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[ Sylar is just beginning to piece his life back together again, learn about his own abilities again. So even though there's been a murder today that he doesn't want attributed to him, he doesn't know enough about his life - prior to losing his memory, prior to spending several months being someone else - to not choose today to make his debut on the network.

His voice is a little uncertain still, his memories are all for the most part accumulated from objects, and they feel like they belong to someone else. In many ways he's still not sure who he is. But it's been two weeks. Long enough. And perhaps seeing some familiar faces will help. Or at least that was the idea, naive as it is. ]

I'm sorry to keep you all waiting. I'm back.

[ And that's it. ]

----

Private to Peter

[ His expression is much warmer in the video to Peter. There's even the edge of an uncharacteristic smile, although there's uncertainty too. ]

I want waffles, but I can't find where you keep the iron. Peter-- [ Just the briefest pause. ] --What is it that you do all day, when you're not here?

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With what?

[ It's an honest question, toned down this time because Peter doesn't know how to help himself, let alone what he's supposed to be asking for. If that's even what Sylar means; Peter doesn't know. He's too busy trying to help anyone else, that Peter's grasping for strays, trying to shove his own life somewhere else. ]

You've already done everything that you can, i'm the one that's supposed to be helping.

If not with you, then maybe with finding the right power--

[ And then what? Ripping it from someone just so that he can get his memory back? How far would he go to become who he once was? Would he kill for it?

He dares a glance back at Peter. ]

I can't sit here doing nothing.

Want me to come back home?

[ It's the first time he's offered it -- breaking from his routine to try to help even though he's been offering to fix Gabriel since he found him. Peter just doesn't know how to do this, and he looks painfully tentative, broken from the inside out and more than a little unsure of himself.

Peter wants to help, he just doesn't want to get it wrong. ]

Might do more good for me to be there than here.

[ He considers saying yes right off the bat, because he wants Peter back with him, but a more sensible answer is-- ]

No.

I want to get out of the house for a while, but I don't want to go into the city either. Maybe... Maybe we could go somewhere together? Somewhere private?

[ Grabbing for his police scanner and twisting it around in his hands for a few seconds as he thinks, Peter sighs quietly, all thoughts kept to himself for as long as he can get away with. But eventually he snaps it back onto his belt and grabs his NV, chewing at his lower lip and trying to come up with the right answer. ]

Let me get home first. There's a few different places we could go.

[ He tilts his head quizzically, but that's as challenging as he gets, and after a moment he nods. ]

I'll see you soon, Peter.

[ He stays silent, staring at the NV for another fraction of a second as if it's long enough for him to understand Sylar through sight alone. But even that he flicks off as well, at the same moment that he teleports, blinking back into existence in the living room of their apartment.

Glancing up as he pockets his NV, Peter looks around for Sylar, staying somber, silent until the moment he spots him. ]

You really want to go somewhere important? Because there's another way we can leave, without even having to go into the city. [ He shrugs, remaining as vague as he can for the moment. ] Won't be as real as staying here though.

[ He doesn't expect Peter to be long at all, so the only thing he does is find his shoes, sitting on the edge of the couch as he toes them on. He glances up when Peter arrives, hesitating at the somebody-recently-died look on Peter's face for a moment before pulling the laces taught one shoe at a time, his attention dropping away from him as he does just that.

It gives him a few extra seconds to try and piece together what Peter's saying and try and work out what he's suggesting. ]

What do you mean? We can leave? You mean--leave the island?

I mean we can leave without actually going anywhere.

[ Unhooking his police scanner and tossing it onto the other end of the couch, Peter watches it bounce until it settles, his hands once again returning to his pockets as he looks back at Sylar. ]

Using telepathy. Only if you want to. But it'd be easier to find places that mean anything than doing it here. The only places outside of the city around here are... [ Struggling for words, Peter glances off towards a window, quieting for a long moment. ] They mean more than you might want to know about right now.

I didn't know you were telepathic.

[ His eyes scanned again over Peter. A telepath? Did that mean he could read his thoughts? Was he doing it right now? Had he done it before?

He tilted his head, watching Peter look away, wondering what he was thinking of and deciding that maybe if Peter warned about it then he didn't want to know. There was more enough blood here as it was. The bed--the bed he couldn't even go near. Something had happened near it that he didn't want to see, and the slightest flashes chased him off. He didn't sleep in it. ]

I want to. I'd try anything, you know that.

I'm a lot of things I haven't told you about yet.

[ Managing to sound absolutely nothing but tired, Peter kicked off his own shoes in a reflection of Gabriel's putting them on, brushing his hair back away from his face. Stuck trying to think of the best way to do this - for he and Sylar, it was always spur of the moment, always affectionate or at the very least, calm - Peter moved towards the couch, hesitantly sitting down so that he was facing the man he thought he once knew. ]

All you have to do is give me one of your hands. [ Peter tipped his head slightly, a curious look that was digging for something more; staring at something that he so badly wanted to touch but couldn't, something that was distant but right there. ] That's it.

[ Sylar tilted his head. As far as he knew, he and Peter had a lot of powers in common - healing, for example - and so whatever powers Peter had, Sylar might have them too. Telepathy--but what else?

He watched as Peter settled down beside him, turning to look up at him as he gave the instructions, but he looked beyond the words, tried to read something more out of his expression. It seemed to Sylar that Peter was almost hurting, on the edge of some kind of action but shying away from the edge, afraid to reach across it. ]

Just give you my hand? [ A pause, and then he reaches his hand out. ] I think I can do that.

[ For the most part, since he'd found Sylar, Peter had tried to keep from outright touching the other man. It would only bring desires he couldn't stand to fight and he didn't want to muddle... Gabriel's memories more than he had to. Touching was just off limits -- Peter didn't want to think about what he was missing so badly.

Instead, he stared at the outstretched hand for longer than he should have, simply trying to decide if this was a good idea or not. Finally giving his head a tiny shake, he nodded and took Sylar's hand as if it was the easiest thing he'd done all day. ]

Try to relax. You'll be fine.

[ Telling himself as much as he was telling Sylar, Peter closed his own eyes, leaving the decision to do the same up to the other man. It took a few moments of forced concentration longer than it usually did, but when Peter opened his eyes again it was to his own apartment, back in New York, the deep cool of sunset pulling in through the windows. It was as good of a place to start as any, and he could take Gabriel anywhere he wanted from here. But they needed a foundation, and even Peter felt safe here. Staying quiet, Peter glanced down towards the carpet, giving Sylar as much time as he wanted. ]

[ Being touched by Peter - finally - was a sincere relief, like being allowed to slip into his own bed after weeks away. He felt tension ease out of him, almost, and let his eyes close too. After a moment he opened them, looking around the familiar room in which he'd found himself. He reached out to touch the wall beside him, as close as Peter was, and felt a whirl of similar relief when he felt no memories come to him. He could touch things here and not be overwhelmed by it all, touch Peter; he squeezed his hand hard. ]

It looks like our apartment, but it's not. Where are we? No, don't tell me.

[ He refused to let go of Peter's hand now he had it, instead stepping forward and pulling Peter after him, trying to work it out for himself. There was a picture of Peter with a woman and a man - the older woman was his mother, and the older he had seen in his stolen memories; Peter's older brother Nathan. There were books on medicine, old student reading but not much in the way of personal effects. The appartment wasn't decorated to handle a family, or even a couple, just a med student barely scraping by living alone. ]

This is your apartment.

[ At Sylar's voice, Peter lifted his gaze up towards the other man, mouth caught open as he retracted his question. Swallowing his voice, he waited instead, looking around for a second and taking in the quiet sight of his home, a place he hadn't visited since before Nathan had arrived. Everything had been hanging on edge ever since his brother had shown up, his breath held in an attempt to keep it all together, and now that it had all shifted, Peter wasn't sure he could take it anymore. Not that he was doing so well with that to begin with.

Pulled from his thoughts as Sylar tugged him along, Peter swallowed hard, focused in on the feel of his hand in Sylar's, of what it felt like to be here with him. Again. Not that it was truly him, but Peter was trying to cope.

Staring at Sylar, Peter nodded when Sylar finally figured it out, glancing over his shoulder towards the couch and then past it towards his bedroom. Turning back, he found his voice, staring down at their hands instead of looking into Sylar's face. ]

Yeah, it is. I'd lived here for four.. five years. You were the one that found an apartment in the Port that loos like it.

[ It felt nice, relaxing to be somewhere that was personal for all that it wasn't real. Quietly Sylar took it all in, then looked back at their hands, if only because that was where Peter was looking, wondering if he was seeing something strange and that's why he was looking. ]

And you needed a new apartment because something happened to the old one?

[ When he thought about it, he thought he saw lights behind his eyelids, but they were gone when he looked back up at Peter. ]

I care so much about you. Finding somewhere that feels like home, giving you that police scanner, someone to come home to.

[ He squeezed Peter's hand. ]

Show me more.

[ Once again, Peter left the question hanging in the air, not quite sure if Sylar wanted an answer or if he was purely thinking out loud. And if he did want one, maybe he just shouldn't hear it.

Peter felt like he'd been holding his breath ever since he'd found Sylar again, waiting for things to fall even futher apart as Nathan had gone with Sylar's return. Exhale too hard, relax just a little, and everything would crumble -- Peter kept saying all of this was so fragile while being unwilling to see that it was him who was close to breaking. And so Peter waited on edge, on baited breath, trying to let Sylar's mind lead the way as if that meant he could keep from getting his hopes up that he'd ever get the man he once knew back. ]

I don't know what else to show you... [ Staring out towards the nearest window, all Peter could hear was Sylar's words ringing in his head - I care so much about you - and yet he didn't know where to go next. Didn't know how to stir up memories rooted in places he knew nothing about.

And so he did the only thing he could. Taking a step back, Peter pulled them both into Kirby Plaza, trying to wiggle his fingers out of Sylar's the second his feet slid onto sidewalk. ]

[ Really, all that Sylar had meant was that he wanted to look more around the apartment, find out something else about Peter, but what he got instead was a trip across time and reality, and they were suddenly standing in the dark beside a glittering pool, the night sky equally vibrant far above them - unusually so, Sylar thought. Everything was black, but blood red at once, as though the stacked up platform in the center of the Plaza were the beating heart of everything. ]

This is where it happened.

[ But what it was Sylar didn't know, and Peter had stepped out of reach. He looked after him, baffled and bright eyed with concern, then looked around again. ]

I can feel it. There's so much energy. I feel...

[ He paused, looking down at the unspectacular asphalt as though in confusion. ]

I feel like someone died here.

[ Peter, in more ways than one, didn't like being here. Didn't want to be here, and wasn't sure he could stand it for long with Sylar being... not Sylar. But he didn't have a choice, he was never given choices anymore, and all he could do was sift his fingers back through his hair, staring up at the nearest buildings and wondering how everything had become so skewed.

When Sylar finally spoke, Peter snapped his attention back down, eyes heavy with exhaustion as he once again waited, stayed silent until the moment he thought would actually be useful. ]

They didn't. Not really.

[ Trying to hold his tongue and keep from explaining physically hurt and Peter drew in a breath that squeezed hold of his lungs and tightened through his mind. A few more aching breaths and he could speak again, this time unable to look at Sylar, his gaze skirting into the shadows. ]

But what really happened here was different. Could have been worse.

[ It was hard to really look around when Peter seemed so singularly pained by it all. He seemed to hurt just by being here, knotting his hands in his hair and looking up. It was clearly difficult for Peter to turn and look at him, and so his gaze skittered past, never once falling on Sylar for long enough, it seemed, to actually take it in.

If they'd been here before, together, then it must be strange for him. Actually looking at him would bring back memories--he only wished they brought back his memories. ]

I don't remember.

[ It could have been worse. Cold heat. Radiation-- ]

We don't have to be here if it's difficult for you, Peter.

[ Seeing him hurt stung deeper than Sylar knew. It was deep, cutting into him, even though he didn't really know why it hurt so much. ]

[ Shoulders sinking, Peter couldn't say he was all that surprised that Sylar didn't remember, but he didn't know what he was supposed to show him that would help. Something that mattered, something that meant more to him than anything and Peter couldn't grasp it.

Or maybe he just couldn't push himself to the place he'd have to go to show Sylar what he needed to see. And maybe he just didn't want Sylar to have to remember the kind of person he used to be. The things he'd done, the things Peter had done, and all the things they'd been through. If Peter could protect Sylar from all of it, give him another chance, than he'd do it. He'd try.

Snapping his hands out of his hair and looking back to Sylar, Peter gave his head a slight shake, glancing over the other man's shoulder towards the monument in the middle of the Plaza. The blaze of red light that lit up the entire block was the perfection distraction; an unrelentless blur. ]

It doesn't have anything to do with me.

[ Hands back in his pockets, Peter stayed put, carefully looking at Sylar but trying to keep from dissecting him in the moment. But it didn't matter how hard Peter tried, looking at Sylar didn't change the person he saw. ]

What do you want to remember, Sylar?

[ He wished he could read Peter's mind - and perhaps he could if he wanted to, but he had no right to - and simply pluck out what he was so afraid of and inspect it, find the right answer to give him. He didn't know what Peter was so afraid of, he simply knew that he was, that it was holding him back somehow.

Quietly he considered the other man, but it didn't last for long. He moved back toward him, remembering...

Bright light, and Peter standing helpless in the middle of the plaza, everyone around them standing back in horror, understanding but unable to act against what they saw. There was a blonde girl standing nearby, gun in hand, and he stepped toward her. She looked at him with wet eyes.

Sylar's step faltered, his eyes closed, just for a moment. ]

You saved the cheerleader so that we could save the world.

[ But that wasn't it. They felt like his words, but they weren't spoken in his voice. Someone else had said them, hadn't they? He opened his eyes again, looking up to Peter helplessly, like those ghosts of people who stood around in his memories. Were they even his memories? His head was hurting. ]

I have to understand. I need to know.

Nathan said that.

[ The response was automatic, a cracking of words that seemingly appeared from the dusky thin air, bright as they were miserable; reminiscent. Peter was still just as awash with confusion as Sylar was, but for entirely different reasons. Sylar couldn't remember, and therefore Peter couldn't ask what had happened. There was no way for him to find out either, for him to know which way was up, for him to help bring back the man he loved, but for what? So that he could bring back a killer?

No matter his hesitations, Peter was still the one that held at least one of the keys.

Scuffing his feet on the ground, Peter glanced back out towards the surrounding buildings, staring in exactly the direction Nathan had appeared from. So that they could save the world. ]

Nathan. My brother. He was here before you showed up again, and now he's gone. But back then, right here, I was going to explode. Claire was going to kill me because that was the only way to stop it. And then Nathan showed up, helped us save the world because we were the only ones that could. You couldn't yet, because you--

[ You were a monster. Peter couldn't say it, not only because he couldn't ruin Gabriel, but because he was just as bad. He'd almost become worse. Peter turned around and stared back at the man who so desperately wanted answers to who he was, answers that Peter didn't want to give. Brow furrowing, there were pieces that Peter was starting to see. Things that didn't fit quite right together but should have. That were only helping to further distort his view, make things even harder to understand.

But he still had to explain these pieces first. ]

When I said explode, I meant go nuclear. [ Curling one hand into a fist, he let his fingers pop open, giving off a tiny burst of agitated, nuclear energy. ] It's one of my abilities, and I couldn't control it.

[ Yes, he thought. Nathan said that. But so did I. The confusion kept tugging at him, but at last he simply had to shake it off and listen, trying to hear what Peter wasn't saying and failing. What part had he played in all this? He remembered only heat and pain. How close had he been? He remembered a flash of himself in a mirror, grotesque and burned, skin flaking off like a macabre facsimile of a human being. He could only flinch away from the image, startled by what he suspected was his own imagination. It couldn't possibly be real. ]

It's one of my abilities too, isn't it?

[ He could practically feel it, through Peter, an intense understanding of how it worked, how he'd been able to use just such a power. He raised his hand, mimicked Peter's motion, his sparks so much more under control, even without practice--muscle memory.

He looked back up. ]

Nathan... Nathan stopped you. How?

[ Somehow the moment he'd asked the question Sylar already knew. He raised his eyes toward the black, distant sky, and out in the inky blackness there was a burst of dazzling light, a nuclear explosion high above the city, and as he watched something fell, and a moment later something else rushed down to meet it. ]

I thought it'd be brighter. Hotter.

[ Skin burning, flaking, melting, falling, falling, falling. ]

Edited 2012-09-21 22:55 (UTC)

[ As painful as it was, Peter couldn't keep staring into the distance, avoiding Sylar's presence, a figurative ghost that was begging for answers. Sylar just felt so painfully distant, and Peter didn't know how to bring him back, didn't know what the right words were, or the right stories. Peter couldn't get back the man he loved with a snap of his fingers, and no matter how much he tried to wish the situation away, there was nothing he could do to change it if he didn't at least try.

If only the trying stopped hurting quite so much.

He could even feel Sylar's own burst of radioactivity, the spike of warmth against his clothing enough to remind him of far too many things. Of when he'd ruined Sylar's collar, when they'd ruined the apartment, when Peter realized he could destroy just as fundamentally as he could create. It put a vice grip on his heart, making words impossible, and instead he just listened, watched as the plaza seemingly squeezed around him without moving an inch, his own mind as suffocating as anything else.

Glancing back over his shoulder at the other man just as he asked about Nathan, Peter watched Sylar look up, his own gaze following the same path, knowing he'd answered the question for himself but unable to keep from adding his own, quiet, sentiment into the mix. ]

He can fly.

[ It wasn't becoming any easier, not really, but Peter could at least stand this somehow. The space between them felt just as disturbing, ominously wide, but this was their past, and New York was his home, and Peter could be here without feeling as if his life was trying to twist in on itself.

These were inescapable memories, and at the very least, Peter hadn't forgotten.

Finally looking back directly towards Sylar, Peter tilted his head, watching him carefully. It was such an odd thing to hear from the man who had once taught him how to control his own abilities, from the man who knew how he worked from the inside, out - literally - if only because Peter had never known him as anything else. ]

It's different when it's coming from you. When it's your ability, it doesn't feel the same. Like going flying with someone else is different from getting to do it yourself. If it's yours, it-- [ Peter was quick to shut himself up, glancing down at his feet as if looking at Sylar was illegal. Talking about any of this was hard enough, but realizing when he was getting caught up when he was trying so hard to keep control was like punishment. ]

If it's yours, it's always different.

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