Heartbeat

Characters/Pairings: Peter/Sylar, Samuel, Claire, Gretchen, Lydia

Author's Note: Ho hum. Where did this come from? Why, my cRaZy brain which has just finished exams. Philosophy ones, so...beware.

Warnings: God, there's a lot of swearing in this. Please forgive me. Amen.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Or that tiny reference I made to Anastasia. And I certainly don't own that quote.

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"True love is night jasmine, a diamond in darkness, the heartbeat no cardiologist has ever heard. It is the most common of miracles, fashioned of fleecy clouds -- a handful of stars tossed into the night sky." - Jim Bishop

It started, as many stories do, with a girl.

It ended with two heartbeats.

In the beginning, there was anger, envy, hatred...

In the end, there was only love...

And in the middle...well. That's when the story really picked up...

Sylar was gasping for breath, chest heaving, constricting. He bent over and placed his hands on his knees. He gazed over at his partner and the other man, breath easing to a manageable level. His eyes darted from one person to another as a punch was deflected, another getting through. A kick, a wave of the hand, and the other man was thrown against the side of the building, landing with a grunt and an audible crack.

"Yes," he hissed through gritted teeth. He would have punched the air but lacked the energy. Peter glanced over at him, rolled his eyes. Sylar grinned, adrenaline already beginning to pump through his veins again. His eye was caught by movement from the man. He saw the glint of a knife and reacted on instinct. He thought briefly of the fact the knife would have little effect on Peter, would only slow him down for a second or two, but knew that would be a second too long.

He was in front of the man in seconds and felt the knife slide in. Heard it, too. He gasped, his eyes widening. His hand immediately went to pull the knife out but before he could the man had thrown out his hand and Sylar was suddenly crashing into a very hard object and hearing a sound like cellophane being ripped apart, except that couldn't be right...

He looked down at the pipe protruding from his chest, right where his heart was.

He glanced up and caught Peter's eye.

"Oh fuck."

"It's just a bauble, a trinket really..."

"Then why don't you go get it yourself?"

Sylar gave Peter the look that said, very clearly, "Good question but, look, he's going to deflect!"

Samuel ignored them both. "You know I have to look after the family." He clapped Peter on the shoulder, his grip firm and unrelenting. "And family always comes first."

Sylar had realised awhile ago that when Samuel started going on about family, it meant he was trying to get other people to do his dirty work. He glanced at Peter. He looked like he'd realised it too. And if he hadn't, Sylar thought, he soon would.

Oh fuck. Oh...shit. This was shit. He was shit. It fucking hurt and the pain wouldn't go away. He tried to pull himself off the pipe but his arms shook, he had no strength, where the fuck had all his strength gone? He was gasping again, his breath coming hot and fast. Whenever he moved, his body made this squelching noise and it made him want to throw up. His hands grasped the pipe but kept slipping off. He brought them up to his face and gazed at them, numb. They were covered in blood. His blood. Oh fuck. He was starting to panic, he knew, could feel it start to rise in the back of his head, like a weight pressing down, suffocating him.

He glanced up to see if Peter had even fucking noticed what had happened and saw that the other man had disappeared. Peter was standing in the middle of the alleyway, gazing at what looked like a small, golden ball which lay in the palm of his hand. He seemed transfixed by it, gazing at it as though he couldn't look away.

"Peter..." Sylar gasped out. He reached out a hand, a useless gesture but one that comforted him. He concentrated on his outstretched hand and felt the panic recede. It was still there, but manageable. "Peter, come the fuck over here and help me."

Peter snapped out of the trance and glanced up. He rolled his eyes at the predicament Sylar had found himself in yet again. His hand tightened around the golden ball, almost without him realising it. He glanced down at it once more before placing it in his pocket and walking over to Sylar.

"How the fuck do you even get yourself into these situations anyway?" Peter muttered to himself as he pulled Sylar off the pipe. He staggered as Sylar's full weight hit him and his knees buckled. "Fuck, Sylar, stand up."

"I...can't." Sylar cursed himself for sounding so weak. He tried to stand up but only managed wobbling there for a few seconds before toppling over. Peter caught him before he hit the ground and laid him down with a gentleness that was surprising in its total unexpectedness.

"Shh," Peter murmured, stroking his hair out of his face. "Just wait for your body to heal."

Sylar tried to calm down but could feel the panic in the corner of his mind, waiting like a big black beast for the right moment to pounce. He glanced down at his wound and tried not to throw up. "Fuck," he whispered but he tried to obey Peter and wait for his body to heal.

Nothing happened. He remembered belatedly where he'd put that oh so important spot. Oh shit. His heart. Why the fuck had he gone all sentimental like that? It wasn't like him! It was a very dangerous spot too. Why had he even moved it there anyway? He couldn't remember, the panic was starting to return, and all he could think was, Oh fuckbuggershitbloodyfuckinghell.

"Peter, I..." He tried to tell Peter what he'd just remembered but could only manage a weak gesture at the area around his heart.

"What the hell?!" Peter yelled, the sound sending a spike of pain through his head. He winced, and then tried not to move at all because it fucking hurt. "You couldn't have put somewhere else? Like, I don't know..." He waved his hand about. "Your heel?"

Sylar gazed at him, incredulous. "I am not that unoriginal!" He huffed quietly to himself, occasionally sending a glare in Peter's direction. Peter smiled suddenly and Sylar wondered absently when the sun had decided to rise.

"I killed your brother." Sylar watched Peter's face for a reaction.

"Yeah." Peter was quiet for a moment. Then he turned and walked away. Sylar watched him leave, and wondered at the empty feeling in his heart.

"Sylar!" Peter shook him again. He breathed a sigh of relief when Sylar opened his eyes. "Fuck, don't scare me like that!"

Sylar grinned up at him. From the look on Peter's face, he guessed that it was an all-out crazy grin. He widened his grin and Peter raised an eyebrow at him. Then he was rummaging in the bag sitting beside him and pulling out what looked like one crazy big needle. Crazy, heh. Crazy crazy crazycrazycrazy...

He watched, still grinning, as Peter stuck the syringe into a vial of what was probably some of Claire's blood. God, he loved that girl. Loved loved lovedlovedloved. Wanted to kiss her. Ha. No. Wanted to kiss Peter. That's it.

"Oh, Peter," he sighed, the grin slipping. Peter glanced over at him, the syringe finally full. "I love you."

Peter froze and gazed down at Sylar, the shock blatant on his face. Sylar smiled up at him and felt his eyes drift shut. "Love you so much..."

Peter blinked and then plunged the needle in, fuck knows where. "You're not getting away from me that easily," he muttered. He pulled the needle out once its purpose had been fulfilled and waited. Patiently at first, but with increasing frustration as Sylar continued to lie there as though dead. Shit, he could be. Peter ran fingers he would swear in a court of law were not shaky through his hair...and waited.

"Look, stop bothering me, okay?" Peter said, staring pointedly into the glass in front of him.

Claire gazed at him, clearly hurt. She waited a moment and then shrugged. "Come on, Gretchen," she said to the girl standing next to her, whose hands were picking nervously at a piece of string which had unravelled from her blouse. "I can see we're not wanted here."

They walked away and Peter let them, still gazing steadily into the contents of his glass as though they'd tell him all of life's answers.

"Well, I never thought I'd see you here," a familiar voice said and, reluctantly turning from the fascinating things his drink was whispering to him, he glanced up into a very familiar face indeed.

"What are you doing here?" he said, sounding sullen and not caring. He turned back to his drink as Samuel took a seat next to him.

"Well, I have a proposition for you," Samuel said and smiled slowly, showing teeth.

Peter was relieved when he finally saw the wound beginning to heal. He let out a small sigh of relief which he quickly stifled as Sylar finally came round.

Sylar gazed up at him, blinking slowly. Then he frowned. "Oh," he said. And was that...was he blushing?

Peter tried not to look too surprised when he said, "Yes."

They were silent for a moment, both wondering how to proceed. Eventually Sylar grew uncomfortable with his current position and made to sit up. Peter put out his hands to help him and in the end, after much embarrassed muttering, Sylar was able to lean against the wall. He sighed gently and relaxed. Peter watched him from where he was kneeling, jeans soaking into the puddles beneath him.

"Look," Sylar began as Peter said, "I..." They paused and looked away.

"Peter," Sylar began and this time Peter was quiet, watching him, his face expressionless. "Look, I..." He frowned and then continued. "I'm...not sorry about what I said, I mean, I meant it, but...if you want to forget it," he took a deep breath, "I can understand that." He gazed down at his now fully healed chest and waited.

"Bastard!" Peter yelled causing Sylar to blink at him, astonished. "You fucking bastard! You tell me you love me and then you expect me to just...to just..." He ran his fingers through his hair and made a frustrated noise. Then he leaned over and, before he could chicken out of what would obviously turn out to be a damn fool move, pressed his lips to Sylar's in a dry, closed mouth kiss. He stayed that way for a moment, eyes open so he could see how utterly stunned the other man was. Then he pulled away, sat back on his heels and waited.

"You know, this wouldn't be happening if you'd just given my body back," he muttered darkly as he and Matt sped along the highway. "Now your family will think you've abandoned them." He smiled at that. Such good work he was doing.

Matt glared at him from the passenger seat. His smile widened. Oh, this was going to be fun.

And then something smashed into the side of the car and everything went black.

He came to, a few metres away from the car which looked to be burning nicely. Matt was standing over him looking pissed and not at all worried that his body might very well die from its close proximity to the flames. He crawled away hurriedly. Matt followed him, now looking mostly bored.

"Mr. Parkman?" said a voice nearby. He glared over at the source and swore under his breath. Who the fuck was this guy, anyway, running him off the road like that? He was about to ask him exactly that when a sudden pain exploded in the back of his head and the world went black.

Sylar was, well...to put it simply...stunned. He couldn't have been more stunned if someone had come along and announced that he'd won the lottery. He sat there, his mouth half open. His hand came up and absently touched his lips. He smiled.

And then he surged forward, pushing Peter to the ground, and was suddenly all over him, mouths locked together as hands roamed freely. Now it was Peter's turn to look utterly gobsmacked. He had certainly not expected Sylar to react so, well, passionately. He moaned softly into the kiss as Sylar's hand palmed his groin. Fuck, yes.

He could feel Sylar grinning and had the almost irrational desire to wipe it off his face but kindly chose not to when Sylar thrust down, eliciting a prolonged moan from the man beneath him. Peter's hands came up and gripped Sylar's head, pulling him closer. Sylar didn't seem to mind that one bit and even pressed their lower bodies closer and kept it that way.

Sylar broke the kiss but didn't pull away. Instead, breathing heavily, he gazed down at Peter who looked completely undone by that one prolonged kiss. He felt rather smug,

"Would you mind getting off me now?" Peter asked.

The smugness evaporated, along with the euphoria left over from the kiss. Numbly, he pulled away and stood up, offering Peter a hand up. Peter took it and hauled himself up. They stood there, inches apart. Sylar wiped his hands over his shirt and belatedly remembered they had been covered in blood. He gazed at Peter and saw his hands' work, bloody handprints now chequered over Peter's clothes and skin.

Peter put his hand into his pocket and pulled out the golden ball. "We have to get this to Samuel," he said, face and tone expressionless.

Sylar nodded and watched as Peter turned and walked away. After a moment, he followed.

"Our lives have been one random event after another," Peter said out of nowhere.

All was quiet. Sylar glanced over at him and then back at the couple seated next to them. He coughed politely, in a way that clearly said, "Shut up, please, they might hear you."

Peter ignored him. "I mean, it makes sense, really. All this talk about destiny, it's all shit. Everything's just..." He gestured vaguely. "One random event after another." He slouched deeper into his seat. The couple they were tracking gave them weird looks

Sylar sighed, closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he reached over and took Peter's hands in his. "Honey, had a bad day?"

Peter stiffened and then his eyes flickered over to the couple. He tried to use as simpering a tone as possible when he replied, "Oh, it's much better now that you're here." He pointedly ignored the way his heartbeat sped up when Sylar smiled.

Later, once the couple had finished the meal and were leaving, Peter grabbed him by the arm and muttered, "If you ever touch me like that again, I will fucking kill you."

Sylar chuckled and Peter tried very hard to ignore the way his body reacted to that sound. "Whatever you say, dear."

Samuel was very pleased with the success of their mission. He chuckled when Peter appeared reluctant to give up the golden ball. "Yes, it's beautiful, isn't it?" he said, his tone taking on an almost loving aspect as he stroked the ball. "Beautiful," he whispered.

Peter and Sylar exchanged a glance and then slowly took a step away from the creepy man. Samuel glanced up at the movement and smiled. "So, I guess you boys would like to go clean up before I tell you why this is so important." His smile turned fond as he again stroked the golden ball.

Peter cleared his throat. "Yes, that will be fine." He grasped Sylar's hand and pulled him away, towards his trailer.

Samuel smiled at that gesture and then chuckled at their reactions to his creepy attitude. He tossed the golden ball in the air then caught it. Whistling tunelessly, he went to find Lydia and tell her he'd finally been able to retrieve her daughter's golden ball. She would be pleased.

Peter pulled Sylar inside the trailer and closed the door behind them. He leaned against the door and closed his eyes for a few seconds, finally able to let his body relax. When he finally opened his eyes, he found Sylar gazing at him, face inscrutable. He sighed and stood up.

"We really should get cleaned up," Sylar said, sounding hesitant. He was probably wondering what was the politest way to ask Peter to move out of the way so he could go and do so.

"Get. Off. My. Fucking. Foot."

"I'll get off your foot if you get off my elbow."

They glared at each other and then, as a sound rang out from beyond the door, turned as one and pressed their ears to the door. A pretty useless gesture, but it felt appropriate given the circumstances.

Sylar shifted to get into a more comfortable position and realised suddenly just exactly where his hand was. Peter went very still but refrained from moving, probably so the people outside the door couldn't hear him. Sylar thought about clearing his throat and stopped himself before he was about to. No need to alert them to their position.

At least, not yet.

Peter moved closer so that they were now only inches apart. He breathed out slowly and saw Sylar shiver as the air ghosted over his face. He brought his hand up and cupped Sylar's check, resisting the surprise that he felt when Sylar closed his eyes and leaned into his hand. He moved closer until their mouths were practically touching. He pressed soft kisses to Sylar's jaw line and smiled as the other man shuddered.

"You were saying something about getting cleaned up?" he murmured. Sylar breathed out and then closed the gap between their mouths, kissing him hungrily. Peter brought his other hand up to join the hand cupping Sylar's check and kissed back just as fiercely. He pulled back to pull off his shirt and then resumed the kiss as though he'd been gone years and not mere seconds.

Sylar growled softly and pushed him into the door, pinning him there as he tried to unbutton his shirt. Peter ended up having to help him and eventually they managed to get it off and to throw it down with Peter's. They resumed kissing and now their hands began to roam, ghosting over skin. Peter's fingers gripped Sylar's shoulders as he was pushed up the door to be better able to wrap his legs around Sylar's waist.

A sudden knocking interrupted them and they groaned softly.

"Uh, guys?" It was Lydia. She sounded vaguely amused. "Samuel wonders whether you've cleaned yourselves up enough to be able to leave the trailer." Peter frowned. She sounded like she was grinning. At best, like she was trying not to grin.

"Just...give us a minute?" Sylar sounded half strangled, like he was trying not to laugh. Peter glared at him and then couldn't resist trying to kiss that laugh out of him. Things quickly picked up where they left off and Lydia didn't return for at least another hour.

All he'd wanted to do was get his body back. Well, he'd got his wish. He'd just hoped it wouldn't come at a price. How naive of him. Now he was stuck with Peter Petrelli, of all people, for his partner simply because Samuel thought they meshed well. How the fuck did he know?

Peter breathed in and Sylar breathed with him. They continued this for a few minutes before Sylar said abruptly, sounding impatient, "Are we going to do this all the time?"

Peter cracked one eye open and grinned. He moved over to rest his head against the other man's shoulder and sighed, content. "No, I just like doing that in the mornings. You don't have to copy me."

Sylar wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer. "There's nothing else to do, except watch you. And that can get pretty boring after awhile."

Peter looked affronted. "Boring? Me? Never!" he declared and Sylar grinned at him. He smiled back.

"Yes, you are," Sylar insisted after they'd spent a few minutes grinning stupidly at each other. "I've had thousands of years to catalogue every one of your looks, your gestures. Nothing you can do would surprise me." He sighed, looking mournful.

Peter frowned at him. And then he brightened and scrambled over Sylar, rushing into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. Sylar raised an eyebrow at the room in general.

A few minutes later, Peter burst out of the bathroom, dressed in a bathrobe, something long and thin sticking out of his mouth. He let the bathrobe fall to the floor and slouched against the door frame. "Grandmere, it's me! Anastasia!" he declared to the room in general.

He grinned at the stunned expression on Sylar's face and, looking far too serious, walked over to him. He knelt beside him and grinned some more. "Was that enough of a surprise, dear?" he asked, tone set for definite simpering.

"Yes," Sylar said faintly. "Yes, it was."

He then proceeded to tell Peter how wonderful it was by kissing every inch of skin he could find and uncover. Not that he wouldn't have done that anyway, but sometimes it was nice letting Peter win.

It ended with two heart beats, beating as one.

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Well. Yes. Hello, cRaZy brain.

Review please.