Wall Verse, Chapter 16, Pillow Fight Club
Days passed while Peter hid himself from Sylar. There were things Sylar could do to pursue him and he did a few of them - watching from various vantage points and observing as Peter snuck off down the sidewalks and alleyways, moving fast at first, then slower when he thought he was beyond Sylar's sight. But Sylar had a pair of binoculars and plenty of tall buildings to look from. He watched Peter make his way in a direct line as far from where they lived as Sylar could track him. Sylar didn't bother to follow him on foot; it was too easy to get caught that way and he didn't want to spook Peter. The empath was already acting oddly, having broken the usual pattern.
Their relationship might not patch itself back up, but Sylar believed that as long as he didn't press Peter too hard, Peter wouldn't leave entirely. He was still sleeping in the same apartment. Too much pressure and he might flee entirely, like apparently he'd done right after the recent incident. And so Sylar watched and waited. It left him with a lot of time to think, mostly about Peter. He remembered a time from weeks before, that now on reflection he realized how badly he'd mishandled …
Sylar was deep in the book he was reading, sitting on a frumpy couch they'd pulled into the facilities room some weeks earlier. Peter was wandering around fitfully, filled with a restless energy that Sylar had noticed came over the medic from time to time. Usually this preceded some 'project' of Peter's, generally another ill-fated attempt to 'get out', however ludicrous Sylar thought that was. Sylar was still of the opinion that whatever had happened to warp reality, it did not involve himself being bested by Matt Parkman in a battle of wits. There were so many possibilities more likely than that.
And so he read his story, hoping Peter would burn off his energy on something a little more practical, or better yet, just calm the fuck down. Sylar was doing his best to ignore him, which wasn't too hard as he was getting to the really good part in the book.
Peter scuffed Sylar's foot as he walked by. Sylar glanced at him and pulled up his feet. He was all leg at times and he would agree that they were sticking out a long way from the couch. But it was a huge room. What the hell is Peter doing needing to walk around over here? he groused mentally. Peter had walked out of the room, so Sylar shook his head and went back to reading. A few minutes later, Peter came in with a couple pillows, which he tossed on the couch, again hitting Sylar in the process. Sylar gave them a perplexed look. Peter poked him in the shoulder, kind of hard, while Sylar was examining the new additions to the couch. "Hey!" Sylar objected, but Peter was already on the move again, acting like he'd done nothing at all.
Weirdo. Sylar rubbed his shoulder and found his place again in the text. He looked at the pillows once more, wondering what they were there for. He supposed he could lie on them. Yes, that was probably it. Peter was being oddly considerate, as he often was. Really a weirdo. He returned to reading.
Bonk! Something small and light hit Sylar right on the head. He jumped and nearly dropped the book, looking up to see Peter smirking at him and a ping-pong ball bouncing, then rolling away from him across the carpeted floor. Sylar stared, not sure at all what this was about. Is Peter saying he wants to play ping-pong? "What's going on?"
Peter shrugged. "Nothing." He turned and walked off to the other end of the big room, shuffling papers on the piano, acting disinterested. Sylar gazed after him for a while, unsettled by not knowing what was going on with Peter. Not that that was new - it was a constant feature of dealing with the Italian. Peter was mostly consistent, but it was like there were things he didn't even think through and instead just did when the fancy struck him, like a reflex or an instinct. It was irritating as hell to Sylar, who desperately wanted everything (and everyone) to make sense.
Finally he went back to his story. Minutes passed. Peter trolled around the rest of the room, dusting now, not that the room needed it. There were no spiders to create cobwebs, though dust did at times accumulate. At least Peter was busy doing something other than - Bonk! Sylar jumped again as a second ping-pong ball bounced off his skull. He bared his teeth and barely restrained himself from seething and snapping 'What the hell?' at Peter. It wasn't a harmful attack - what Peter was doing - but it was annoying. And frustrating because Sylar couldn't understand why it was being done. Is this some sort of passive aggressive dominance display? Proving he can tease me and I can't do anything to him? He's got another thing coming if that's what he thinks!
Peter reached down to his pocket and pulled out another ping-pong ball. Sylar glared death at him. Peter's grin widened with joy and mischief. He tossed the ball up and down slowly a few times, enjoying Sylar's undivided attention, clearly daring him to do something about it. Sylar glanced down at his book. As he'd expected, there was a flash of motion from Peter. Sylar's hand whipped up and caught the ball even as his head was jerking back in case he missed. Sylar rose to his full height, glowering. He crushed the tiny plastic ball in his hand and threw it down disdainfully at Peter's feet.
"Woo!" Peter hooted derisively at him, of all things, looking utterly unimpressed. Peter laughed at him and that ran all through Sylar.
Sylar turned back to the couch to set his book down. He was going to do something about this and he was going to do it now, but he hadn't quite decided what to do. Apparently, Peter had had more than one ping-pong ball on his person though. Bonk! Sylar finished putting his book down without reaction, then whirled on Peter and lunged at him with an enraged snarl. But just as Sylar had been expecting the ball earlier, Peter was expecting the attack. Peter made an excited yelp and leaped away, hotly pursued. He dodged, he ducked and Sylar's fingers scrabbled against Peter's shirt once but didn't get a grip. Peter raced back towards the other end of the room and grabbed one of the pillows, spinning and throwing it in Sylar's face.
Sylar caught it reflexively, but kept coming on. Peter fell on the couch, snatching up the other pillow and swinging it just as Sylar loomed over him, fist balled. Peter isn't getting away this time! No more of - Whump! A pillow to the face knocked Sylar aside a little, but it didn't keep him from connecting with his swing. He caught Peter across the forehead though instead of the face, jogging Peter's head back instead of smashing in his face.
"Ow! No fists!" Peter barked out and for a moment, Sylar was confused as to why Peter would even imagine he got to dictate what form of punishment Sylar inflicted for Peter being an ass. The confusion made Sylar hesitate. Peter pulled his pillow back, getting a good grip on it, with both hands. Peter looked up into Sylar's face with a growing uncertainty, like this was the first time he realized that Sylar didn't know what the fuck was going on. Sylar looked at the pillow he was still holding in his off hand.
Oh. A moment passed and Sylar's mood shifted suddenly, from angry to amused. Oh! It is on! It is so on!
Sylar slammed the pillow repeatedly into Peter, who was still on the couch, trapped there by Sylar looming over him, raining down pillowy vengeance. Peter gave as good as he got, hitting hard enough that the blows made Sylar fight to keep his balance. Peter was laughing, which wasn't helping his whole attack routine any, but it was slowly making Sylar lighten up. An infectious grin was spreading across the former killer's face. This was the most excitement he'd had in weeks, since the last time they'd actually fought, with the intention to hurt each other, in Sylar's endless cycle of posturing for dominance followed by provoking conflicts just for the attention he could get afterward. His blood was pumping, heart pounding and he was really getting into it.
In a quick change of tactics, Peter lunged off the couch and tackled Sylar across the middle. Adrenaline surged and Sylar foresaw a moment of being driven into the hard floor with Peter's entire bulk slamming down on top of him, but it was too late to do anything about it. He landed roughly, the air driving out of him in an involuntary huff, but Peter didn't land on top of him. Intentionally - it had to be intentional, Peter was too good a brawler to have accidentally passed up the opportunity to hammer him - Peter had let go and hit the floor himself to the side. Peter scrambled up, grabbing his dropped pillow with one hand and whapping a still-somewhat-stunned Sylar in the face with it.
Sylar jerked to the side, bringing up his own pillow. Peter was grimacing and rubbing his elbow as Sylar brought his weapon up and smacked it into the side of Peter's head, hard. Peter was knocked to the side. Sylar got to his knees, getting his pillow in both hands and pressing his advantage with blow after blow. Peter made some ineffectual resistance, still using his pillow one-handed, before being forced over on his back. Baring his teeth, Sylar moved in for the kill, jerking Peter's pillow away from him and shoving both in Peter's face, pressing him to the floor.
Peter's hand went to Sylar's thigh and dug in, claw-like. The other pawed at Sylar's wrist, failing to get a grip on him. A few seconds passed in silent struggle before Sylar abruptly realized he was suffocating his … (friend? No, of course not - he didn't rate that status) companion. He jerked the pillows away, letting Peter breathe. Peter forced a few laughs to show no hard feelings, but his expression was wary enough to make Sylar feel guilty.
Sylar fell back slowly on the floor, ending on his back, opening himself to whatever revenge Peter might want to take. Not that he expected any, or got it. Peter wasn't the sort. The man was rubbing at his elbow again, the one on the hand he'd quit using to hold the pillow, the one that hadn't been able to grip Sylar's wrist. The medic was flexing his fingers and rotating his wrist. He still seemed to have plenty of mobility in the limb, so Sylar figured it was a simple sprain - nothing to worry about. It occurred to Sylar that Peter would have avoided that injury if he'd landed on Sylar.
Sylar stretched his long limbs on the floor and tucked the two pillows - his own and the one he'd won from Peter - behind his head. It was nice to know he could bask in his victory without repercussion. And I didn't even have to kill anyone. He glanced over to see Peter rather blatantly checking him out. Sylar's eyes widened. He'd gathered Peter wasn't unattracted to him and Sylar had certainly noticed he got more than his share of looks. Peter saw he'd been noticed and he jerked guiltily, making a show of examining his elbow once more.
Hey … look at me like that again, Petrelli. Sylar stretched and flexed, arching his back off the floor by several inches. He had some bruises from where he'd hit the floor, but it was nothing serious. Peter's attention remained steadfastly absorbed by his injury, much to Sylar's disappointment. Sylar flopped back, raising his arms and folding his hands behind his head, elbows fanned out to either side. "You okay?" he asked Peter, trying to get him to look at him again. It earned him a brief glance at least.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Peter said, smiling. He reached up and touched his forehead where he still wore a red mark from Sylar's knuckles. "You thought we were really going there for a moment, didn't you?"
In case you didn't notice, Peter, we were really going there for a moment. He didn't say that though. "I don't get in pillow fights very often." Ever … until now.
Peter chuckled. "That was fun though." He lay down on the floor where he was, more than two arm's lengths from Sylar. Peter crooked the elbow on his good arm and folded it under his head to cushion it. He was staring fixedly at Sylar's armpit. It was enough to make Sylar self-conscious, wondering if the brief exertion had caused a sweat stain or something. He thought not, but he worried anyway. If he had not also worried that Peter wouldn't look at him at all, he'd have put his arms down. Instead he tried to allow the gaze without getting worked up, directing his eyes to the ceiling for the moment. He was being looked at, after all, and it wasn't a bad look. Peter gave a soft sigh.
Sylar glanced back and damned if Peter's eyes weren't roaming across his chest now. Peter saw he'd been caught again and studied the carpet. He keeps checking me out. Sylar's thoughts turned that over, considering Peter's occasional, peculiar surges of energy. He turned his head to look straight up, but he could feel that Peter was back at it, gazing at him once more. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but he let it pass. It felt kind of good, really. I wish he'd fuck me with something other than just his eyes, though.
Fucking … I don't think this has anything to do with getting out - all this messing with me, pillow fights, trying to rope me into those stupid projects of his. I think he's horny and he's trying to find an outlet. Sylar resisted the urge to look at Peter again, not wanting to scare him off. He had no idea how to encourage it though. He (Sylar) was here and he'd made his availability plain more than once. Peter just … kept not taking him up on it. Should I be doing something different?
For a few minutes, they just lay there on the floor together (sort of 'together', Sylar mused). Sylar listened to Peter's soft breathing and kept his eyes turned upwards so Peter could scope him out as much as he wanted. Finally Peter made a discontented noise and rose. Sylar looked over at him and Peter shrugged, working his shoulders and frowning. "Floor's hard," Peter said tersely in way of explanation, getting to his feet. Whatever moment they'd had was apparently over, for no real reason Sylar could pinpoint.
What am I doing wrong?
Looking back at the memory, now, Sylar realized he should have offered Peter his pillow back. He should have apologized for misunderstanding and hitting him. He should have agreed it was fun. He should have actually looked at and engaged with Peter before or after the pillow fight instead of ignoring him and staring at his book, or the ceiling. It was not lost on Sylar either that Peter had tried to make an awkward pass at him (odd as it was to imagine Peter Petrelli being awkward at anything involving sex, but that was what it was) and Sylar had responded by slugging him in the head and then trying to smother him. Is it any wonder that Peter has had enough of me? Is it any wonder he got so heavy-handed with me and jumped me the other day? He's been making come-ons for weeks and I haven't been responding right.
So he just … kind of climbed all over me there next to the piano last week. It's what I fucking wanted! I should have given his fucking pillow back, way back before, and maybe he would have stayed there with me. Maybe something else would have happened. He's pretty damn tolerant of the rough stuff, but there's a limit to that.