2007-12-15: What People Have To Be


Nathan_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: Peter wants to talk to Nathan about what happened.

Date It Happened: December 15th, 2007

What People Have To Be

Peter Petrelli's Apartment

We need to talk. Come to my place.

It had been a short phone conversation. Peter didn't say much more than that. And when his brother arrived in the apartment, he'd find it mysteriously empty. Drinks in the fridge, bottled water mostly. A noticable absense would be the small white dog that usually runs around his apartment— though less so since he started teleporting through time. She's not at the mansion, so she's probably across the hall, in his girlfriend's apartment.

There's a small sound, like a shifting, and suddenly the younger of the Petrelli brothers appears in the living area of his apartment. His eyes are closed and he opens them to look around. "Nathan?" Did his brother beat him to the 'meet up'?

There's a rustle of paper that responds to Peter first, and he'll turn to see Nathan standing up from where he'd been seated, a newspaper now being folded in his hands and set aside. Dressed dark, conservatively, his coat already hung up by the door, it's clear he's already been here for at least a few minutes - there's even coffee being set up in the kitchen, the machine running. "About that thing you do," Nathan says, making a vague gesture at Peter. "The appearing act. Been meaning to ask you not to do that into my house whenever possible."

"Sorry, I— though I timed it closer," Peter says when he catches sight of the coffee brewing— but at least this way they'll have more to drink than bottled water. He gets his way to where he can look at his brother more comfortably, a serious expression on his face— But he still blinks when there's mention of his disappearing and appearing acts. "Right. I'll be careful about that," he says, not even thinking to argue it. Not his home— and it isn't like he doesn't have a key to get inside. "Nathan— what happened with Sylar?"

Nathan sidesteps Peter, handing him the newspaper as he moves towards the kitchen. "And when I say my house," he continues, because driving points home is what he does best, "I mean the premises in general. Backyard, frontyard, all around. Unless we're talking about a catastrophe of biblical proportions, you can walk it. Or fly it." Apparently, flying is okay. Teleporting blindly is not. His house, his rules. He starts hunting around for a couple of coffee mugs for them both. "And what do you think happened?"

There's just a nod. Peter isn't really going to argue it. He can always teleport a block or two away and walk it. But he considered the last time an emergency— though not quite of the biblical kind. "I just need to make sure he didn't start it— that he wasn't trying to escape," he says, looking seriously at his brother. "They're in that cabinet," he nods toward one of them, so he can find the mugs faster. "I know the Haitian pills I had him on worked— so he couldn't do much damage to you, nor much more than a normal person, but I need to know." No scolding for what his brother did, for a change.

Nathan pauses, then diverts towards the cabinet as directed, taking out a couple of stoneware mugs and setting them down. "No, he didn't start it," Nathan says. By now, only the faintest indications show on his knuckles as to what happened, bruising all but gone and a healed over cut remaining in place. Still, he glances at that hand before backing up to lean against the counter, arms folded. "Or try to escape. Or even fight back." If he's impressed, he doesn't exactly wear it on his sleeve.

There's that nod again. Peter's looking over his brother's hands, catching the signs of punching. He'd not even tried to clean Sylar up after he got back— he knew his healing power would kick in. "He deserved it," he says in a whispered tone. "But I'm not holding him so people can beat him up every chance they get. No matter if he deserves it or not." It's close to scolding, but his tone doesn't seem to be placing blame, which might give a difference. "I understand why, Nathan."

"I'm glad you do," Nathan says, and sounds honest enough about that. "And I know you're not holding him there for that purpose, you're holding him there to help him. Which in turn will help all of this." All of this Peter knows, but Nathan is attempt to beat him to the chase - show that he, too, understands. The point being, "So that's why I didn't exactly ask your permission."

"That's right," Peter says with a tone of quiet conviction, agreeing with what his brother jumped ahead to claim. It's the truth. He's trying to help Sylar, fix him— make him different. Or at least keep him close and controlled until he makes a move in the wrong direction. There's a twinge of guilt, and it's not over his brother's inability to ask permission. "I didn't expect you to have. I just needed to make sure that how he described it is how it went… He's on borrowed time, remember?" That's the guilty look again. He's really considering what might happen if he breaks the fragile trust. What he'll have to do.

He fills up the mugs with coffee now finished, and as usual, Nathan's made it strong, and not about to touch his with cream and sugar. Gesturing for Peter to do what he will with his helping, Nathan wraps his hands around his, drifting back out of the kitchen. "I remember," he says. "And I'm sure Sylar was honest with you. I get the feeling he knew exactly what I was doing and he let it happen." And fought back in his own way but Nathan doesn't bring that up now, if he even plans to. "Probably not out of guilt, but everyone has a sense of justice, don't they? Even monsters. Need to know the laws to break 'em."

Though one cup is untouched with cream or sugar, Peter moves forward to add both. There's a quiet moment between them, one he doesn't really want to break while his brother drifts out of the kitchen and talks about the maybe-not-guilt— the man being a monster. "Even if he's a monster— he doesn't have to be," he says softly, shaking his head a bit as he sturs up his mixed in coffee. The clingcling of the spoon against the mug sounds before he taps it partially dry and lets the spoon fall. Then he walks out of the kitchen. "But I know he could just be a psychopath. No different from the people that broke out of that— Level in the Company." Six? Four?

"No one has to be," Nathan agrees, leaning against whatever piece of furniture is available for adequate leaning. "But a leopard doesn't change his spots, Peter. I know you think his ability had something to do with it but it's not about killing. He enjoyed tormenting people. He ruined lives." At least that part got through to the killer.

There's couches, there's bookcases… Peter moves to drop into one of his chairs with his coffee, looking down into the lighter liquid. "He's not the only one who's ruined people's lives," he whispers softly, not pointing out the people he knows, the ones he cares about, who have been involved in terrible things. Including this man right here— a future version of himself. "I know what he's done, Nathan. I know what he's capable of. I've seen it— I've felt it. But he's done no worse than the Company as a whole has— a lot less, in fact. I'm giving him a chance. I'm not being stupid about it. I'm moving him out of Bat Country very soon. I got a place— a building. Locks, cameras… Few people. It's in an old warehouse district."

It's really one of the few reasons Nathan didn't walk into the room with a Glock. He couldn't even let go of his career to ensure a better future, let alone put himself down to prevent it. The difference is, of course, what he has done and what he has yet to do, unlike Sylar, whose ugly past trails behind him already. All the same. Past, present, future— it blurs when you throw time travel into the mix. Nathan takes a sip of pitch black coffee. "That's probably a good idea," he says of Peter's plan. "If I promise I won't finish the job, will you trust me to help you?"

Hesitation hangs in the air as Peter continues to look down at his mug. Only after he takes a long and rather generious drink does he raise his eyes to his brother. "You can help me. Of course. I just don't want anything to happen to you, Nathan. If he decides he doesn't deserve it anymore in the middle of you beating him… and the pills aren't working as well as they should be…" It's a legitimate worry. One that he can't pass up right now. His brother can't take the beating that him and Sylar are capable of.

"I'm not gonna try it again," Nathan assures, with a hint of a rueful smile. "Not that it didn't feel good to smack the son of a bitch around, it's not gonna help anything. I didn't take anything away from it. Sylar didn't fight back but that doesn't mean he didn't make it anymore fun." The word 'fun' comes out bitterly, seeing as he never expected to really have it… but it could have been a little more enjoyable. A little more satisfying. His gaze drops from Peter's, thoughtful for a moment, taking a sip of coffee.

"It shouldn't be fun," Peter says quietly, drinking more on his coffee. "I should get back to Bat Country. I don't like leaving him alone for long— even now that he's on the Haitian pills again." He stands again, looking quiet and sad. There's more reason behind him trying to save Sylar, but he's not sure he should even mention it— It's one of those things. If it's a lie, he doesn't want to keep spreading it around. The drink from his coffee mug might finish him off— not being black helps him drink it faster. "Feel free to finish your cup and stick around as long as you want."

"I have other places to be," Nathan says, grimly, taking a last sip of coffee and moving for the kitchen. He splashes out the remaining liquid into the sink and running the faucet to drain it down completely. "I knew I couldn't do it," he adds, not really looking at Peter, barely glancing at him over his shoulder. "What I told you you should have done. What Mara and the Company should have done. Don't prove me right. Not this time. He's probably familiar with the concept of revenge if he decides he doesn't want to be a good boy anymore."

What he couldn't do. What no one so far as been able to do. Peter can't help but look down briefly, as he sets the empty coffee mug on a coaster on the table. He'll clean it up later. There's really not enough room for two people at the sink, and he doesn't want to hover close. "If he stops… I know I'll have to stop him permenantly." His responsibility. His job. "One bullet in the back of the head… and I got three guns loaded, just in case." All within hand's reach, thanks to Jack.

Nathan turns back towards Peter, giving him a nod. "Here's to hoping you need none, or at worst, one," he says, then another nod. "Get out of here, I can show myself out."

"I have three in case he freezes the first one," Peter admits with a shake of his head. The man is strong. But someone is convinced he's capable of far, far more. Closing his eyes, there's silence for a moment, and then empty space.

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