Acts of Kindness 6: Time of Day
Peter watched Sylar fiddle with Claire's phone all the way downtown. When it was on, he scrolled through her contacts and snooped on her. Peter considered objecting, as it would surely offend Claire to know Sylar was doing that. But he didn't. When the phone was off, Sylar toyed with the components, levitating the battery and letting little sparks snap from his fingertips to the suspended unit. Peter considered objecting to that too, as it would surely damage it. But he didn't. Instead, he sat there quietly and watched the other man. He thought about how this was Sylar being Sylar. Really… it was a bit socially graceless, but harmless. Peter could work with this.
As they passed between the tall buildings, getting into downtown proper, Sylar's head rose and he told the cabbie, "Tell me when we're three blocks away." A few minutes later, he was given notice. He took the battery out for the last time and put the parts away in different pockets.
They exited the cab in front of a prestigious jewelry store. Peter looked up at the place after paying their fare and asked, "Why here?"
"I bought Heidi a-" Sylar flinched from him, catching himself. He blinked and looked around suddenly. "We should go somewhere else. I wasn't thinking." He turned and raised his hand for another cab.
Peter grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Hey! It's okay. We don't-" He took a deep breath. "I'm over that." Sylar looked at him like he wasn't convinced, so Peter turned back towards the store. For a moment they just stood there and looked at the façade together. Eventually Peter asked, "What did Nathan get here?"
Hesitantly, Sylar said, "A necklace and two bracelets. And… some things for… other women. He liked the place. They were discreet."
Peter looked at him out of the corner of his eye, then back at the store. "You know everyone he ever slept with?"
Sylar shifted uncomfortably and nodded.
Peter sighed. Conversationally he said, "That's kind of creepy. You know my own brother better than I did."
Sylar didn't know what to say to that, so after a pause, he said compulsively, "I'm sorry."
Peter looked at him and Sylar flinched again as he realized what he'd said. "Would you stop flinching from me?" Peter snapped. Sylar held himself stiffly, like it was an effort not to flinch from his very tone. "I'm not going to hit you." There was a pause while Sylar regarded him. Peter knew what he had to be thinking, of the times when he had hit him in the mental prison, so he looked away and added guiltily, "Anymore." Peter didn't like the feeling he'd engaged in misconduct, so he waved his hand vaguely and tried to blow it off by saying, "That was all just in your head, anyway. It's not like any of that was real."
"It felt real," Sylar said immediately. "To me."
Peter's eyes snapped up to his and this time Sylar didn't look away. He looked back at him evenly until it was Peter that looked aside, blinking. Peter rubbed his hand unconsciously. All he could think of was how his hand had hurt every time he struck the other man. Peter had hurt… and he wasn't the one being hit or verbally abused or confronted and made to back down. He wasn't the one who flinched and cringed like a dog that had been whipped too many times. Peter turned his head aside and breathed harder, feeling himself flush with sudden shame as the reality of the methodical and mostly psychological torture he'd dealt out came home to him in a rush.
Peter looked up, eyes stinging and said, heartfelt, "I'm sorry."
Sylar stared at him with no change in expression. Peter realized what he'd said a second later and this time Peter cringed. His mind was full of his own words, telling Sylar that 'I'm sorry' didn't change anything - it wasn't good enough, no mere words would gain him forgiveness, no matter how heartfelt or contrite. Faced with the realization that he might never be able to redeem himself for all the unwarranted mistreatment he'd heaped on the other man in that nightmare, where Sylar had no choice but to take it or suffer the even worse punishment of eternal loneliness, Peter felt his very soul shrink. He felt smaller, worthless and insignificant. It was a supreme irony and he deserved every bit of it and more.
A hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed. He looked up at Sylar's face. The other man said quietly, "Apology accepted."
Peter felt a weight lift and he could suddenly breathe again. His eyes widened. After years of suffering - three alone, more at Peter's hands… 'apology accepted.' It was hard to believe. Peter looked away, blinking, trying to regain his composure.
Sylar patted his shoulder and said, "We'll need something to turn into gold. Rocks will do, or chunks of asphalt. Let's just walk along the sidewalk here and see what we can find, okay?"
Peter nodded, glad of the excuse to keep his face down for the time being.
An hour later, they walked out of the jewelry store with enough legitimate cash to meet Sylar's needs for the immediate future. Their next stop was a furniture shop. It took longer to find a couch that suited them than Peter had expected, but they made their purchase and arranged for a late afternoon delivery.
After that was lunch. By this time, the awkwardness that had grown up since standing in front of the jewelry store had faded. Sylar really, truly didn't seem to be carrying a grudge, much as Peter himself now thought he deserved it. They grabbed sub sandwiches and talked about the weather, traffic and clothing styles for a while - a light, neutral conversation. Somehow that segued into Sylar asking about the time Peter had mentioned earlier on the phone to his mother - when the Company had held him confined for months in a cell.
Peter had never talked to anyone about that, because no one had ever asked. There were a lot of things in his life, recently, that he'd never talked about, kept bottled up, because there was no one close enough to him to tell. At first Peter gave nothing but the bare facts - what had happened, when and where and who. But Sylar kept asking questions, probing, gently picking at Peter's attempts to stay impartial, asking what he thought of what had happened, how he felt about things…
Once Peter got started, he ranted for nearly two hours, waving his arms and raising his voice, jumping up to pace and at times to hammer his fist on the table. He was sure the other patrons of the sandwich shop thought he was nuts, because he knew that some of the things he was saying were ill advised. Sylar didn't shush him or try to calm him - he just listened. The only reason he stopped was because he realized they were going to be late to meet his mother. They still didn't have a passport photo. They had to stop and get one along the way. Like everything else, it took longer than expected.
They ended up arriving a good half hour late, which was unconscionable in Angela Petrelli's book. They both knew this. At the moment though, neither cared. They walked up to the house together and Peter had never felt so much like he had a brother at his side as that moment. Nathan had always had an odd role in his life - half father, half brother and all role model. Sylar was no role model and while walking next to him, Peter didn't feel like he needed to be more like him or that he needed to earn his approval. They were simply together and that was comfortingly familiar somehow, after all those years with no one else.
Sylar had intermittently aped Nathan throughout the day. Peter had decided it was unintentional and uncontrollable, just like confusing Nathan's memories for his own. He had also decided it didn't bother him anymore, because it didn't. But when Peter knocked at the door, Sylar's skin crawled and for a moment Peter saw his brother in actuality.
The taller man growled and grabbed at his face. With an obvious effort shifted back into his natural form. Sylar looked up at him under heavy brows, probably concerned that he'd ruined the rapport they'd formed. Actually looking like Nathan was an offense he'd never committed in the prison, for which both were thankful. Peter's assaults were usually brief - one blow and he stopped, point made. He was pretty sure that, had that kind of shape-shift happened behind the Wall, Peter's response would have been something other than 'brief.' Peter reached over casually at Sylar's cautious look at him and jogged him with his elbow. "For a moment there, buddy, you stopped looking butt-ugly."
Sylar stared at him with comically wide eyes, then burst out laughing and slung an arm over Peter's shoulders as the younger man joined in. That was how Angela found them when she opened the door - laughing hysterically and leaning on one another for support.