Slave Verse 4, Chapter 2: Graveside Visit
This is a continuation of Slave Verse: Epilogue (aka Slave Verse 4: Time to Love) that was published over on FFN. It has been pointed out to me that I never cross-posted it here to LJ.
A/N: All dates are taken from the end of Slave Verse 3, Bungalow Blues. This first one turned out way more creepy than I expected. Also, thanks to thewatchmaker on LJ for inspiration on Sylar visiting his mother's grave.
One week later
Peter walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Sylar noticed - he always noticed Peter's body; it was a fabulous body - and thought the other man looked more attractive with the interesting bits left to the imagination rather than openly displayed. It didn't change the sense of unquiet he'd woken with today, but it was nice to get his mind onto other things. Peter sorted through his dresser for clothes and pulled on a shirt. They shared a room and a bed, a subject that really should have elicited more comment among the White House staff, but Nathan had dealt with those issues years before. No one served him who questioned it, which made things simple for Peter and Sylar.
Peter glanced back at Sylar, who was watching him blankly. "You going to change?" Peter asked after he'd pulled on his underwear and was shaking out a pair of jeans. He didn't mean Sylar's clothes - he was already fully dressed. He meant his shape.
"No. I can't. I can't do this Nathan crap day after day, Peter. It's eating me up inside. I'm… it's hard to hang onto who I am." Sylar shuddered.
Peter didn't say anything right away. He got his jeans on and buttoned them. He took out a pair of socks and walked over to sit on the bed. "You want a day off, or do you want to call the whole thing off?"
"Just a day. Just a few hours, maybe. I feel like I might get trapped looking like him, like I wouldn't be able to find my way back to who I am."
"Okay," Peter said simply. He walked over and kissed Sylar on the forehead. "I'll get you a day off." He slid into his shoes and changed shape into Nathan. He shot the cuffs that were on his suddenly-present dress shirt, straightened his suit and walked out to talk to his aides. He came back shortly, dropping the charade as soon as the door closed behind him. Sylar had heard the conversation easily enough, but Peter repeated the conclusion anyway, "We have until 3."
"That should be plenty of time." He stood up.
"What do you want to do?" Peter was simply asking, not making innuendo of any kind, which was sort of refreshing. The last week had seen them getting more comfortable with each other. It looked like things might actually work out between them, but they were still getting to know each other.
Sylar stood up and walked over to him. "I want to take you somewhere, to meet someone… someone important to me, to who I am. I think that will help. Let's go grab something we can eat outdoors and then we'll go."
A little while later, Sylar slipped an arm around Peter's waist and teleported them to a place he knew well. They were under a cedar tree that had low-hanging branches, next to a stone wall. No, Peter got a better look - it was a stone building, made of marble. He glanced around and realized they were in a cemetery. "Sylar?" he questioned.
Sylar leaned over and gave Peter a peck on the cheek. "Come on. Over here." He hefted the paper bag they were using as a picnic basket and ambled out across the manicured lawn, looking between the tombstones. Peter followed silently. Sylar came to one in particular and dropped to the ground immediately, sitting cross-legged. "Hi, Mom. It's me."
Peter smiled a little and looked around, feeling awkward. The grave marker said, 'Virginia Grey' and gave dates of birth and death, adding 'Loving Mother.' A stone angel topped the marker and engraved at the bottom of it was the label, "The Angel Gabriel."
As if having an actual conversation, Sylar smiled, nodded and turned to Peter, saying, "This is Peter, Mom. He's really special to me. I wanted you to meet him." To Peter he said, "Have a seat. Say hello if you want."
"Um." Peter sat on the grass, copying Sylar's position. "Hi. Hi, Sylar's mom."
Sylar reached out and took Peter's hand, gave it a squeeze and proceeded to have a truly insane conversation about what he'd been up to in the last few weeks and how he'd finally become president like she'd always wanted him to be. It was insane in that Sylar spoke, acted like someone answered, and then spoke again, just like a normal conversation, except that he was talking to the grave of his deceased mother. Peter listened quietly. It was a good chance for him to reflect on his own many psychoses and decide that really… there was only one thing he needed to know.
When Sylar was finished 'talking' to Virginia and turned to tell Peter that, Peter asked, "Do you… understand she's not there?"
"She's in my heart, Peter. And in my mind. That's all that matters now. I know she died, if that's what you mean. And I know I'm really only talking to myself, or at least, her as I knew her. I'm not that crazy. But… this is my way of remembering her and honoring her memory."
Peter swallowed and looked at the grave, thinking about how Nathan had no grave and his father's was empty. Or at least, it probably was. He'd never asked Nathan what he'd done with their father's body. He'd been a bit heavily sedated at the time. But he'd always thought that dead was dead. He knew he was supposed to believe they were in heaven or some manner of afterlife, but after all he'd seen, he couldn't believe that.
"Do you think… she's in heaven?"
"I don't know. Don't care. She's in here." Sylar tapped his forehead as if that answered it.
"I don't…" Peter shrugged, not understanding.
"I'm not a Christian… anymore, Peter. We live through each other, through our legacies, through our friends and families and works and the memories of others. That's the deeper spiritual meaning of our lives. And after we die, that's our afterlife, for however long it lasts. We never really die, or at least we're not totally gone, as long as someone remembers us, knows what we did, and… I have a really good memory."
Sylar gestured at the grave. "Of all the people I killed, she's the only one I regret. It was an accident. All the others… well, most of them anyway… were on purpose. I meant to kill. I didn't mean to kill her. I'm… sorry."
Peter looked at the grave and swallowed. Absurdly, he found himself playing along because he couldn't see how else to put it and Sylar was right - there was something deeper going on here. How someone related to the dead was spiritual by definition. "Have you told her that?"
"Yes. She's forgiven me."
Did that count? Was it real? Did it matter? Peter decided it did. He pulled over the sack for lunch and they ate slowly, talking about the people in their lives who had mattered most, who weren't around anymore.
A/N: All dates are taken from the end of Slave Verse 3, Bungalow Blues. This first one turned out way more creepy than I expected. Also, thanks to thewatchmaker on LJ for inspiration on Sylar visiting his mother's grave.
One week later
Peter walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Sylar noticed - he always noticed Peter's body; it was a fabulous body - and thought the other man looked more attractive with the interesting bits left to the imagination rather than openly displayed. It didn't change the sense of unquiet he'd woken with today, but it was nice to get his mind onto other things. Peter sorted through his dresser for clothes and pulled on a shirt. They shared a room and a bed, a subject that really should have elicited more comment among the White House staff, but Nathan had dealt with those issues years before. No one served him who questioned it, which made things simple for Peter and Sylar.
Peter glanced back at Sylar, who was watching him blankly. "You going to change?" Peter asked after he'd pulled on his underwear and was shaking out a pair of jeans. He didn't mean Sylar's clothes - he was already fully dressed. He meant his shape.
"No. I can't. I can't do this Nathan crap day after day, Peter. It's eating me up inside. I'm… it's hard to hang onto who I am." Sylar shuddered.
Peter didn't say anything right away. He got his jeans on and buttoned them. He took out a pair of socks and walked over to sit on the bed. "You want a day off, or do you want to call the whole thing off?"
"Just a day. Just a few hours, maybe. I feel like I might get trapped looking like him, like I wouldn't be able to find my way back to who I am."
"Okay," Peter said simply. He walked over and kissed Sylar on the forehead. "I'll get you a day off." He slid into his shoes and changed shape into Nathan. He shot the cuffs that were on his suddenly-present dress shirt, straightened his suit and walked out to talk to his aides. He came back shortly, dropping the charade as soon as the door closed behind him. Sylar had heard the conversation easily enough, but Peter repeated the conclusion anyway, "We have until 3."
"That should be plenty of time." He stood up.
"What do you want to do?" Peter was simply asking, not making innuendo of any kind, which was sort of refreshing. The last week had seen them getting more comfortable with each other. It looked like things might actually work out between them, but they were still getting to know each other.
Sylar stood up and walked over to him. "I want to take you somewhere, to meet someone… someone important to me, to who I am. I think that will help. Let's go grab something we can eat outdoors and then we'll go."
A little while later, Sylar slipped an arm around Peter's waist and teleported them to a place he knew well. They were under a cedar tree that had low-hanging branches, next to a stone wall. No, Peter got a better look - it was a stone building, made of marble. He glanced around and realized they were in a cemetery. "Sylar?" he questioned.
Sylar leaned over and gave Peter a peck on the cheek. "Come on. Over here." He hefted the paper bag they were using as a picnic basket and ambled out across the manicured lawn, looking between the tombstones. Peter followed silently. Sylar came to one in particular and dropped to the ground immediately, sitting cross-legged. "Hi, Mom. It's me."
Peter smiled a little and looked around, feeling awkward. The grave marker said, 'Virginia Grey' and gave dates of birth and death, adding 'Loving Mother.' A stone angel topped the marker and engraved at the bottom of it was the label, "The Angel Gabriel."
As if having an actual conversation, Sylar smiled, nodded and turned to Peter, saying, "This is Peter, Mom. He's really special to me. I wanted you to meet him." To Peter he said, "Have a seat. Say hello if you want."
"Um." Peter sat on the grass, copying Sylar's position. "Hi. Hi, Sylar's mom."
Sylar reached out and took Peter's hand, gave it a squeeze and proceeded to have a truly insane conversation about what he'd been up to in the last few weeks and how he'd finally become president like she'd always wanted him to be. It was insane in that Sylar spoke, acted like someone answered, and then spoke again, just like a normal conversation, except that he was talking to the grave of his deceased mother. Peter listened quietly. It was a good chance for him to reflect on his own many psychoses and decide that really… there was only one thing he needed to know.
When Sylar was finished 'talking' to Virginia and turned to tell Peter that, Peter asked, "Do you… understand she's not there?"
"She's in my heart, Peter. And in my mind. That's all that matters now. I know she died, if that's what you mean. And I know I'm really only talking to myself, or at least, her as I knew her. I'm not that crazy. But… this is my way of remembering her and honoring her memory."
Peter swallowed and looked at the grave, thinking about how Nathan had no grave and his father's was empty. Or at least, it probably was. He'd never asked Nathan what he'd done with their father's body. He'd been a bit heavily sedated at the time. But he'd always thought that dead was dead. He knew he was supposed to believe they were in heaven or some manner of afterlife, but after all he'd seen, he couldn't believe that.
"Do you think… she's in heaven?"
"I don't know. Don't care. She's in here." Sylar tapped his forehead as if that answered it.
"I don't…" Peter shrugged, not understanding.
"I'm not a Christian… anymore, Peter. We live through each other, through our legacies, through our friends and families and works and the memories of others. That's the deeper spiritual meaning of our lives. And after we die, that's our afterlife, for however long it lasts. We never really die, or at least we're not totally gone, as long as someone remembers us, knows what we did, and… I have a really good memory."
Sylar gestured at the grave. "Of all the people I killed, she's the only one I regret. It was an accident. All the others… well, most of them anyway… were on purpose. I meant to kill. I didn't mean to kill her. I'm… sorry."
Peter looked at the grave and swallowed. Absurdly, he found himself playing along because he couldn't see how else to put it and Sylar was right - there was something deeper going on here. How someone related to the dead was spiritual by definition. "Have you told her that?"
"Yes. She's forgiven me."
Did that count? Was it real? Did it matter? Peter decided it did. He pulled over the sack for lunch and they ate slowly, talking about the people in their lives who had mattered most, who weren't around anymore.