Mending Broken Fences
The idea had come to him out of the blue one day and even though he’d lost track of the days, it didn’t matter. It was probably close enough and it might make Peter lighten up, if nothing else it might make him actually not hate him for an hour or two. It was worth a shot anyway.
Whenever the world ended, it hadn’t been near Christmas and he had to dig in stockrooms and backrooms to find anything that would work. At least most of the stores had supplies of decorations that they must have used every year; otherwise this really wouldn’t have worked. A tree on the other hand, was going to be problematic. So would the food but he could find something that would work.
He grinned when he opened one stockroom, finding the mother lode. Not only were there boxes of decorations; there was even a tree. A fake one but it was better than nothing. He gathered up everything he could, putting it all on a wagon and hauling it back to the apartment. Stopping, he listened for the echo of the hammer hitting the bricks and smiled slightly when the ringing hit his ears. Humming, he started carting everything upstairs.
********
Peter finally gave up working and leaned against the hammer, panting to catch his breath. It was late and he hadn’t seen Sylar since this morning, not that he really cared. It was better when the killer wasn’t here, annoying the hell out of him. He was tired, dirty and hungry and he wanted to go back to the apartment and get cleaned up. Letting the hammer drop to the ground, he made his way back.
He was a little curious as to what the other man had been doing all day though, if he’d been up to anything at all. Sylar had seemed awful damn quiet last night and today and it made Peter uneasy. He kept waiting for the killer to snap and try to kill him one night in his sleep. What would happen to him if Sylar did? He didn’t have a clue and he’d rather not take the chance.
Making his way warily up the stairs, one slow step at a time, he got to the apartment and stopped, hand on the doorknob. He could hear sounds inside, something like music and…someone singing along? What the hell? He could smell food now too, nice and hot. Ham, or something, and another smell he couldn’t identify at first. Opening the door, he stopped again and gaped at the sight in front of him.
Garland hung from the ceiling in long ribbons, twisted red and silver and a bit of gold, going from one corner of the living room to the next, crossing in the middle. Hanging from the center point of the garland was a star that changed color to the sound of the music. The CD player was playing ‘White Christmas’ and Sylar was at the stove, singing along while he stirred something in a pot. A large tree stood in one corner, decorated with lights and bulbs and a mishmash of other things that somehow made it beautiful.
He must have made a sound because Sylar’s head turned and he looked sheepish, which isn’t a look he ever expected to see on the killer’s face. “Sorry, didn’t hear you come in. Hope you like it. I thought…” He shrugged. “I thought it’d be nice.” Peter could see something in Sylar’s eyes but he ignored it.
“You’ve gone a little overboard.” He snorted, heading for the bathroom and missing the hurt look in Sylar’s eyes. “It’s kind of cluttered.”
“I don’t think it’s so bad. Christmas was always my favorite holiday.” Sylar heard the shower start and he sighed. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all.
“Thought it would’ve been Halloween, seems more your style.” Peter called out, getting undressed and hopping into the shower. Sylar glared at the bathroom, not even bothering trying to comment on that.
By the time Peter came out of the shower, the table had been set and the music had been turned off. Sylar stood at the counter, stirring something, head bent in concentration. Peter finished drying his hair and tossed the towel towards the hamper, watching Sylar all the while.
“I can feel you watching me. Don’t worry; I’m not poisoning the food.” He tried to make it come out as a joke but it fell flat. He finished what he was doing and brought the potatoes to the table.
Peter didn’t say much of anything, even though the food was pretty good, better than they’d had in a long time and he wondered where Sylar had learned to cook. After the meal, he went and sat on the couch, letting Sylar clean up. This time he didn’t miss the dirty look that Sylar gave him, but he didn’t care.
After clearing the table, Sylar came out and threw himself into the chair. This hadn’t gone at all like he’d planned. He’d hoped that Peter would at least be a bit less sullen, a bit less hostile, but he was the same as he’d been since day one.
After an hour of trying to read the tattered remains of his book, Sylar sighed and got up, going into the closet. Taking out a wrapped box, he held it out to Peter.
“Merry Christmas.” He turned and headed for the bedroom. He had had enough for one night and he didn’t want to listen to the other man bitch and moan, accuse him of accessing Nathan’s memories again, of being made to feel like shit. He did a good enough job of that on his own. He got ready and crawled into bed, pulling the blankets around him.
Peter stared at the box, then at Sylar as he left the room. What the hell was this? Was Sylar trying to get to him or something? He was tempted to just toss the box aside, but curiosity got the best of him. Tearing off the paper, he opened the box. The gift nestled inside made him swallow hard.
The frame looked like it was handmade, a soft golden brown in color, carefully made but that wasn’t what made Peter’s throat tighten up. It’s what was in the frame that made tears spring to his eyes.
He knew this picture, could remember exactly when it was taken. Him and Nathan; happy and carefree, goofing around for the camera. Nathan had his head turned towards him and he was grinning. That had been a good day, and Peter touched the picture carefully. How the hell had Sylar even found it? Maybe he didn’t want to know. He glanced towards the sleeping figure and he felt guilt wash over him. Guilt and something else. He shouldn’t have been that mean to the other man, he should’ve been nicer. Sylar was actually trying, but he wasn’t.
His eyes fell on the tattered book that Sylar had been reading. It wouldn’t be as good or mean as much as the picture did but he could at least give the other man something in return. He knew right where to find it too.
Whenever the world ended, it hadn’t been near Christmas and he had to dig in stockrooms and backrooms to find anything that would work. At least most of the stores had supplies of decorations that they must have used every year; otherwise this really wouldn’t have worked. A tree on the other hand, was going to be problematic. So would the food but he could find something that would work.
He grinned when he opened one stockroom, finding the mother lode. Not only were there boxes of decorations; there was even a tree. A fake one but it was better than nothing. He gathered up everything he could, putting it all on a wagon and hauling it back to the apartment. Stopping, he listened for the echo of the hammer hitting the bricks and smiled slightly when the ringing hit his ears. Humming, he started carting everything upstairs.
********
Peter finally gave up working and leaned against the hammer, panting to catch his breath. It was late and he hadn’t seen Sylar since this morning, not that he really cared. It was better when the killer wasn’t here, annoying the hell out of him. He was tired, dirty and hungry and he wanted to go back to the apartment and get cleaned up. Letting the hammer drop to the ground, he made his way back.
He was a little curious as to what the other man had been doing all day though, if he’d been up to anything at all. Sylar had seemed awful damn quiet last night and today and it made Peter uneasy. He kept waiting for the killer to snap and try to kill him one night in his sleep. What would happen to him if Sylar did? He didn’t have a clue and he’d rather not take the chance.
Making his way warily up the stairs, one slow step at a time, he got to the apartment and stopped, hand on the doorknob. He could hear sounds inside, something like music and…someone singing along? What the hell? He could smell food now too, nice and hot. Ham, or something, and another smell he couldn’t identify at first. Opening the door, he stopped again and gaped at the sight in front of him.
Garland hung from the ceiling in long ribbons, twisted red and silver and a bit of gold, going from one corner of the living room to the next, crossing in the middle. Hanging from the center point of the garland was a star that changed color to the sound of the music. The CD player was playing ‘White Christmas’ and Sylar was at the stove, singing along while he stirred something in a pot. A large tree stood in one corner, decorated with lights and bulbs and a mishmash of other things that somehow made it beautiful.
He must have made a sound because Sylar’s head turned and he looked sheepish, which isn’t a look he ever expected to see on the killer’s face. “Sorry, didn’t hear you come in. Hope you like it. I thought…” He shrugged. “I thought it’d be nice.” Peter could see something in Sylar’s eyes but he ignored it.
“You’ve gone a little overboard.” He snorted, heading for the bathroom and missing the hurt look in Sylar’s eyes. “It’s kind of cluttered.”
“I don’t think it’s so bad. Christmas was always my favorite holiday.” Sylar heard the shower start and he sighed. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all.
“Thought it would’ve been Halloween, seems more your style.” Peter called out, getting undressed and hopping into the shower. Sylar glared at the bathroom, not even bothering trying to comment on that.
By the time Peter came out of the shower, the table had been set and the music had been turned off. Sylar stood at the counter, stirring something, head bent in concentration. Peter finished drying his hair and tossed the towel towards the hamper, watching Sylar all the while.
“I can feel you watching me. Don’t worry; I’m not poisoning the food.” He tried to make it come out as a joke but it fell flat. He finished what he was doing and brought the potatoes to the table.
Peter didn’t say much of anything, even though the food was pretty good, better than they’d had in a long time and he wondered where Sylar had learned to cook. After the meal, he went and sat on the couch, letting Sylar clean up. This time he didn’t miss the dirty look that Sylar gave him, but he didn’t care.
After clearing the table, Sylar came out and threw himself into the chair. This hadn’t gone at all like he’d planned. He’d hoped that Peter would at least be a bit less sullen, a bit less hostile, but he was the same as he’d been since day one.
After an hour of trying to read the tattered remains of his book, Sylar sighed and got up, going into the closet. Taking out a wrapped box, he held it out to Peter.
“Merry Christmas.” He turned and headed for the bedroom. He had had enough for one night and he didn’t want to listen to the other man bitch and moan, accuse him of accessing Nathan’s memories again, of being made to feel like shit. He did a good enough job of that on his own. He got ready and crawled into bed, pulling the blankets around him.
Peter stared at the box, then at Sylar as he left the room. What the hell was this? Was Sylar trying to get to him or something? He was tempted to just toss the box aside, but curiosity got the best of him. Tearing off the paper, he opened the box. The gift nestled inside made him swallow hard.
The frame looked like it was handmade, a soft golden brown in color, carefully made but that wasn’t what made Peter’s throat tighten up. It’s what was in the frame that made tears spring to his eyes.
He knew this picture, could remember exactly when it was taken. Him and Nathan; happy and carefree, goofing around for the camera. Nathan had his head turned towards him and he was grinning. That had been a good day, and Peter touched the picture carefully. How the hell had Sylar even found it? Maybe he didn’t want to know. He glanced towards the sleeping figure and he felt guilt wash over him. Guilt and something else. He shouldn’t have been that mean to the other man, he should’ve been nicer. Sylar was actually trying, but he wasn’t.
His eyes fell on the tattered book that Sylar had been reading. It wouldn’t be as good or mean as much as the picture did but he could at least give the other man something in return. He knew right where to find it too.