sirenspull | 005: Video

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005: Video

[ The NV flickers on for the first time to--what is that?--bubbles and bleak murky water. Green and grey, and a flash of light high above. There's wild splashing, white water, and a bleary shot of the city in the far distance.

The water swallows up the NV, and then over the next minute or so everything is just dark. Bleak and dark and wet.

And then the splashing starts again. The NV goes off in all the activity.

An hour and a half later, it comes back on, and a sand smeared, wet, bedraggled Sylar is leant over the NV, shivering--the water is subzero. There's seaweed in his hair, and his eyes are blazing gold, as though on fire. He's considering exploding just to teach Lucifer a lesson he'll not forget. ]

I have a wonderful idea. [ His voice is harsh, as though he's spent the last few hours choking saltwater, which would be accurate. ] The next time you decide that something is yours, write your goddamned name on it.

[ OOC: Sylar's replies will come a couple of hours later, as in the meantime he'll be stopped from exploding the city. He doesn't appreciate getting dumped in the ocean much, not really. Also shh it's totally Wednesday here. ]

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[ He wasn't coughing right now, but it was going to be hours before he felt anything like himself again, and he was shaking so hard that it was hard to get up. Even his telekinesis was shaky, so that when he gave himself a deliberate push, and his half frozen feet failed to respond to his sudden weight, he went falling toward the shower, grabbing at the curtain and pulling it down after him.

He'd never felt so pathetic, so helpless, and that included crawling his way up a hill bleeding after Peter had thrown them both down three stories. The regeneration really did have its limits--so useless was it, in fact, that he found himself spontaneously resenting having it at all. If anything it only made this more humiliating. ]

Sylar-- [ This... was going to be difficult. Suddenly snapping his hand out, palm outstretched, he gave a deliberate shove of telekinesis beneath the other man so he didn't give himself a concussion and tear the shower curtain down with him. Peter wasn't exactly good at home repair, of all things.

Making a grab for the waistband of Sylar's pants once he was close enough, Peter pulled him back upright with a gentle addition of strength that Peter shouldn't rightly possess, and wrapped his arms around Sylar, holding him there. ]

We'll make this easy. [ It was only a step away, only required lifting his feet, but that wasn't the point. Getting Sylar warm was, and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, popping them a foot back into the downpour of the hot water, clothes and wall. ]

[ At least it was only Peter. He'd seen the other man at his worst, helped him into the shower when he was shaking and dying, and this was much the same thing. He shuddered against the other man, let go of the shower curtain to pull himself tight against him, and buried his face in Peter's neck.

A wall of hot water stung against his half frozen skin. It really hurt, like being stabbed with a million tiny hot knives, but it woke him up from his resting place, and a moment later the warm water was entirely welcome, and the trembling started all over again as he pressed his nose into Peter's ear. He wasn't sure the shaking would ever stop--every nerve was tense, and it was as though the warm water let his regeneration sweep over the surface of his skin, healing. It felt so good that the relief was palpable in the way he began to relax against Peter's chest, the racing of his heart steadying. ]

[ Peter simply stood stock still, exactly where he was, squinting through the barrage of water. He didn't have the advantage of height, or Sylar's mass in this situation, and so he had to use his own slight boosting of abilities so that Sylar could hang off him as he shook, to make things more comfortable for the both of them.

It was awful and ironic and strangely telling that they'd been in this situation recently, only the tables had been turned and Peter was the one who had dying, whose life was dripping down the drain. While in this instance, it was the warm water bringing Sylar back. And perhaps it made Peter want to take advantage of the opportunity to take care of Sylar for once, tipping his nose against Sylar's trembling shoulder while he just waited, waited for the warmth of the water to take effect.

And once he did, he couldn't help but sigh, holding onto Sylar tighter even though he was finally starting to relax. ]

I'll take care of everything okay?

[ There really was something terrible about this situation reversed. Sylar had felt this weak before, yes, but never this beaten, and certainly beaten was as accurate to how he felt as it was possible to be. He'd died, more often than he could count, until ice cold water choking the air out of him had gotten old, waking up spluttering and fighting back to the light with numb limbs, and a heart that slowed as quickly again, and somehow despite the odds ending up washed up on the beach. He felt wretched, even traumatised, and even if the pain and the cold were gone now, he'd still never felt like this before, because it had only been water, and yet it almost shattered his nerve and his will completely.

He knew already how this was going to affect him, knew that when it came to going out again he wouldn't want to, that he'd be terrified of something like this happening again--he hated himself for knowing it, but what could he do? The water had all but washed away his safety net, his previously unshakeable confidence of being stronger and faster and better than anyone else.

And now he could feel himself unwinding, especially because Peter's words were so gentle and caring; loving, when it seemed like the world was against him, and suddenly he was shaking again, but this time it was with tears. ]

[ For the time being, Peter was keeping his own misery, his own complete terror to himself, because Sylar had been drowned for hours. Peter doesn't even know if he could have saved him from something like that, doesn't know what kind of a mess he got himself in to deserve Lucifer's wrath. But none of it really mattered because it had happened, and what would he have done if Sylar had never come back? If part of Sylar had given out, if he'd stopped fighting, if... Just, if.

Peter's trying not to think about it, but he can't help it, and he tips his face towards Sylar's cheek, eyes closed with concern, unwilling to move the other man out of the water just yet lest he end up frozen all over again. ]

Shh, it's okay. [ Slowly unwrapping one of his hands from around Sylar's waist, he lets his palm settle against the other cheek, trying to soothe what he can't fix. ] You're okay. You survived it. Now you just have to stay warm.

[ Surviving it didn't feel okay, and when was the last time he'd cried? His mother's apartment, driven out like a monster, her shame like a stain on him that he couldn't get off--and then her blood, which lay even thicker, but which he could.

But this grief and relief both were deeper. He'd had hours to think about what had happened, struggling to breathe, fighting for his life, aware that if he never reached the shore it could carry on forever, that he couldn't even measure time right any more, nor even count it in drownings because his brain was so starved of air. He could have been out there for days or weeks, the same cycle over and over again, and he hiccoughed at the thought, and buried his face further into Peter's throat, pulled his weak arms more tightly around the other man's back.

He didn't ever want to let go of Peter, not now. Not ever. If he let go, his grip on this might just slip through his fingers as he clawed for the surface.

He felt numb, but it wasn't the cold any more, and his heart was still beating this time. The only thing that was real was this. ]

Peter.

[ His throat hurt. He hadn't said it before, those three words, but suddenly he wanted to, just as an added impetus for Peter to stay, because if he let go he thought he might just break. But instead of 'I love you' he found: ]

Don't leave me.

I'm not going anywhere, okay?

[ He reply almost came instantaneously; Peter didn't exactly think Sylar could handle even a moments worth of hesitation, and it was the only thing he could provide at least until they got out of the shower. Which Peter wasn't sure would be anytime soon, though he was already planning for what he'd do after that, the nurse in him already trying to think of what Sylar might need.

Nosing against his ear, Peter squeezed the other man tighter, trying to pull him closer yet, trying to prove to him that this was here to stay. That he was here, that nothing would happen. He only had a slight idea of what it was like to die on repeat, to have life seemingly endlessly pulled out of you with the threat that it would simply keep happening forever, until there was nothing left of you. But Peter hadn't experienced it for hours, and just a few times was more than enough to do Peter in.

And besides, his own fears were still screaming loud in his ears -- that he could have lost Sylar, that this could have been it. Peter didn't exactly want to let go any time soon, either. ]

Not today, or tomorrow, or the next day. For as long as you need me to stay, i'll be here. The hospital's got enough people working, this is more important.

[ He knew trying to get Sylar to look at him just let would be futile, so he pressed his lips to Sylar's ear, soothing his hand over his back. ]

I'm not leaving you.

[ He kept shaking, because what else could he do but shake, and cry, and listen to the reassuring words even if he didn't think he deserved them--let himself go, until all he could do was breathe, because he couldn't possibly talk when all his breath was needed for crying. It didn't feel like he'd let go anything like this for years, and there was no reason to stop, not with the promise that Peter would stay, and he cried until even their new hot water tank couldn't stay warm any longer, flicking it off with an agitated snap of telekinesis that sent the switch flying off and across the floor.

He shuddered, at last pulling back enough to look Peter in the eye, his own wet and bleary and red; but he felt alive and that would be enough for right now. Feeling alive was a start. Looking at Peter was a good second step into that oblivion, but he wanted to look at him. Had to. Because what he had to say - what he'd shied away from saying for the second time - was important enough that he had to look him right in the eye as he said it.

Everything that had happened, everything that could happen now. Blue sparks flickered spontaneously like lightning down his arms, following the trickling water, and he knew he was just getting cold again, but he held Peter's shoulders and made him stay. Breathed out, forced back another hiccup, and finished a sentence that he hadn't really formed in his mind, but which started with an apology, because it made everything so much more complicated. ]

Because I love you too.

[ As much of a mess as all this is, as we are. How could I not? He shivered again, but the bleak tears were gone, and it was just cold now that crept back in, rather than overpowering emotion. ]

[ With the snapping off of the water, Peter's first instinct was to get Sylar out of the shower -- he still had his pants on after all, and he didn't exactly want the other man standing drenched in his clothing after almost both drowning and freezing to death some hundred or so times.

But then Sylar looked him in the eye with all the intention in the world and Peter was rooted to the spot. Couldn't move, couldn't think much past waiting for whatever it was that was about to spill from the other man. And considering Sylar's downpour of tears, Peter wasn't sure he'd have much left in the way of emotions. Crying was as exhausting as it was cathartic and Sylar was already exhausted.

Not to mention cold, shivering as sparks ran down his arms and nearly lit up the water; though it was a good sign Sylar was using his abilities again, Peter started to pull them out of the shower, but the hands on his shoulders stopped him, and he almost asked what it was out of sheer concern, and less out of anticipation, but what comes out of Sylar's mouth freezes Peter to the spot instead.

For a few seconds, he simply blinks, the words out of place as Sylar had looked, drowned on the shore. And maybe that's exactly where they came from, the fact that none of this was supposed to happen. Sylar wasn't supposed to be taught how to sink or swim through hundreds of deaths, they weren't supposed to loose each other just yet, and out of terror had grown a necessity to say what needed to be said. But none of that mattered, because for a few seconds Peter looked small, like he was drowning in his own emotions, overwhelming devotion making him shiver in his wet clothes, until he could remember how to speak. ]

And I love you. [ Finally blinking himself down from his near sudden euphoric state, which he was convinced there was no time for right now, Peter dropped his gaze, undoing Sylar's pants to try to distract himself from a fresh wave of fear, how scared he was for Sylar, how scared he was that he could loose this. ] Can we get you warm now?

[ It was no less reassuring the second time he heard it, and Sylar nodded as Peter went for his fly, helping him out of...well - not much. His legs were almost bare, sockless, betraying that there was so much more to his story than he'd admitted to, but then he hadn't told Peter anything about what had happened yet. He wasn't sure he could put it into words yet.

Still, he reached up with his own uncoordinated hands, and took almost all the time of getting out of his cropped pants just undoing one button. Everything still felt frozen, even if the tips of his fingers weren't one of those things, his brain was still sluggish, and he was increasingly tired with every moment he had to stand upright. After a moment he gave up, dropping his hands away and biting his tongue to keep from cursing his irritation. Getting angry at his own hands would only come off as pathetic. If he dared, he'd use telekinesis, but the most likely thing to happen if he did would be that he'd miss, and carve a trench through Peter's chest in the process.

He didn't want to lose him either. He breathed out, just a little too hard, and offered a suggestion. ]

Freeze time.

[ Peter had half a mind to tell Sylar off for still trying so hard when he couldn't, but he knew it was near impossible for the other man to surrender control, especially when it came to his own body. But while it was obvious that Sylar was simply not capable of even getting out of his own clothes, pointing that out verbally wouldn't help a single thing.

Setting his hands at Sylar's hips, partially to hold him steady and partially to fulfill the requirement of touch that was needed to bring the other man into the standstill, Peter sighed. Ducking his face, he squeezed his eyes shit and everything just went still; everything except for them. Not looking up just yet, he pulled down the zip of Sylar's pants (not that he could actually call them that anymore, not really) before curling his fingers around the hem to pull the wet material away, starting to tug slowly down but finally looking up again before he went any further. ]

Think you can manage not to hurt yourself while I get some towels? [ For the time being he had gone into caring-nurse mode, once he was done it was likely he would have his own freak out . ]

[ It was impossible, and he hated it, but Peter didn't bring it up and he didn't think to mention it himself. He was still shivering though, watching as Peter helped him out of his clothes. And then everything froze, and he was...moving. Time was frozen, but he wasn't, and it was startling.

He turned his head to look around, eyes wide, and if he wasn't near-catatonic with his shivering he would have paused to enjoy it, but it wasn't what he'd had in mind, and the fact that Peter hadn't put two and two together went a long way toward showing just how out of it the other man was. This was as hard for Peter as it was for him. He turned his head back, wrapping his arms around himself as he shivered. ]

I meant f-freeze everything. Including me.

[ He couldn't laugh, but he would be if he could. It should have been obvious. ]

Oh-- Right.

[ There was a rather large 'duh' that seemed to radiate around Sylar's words, and Peter heard it clearly, even though it was left unspoken. But he was quick to fix his error, just so he didn't have to think about the fact that he'd made it in the first place.

With a hand on Sylar once again, Peter froze the other man back into time, leaving him by himself. His first inclination was to steal the opportunity to lose it so Sylar didn't have to see him doing so - this wasn't about him after all- but he didn't want to have to think about it, didn't want to deal with it, not right now. So instead he was quick to act, shaking himself off, and leaving Sylar to step out of the tub, already stripping as he went. Leaving his own wet clothes on a pile in the bathroom floor to deal with later, he swiped a towel for himself and set another few on top of the counter as he headed to the bedroom to grab blankets, only stopping for a few seconds to try dry off before he put on a pair of sweatpants and headed back towards the bathroom.

Grabbing a stack of blankets, Peter thought to himself for a moment before putting them on top of the bed and setting his palm on top of the stack of blankets. He remembered something that Michael had taught him, something he knew back from his days in college -- that all atomic subatomic particles worked by means of electromagnetic forces. Magnetic forces that could be manipulated if only he knew how to focus. Chewing on his lower lip, Peter tried to carefully set the atoms into slight motion, only enough to make the blankets begin to carefully warm beneath his hand, leaving Peter faintly pleased with himself.

Headed back towards the bathroom, Peter left the blankets outside the bathroom door before heading back in again, staring at the other man for a few seconds, trying to decide on how exactly to do this. Sighing, he stepped back into the tub and shoved his pants... turned shorts, down. Wrinkling his nose in something like irritation, Peter simply knelt down and irradiated the rest of the material, still frozen in time around Sylar's feet, into dust, before standing up straight again and wrapping his fingers around Sylar's arm, teleporting them backwards out of the tub.

Taking a few steps back, he grabbed one of the larger towels and shook it out before wrapping it around Sylar's literally frozen shoulders. Another one went around around the other man's waist, and a third he finally used to set about vigorously drying Sylar's hair, just as he squeezed his eyes shut and brought time back to where it should be. ]

[ He did at least look a little apologetic, watching Peter quietly, but a moment later he's standing inthe middle of the bathroom floor, wrapped in warm towels, with Peter rubbing another through his hair to dry it out, and all he can do is smile, already feeling better, warmer, cared for.

It was too complicated, but complicated was something they were both used to, now, and free to move again, with time resuming, he was able to wrap his arms around the other man's back, stepping in close against him. ]

You make it look so easy.

[ Peter stopped his ruffling up of Sylar's hair when the other man spoke, lifting the towel a bit so he could see his face. ]

What, time travel? I don't really do it that often. [ He shrugs, resuming his drying of Sylar's hair a second later, entirely unsure if Sylar truly meant time travel instead of something else. Because caring for people -- that was easy, at least to Peter. It came as naturally a breathing and after a few more seconds, he drops the towel to around Sylar's neck, his hands stil on it so he can give Sylar a gentle tug closer. ]

And I have warm blankets for whenever you're dry.

[ Sylar meant time travel, but come to think of it, when Peter ducked his head he caught the other feeling too. That he cared for other people so easily--but even then, it was a fault as much as anything else. What had happened with Adam only proved it, that when the chips were down Peter could make bad choices based on his faith in others.

And come to think of it, that was his problem too.

He leant a little closer, pressing his nose into Peter's still damp hair. He shivered, but most of the chill was gone from him now, and Peter made him feel warm. He'd said it out loud, hadn't he? Delirious, maybe, but with unmistakeable certainty. That he loved him. He closed his eyes. ]

Thank you. [ It was little more than a whisper. ]

[ Peter knew he could make bad choices, knew he'd already made far more than he could count, but this? This wasn't a bad choice, not to him. No matter what anyone said, and he was trying to keep Adam shoved to the far corners of his mind, along with his fears that something would send Sylar far enough away that he'd never came back. Because invulnerability couldn't always save him as today had proved.

Sighing and worrying at his lower lip, Peter nosed up against the other man, just wanting to stay close for fear that Sylar would slip through his fingers all over again. ]

Nothing to thank me for. [ Sliding his hands down and rubbing at Sylar's shoulders, before they dropped to the other man's hips, Peter only lasted a few more seconds before he dropped his face down against Sylar's chest and just held on, trying to exhale his worries before they did him in. ]

[ He could feel the other man's adrenaline beginning to wear off--could practically see it, and as it did the crushing feelings would start coming back in to fill the empty space. Because Peter knew as well as he did that he'd almost lost him; that he could have floated out there for far too long, or worse. He'd cried himself out, but Peter was different, and Sylar already knew there would be more tears before this was over--just not his.

He pressed his face into the other man's hair for a little longer, then stepped back with a whisk of shadows, pleased when this time his ability didn't throw them a million miles off, and they stepped out into the bedroom. He spoke softly, reassuringly, his throat already sounding much better, a little of the colour coming back to him as the steady regeneration worked deeper. ]

You think there's nothing to thank you for? Nothing? I'd have nobody without you, and nothing to fight for.

[ But Peter was holding on to his adrenaline rush for dear life because he didn't want to fall apart. He'd already done that more than enough times in front of Sylar in the past few weeks and it was his turn to hold it together. Granted, that was far easier said than done, but Peter was trying his damnedest to keep it together, even if controlling his emotions was the last thing he was capable of doing.

Staring up at Sylar a little sheepishly, Peter could only swallow, trying for a slight shrug because acknowledging how true Sylar's statement was, meant giving in to what he was saying, and it was just gasoline on a fire that Peter was trying astonishingly hard to put out. ]

But you're okay, you came back. And you do have me. [ Pressing a hand against Sylar's chest, to push himself away, he turned slightly, intending to go grab the warm blankets he'd left outside the door -- his own method of trying to avoid the conversation at the same exact time. ] Hold on.

[ He could see what Peter was doing, and he knew why he was doing it, but there was no reason to leap on him and force it out of him. It'd come. He kissed at the other man's hair, then quietly let him go, moving on his own legs to the very edge of the bed, and sitting down maybe a little quickly. He dropped his head into his hands, pushing his shaking fingers back through the damp strands.

It felt so good to be alive. Hard to believe that only a short week ago what had happened would have been impossible. Claire's power really was incredible, but that didn't change the fact that he - guiltily - spent a little too long wishing that he couldn't regenerate, that he would just damn well drown and stay that way. It wasn't fair on Peter, but at least he knew now that this power - no matter how too good to be true it seemed - wasn't a complete godsend; that it could be a curse as much as a treasure.

He glanced back up as Peter came back. ]

It won't happen again. I'm not... [ I'm not going out there again. ]

[ Peter kept telling himself that he could have his own personal freak out later. Maybe after Sylar had fallen asleep perhaps -- he could just go somewhere else and fall apart, not that he knew where that somewhere else was. But problematically that entailed separating himself from Sylar. Which he didn't truly see happening any time soon.

Returning a few seconds later with his stack of warm, thick blankets, he plopped them down on the bed next to Sylar, staring down at him about as calmly as he could manage, still keeping a tight fist around his concern. ]

I know. You're not going anywhere and neither am I. [ Carefully taking the towel from around his neck and his shoulders, Peter dropped them to the floor at his feet. Shaking out a blanket a moment later, he was quick to wrap it back around Sylar like a cape, holding the sides together tight, about as tightly as he was holding his breath. ]

Want something warm to drink?

[ Because if he just kept moving... ]

[ It was nice to just be cared for, and he was probably likely to just let the other man keep it up, scuttling around the apartment to keep himself busy, but... It wasn't going to help. Not really. Not in the long term. He gave his head the gentlest little shake, then reached up, first snagging the corner of the blaket, then wrapping his hand around the back of the other man's neck.

It was a trap. If Peter pulled away from him then he'd only be cold again, so it was in his best interests to stay close. That was the plan, at least. ]

The drink can wait. I just want... I want to be this close to you.

[ Close to something warm, something real, something that wasn't going to slip away like daylight and air. Something he could just hold onto. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Peter's jaw. ]

Just stay.

[ Swallowing thickly, only for a brief second did Peter contemplate tugging back. He wasn't looking to punish Sylar with cold, not even slightly, and if anything he was far more interested in punishing himself. If Peter wanted to, he could trace the blame entirely back onto himself and that was far easier then pointing the finger at Sylar and saying he shouldn't have done this or that or the next thing. Because Peter was still the one who had started all of this, and Peter was still the one who could hate himself better than anyone.

Adam had already started the work for him, now Peter was just terrified. And guiltier than he quite knew how to deal with. But he stayed put, nose pressed into Sylar's hair from a hold he wasn't truly willing to wiggle himself back away from. ]

Okay.

[ If anything, Peter's voice sounded stubbornly thick, as if his throat was threatening to close, but he nudged at the top of Sylar's head, pressing a hand against Sylar's chest and pushing him backwards ] Get comfy. I won't go anywhere.

[ He could hear the difference in Peter's voice, but he let himself be pushed just a little, pulling himself up the beg and smothering himself in the blanket. He didn't let go of Peter, using a little nudge of telekinesis all his own to urge Peter after him.

He stretched out on the bed, pressing his nose into the crook of Peter's throat, closing his eyes. He was past shaking, but when he ran his hand across Peter's chest, he could feel the hitch in his breath, betraying the emotions that were in turmoil just beneath the surface. ]

I know you won't.

[ Because he'd already asked that Peter not leave, and that hadn't changed yet. He slid his hand the rest of the way across Peter's chest, pressing against him under the blanket, warm and safe, and not smelling like ocean so much any more. ]

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