tell me the fucking truth. Don’t be your mother. I hate lies, Peter. It’s part of how I remembered who I really was. Your mother forced me to live a lie with a lie detection ability triggering constantly in the back of my head. Every time I said I was Nathan, I wanted to puke because of it. So just this once, let’s play a game of honesty.”
Glancing up from his plate, Oliver met Sylar’s eyes across the table from him. There was a genuine willingness to make up for what happened last night and at the thought of the waitress, the doctor’s gaze averted as his mind quickly flooded with his intentions of what he planned to do with her.
He’s often wondered if some day he’ll grow tired of the chase, but the predatory factor in his veins prevents him from ever doing so and instead compels him to move forward like the uncontrollable descent of leaping from a cliff.
It’s been so long….
With every kill, the excitement only intensifies until it explodes into a sense of blessed euphoria. And as he stares down into the face of his sedated victim—her face so soft and quiet—it is almost akin to the arousal one experiences at first sight of a prospective mate. His pupils dilate, his breath is heavy yet stifled as though subconsciously he’s afraid she’ll hear him, that she’ll know of his close proximity even though she may as well be miles away….
Oliver pulls himself from the murky depths of his mind and meets Sylar’s eyes. He is still watching him closely, a glint of curiosity in his gaze and briefly Oliver wonders if he can sense what’s going on in his head. “There is one in particular… Tracy Stedwell.” he shrugged, setting his fork down with a soft clink against the ceramic plate and rising from the table to clean the dish in the kitchen sink. “I guess you could say she’s eluded me for quite some time. Longer than I would have liked. But her situation is… elegant, if you will. She’s a lawyer, she moves about frequently which has made it difficult to pinpoint the best moment to strike… But with your assistance, this has suddenly gotten much easier.”
His lips were drawn into a sly smile, with a flash of teeth as he cradled his coffee cup in both hands, elbows on the table as he listened to Oliver tell him about Tracy Stedwell. Sylar’s heart sped at the thought of a hunt with his brother. He’d use his abilities, but only if he had to. He didn’t want to ruin Oliver’s fun and make it his kill. Unless by a miracle she was an extra special lawyer, she had nothing he needed. This was for Oliver.
“I can help you watch her, select when to strike,” he offered, draining the last of his coffee, pleased that there weren’t any grounds at the bottom of the cup. He did make a damned good pot of coffee.
Following Oliver’s example and years of Virginia’s fussiness, Sylar got up to take care of his plate as well as the cooking pots, pans, and bowls. He brushed past Oliver, stealing another moment of physical contact with his twin—something he craved, and he did wonder how much of it was his own need and how much was Oliver’s leaking through to him. It didn’t matter though. If there wasn’t a chance for blood, he’d have dragged Oliver onto this sofa to lean on and watch movies all day and talk and talk and talk. Something he’d never been able to do with another soul.
“Mom was a bit of a clean freak, can’t stand to leave dishes dirty,” he explained with a shuddering sigh. “Dishes had to be clean. My room could not be cluttered. Beds made…you know. But then something snapped in her head, and she started collecting and hording so much shit that I had to leave.”
Sorry about the lack of replies and not answering Asks on any of my accounts. It was 103 today in San Diego, and we had a thunderstorm come through and knock out or power for a little bit.
I’ve tried to get the boys to cooperate, but it’s not happening. Hopefully tomorrow there will be words.