Acts of Kindness 4: Light of Day
Peter went to the door and glanced through the peephole. He could see the top of someone's head, straight blonde hair that could only belong to one person. This was probably the least desired person who could possibly show up on his doorstep this morning. Just about anyone else, he'd know how to deal with.
He put his forehead against the door and sighed, trying to clear his head of the latent anger that was infesting it this morning. The last time he'd seen Claire, she'd been heading off cheerfully with a gaggle of reporters, looking exceedingly pleased to be the center of attention. Peter had his doubts about how well her stunt was going to play out. Sylar, on the other hand, was thrilled.
They'd talked about that at the coffee shop. In fact, discussing Claire and the ramifications of what she'd done had taken up probably half of their time. Sylar had an inappropriate fixation with Claire, from Peter's point of view, something that had become painfully clear when Sylar had told him about his life. He was still trying to figure out the meaning of the tattoo of Claire's face.
Sylar had, at least, given up the idea that she might be romantically interested in him. The pencil in the eye had finally driven that point home. Had it not, Peter would have had yet another reason to abuse him in the nightmare, but thankfully that was past. The other man was still convinced she had a greater importance to him, because he didn't think that going to Matt afterward and being trapped behind the wall was his "destiny." Sylar thought, and he'd said it over and over again, that Lydia's ability had indicated how he was supposed to get a friend, a connection, someone who loved him. He'd assumed the nightmare was his punishment for screwing things up somehow with Claire, mishandling it. He'd replayed the events until Peter was tempted to put it on the list of things Sylar wasn't allowed to talk about. But he didn't, because it was a mystery that puzzled Peter too, when he thought about it.
Sylar didn't think he deserved a friend. Peter had been inclined to agree, but even in the dream, he'd kept his mouth shut about that. There were some things too cruel to say to someone else, no matter what. 'Maybe I deserve all this aloneness' had echoed in Peter's head quite often, almost like Sylar was saying it over and over in his subconscious and Peter was picking up on it unintentionally. Or maybe because Peter had agreed with him.
Thinking back on it now, Peter felt a twist in his gut he'd never allowed himself to feel in that nightmare universe. Sylar had gone to Claire, a person whom he admitted hated him and he knew she felt that way, because he was trying to find a connection. He was that desperate - desperate enough to seek out his enemies for help, to surrender his abilities, to let himself be trapped alone in an eternal prison. He'd mapped out the tenuous and coincidental similarities between himself and Claire, and belabored them to death to Peter in the nightmare, confused as to why she would befriend him, knowing that she had not, but certain she was the key. Peter didn't understand it either, but now here she was, outside his door. Who was he to question destiny?
He opened it. Claire looked up at him with a sad face. She was so defeated and demoralized that he couldn't help but step forward and hug her. She made a noise, an "Oh!" of surprise and welcome, embracing him in turn.
"Peter, I have had such a night. It's been endless. Can I crash here for a little bit? I just need somewhere to hide out."
He hesitated, conflicted. He couldn't imagine she would have a good reaction to the man standing in his kitchen. Peter had stepped outside trying, discreetly, to stall the inevitable.
"Please?" she begged. She looked past him, seeing some movement, and her eyes flew wide. She pushed past Peter, surprising him with her sudden turn of boldness. "What is he doing here?" she said, enraged, her demeanor fierce.
Sylar cringed back from her as thoroughly as he ever had from Peter, acting like her words had been a whip across his face. Peter stepped inside and very quietly shut the door behind him. He looked between the two, trying to read the dynamics, because Sylar's reaction had disarmed Claire almost immediately.
She'd backed away, brow furrowed. She looked around the room, taking in the futon and rumpled covers. Her head turned back to Peter, questions in her eyes. "Did he sleep here?"
And all of a sudden, in that instant, it hit Peter - Claire, Lydia's message, destiny. It was true, right in his face and he hadn't even seen it. Claire had driven Sylar to Matt and created a situation that allowed Peter to have years to cool down within the space of a few hours. It had trapped him in Sylar's mind and forced him listen to the other man, learn about him in turn, discover what had motivated him and find out that Sylar's claim, so many years ago, that they were similar, wasn't entirely untrue. He'd become a person to Peter, a person with hopes and dreams and fears and regrets - oh so many regrets. She'd been the key.
Peter straightened, absolutely certain he understood what had happened, even if he didn't really understand why. He could barely fathom it, but there was the mussed futon on the floor. They'd eaten together. They'd talked for hours over coffee. He'd stood up to his mother on Sylar's account and now, he knew, he was going to stand up to Claire. All this he'd done for the man who had killed his brother and so many other people. These weren't things you did for your enemies, or even for strangers. Peter realized he was already going through the motions, even if his heart hadn't caught up to it yet.
He didn't want to count Sylar as a friend, but that's what he was, or was becoming, or maybe would be. Because somehow, Lydia's foretelling had predicted this. And just as Peter hadn't bothered to try to find some other way to rescue Emma - he'd gone straight to Sylar because the dream said that was what he had to do - he now surrendered to the inevitability that he and Sylar were going to be friends.
"Yes, he did."
Sylar moved towards the door, the one Peter was still standing in front of, and said quietly, head down, "I should leave. You need to spend time with your niece."
"No," Peter said simply, adamant in his refusal. "You do not have to leave. No one is going to make you unwelcome here. Claire," he said, turning his eyes back to her and seeing her less hostile than he'd expected, "you know Sylar was trying to get better. He's changed. He's promised he'll never hurt anyone ever again. I believe him, and I vouch for him 100%."
Both Sylar and Claire stared at him, slack-jawed. It was such a total endorsement. He'd said a variation of it before, to Matt, but this wasn't a plea to be trusted - it was a statement of fact of where Peter stood. If he was supposed to be Sylar's friend, then by God he'd be Sylar's friend, at least until Sylar proved he wasn't worthy of it.
"But," Claire said, her eyes shining, "Nathan…"
"At some point, we have to let go of the past." His voice softened. "There are so many things, things I almost did, that it's only by the grace of God I didn't become a worse villain than he ever was," he said, indicating Sylar. "And Nathan… he had his own dark moments… the things he wanted to do to all of us." Peter swallowed roughly. "I'm not saying the past was right. I'm saying that the future can be."
They were all silent for a long moment, digesting this. Sylar was gazing at Peter with the same look he'd worn when he came out of the carnival tents - a look of intense hope and vulnerability, barely able to believe that someone was taking his side and believing in him. He swallowed and straightened when Peter looked over at him, his face relaxing a little and pulling up to his full height. Then Peter realized - Sylar didn't flinch from his gaze this time - quite the opposite. One side of Peter's mouth quirked up. He turned his head to Claire, who was watching Sylar's transformation.
She turned to Peter and shrugged almost whimsically. "Okay." She shook her head and waved one hand dismissively as she walked off into the kitchen. "Alright. Fine. Whatev. Is that coffee I smell?"
Sylar's hand leaped up, one finger extended in a 'wait' gesture to Peter. Peter tilted his head slightly and said nothing, giving Sylar his moment. Sylar followed her into the kitchen. In a low, tentative voice, he offered, "I made some just a little while ago, but we drank it. How about you go talk to Peter, and I'll make us all some more?"
There was a longer than necessary pause, and then, "Sure." Claire edged past him in the kitchen and walked back out. She gave Peter a furrowed brow, a grimace, rotated her index finger at her temple to indicate 'crazy' and then hooked her thumb back at the kitchen.
"Give him a chance," Peter said evenly. He looked past her where he could see Sylar's elbow and back as he busied himself with the coffee. Peter jerked his head towards his bedroom. It was the most privacy they could get and still be in the apartment. He and Claire walked in.
She flopped immediately on the bed, then wriggled up to the top and propped herself up with his pillows. He smiled a little and sat on the end corner, canted to face her.
"I can't believe he slept on a futon, on your floor," she chuckled.
"I only have the one bed, and I'm certainly not going to give it up for Sylar."
She stared at him, eyes bugging suddenly.
He turned back, looking at the partly open door, wondering what had caused that reaction. He hadn't wanted to close it entirely and possibly make Sylar feel they were hiding, but at the same time he wanted to lend Claire a degree of privacy for whatever she wanted to say. He turned back to find she'd rolled over and was stifling her laughter with his pillow. She came up for air long enough to say, "Oh, I sure hope not, Peter. Oh God no…!"
He thought about what he'd said and turned his head to the side, blushing to his roots. He decided the best course of action was to pretend he had not said something that could be interpreted that way. When Claire's laughter finally subsided, Peter cleared his throat and said, "We're going out to get a couch today, and some other stuff. If you need to crash here, I'll set up the furniture delivery for this afternoon, late, and he won't be back here until like three or four."
"Do you really think you can trust him?"
"Yup." Strangely, he felt very sure of that and also sure that he could trust Sylar more than he could trust any other member of his family - her included. What decided him was the look on Sylar's face when he realized that not only had Peter forgiven him, but he was supporting and defending him. The questions and the doubts that had burned in Sylar's mind this morning, leading to that odd confrontation - maybe this would give him the answers he wanted. Peter hoped so.
Claire sighed and stared at the ceiling. "Just when I thought things couldn't get any crazier. Everything's changed, Peter."
"Ha." Peter gave her a wry smile. "I seem to remember predicting that. So, tell me what sort of crazy stuff happened last night, that makes you think you need to hide out here at my apartment?"