Wall Verse, Chapter 18, Museum Trip
Ten Days After
Peter came out of his apartment the next day to see Sylar waiting for him, even though it was early enough that Peter would have usually been the first out. The night before they'd played foosball and ping pong both. The games were quiet and subdued on both men's part - Sylar was walking on eggshells; Peter didn't really want to be there. Which was still pretty much the case for each of them.
Sylar's hands were jammed into his pockets and his shoulders were drawn up. He looked like a walking apology. Peter frowned and looked elsewhere. Was he still angry? Well, duh. He didn't appreciate being hit by people he was intimate with and he was having trouble getting over that. He couldn't think of an apology Sylar could make for it, just like all the other things Sylar had done. How is it that Sylar keeps marking up his record with indelible ink? Christ, someone take the fucking karma Sharpie away from that man! Peter snorted, shook his head and then sighed. What am I going to do with you, Sylar? You want me to say it's all okay and it's just not.
Unaware of Peter's exact thoughts, Sylar was still reading his unhappiness perfectly clearly. He stuttered out, "Hey, um, w-would you … would you like to do something different today? Would that be okay?"
The man studied Peter closely. This was clearly a lead-in and not a rhetorical question. Peter shrugged. Have to do something to pass the time. "What do you have in mind?"
"I thought, um," Sylar paused to look up and down the street before continuing, "I thought maybe we'd go to a museum or … I don't know …"
God, sounds like you're asking me out on a date. But Peter spoke easily like his companion wasn't stammering over himself. "Yeah, that sounds good. Is there one around here? I don't remember seeing one."
"No." Sylar pulled his hands out of his pockets and stood a little straighter. "I mean I haven't seen one either, but I thought we could look for one." He looked away. "Like … like the camping." Sylar glanced back up at him. "You liked the camping trip, right?"
"Oh yeah," Peter smiled, remembering how tired he'd been afterward and how he'd somehow managed to fall asleep on Sylar, on Sylar's couch. His expression softened and warmed. "That was great. So you mean we might be out for a while, overnight maybe?" He was suddenly looking forward to the outing despite himself, and his tone of voice conveyed that.
"Yeah, yeah, I guess so." Sylar was definitely standing taller now, since it looked like Peter was on board with the proposal.
Peter grinned, getting enthused about the idea. It was another peace offering, he knew, since Sylar didn't like going out much and Peter did. It was also something they could do together that didn't necessarily bring up the incident the week before. It would keep them moving and engaged and after the week Peter had had, he found himself looking forward to a lot of fresh air and new scenery. That Sylar didn't know where a museum was just made it all the more enticing. It would be a search! "Let me run up and get my bag. I'll be right back."
He returned with his messenger bag and looked up and down the street, eager to set off. "So, which way?"
Sylar looked delighted with Peter's interest and pointed off to his left. "This way, I guess."
"Sure." And off they went.
By evening, they still hadn't found a museum, but Peter had enjoyed the expedition greatly. They'd talked about buildings and Sylar had told him a few things about architecture; Peter had talked about landmarks and what had happened at different places. Peter stopped outside a store in a commercial district and boldly announced, "I found our museum."
"What?" Sylar asked, perplexed.
Peter went up to the glass doors and opened one. "Come on. This is it - the Museum of Modern American Life."
The other man followed him in, looking at the house wares with a curious eye. Peter picked up a matching set of corn-cob-shaped salt and pepper shakers. "What do these really say about our culture?" he asked with a grin. The day's adventure had raised his mood. He'd been able to ignore what Sylar had done and just be with him as he was. Peter was good at denial and living in the now. It frequently got him into problems, but just as often it allowed him to ignore them, like now. He waved the little ceramic corn cobs back and forth.
"Hm," Sylar said, tilting his head with a bemused expression, as though genuinely considering Peter's question. And he probably was.
Peter put them down and turned to an entire section on the right wall, spreading his arms to refer to the area. "And what about this stuff? A whole section devoted to plates and dinnerware with a vine and grape motif?" He looked back at Sylar, who walked up next to him. "Does this say we're a society that worships wine and inebriation?"
Sylar gave a small shrug, loosening up a little and getting into it. "Or maybe there's a correlation in most people's minds between wealth and wine-drinking, so in order to bring the illusion or the appearance of power into their lives, they surround themselves with signs of affluence." He cocked his head thoughtfully. "I'm sure it has something to do with the idolization of an imagined European decadence as well."
"Exactly, Mr. Brains!" Peter effused, bumping Sylar with his shoulder intentionally. The other man looked down at him immediately with an expression of trepidation and alarm at Peter's appellation for him. Peter, though, ignored Sylar's face and grabbed his elbow, tugging him along further into the store. The nickname had just sort of slipped out and he preferred to pretend he hadn't said that. Instead he said, "Look at this stuff! Look at all these different kinds of glasses. Do people really need this many glasses, or are they just showing off, pretending to be sophisticated? How many of these glasses just get lost in the cabinet and never used?"
"Probably most of them," Sylar muttered, eyeing the bewildering array of sizes and shapes. Then he turned his eyes on Peter, who was getting wound up. Finding amusement in Peter Petrelli getting worked up over people pretending to be sophisticated, he said, "Your mother has quite a collection of different types of glasses."
"I know!" Peter burst out, gesturing excitedly. "And God forbid I might put my orange juice in a water tumbler, or whatever the hell they're called." Peter knew perfectly well what they were called, but that wasn't his point. "Did you know she has different cups for tea than for coffee?"
"Mm," Sylar said, trying to suppress his smile. Of course he knew. "She needs a full time staff just to wash the dishes."
"I know. That's just stupid and unnecessary. It's conspicuous consumption! It's ridiculous. Come over here." He grabbed Sylar by the arm again and hauled him to another section. Sylar looked pleased as punch about the situation, warmed both by Peter's energy and by how casually he was touching him. Peter lifted an enormous red plate-like dish, two inches deep and almost as big as a platter. "Look at this! Does anyone really need a plate this big? Why are the sides sloped so much? All your food would go to the middle and get mixed up. I think it's this big just so it looks big, not because any sane person expects to eat that much."
"Maybe it's a really shallow bowl," Sylar offered, still smiling warmly like Peter was just the most adorable thing in the world.
Peter snorted, glancing up at Sylar's face and then doing a double-take at the man's expression. He felt his cheeks coloring and he looked down. Sylar was looking at him like he was being 'cute' and Peter was suddenly terribly self-conscious about his tirade. He doesn't really want to hear this. He's just playing along. He put the dish back and chuckled at himself. "Sorry," he murmured. Getting all worked up about stupid stuff … Kind of nice to have someone listen to me though.
"Sorry?" Sylar asked. "What the hell are you sorry about?" He put a genial arm around Peter's shoulders and pulled him close - closer than genial.
Oh God, that feels good, was what ran through Peter's mind.
They both froze for a moment. "I think you're right," Sylar said softly and released him.
He thinks I'm right? He wasn't just humoring me? Instead of moving away, Peter slid his arm around Sylar's waist and stayed right where he was. After a semi-awkward pause, Sylar put his arm back around him. They stood together, both enjoying the moment.
Peter sighed and leaned his head on the other man, appreciating how, a second later, Sylar's arm around him tightened just a little. What am I going to do? It felt nice. He opened his mouth to suggest they go find somewhere to sleep, but given their position he decided that sounded way too much like a proposition and he wasn't ready for that. He was certain Sylar wasn't ready for it. Peter pulled away finally. "Let's go raid that restaurant on the corner for some munchies before finding somewhere to turn in, okay?"
"Sure," Sylar said, his voice a deep, contented rumble.
Peter looked up at the other man, at the way Sylar was checking him out even if Sylar looked away when he got caught looking. Oh yeah, we really need to talk.