Acts of Kindness 5: High Noon
Claire sighed melodramatically. "Everything was fine at first - really, it was. I gave, I don't know, seventeen interviews." She cocked her head up to look at Peter. "I'm guessing, you know?" He nodded. He was familiar with her exaggerations, though seventeen was definitely possible. Actually he figured seventeen wasn't an exaggeration. She'd had a dozen reporters around her when she'd left and probably at least that many more would have found her through the night. He had the impression she hadn't slept. He was pretty sure she was wearing different clothes, but what she'd had wouldn't have been presentable after tossing herself off a Ferris wheel.
"And I did demonstrations. I must have cut myself a hundred times, all over my arms. A few of them made some rude comments about that, but whatever. Most of them were fine. They just filmed it, asked questions, that sort of thing. I didn't mention anyone else who had abilities. At least, not specifically."
He could imagine the rude comments. He'd wanted to make some of his own at various points in the past, but he hadn't. He'd wondered, at times, what caused her frequent injuries. He wondered if he needed to be worried that she hurt herself so cavalierly, like it didn't matter. Was she trying to say something? Was it a plea for help? Even if one was numbed and insulated from the pain, it was… pathological not to avoid getting hurt. People didn't feel tears and rips to their clothing and yet they avoided damaging it.
He was also relieved that just because she was outing her own ability to the world didn't mean she was outing others. Her ability didn't look dangerous, unlike most powers. Maybe people would assume hers was the only ability out there. After all, it was fairly concealable, especially if she hadn't tried to sell them on the idea that she was immortal.
Claire leaned back and threw an unblemished arm over her eyes. "I was supposed to go in for one of those big morning talk shows earlier. But, I don't know, around 4 or 5 AM some guys from the government came by and-"
Sylar rapped on the door three times, then walked in. He was carrying a coffee cup in one hand while two others floated in the air in front of him. One drifted over to Peter, who had to smile at that. "Show off," he muttered. Claire wasn't the only one with a penchant for dramatics. The second went to her, who sat up and picked it out of the air carefully, like it might spill on her at any moment. She held it stiffly until she was certain it was under her control, then leaned back against the headboard.
Sylar leaned against the wall with elaborate nonchalance, cupping his drink and blowing on it to cool it. For a long moment, no one spoke as the former serial killer's presence loomed large in the confined space. Claire looked pointedly at Sylar, who looked back calmly, blatantly testing the limits of Peter's hospitality. It seemed certain that if he were asked to leave, or if Peter even intimated that he wanted Sylar gone, he'd vanish. But Peter hadn't. Finally Claire shifted her eyes to Peter. Sylar's gaze followed. Peter swallowed and cleared his throat. He said to her, "Do you want some privacy?"
She looked back at Sylar and huffed. "Why would he even care what was going on with me?"
Peter said evenly, "He might know something about what the government's up to. They're going to have a response to this. They can't not. It's too big."
"And he's willing to share that with us why?"
"Maybe I want to help you because you need help," Sylar said immediately. Peter's head snapped around to him, realizing the man was parroting his words from earlier that morning. He raised an eyebrow at Peter's surprised expression, as if to say 'I was listening,' then turned back to Claire. "Maybe I have some shred of sympathy for you… and your situation."
Claire exhaled heavily and looked away. She did it only for a moment though, glancing back to let her eyes dart between the two men. She didn't know what Sylar's expression to Peter had meant, but she'd seen Peter's prompt reaction.
Peter smiled, shook his head slightly and said to her, "So what happened then?"
She settled back into the pillows more and took a drink of her coffee. "They wanted me to go with them," she looked to Sylar, "these government guys - but I told them no, I had these big interviews to do and I'd go with them afterward. They asked me what interviews and like an idiot, I told them. So they left. Then I finished up, grabbed breakfast and went to the studio, to find they'd cancelled! The government guys had come by and told them they couldn't interview me! The nerve!"
"What government guys?" Sylar asked quietly.
"I don't know. Department of Defense, Homeland Security, whatever. They gave me business cards." She reached into her pocket and pulled out an impressive handful of cards and crumpled notes. She sorted through them. "Most of these are from those reporters… ah, here's one. No, three. I'm pretty sure there's a fourth one…"
Sylar walked closer and looked. She gathered the four and offered them to him. He took them and retreated back to his spot against the wall, where he studied them carefully.
Peter watched him for a moment, thinking about Nathan's involvement with Homeland Security, the secret meetings, the confidence of the president himself - and all those memories, all that knowledge, was in Sylar's head now. He shook it off and looked back to Claire. "Your interviews were cancelled?"
"Yeah. Then the g-men tried to pick me up there. They were polite, at least, but they were really persistent. I told them I'd scream and mace them if they laid a hand on me… and then I ran."
Peter's brows rose. "Did they chase you?"
"I think so, but I don't get tired easy, you know? I didn't slow down until I was pretty sure I'd lost them. Then I cut back here. It was the closest safe place I knew of. I figure if I just hide-"
"Do you have your cell phone?" Sylar cut in.
"Yes. Why?" Claire started to glare at him, then gave it up and just huffed. She rolled her eyes and dug it out. He stepped over and took it from her, his fingers stroking over hers unnecessarily. She jerked her hand away. "Creep!"
He smiled. "Thank you, Claire." He flipped open her phone briefly, then shut it. To Peter he said, "We needed to run errands. We should leave immediately. Now."
For a moment, Peter considered arguing, he considered pulling the same knee-jerk uncooperativeness that Claire was pulling and giving Sylar static. He wouldn't have argued if Nathan told him that and in fact, Nathan would have spoken to Peter in much that tone of voice - no explanations, just 'do what I say'.
Peter put aside those questions and asked a different one. "Do I have time to get dressed?"
Claire interjected, "You're going to do what he says?"
Sylar ignored her. He put out his hand to Peter and said, "Take shape-shifting. Change into Peter Petrelli wearing whatever clothes you need."
Peter stared at him for a moment. First, he'd never had anyone dictate his abilities to him. Second, he didn't know you could use shape shifting that way. And third… he mentally cut off his objections, put his hand on Sylar's, and took the ability, trusting blindly.
While Peter changed his outfit, Sylar pocketed the business cards and turned back to Claire. "They're tracking you by your phone. There's a chance they haven't triangulated it to this building yet. If we leave quickly and take this with us, we might be able to throw them off. You can rest. But I need your phone. And this." Sylar morphed into a second Claire Bennet.
She? He? Whatever… Sylar looked at Peter and jerked his head towards the door. "Let's go."
Reality, in Peter's world, seemed awful damned flexible. His brother had been able to fly. His mother could tell the future, accurately. His niece regenerated and was apparently immortal. He had friends who could stop time or read minds. That Sylar, 6'1 or 2, very masculine, someone he'd still kind of rather sock in the face, had just turned into Claire, a foot shorter, very feminine, and whom he had occasional inappropriate feelings for that he tried very hard to quash, was oddly one of the tougher things to swallow. He managed it… mostly. "Okay."
They left out the front door and hurried down the stairs. Sylar murmured in Claire's voice, "Tell me if you see anyone out of place, anyone unfamiliar." Peter nodded. They didn't see anyone at all until they got out on the street. Sylar took one quick sweep of the road and then turned right, walking fast. Peter followed. An unmarked van pulled up before they'd gone thirty feet.
Peter put his hand to the small of Claire's back and whispered harshly, "Run!" Then he realized that was Sylar and jerked his hand away. Sylar did not run. Instead, he immediately went to one knee and grabbed Peter's hand, yanking him closer. "Cover me. Stay between me and them."
Peter tensed. His instincts screamed to get out. They were right there, looking right at him, now looking at Claire… no, not Claire. There was some balding man kneeling next to him. Peter blinked. The man was quickly working on the phone, parts disassembling faster than his fingers could accomplish. It took less time for Sylar to finish than for Peter to figure out what he was doing, which was merely removing the battery from the device. He stood up and pocketed the components, having taken the guise of Doyle.
Two men had exited the rear of the van, carrying a device with some sort of antenna. Peter started to fall back towards the wall. Sylar grabbed his shoulder and steered him to the curb, saying quietly, "Never cut off your avenue of escape, Peter." He dropped his hand downward and clasped Peter's hand. "Speaking of which, take flight."
Peter switched, letting himself be led. Things were happening too fast to argue, or even question. He knew, from being on disaster sites and in emergency services that chain of command was very important. Stopping to argue about the best course of action meant that no course at all was being pursued. He had faith that Sylar would make a sound decision.
"Just wait," Sylar said. The men walked right past them, muttering to each other about having lost the signal. Peter and Sylar stood on the sidewalk watching them, much like various other bystanders who had paused in their routines, curious about the van and the men with the odd device.
To Peter, Sylar said, "In a few moments, come pull me away."
"What?" Peter said.
If Sylar heard him, he didn't respond. Instead he looked up and down the street, then walked over to the van. "Hey! Hey you!"
The driver glanced at him, then ignored him.
Sylar went on, "Hey, can you move it? I have a cab coming. You're in the way." Peter decided that perhaps Sylar was picking a fight. He was a little unclear at which point he was supposed to interfere.
"Beat it," the driver said.
"Hey!" Sylar said, sounding affronted now. "What service are you with, anyway? Clogging up the streets like you own the place!" He seemed genuinely angry. Peter could see the other two were coming back, having noticed the scene. If he didn't interrupt soon, there was going to be a problem. He tugged at Sylar's sleeve. The other man kept speaking with, "When my cabbie gets here, I hope he runs you over!" He turned back to Peter suddenly and said, low and urgent, "Now." Then he turned back and made more vaguely threatening, loud comments.
Peter grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back. The other two men, seeing that the disruption was being dealt with, went on to the back of the van and climbed in. Sylar gave up his protests immediately and walked swiftly down the sidewalk. Peter trailed him a little.
"Keep up," Gabriel said to him curtly.
Peter immediately double-timed and caught up with him. He did not appreciate playing follow-the-leader. He felt like a sidekick. At that thought, he remembered the feeling the night before that he was a normal guy trying to handle someone with super-powers. It was so strange it made him smile.
They turned a corner and Sylar changed shape back into his native form. A moment later, he aggressively hailed a cab, managing to catch the driver's attention. They got in. Peter looked back apprehensively. "Don't look back," Sylar told him crisply, then leaned forward and gave an address to the driver. They took off. Peter turned around and pursed his lips, biting his tongue to keep from saying something sharp in response. Things had turned out well, no one had been hurt and they were getting away clean.
He thought about how long Sylar had spent on the run - from the cops, the feds, Homeland Security, any number of revenge-seekers, himself… So some things had become second nature to the man. He still gave orders like Nathan did and that did not fail to rankle.
Peter swallowed his pride though. He'd just told Claire he trusted him. For those not to be empty words, he needed to put them in action and not second-guess. He looked over to see Sylar inserting the battery into the phone again. Peter asked, "What are you doing? They'll track us."
"Exactly. We can't have that location be their last known signal. If it is, they'll scour the area and turn up your name, probably within six hours if they have as many resources devoted to this as I suspect. Then they'll be in your apartment twenty minutes after that. As long as we're moving we're safe. I'll disable it every five to ten minutes for a minute. That should confuse them. Then when we're downtown, I'll take the battery out and leave it out."
"Okay." Peter nodded, glad to be getting an explanation. Of course, this was the first opportunity Sylar had to give him much of one. "Is she going to be safe?"
Sylar shrugged. "She can't be killed. She's always safe."
"That's not what I meant."
Sylar smiled at him slyly. "I know."